On Easter Sunday, to amuse his adopted daughter Sofia, family heir Luca and his brother Marco dressed me up as a clown. Sofia ripped my gown to shreds and scrawled “TRAITOR” across my face with her lipstick. When I didn’t react, she kicked me into a barrel of pig slop. When they fished me out, the yard was ringed with family members holding up their phones, their jeers cutting like glass. Marco stood a hundred feet away, pinching his nose in disgust, refusing to come within ten feet of me. Sofia beamed. “Elena, happy Easter!” Luca stepped in front of her, shielding her with his body. “It was just a joke,” he said lightly. “Don’t take it so seriously.” He raised his hand and signaled his men. A high-pressure hose came on full blast. The water knocked me flat. I lay there shivering, my skin turning purple with cold. I didn’t beg. Not once. By morning, the video of me soaked and trembling had spread across the entire underworld. Marco blamed me for dragging Sofia’s name through the mud. He threw me out. Luca tore up our engagement contract in front of everyone. “The Costa family doesn’t marry women with stains on their name.” I nodded to each of them. No argument. No tears. They thought I was putting on a brave face. Pretending. They didn’t know the transaction had only three days left. These people? I couldn’t stand the sight of them. In the courtyard, Don Vittorio sat in his high-backed chair and gestured for his capo to step forward. “Shameless! Filthy!” The capo’s belt came down on me again and again. I didn’t explain. I just bit down and took it. Arguing would only make the beating worse. I had barely been back in this house a week when Sofia accused me of stealing her diamond brooch. Of being a mole. My parents searched my room. My brothers stripped me naked in front of the whole household. They found nothing. I thought I might finally get an apology. Instead, Marco knocked out one of my teeth with a single backhanded slap. “You sold it, didn’t you?” he spat. “Where’s the money?” My room was the size of a closet. I didn’t have a single bank card to my name. I tried to explain. He hit me harder, called me a liar who wouldn’t confess. I curled into a ball in the corner. He kicked me until I coughed up blood. Then Sofia gasped. “Found it.” The diamond brooch glittered in the sunlight. To me, it was blinding. I looked at Marco. Not a trace of guilt on his face. He just shrugged. “A little misunderstanding,” he said flatly. “Forget about it.” “I’m Sofia’s brother. Of course I trust her.” He knew he was Sofia’s brother. He forgot I was his real sister. Back in the courtyard, the capo’s belt kept swinging. My body was a mess of bloody welts. Marco stood right there and didn’t say a single word in my defense. He’d let Sofia humiliate me, photograph me naked—then he blamed me for ruining her reputation. He’d tossed my few belongings out the front gate and told me to get lost. I agreed to leave. But my father, Don Vittorio, roared, “You think you can just walk out? You haven’t shamed us enough?” He ordered the family punishment tools brought out. Two hours into the beating, my mother, Donna Caterina, finally raised a hand. “Enough,” she said. “Have her kiss the ring ninety-nine times and write a blood oath. We’ll call it settled.” Don Vittorio threw down his belt, irritated. “You spoil her.” Spoil. I almost laughed. “Kiss the ring,” in my mother’s language, meant pressing your forehead to the Don’s ring and kissing it. If it didn’t make a sound, it didn’t count. The blood oath had to be written in your own blood. Under ten thousand words, or not “sincere” enough, and you did it over. I didn’t speak. I bent down again and again, kissing that ring until I passed out. They threw cold water on me, and when I came to, I kept kissing. I wrote the blood oath all night. Every word scraping me deeper into the dirt. I thought that would be enough. Sofia pinched her nose and stepped back. “Marco, it’s not that I don’t want Elena in the house, but… she reeks.” My brother ruffled her hair fondly and shot me a look of disgust. “You’re not fit for the servants’ quarters. Go stay with Bruno.” Bruno was Sofia’s pit bull. And I was terrified of dogs. I remembered the day they first brought me back. Sofia had been just as disgusted, but back then Marco had only sent me to the warehouse—not the kennel. The cage in the warehouse was bigger than the servant’s room I’d gotten later. And without Sofia giving orders, the guards didn’t bite. I could at least sleep. The kennel—I couldn’t. I dropped to my knees in front of Don Vittorio and Donna Caterina, kissing the ring like my life depended on it. “Don Vittorio, Donna Caterina—if I stink, let me leave the family. Let me go back to the warehouse. Please, I’m begging you, don’t make me stay with the dog.” Don Vittorio’s face softened, just slightly. He was about to speak when Marco grabbed me by the collar. “Elena, stop playing the victim! You’re the reason this family is a laughingstock. You should be grateful you have anywhere to sleep at all.” He dragged me toward the kennel. I looked back at Don Vittorio. He turned away. The stench hit me before I even stepped inside. The dog’s fangs gleamed inches from my face. I closed my eyes. And then the system’s cold mechanical voice echoed in my skull. “Two days left until the host’s transaction is complete.”

I went still. I forced myself to breathe. Two more days. I couldn’t quit now. Three years ago, Sofia had complained of a stomachache after drinking. She’d glared at me with red-rimmed eyes and demanded to know why I’d poisoned her. Before I could get a word out, Marco had pried my mouth open and poured a whole bottle of liquor down my throat. The pain shut my body down. I collapsed in the bathroom. No one checked on me. The whole family took Sofia to a private hospital. As I lay dying, a mechanical voice rang out in my skull: “Host life value detected at zero. Revenge Contract forcibly bound.” “Current mission: Survive three years.” “Mission success: The suffering you endured will be returned tenfold to your enemies. You will also receive a cash reward of one hundred million US dollars.” “Mission failure: Annihilation of the soul.” Back then, I thought I was hallucinating. I didn’t know what a contract was. But when I woke up in that bathroom, my stomach no longer twisting in agony, I believed. The contract gave me a second chance. I was eighteen that year. I started keeping my head down. I learned to stay quiet. I learned to survive. I recalled everything I knew about surviving in this world. I suppressed my fear. I stayed perfectly still. The pit bull circled me, its warmth against my skin both wet and unnerving. Outside the cage, Sofia clung to Luca’s arm, all charm. “Luca, your fiancée smells so bad she’s been sent to the kennel. Does that break your heart?” Luca glanced at me with total indifference. “Don’t say that. I don’t have a fiancée. That engagement was torn up a long time ago.” Even now, my chest twisted. Luca had been different from the rest of them. He was my childhood friend from the streets. When he first showed up in my neighborhood, he had a broken leg and nobody to protect him. I stayed on that block to watch over him. He could barely move, so I stole food for him. I fought off anyone who came for him. One winter, some thugs tried to take his crutch for firewood. I threw myself in front of him. They hung me upside down from a lamppost. They packed snowballs hard as stones and used me for target practice. They broke my nose. Blood everywhere. Luca held my frozen body and cried all night. “Elena,” he whispered. “When I grow up, I’ll protect you.” I smiled through the haze and believed him. Later, when the Costa family brought me home, the first thing I did was help Luca find his real family. He turned out to be the abandoned bastard son of the Balzeri family—our enemies. They’d thrown him away on purpose. To get him back into his family, I proposed a marriage alliance between us. Marco called me cheap. “Back for five minutes and already chasing a man.” I knelt in the courtyard for seven days. No food. No water. My knees ground to blood and bone. At the end of it, I had a marriage contract. It wasn’t that the Costas were beneath me—it was that Don Vittorio and Donna Caterina wanted me to marry higher, to be a stepping stone for Sofia’s rise. The day we went to pick Luca up from the streets, his eyes were swollen and red. He held me so tight I could barely breathe. He swore to the heavens,”Elena, once I’m established in my family, I’ll marry you!” But he never did. He tore up our contract with his own hands. Then he handed me to Sofia like a toy. When did it change? Maybe when Sofia first called him “Luca.” She was prettier than me. Cleaner. Sweeter. She knew exactly how to make people love her. She looped her arm through his and said, “Luca, your engagement to Elena—that was forced, wasn’t it?” Luca didn’t deny it. Maybe it was at some negotiation when I took a drink for him—drank until I vomited blood, collapsed on the floor, couldn’t get up. Luca looked down at me and said, “Elena, you look pathetic.” I brought up marriage once. Rings. A wedding. He got annoyed. He plucked a weed from the roadside and twined it around my finger. Then he went to an auction, crushed every other bidder, and bought a pink diamond for Sofia. He designed the ring himself. I asked him once, “Luca, do you still remember what you said back in the streets?” He laughed—a laugh I’d never heard from him before. Full of mockery. “Elena, you bring up the streets every single day. Don’t you get tired of it?” “Yes, you helped me. But you’ve held that over my head for years. Isn’t that enough?” Held it over him? I’d broken my knees for him. Starved for him. Risked everything to buy him a future. He said, “Elena, stop pretending. You only wanted this marriage because you’re the least favorite daughter in your family.” “Nobody else would have you, so you latched onto me.” “You’re that desperate for a man?” Something inside me shattered. Sofia’s laugh pulled me back to the present. “Luca, don’t be so harsh. Elena was your fiancée for years.” Luca sneered. “Fiancée? A clingy beggar? She was never worthy of that word.” I took a deep breath and asked the system silently. “Does betrayal trigger the backlash too?”

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We were splitting into groups for our senior AP capstone project, and everyone had the freedom to choose their own teammates. When it was my turn, I asked five different groups, and every single one of them awkwardly rejected me. Chloe Miller, the new transfer student, held the sign-up sheet and looked at me with a smirk. “How does it feel? I told you, with just one word from me, no one in this entire grade would dare to team up with you.” “My dad is the CEO of the Vance Group. No matter how hard you work, you won’t even reach my pinky toe.” Around her, Chloe’s little minions started snickering. I, however, was completely frozen. Only because the actual CEO of the Vance Group is my dad. But my dad is a trophy husband who married into my mother’s family on a strict prenup. Since when did he have the guts to father such a massive secret child? Seeing me stand there in silence, Chloe became even more arrogant. “What’s the matter? Scared? A bookworm like you who only knows how to memorize textbooks will only drag down our GPA. Do you really think you’re worthy of choosing your own teammates?” Only knows how to memorize? I stayed up for months doing field research and data analysis, volunteered at the community library every weekend to build my portfolio, and my extracurricular resume could easily fill three pages. And she dared to call me a bookworm? Just as I was about to speak, Lily, our class representative, sighed and whispered, “Elena, why don’t you… join the group over there? They still need one more person anyway.” I followed her gaze. Three girls were sitting in the corner. They were the most quiet, overlooked girls in class, all of whom had been bullied by Chloe before. There was Lily herself, who had once had a cup of Coca-Cola poured over her head by Chloe. And two other girls—one who had been openly mocked by Chloe for a birthmark on her face, and another who had been publicly humiliated because her family was struggling financially. Chloe called them the “Trash Disposal Unit.” Without hesitation, I walked over to their table and sat down. “Great, let’s be a group.” Lily looked up, her eyes slightly red. “Elena…” I smiled at her. “It’s fine. We’ll nail this on our own.” Behind us, Chloe let out an exaggerated, mocking laugh. “Oh look, the Trash Disposal Unit is officially formed! Good luck, girls. Try to get a D-minus so you don’t tank the class average.” Her followers laughed along. I didn’t look back. But I clenched my fists. Chloe wasn’t done. She walked over to my desk, looking down at me. “Elena, you belong with this trash. This school wouldn’t even run without my dad’s donations. Let me tell you, I run this class. If I say you can’t join a good group, you can’t!” “Who do you think you are to compete with me? Do you know that with one call to my dad, I can have you blacklisted from every prep school in this district?” “What’s all the noise about?” An impatient voice came from the door. It was our academic advisor, Mr. Carter. He walked in with a grading folder under his arm, frowning as he scanned the room. “It’s just a group project. Why are you all shouting? Who’s causing trouble now?” Chloe instantly wiped the smirk off her face, replacing it with a victimized look. “Mr. Carter, Elena is throwing a fit because she doesn’t like her group. She’s making a scene and disrupting everyone!” I was almost laughing at how shamelessly she twisted the truth. “Mr. Carter, that’s not what happened—” “Alright, alright,” Mr. Carter interrupted impatiently, waving his hand. “It’s just a group assignment. Chloe, your group is full. Elena, aren’t you already with Lily’s group? Just do your work. Stop arguing and get back to class.” He turned and left. Throughout the entire exchange, he didn’t bother to ask who was right or wrong, nor did he look at anyone. He was like a fire extinguisher—spraying wherever there was a spark, not caring if the fire was actually out, as long as it didn’t burn his own fingers. Lily pulled at the corner of my sleeve and whispered, “Elena, let it go…” I took a deep breath and sat down. Let it go. For now. Chloe gave me a triumphant look and walked back to her seat. But I noticed a very strange, smug smile on her face. That smile made a cold shiver run down my spine. I immediately called my mom, but the call went straight to a automated voicemail. She was on a flight to Europe.

The next day, I understood the meaning of that smile. My capstone project. Three months of hard work, a thirty-thousand-word draft, and over two hundred cited data points. All of it was completely gone. My laptop’s trash bin was empty. The cloud backup had been wiped clean. My USB drive was missing. I frantically searched the entire classroom and finally found my USB drive in the trash can. There was a clear footprint stamped right on its plastic casing. As Chloe walked past my desk, she leaned in and whispered, “Elena, you have no proof. What can you possibly do to me?” At the school’s end-of-term academic showcase, Chloe stood on the stage, presenting her capstone project. “Microplastics Distribution in the San Francisco Bay Area and Its Ecological Impact on Aquatic Life.” At least half of the core concepts and data points in her slides were things I had discussed with her three months ago. And my name was nowhere to be found, not even in the acknowledgments. I stood up right there in the auditorium and challenged her. “What are the criteria for the Best Capstone Project? My research was awarded a perfect score by the District Academic Review Committee and won the school the Annual Academic Innovation Award, leading the runner-up by over fifty points—while Chloe can’t even explain the basic methodology of her experiment because she stole it from my laptop!” The entire auditorium fell dead silent. The dean and the department head looked at each other, neither of them daring to speak. Chloe looked down at me from the stage with pure arrogance. “Of course your so-called research was disqualified.” She let out a cold laugh. “Do you think we don’t know how you got that data? Last Friday night, someone saw you on the West Side bar street, dressed… very provocatively.” “The school will not tolerate academic dishonesty or inappropriate behavior. For now, we are only stripping you of your award. If you continue to ruin this school’s reputation with such filthy methods, expulsion will be next!” I was shaking with anger, my eyes scanning the school board and faculty on the stage. The very same teachers who used to praise my sharp mind and academic potential were now dodging my gaze, pretending to be deaf and blind. Just then, a deep voice echoed from the back of the auditorium. “What is going on here?” Everyone turned around. Principal White walked in with a dark expression. He was only invited to present the awards, so he clearly didn’t expect to walk into such a mess. The dean rushed over to him and whispered in his ear. As Principal White listened, his frown deepened. His eyes flickered with relief when he looked at Chloe, but turned icy cold when they landed on me. He walked onto the stage and took the microphone. “Elena, the school’s reputation comes first. Cooperate with us for now. Once the showcase is over, I will give you an explanation.” “Cooperate?” My eyes welled with tears, and my voice trembled. “By ‘cooperate,’ do you mean I should just stay quiet while the project I spent a month staying up until 2 a.m. to write, verify, and perfect gets handed over to someone else?” “And you’re going to erase all my hard work just because of a baseless accusation she made?” “Let me ask you, where is the fairness? Where is the justice? Aren’t you ashamed of doing this to a student who actually brought glory to this school?” Principal White was left speechless by my questions, but Chloe didn’t show a single shred of shame. She raised her chin at me. “Fairness?” She scoffed. “Elena, don’t be so naive. In this world, whoever has the power defines what’s fair.” “If you want justice, go find a billionaire dad to buy it for you. Too bad you don’t have one.” With undisguised contempt, she sneered, “Meanwhile, my status as the daughter of the Vance Group’s CEO is enough to keep you crushed under my feet for the rest of your life!” I stared at her, a strange, uneasy feeling growing in my chest. She was so confident… Could my dad really have…? No, impossible. My mom is far too smart and powerful. My dad wouldn’t dare. But I didn’t realize that my palms were already sweating. I suddenly spoke up. “I heard that Mr. Vance only has one daughter. I wonder where you popped up from, Chloe?” Chloe’s expression stiffened for a second, then she rolled her eyes. “That’s my older sister. Of course I’ve met her. But she lives abroad and rarely comes back to the States. A low-class commoner like you would never get to see her anyway.” I sneered. “Really? If you’re so high-class, why did you have to steal someone else’s research and grant money? Are you sure you’re not a fake?” “You!” Chloe’s face turned pale with rage as she glared at me. “Elena! Don’t push your luck. Your award was revoked because you don’t deserve it. I won this fair and square!” “Fair and square?” I took a step forward, locking eyes with her. “Do you mean by sleeping through classes, playing on your phone, saying absolutely nothing during group discussions, and not even knowing how to write a basic literature review?” “Or do you mean the talent of staring at a blank Google Doc all day and only typing the words ‘Capstone Project’?”

I didn’t speak fast, but every single word was a slap to her face. Her mouth hung open, unable to find a comeback. She looked at Principal White for help. Disappointment flashed across Principal White’s face, and he raised his voice at me. “Elena! Watch your mouth! This is an elite preparatory academy, not a flea market. You don’t get to yell at people here!” “Don’t think that just because you won a few awards for the school in the past, you can look down on everyone. This is a meritocracy. You need to accept being replaced by someone more capable. Stop making a scene!” All eyes turned to me. Everyone was waiting to see me ruin my reputation over a fifty-thousand-dollar scholarship grant. Fifty thousand? I wouldn’t care if it were five hundred thousand. What I wanted was justice. I didn’t scream, and I didn’t argue. I just gave them a sarcastic smile. “Fine. I accept it. The Best Capstone Project award should indeed go to the ‘more capable’ student.” The moment I got back to my seat, two school-wide email notifications popped up on everyone’s phones. [Student Elena Vance is suspected of academic dishonesty and has severely violated the honor code. Elena Vance’s academic awards for this semester are officially revoked, and she is placed on immediate suspension.] [Transfer student Chloe Miller, who bravely defended academic integrity and demonstrated outstanding performance, has brought great honor to our school. She is now awarded the research grant, replacing Elena Vance on all scholarship rosters.] Immediately after, Principal White’s voice blared through the school’s PA system. [Elena Vance, for violating school rules and showing disrespect to faculty, you are required to submit a five-thousand-word apology letter to the Dean of Students’ office. Let this be a warning to all students!] This was too much. They stripped me of my project, turned me into a villain, put me on a public stage of shame, and used my humiliation to build up her authority. The classroom fell dead silent. Even the hallway outside was quiet. Everyone was looking at me with mixed emotions—some with pity, some with anger, and others with sheer amusement. The notification remained pinned at the top of the student portal, as if waiting for me to bow my head in shame. Principal White spoke through the PA again. [Elena Vance, did you hear me?] I still didn’t respond. They kept repeating the announcement like crazy. Lily sent me a Snapchat message: [Elena, don’t be stubborn. Just apologize. Your graduation is on the line.] I smiled at her, but tears welled up in my eyes. I didn’t reply. I turned off my phone, opened an elective textbook, and calmly started reading. I went ahead and deactivated all my school portal accounts, fully accepting the suspension. Principal White, claiming that a suspended student shouldn’t occupy prime classroom space, moved my desk to the very back corner. I was forced to endure the daily pitying and condescending stares of classmates walking by. During lunch, the girls I used to eat with stopped inviting me. When Chloe walked past my desk, she tilted her cup, letting a few drops of her boba tea splash onto my notebook. “Oh, my bad,” she giggled, her eyes completely devoid of apology. Chloe proudly sat in my former seat, ordering everyone in class around. But my seat wasn’t that easy to sit in. Every step of that capstone project, from topic selection to data analysis, from literature review to final conclusion, was done entirely by me. But Chloe knew absolutely nothing. Within days, several professors from the review board began questioning the authenticity of her project, demanding to see the raw sampling records and lab data. The school was suddenly facing a major academic scandal. Principal White finally couldn’t take the pressure anymore. Swallowing his pride, he walked over to my desk in the corner. “Elena, you were the one who collected the raw data for this project. The review board wants to verify the sources. Hand over the raw sampling logs and lab records to Chloe so she can submit them.”

I slowly looked up, pretending to be utterly confused. “Principal White, are you asking the wrong person? I’m currently a ‘suspected plagiarist.’ If I hand over my data, what if I get accused of stealing it again?” He paused, his voice turning stiff. “This is about solving a real-school crisis. Don’t let your emotions get the best of you.” I spread my hands. “It’s not that I don’t want to help. The Dean’s office confiscated all my research journals and hard drives yesterday under the guise of ‘investigation.’ You should ask them.” His face froze, his eyes burning with anger. “Are you doing this on purpose?” I looked at him calmly. “Principal White, I am currently suspended. According to school policy, I am barred from participating in any academic affairs. You should let Chloe handle this.” Principal White looked extremely embarrassed, but he forced himself to stay patient. “How about this? You give her the data, and we’ll let this whole thing slide. I will reinstate your award eligibility.” I looked up at him. “Principal White, you know those samples took me three months, traveling to five different spots across the Bay Area, to collect.” He was silent for a moment, then murmured, “I know. But Chloe has the Vance Group backing her. What do you have?” I smiled. “Principal White, shouldn’t you ask the winner of the Best Capstone Project? Her project was so brilliant, surely she collected her own data.” His face flushed a deep crimson, struggling to keep his temper in check. “Elena, it was just some school drama. Are you really taking it this seriously?” My smile remained, but it turned ice-cold. “So revoking my award and taking away my fifty-thousand-dollar grant was just ‘school drama’?” “And labeling a project I wrote line-by-line as plagiarism was also just ‘school drama’?” Every word I said felt like a physical slap to his face. His face turned from red to white, then to a dark purple. He stood there in silence. I knew he was fighting with his own pride—after all, apologizing to a student didn’t fit his prestigious principal persona. Just then, Chloe ran over, looking ecstatic. “Principal White! My dad just agreed to increase his donation to the school’s endowment!” A victorious grin instantly broke across Principal White’s face. “That is outstanding! Chloe, you are truly a blessing to this school. With the Vance Group backing us, who cares about those review board skeptics?” He turned to me, glaring with absolute malice. “Elena, you are officially expelled. Go to the administration building and sign your withdrawal papers right now!” I nodded calmly. “Fine. But I expect the school to pay out my contract compensation according to the enrollment agreement.” He lost his mind and yelled, “Compensation? You have caused immense damage to this school’s reputation! Just wait until our lawyers sue you!” Chloe sneered, “Elena, I will make sure you are blacklisted from every school in California!” I smiled faintly. “I’ll be waiting.” I quietly packed my backpack and walked out of the school I had dedicated a year of my life to. I had poured all my time and energy into this place. I didn’t rely on my family background; I used my own brain to put this school on the academic map. And in return, I was expelled. My heart felt like it had been sliced by an icicle—cold and bleeding. A few classmates came out to see me off, offering quiet words of comfort. Lily said with tears in her eyes, “Elena, you’re so smart. You’ll do amazing wherever you go. Don’t listen to Chloe. You’re going to get into a much better school.” I smiled and said nothing. Chloe didn’t have the power to stop me. Once I stepped off school grounds, my phone rang. It was my mom. “Elena, honey, I just landed. I’m scheduled to sign the endowment agreement at your school next week. How are things?” I kept my voice flat. “Mom, I’ve been expelled.” Silence on the other end. “Why?” “Chloe Miller says she’s Dad’s daughter—the sole heiress of the Vance Group. Principal White believed her.” The phone was silent for five long seconds. Then, my mom’s voice came through, cold and deep as an abyss. “I see. I’ll see you next week.” I hung up and let out a soft laugh. Don’t worry, everyone. The show is about to start. When I showed up at the annual scholarship banquet, everyone from my former school was shocked. Especially Principal White and Chloe, whose eyes practically shot daggers at me.

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Seven years after my death, my billionaire husband, Carter, sent me a text because of his assistant-turned-mistress, Chloe. “Harper, Chloe had another hit-and-run. Get over here and take the fall for her!” “Oh, and when you come to meet us, grab us a pack of condoms.” When he didn’t get a reply, he lost his patience and stormed into my old apartment. But the person who opened the door wasn’t me. It was my landlord. “What are you talking about?” Mr. Henderson, the landlord, looked at him in confusion. “I’m Harper’s landlord. Harper died seven years ago.” “I heard that right after she took the blame for that fatal car crash, she was stabbed to death by some vigilante right outside the courthouse.” Carter didn’t believe a word. He was convinced the landlord was on my payroll, lying to help me hide. He frowned, letting out a cold sneer. “She’s still throwing a tantrum just because I kicked her and our daughter, Lily, out of the apartment to make them reflect on themselves!” “Tell her this: if she doesn’t show up within three days, I’m cutting off the funds for Lily’s leukemia treatments!” With that, he turned on his heel and walked away. Mr. Henderson shook his head, sighing deeply. “What daughter is he even talking about? Lily passed away years ago because they ran out of money for her treatment…”

In the hallway, the key rattled loudly in the apartment lock. I floated near the ceiling, watching Carter barge into my dusty old apartment, holding a fake agreement in his hand. He covered his nose, waving away the dust, his leather shoes making sharp, impatient clicks on the floor. “Harper! Get the hell out here! Chloe is about to get indicted, and you’re still hiding?” I stood behind him, letting out a self-deprecating ghost of a laugh. Ever since I took the fall for that car accident seven years ago, Carter and I had cut all ties. I never expected that when he finally looked for me again, it would be to make me a scapegoat for his mistress’s new hit-and-run. I had to hand it to him. His love for Chloe was truly undying. Carter paced around the room twice. His eyes swept over the dust-covered sofa and the cobwebs on the windowsills. His lips curled in deep disgust. “Stop playing missing. Where could a felon like you even hide?” “Chloe just texted me saying the police are already investigating. Do you want her to rot in prison?” “I’m going to count to ten. You better get your ass out here right now!” I looked at his cold, handsome face. Seven years had passed, and he was still as arrogant as ever, taking everything for granted. But no matter how many times he counted to ten, I would never run to his side like a loyal dog again. Because I was already dead. “Harper! Did you hear me? Why are you being so difficult when I’m just asking for a simple favor?!” He suddenly kicked the bedroom door. The wood made a dull, heavy bang. But the room inside remained empty. Carter clicked his tongue in annoyance. After tearing the place apart and finding nothing, he finally realized no one was there. Muttering curses under his breath, he slammed the door and stormed out. Downstairs, the landlord was sweeping the hallway. Carter grabbed him by the shoulder. “Have you seen Harper? The girl who lives on the third floor.” Mr. Henderson blinked, lowering his broom. “Harper Vance? She passed away seven years ago.” I saw Carter freeze for a fraction of a second, but then he scoffed. “Who are you trying to fool? A woman like her doesn’t die that easily.” “I’m not kidding you,” Mr. Henderson pointed toward the alley outside. “Seven years ago, right after her trial for that fatal crash ended, she was stabbed to death the second she stepped out of the courthouse. Who are you to her anyway?” The landlord’s answer was too fluent to be a lie. A flicker of panic crossed Carter’s eyes. His brow furrowed, and for a second, his face showed a hint of pain that I couldn’t quite comprehend. But his phone buzzed, instantly drawing his attention away. It was a text from Chloe: *Never mind, Carter. Harper must still hate me. She’ll just find excuses to avoid us. Don’t stress yourself out for me. I’ll just go to prison. Please take care of yourself without me.* This single text was enough to convince Carter that my “death” was just a sick lie to avoid helping them. His fingers trembled as he typed back: *She has no right to refuse! I gave her a massive payout back then. She owes me when I need her!* *Don’t worry, I’ll find her and make her take the fall. I won’t let anything happen to you!* Once the message sent, Carter glared back at the landlord. “Stop acting! She’s definitely hiding. Did she pay you to say this?” Mr. Henderson sighed. “Sir, why would I joke about death? The police came to investigate back then…” “Like police reports can’t be faked!” Carter’s voice rose. He took a threatening step forward, his eyes burning with anger. “You tell her this. If she doesn’t show up in three days, I am stopping the payments for Lily’s leukemia treatments!” The landlord opened his mouth to speak, but Carter cut him off with a harsh wave of his hand. “Save your breath! Either she gets her ass out here, or she can start planning a funeral for Lily!” With that, Carter spun around and left. The motion-sensor light in the hallway flickered and died. Mr. Henderson looked at his retreating back, shaking his head. He whispered to the empty air: “What daughter is he even talking about? Lily passed away years ago because they ran out of money for her treatment…” I floated beside him, looking at the plastic water bottle Carter had kicked to the side. My soul felt as cold as ice. That payout money Carter mentioned? I never saw a single dime of it. While Lily was gasping for air on her hospital bed, waiting for the money to save her life, Chloe was using it to buy designer bags. And while I was bleeding out on the cold pavement, Carter was busy accompanying Chloe to a luxury gala. And now, here he was. Using a dead child to threaten a mother who was already in her grave.

My soul seemed bound to Carter. I was forced to follow him back to his penthouse. The moment he pushed the door open, Chloe rushed to greet him, anxiety written all over her face. “Carter! How did it go? Did you find Harper?” Carter shook his head, his expression a bit vacant. “No… and the landlord said Harper is dead.” “Dead?!” Chloe’s eyes went wide. She took a step back, her hand clutching Carter’s arm instinctively. “How is that possible? Is she… is she just hiding from us? She must have made up that lie to trick you!” Carter kept silent, his brow heavily furrowed. Seeing his silence, Chloe quickly squeezed out a bitter, self-sacrificing smile. “It must be that! Harper must still hold a grudge about what happened seven years ago. She made up this sick lie because she doesn’t want to help me.” “Carter, maybe… forget it? Don’t force her. I’ll just turn myself in…” Carter remained quiet for a long moment, but eventually, he nodded. “You’re right. She’s definitely hiding.” “But we can’t let this go. Even if I have to dig up the entire city, I will find her and make her clear your name!” Chloe’s eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling. “Carter, you’re so good to me…” “However…” Carter suddenly cut her off, his tone hesitant. “If Harper went as far as to fake her own death, she must be utterly furious.” “Chloe, this is the last time. Once she takes the fall for you and gets out of prison, you and I are done.” I stood beside them, so shocked I almost forgot I was a ghost. Carter was actually proposing to break up with Chloe? I still remembered how he used to scream at me, turning our lives upside down just to defend this woman. Back then, we had been married for less than a year when Chloe was hired as his assistant. From that moment on, they flirted right under my nose. If I questioned him even a little, he would call me petty, insecure, and crazy. But now, he was willingly ending it? Carter didn’t notice the stiff, ugly expression on Chloe’s face. He turned his head away, his voice dropping. “I need to… go back to Harper. I gave her money back then, but I really did ruin her life these past few years.” “To be honest, I feel… really guilty.” Chloe stared at him in utter disbelief. “Carter… are you leaving me?” “I don’t know,” Carter avoided her gaze, his frown deepening. “But ever since I stepped out of Harper’s apartment, my chest has been feeling incredibly tight. I have this awful feeling that something bad has happened.” He paused, trying to sound firm again. “But I will help you with this hit-and-run! I won’t watch you go to jail. I’m going to look for her now. Wait for me.” With that, he turned and left, his back tense with determination. Chloe stood frozen in the living room. But the moment the door closed, her vulnerable, pitiful facade vanished completely. I saw it clearly. Her eyes turned venomous, filled with raw, murderous hatred. And the name she hissed through her gritted teeth was mine.

Desperate to find me, the first place Carter could think of was Lily’s hospital. I followed his car as he sped toward the city hospital. I knew this route by heart. For years, my life had been nothing but a constant loop between my cheap apartment and this hospital. Nothing had ever changed. I watched Carter slam his foot on the gas pedal. His forehead hadn’t uncreased once since he got into the car. Of course. He was losing his mind over Chloe’s mess. He didn’t even park properly before sprinting into the pediatric wing. He grabbed the nurse at the front desk. “Check the room number for Lily Vance.” “Oh… okay,” the nurse stammered, looking down at her computer screen. Suddenly, a cold laugh echoed from behind him. “Well, if it isn’t Carter Vance. What brings a big shot like you to our humble hospital?” Carter spun around, his face instantly darkening. It was Rachel Sterling, the former head of legal counsel who used to work with his company. From what I knew, they had despised each other for years. For some reason, right after I took the fall and went to prison seven years ago, Rachel had terminated her contract with Carter’s company. Seeing her rival, Carter glared at her, annoyed. “What I do is none of your business, Rachel.” Rachel crossed her arms, a mocking smirk playing on her lips. “You’re right, it’s not. I’m just curious—how can a human being be so cold-blooded?” “You were nowhere to be found when they were in critical condition. Now that they’re both gone, you finally show up?” “Critical condition?” Carter’s brows knitted tightly. “What are you talking about?” Carter looked genuinely lost, as if he couldn’t understand English. But I knew exactly what Rachel meant. She was talking about me and Lily. When I was stabbed seven years ago, I was already dying in the ambulance. The paramedics had called Carter, wanting him to come say goodbye. But he was too busy vacationing with Chloe, wanting “uninterrupted couple time.” He hung up without a second thought. Later, when they tried calling again, his number had blocked them. And Lily suffered the same fate. When Lily’s treatment was halted due to lack of funds, the doctors said she was in critical condition. When they tried to reach him, he was traveling the world with Chloe. In the end, when Lily took her last breath, there was no one by her side. She left this world completely alone. Staring at Carter’s bewildered expression, Rachel let out a sharp scoff. “Nice acting. Honestly, I don’t know what Harper ever saw in you to sacrifice so much.” Rachel didn’t waste another word on him. She turned on her heel and walked back into her office. Carter stood frozen in the hallway, his fingers tightening around his steering wheel keys. It was a nervous habit he only did when he was terrified. But… what was he afraid of? “Mr. Vance?” the nurse’s voice broke the silence. “The patient you’re looking for…” The nurse hesitated, looking pityingly at him. “Lily Vance passed away three years ago.” Carter’s pupils dilated instantly. He froze, as if nailed to the floor.

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At our engagement party, my boyfriend of seven years, Austin, handed me a piece of chocolate. He forgot that chocolate is the one thing I absolutely despise. So, right then and there, in front of everyone, I called off the wedding. Everyone was stunned. Austin splashed a glass of wine right onto my face. “Just because of a piece of chocolate?” he hissed, his face red with rage. “You’re calling off our wedding over this? Are you out of your mind?!” I wiped the wine from my face and looked him dead in the eye. “Yes, I am. Go find yourself a girl who loves chocolate and marry her instead.” “Chloe Davis!” “Do you even have a conscience?” “Seven years! We’ve been together for seven years, and you’re dumping me just because I forgot one little thing you don’t like?” Austin screamed, his chest heaving as his tall frame trembled with anger. “Oh? You think this is the first time?” I let out a cold laugh. “Let’s end this. The wedding is off.” The rage on Austin’s face suddenly froze, replaced by a flash of panic. He clearly didn’t expect me to be this serious. Our parents and the guests stood there, mouths agape. No one had ever imagined a scene like this at our engagement party. After all, Austin and I were always the “golden couple” in our social circle. “It’s just a mistake. Aren’t you overreacting?” Austin’s best friend, Hailey Vance, couldn’t watch any longer. She stood up and glared at me. “When your business project was stolen by a competitor last year, Austin used all his family’s connections and stayed up for three nights straight to help you get it back.” “If it weren’t for him, your career would have been over.” “And remember when you had that terrible stomach flu? Austin ran out in the middle of a thunderstorm at midnight to get your meds, and he ended up with a high fever for a week.” “Have you forgotten all of that?” Her words were sharp, accusatory. The guests around us began to whisper. “Chloe, Austin has always been so good to you. Why can’t you two just sit down and talk?” Austin’s mother, Mrs. Miller, tried to suppress her annoyance, keeping her voice gentle. “Yes, if there’s an issue, talk it out. Don’t do something you’ll regret,” Austin’s father, Mr. Miller, added in a stern, authoritative voice. My own parents finally squeezed through the crowd, their faces pale with embarrassment. “Chloe! What on earth do you think you’re doing?!” My mother grabbed my arm, her voice trembling. “Everyone is watching! Stop making a scene!” “Calm down, Chloe. Don’t make this any uglier than it already is!” my father whispered urgently beside me. Austin quickly stepped up to me. He took a tissue and gently tried to wipe the wine from my face, his voice softening. “I’m sorry, Chloe. I lost my temper. We can talk about this.” “I promise I will never touch chocolate again.” “If there’s anything else you’re unhappy with, tell me. I’ll change. I promise.” He was practically begging, lowering himself in front of everyone. His mother quickly pulled up a chair for me, expecting me to take the peace offering and sit down. But I pushed Austin away, my eyebrows furrowing. “There is nothing to talk about. I don’t love you anymore.” “Just looking at you makes me sick.” Silence. The temperature in the room instantly dropped to freezing. No one expected me to be this brutal. “Chloe Davis!” This time, Hailey completely lost it. She grabbed my wrist. “Austin treated you like a queen! How can you be so heartless?” “He gave you everything! Now that your life is comfortable, you think you can just discard him? You are disgusting!” Seeing her yell at me like that made me laugh. “I heard your favorite snack is chocolate,” I said softly. “That box of chocolates… you picked it out, didn’t you? He bought it specifically for you.” “What crap are you talking about?!” Hailey raised her hand as if to slap me, but I reacted quickly and pushed her back. Suddenly, a sharp pain bloomed at the back of my head. I spun around and saw Austin holding a heavy glass. He had just thrown it at me. He rushed past me, completely ignoring my pain, to help Hailey up. “Hailey, are you okay?” he asked, his voice filled with panic and care. Hailey shook her head, tears welling in her eyes. Austin let out a sigh of relief, then turned to glare at me. “Have you lost your mind today? Go ahead and fight with me, but how dare you push Hailey?” I touched the back of my head. “Did I start this?” My fingers came away wet and red. Blood. Austin’s face paled for a fraction of a second. “Chloe, I… it was an accident. I wasn’t thinking. I’ll take you to the hospital.” “And Hailey is just my best friend. I was just worried about her. Don’t be so dramatic.” He reached out to grab my hand. “Don’t touch me!” I spat, my voice ice cold.

Austin froze in his tracks. “I’m sorry, Austin. This is all my fault.” Hailey turned to me, her voice cracking with tears. “Chloe, please don’t blame Austin. It’s all on me.” Her acts of playing the martyr instantly won the sympathetic looks of both our families and the guests. Austin looked at her with pure heartbreak. “How is this your fault? Don’t apologize to her!” But my expression remained deadpan. “Get out of my face. Both of you.” Instantly, Mr. Miller’s face turned thunderous. He was clearly at his limit. My parents looked ready to faint from embarrassment. My mother hissed, “Chloe Davis! If you don’t stop this right now, I am done with you!” My father whispered, “Stop this madness! How are we supposed to show our faces in public after this?!” Austin finally snapped. “Chloe, we’ve been together for seven years. We barely even argued.” “And today, you’re ruining everything over a stupid chocolate? What the hell do you want from me?” His eyes were bloodshot, his voice cracking. To anyone else, he looked like a heartbroken victim. But I remained completely indifferent. “No matter what you do, we are over.” Mr. Miller slammed his hand on the table, standing up. “Chloe! Do you have to be this stubborn?” “Apologize now, and we can still salvage this!” Mrs. Miller added, “We invited several local influencers to livestream this party today. If this gets out, it will ruin your reputation and your family’s!” They thought the threat of social media ruin would make me back down. But I gritted my teeth and stared back. “We are breaking up. And Austin is going to pay me back for every single penny and year I wasted on him. I want compensation for emotional distress!” Bang! Mr. Miller’s face turned purple with rage. He threw his wine glass at my feet. “Get out! Get the hell out of my sight!” Mrs. Miller raised her voice, pointing at a camera. “Fine! Since you want to play dirty, we’ll let the internet judge you! The TikTok live stream is running right now!” They wanted to turn this private disaster into a public execution. The large screen in the banquet hall was broadcasting the live stream. The comments were already flying by at lightning speed: [Calling off a seven-year relationship over chocolate? Is she insane?] [I feel so bad for Austin. What a psycho.] [Seven years ended like this? There must be more to the story.] [A live-streamed breakup? Grab the popcorn!] Outside, the sky was a gloomy gray, and a light drizzle was falling. Ignoring the glares of the crowd and the hateful comments flashing on the screen, I looked at Austin’s family. “Fine. Three days. We’ll settle this on a public live stream.” With that, I walked out of the hall alone and drove myself to the hospital. While the doctor was wrapping my head in bandages, my phone finally rang. It was my childhood friend, Logan Carter. “I just took a little trip to the chocolate boutique where Austin bought that box,” Logan said, his voice dripping with amusement. “And boy, did I find some interesting things.” My spirit lifted. “They’re trying to ruin me on a live stream in three days. I need everything you can find. I’ll pay you triple your usual rate.” “I don’t care about the money, Chloe,” Logan laughed softly. “Just promise me one thing when this is over.” “Deal,” I agreed immediately. I trusted Logan. He was the best private investigator in the city. Three days was more than enough time for me to prepare my counterattack.

The news of my breakup with Austin spread like wildfire after the engagement party. The internet completely turned against me. [Unbelievable! Austin’s family is so wealthy, and she’s just a nobody. How dare she act so entitled?] [Throwing away a seven-year relationship over chocolate? What a selfish, cold-hearted gold digger!] [I’m so disappointed in her.] [She’s so toxic!] The comments got nastier by the hour. I ignored them all. I spent the night in the small staff room behind my diner. The next morning, I got up early to prep for the lunch rush. But before noon, Austin showed up. And of course, he brought Hailey and a couple of cameramen holding phones to live-stream. “Chloe.” “How is your head? Does it still hurt? Hailey and I came to apologize. I brought your favorite chicken soup.” He offered me a thermos, his voice gentle and caring. “Chloe, please stop being angry. The viewers on the live stream are watching. Just give us a chance to make it right.” Smash! I slapped the thermos out of his hand. The hot soup spilled all over the floor. Austin froze, his face twisting from shock to pure rage. Behind him, Hailey whimpered and shrank back, playing the terrified victim. The camera zoomed in on my face. The chat was exploding: [Oh my god, what a bitch! He literally brought her soup and she threw it?] [Austin is trying so hard, but she’s just toxic. I bet she’s already cheating on him.] [Hailey is such a good friend, still trying to help them make up.] Despite the cameras, I kept my face blank. “Get out of my diner.” Suddenly, Hailey dropped to her knees right in front of me. The camera immediately got a close-up of her tear-streaked face. “Chloe.” “Please don’t hate Austin. Yesterday was my fault. If you want to take your anger out on someone, do it to me!” The comment section went wild, praising her: [She is so sweet and selfless!] [Austin should marry Hailey instead of this psycho!] Austin looked at me, his eyes telling me to stop. Instead, I walked behind the counter, grabbed a bucket of dirty mop water, and dumped it right over Hailey’s head. Everyone gasped. The live stream chat went into overdrive: [WHAT THE HELL?! IS SHE INSANE?] [Dumping dirty water on someone who is kneeling and apologizing?!] [Call the police! Arrest her!]

Austin’s eyes bulged in shock. “Chloe Davis! Have you lost your mind?! Hailey literally knelt down to apologize to you, and you treat her like this? Thousands of people are watching!” “She asked for it,” I said, a cold smirk playing on my lips. Austin was trembling so hard his knuckles turned white. He turned to the camera, looking utterly heartbroken. “Chloe! I am officially done with you! I must have been blind to love you for seven years! You want to break up? Fine! We are over!” “I’ll see you at the live-streamed confrontation in three days!” “I will make sure the whole world sees what a monster you really are!” He spat out his final warning, helped Hailey up, and stormed out. For the next two days, my diner was completely empty. Instead of customers, people came by to throw trash and red paint at my door. I became the most hated woman in the city, my name trending on Twitter. My parents even showed up at my diner, crying and demanding I go apologize to Austin. Austin’s family had pulled strings to set up a massive, televised live-stream event. They wanted to publicly expose me and clear Austin’s name. Reporters kept trying to interview me, but I kept my mouth shut. I only told them one thing: I would be there.

On the day of the live stream, millions of viewers tuned in. My parents didn’t show up. They only sent me a text, begging me to confess and apologize before the show started to save their faces. “Chloe.” “It’s been three days. Have you finally cleared your head? If you apologize to Hailey and me right now, I can pretend none of this happened. The viewers are waiting for your response.” Austin sat across from me, his eyebrows knit together in mock concern. I met his gaze, my face completely expressionless. “Chloe,” Hailey chimed in, her voice sweet and dripping with fake sympathy. “This is your last chance. Don’t ruin your life over pride.” Austin’s parents sat beside them, silent but smug. I didn’t say a word. I just sat down directly opposite Austin. The Miller family sneered. The live chat was filled with comments praising the Millers for being so generous and calling me an ungrateful bitch. The host, a popular local drama influencer hired by Mr. Miller, stepped up to the microphone. “Alright, Chloe,” the host said, her tone hostile. “Besides Austin forgetting you hate chocolate, do you have any actual, logical reasons for calling off this engagement?” “Because right now, all we see is a man who loved you dearly, and a woman who threw it all away over a minor mistake.” The entire setup was designed to publicly humiliate me. Everyone in the room looked at me like I was a joke. Hailey even had a small, triumphant smirk on her lips. But I remained calm. I kept my eyes on the entrance of the studio. Right on cue, the double doors opened. Logan Carter walked in. I finally let out a breath. “Proof?” I looked at the host. “Oh, I have plenty.” The host blinked, then let out a condescending chuckle. “Well, please, show us. We’re all waiting.” She thought I was bluffing. The live chat was flooded with: [Let’s see what lies she has prepared lol.] “On the day of our engagement, Austin bought two boxes of chocolate. One dark chocolate, one milk chocolate.” “But he told me he only bought one.” I spoke clearly. Austin’s face stiffened, a flicker of panic crossing his eyes. “And you,” Logan spoke up, stepping to the center of the stage. “Knowing Chloe is deathly allergic to dark chocolate, you purposely handed her the dark chocolate box. Why?” Logan plugged a USB drive into the console, and Austin’s receipt from the chocolate shop flashed onto the giant screen behind us. The camera zoomed in on the date, time, and the two items purchased. The chat went quiet for a second before comments started popping up: [Wait, he did buy two boxes? Why did he lie?] [Is there something else going on?] Seeing the shift in the room, the host frantically looked at Austin, signaling him to explain. Austin licked his dry lips, struggling to find words. Hailey quickly jumped in. “The other box was for me! Austin didn’t tell Chloe because she’s incredibly insecure and always gets jealous when we hang out!” Mrs. Miller immediately shook her head at the camera, sighing dramatically. “Hailey grew up with us. She’s like a sister to Austin. He was just being a good brother.” “Exactly,” Mr. Miller added. “They are just best friends. Chloe’s jealousy is toxic.” Their explanation immediately swayed the chat back to their side. The comments started calling me “insecure” and “crazy.” The host smirked at me. “Is that all you have? Give up, Chloe.” “Don’t worry about them, worry about yourself,” I replied with a smile. “Austin and Hailey’s relationship is far from innocent.” “Take a look at the screen.” Logan nodded to the tech booth, and the first video started playing.

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My best friend Lauren’s older brother, Logan, is finally back from his years abroad. Word on the street is that he’s been so buried in his career that his love life has been an absolute desert. Lauren couldn’t stop sighing about it. “I’m happily child-free, and my brother is a certified workaholic with zero romantic prospects. At this rate, the Miller family legacy ends with us!” A few days later, I finally met the man, the myth, the legend. And my brain completely short-circuited. Why did he look exactly like the guy I slept with four years ago—the biological father of my daughter? I’d heard Lauren rave about her brother for years. He was a man with a reputation for having an iron will in the business world, and he’d been her idol since they were kids. But ever since Lauren and I became friends, he’d been stationed overseas managing their international mergers. I’d never actually laid eyes on him. Until a week ago, when Logan officially returned. And this time, it seemed like he was back for good. Now, looking at Lauren, who was completely wasted and passed out on the bar table, I was trying to figure out how to haul her home. Suddenly, her phone buzzed. It was Logan. I hesitated for a moment. But when the phone started ringing for the third impatient time, I finally swiped to answer. “Where are you? I’ll come pick you up,” a deep, raspy voice vibrated through the speaker. Honestly? It was incredibly hot. My ears started burning for no reason, and I cleared my throat. “Hi, I’m Sophia, Lauren’s friend. She’s… a little past her limit right now.” Before I could finish, Lauren suddenly bolted upright from the table like a zombie. “My poor, tragic brother!” she wailed into the night. “He sacrificed his youth to conquer the overseas market, and now he’s old, single, and totally unwanted! He’s going to die alone!” The other end of the line fell into a terrifying, dead silence. My cheeks burned with embarrassment, curing my own mild buzz instantly. “She’s really drunk. Here’s the address.” “Eight Maple Street,” he said simply. The line went dead. I waited with Lauren inside for a bit, and when the time felt right, I helped her outside to wait by the curb. In the distance, a sleek black SUV pulled up. A tall man stepped out of the driver’s seat. He was wearing a sharp, tailored cashmere coat that emphasized his broad shoulders and insanely long legs. I couldn’t make out his face in the dim light, but his silhouette alone was striking. But the next second, the air caught in my throat. He shut the car door and started walking toward us. His stride was steady, carrying an aura of effortless authority. As the streetlights illuminated his face, the shadows shifted, and his features began to look terrifyingly familiar. My fingers tightened around Lauren’s arm, my entire body freezing up. *No way,* I screamed internally. *It’s been four years. The world is huge. There’s no way…* He stopped right in front of us. He was so close that I could see the sharp angle of his jaw and catch the faint, crisp scent of cedarwood radiating from him. Then, he looked up and locked eyes with me. Time slowed to an absolute crawl. Those sharp, piercing eyes, the deep-set brow, the firmly set lips. Every single detail dragged a buried memory right back to the surface. That chaotic night… the burning heat of his skin in the dark, the roughness of his palms, his heavy, ragged breathing in my ear… My heart hammered violently against my ribs. It was him. It was really him. The stranger from the bar four years ago—the man whose name I didn’t even know, but who had given me my beautiful daughter—was standing right in front of me. Lauren’s brother, Logan Miller, was Nina’s father. My one-night stand. Right then, the phone in my pocket began to vibrate furiously. The FaceTime ringtone sounded deafening in the quiet night. “Is that Nina?” Lauren mumbled, leaning heavily on my shoulder and squinting at the screen. “It’s so late… pick up…” My fingers trembled violently as I reached into my pocket. Logan stood there, his towering figure practically casting a shadow over me. I swiped the screen, and Nina’s chubby little face filled the display. “Mommy!” Her bright, sweet voice cut through the tense air like a knife. I saw Logan’s brow twitch ever so slightly. “Nina,” I turned my body away, lowering my voice to escape the gaze that felt like it was burning a hole through my skull. “Why are you still awake, sweetie?” “I missed you, Mommy! Where are you?” Nina peered curiously at the screen. In the background, I could hear my mom, Lisa, telling her it was bedtime. “Mommy’s outside, I’ll be home soon,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady, though my throat felt like it was closing up. “Go to sleep with Grandma, okay?” Even without looking, I could feel Logan’s eyes locked onto the side of my face. “Okay… Goodnight, Mommy.” Nina blew a kiss and hung up. The moment the call ended, the silence returned. But this time, it was tighter, heavier, and charged with something dangerous. Lauren was now practically draped over her brother, mumbling nonsense. Logan held her steady with one arm, but his gaze never left my face. “Sophia,” he said suddenly. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. My heart leaped into my throat as I looked up to meet his eyes. “Do you need a ride home?” he asked. “No…” I gasped, desperate to escape. “I can manage. Thank you.”

Having Nina was a complete accident. Four years ago, I had just gone through a brutal breakup. I went to a bar to drown my sorrows and ran into a man who was the definition of brooding, dangerous, and insanely attractive. Every breath he took seemed to cater exactly to my specific type. Fueled by liquid courage, I took him home. To my surprise, we were perfectly, mind-blowingly compatible that night. To this day, I could still feel the phantom sensation of his large, calloused hands gripping my waist, sending shivers down my spine. At the time, I thought maybe, just maybe, this could turn into a real relationship. But the next morning, he woke up to a phone call that made his expression turn incredibly grave. “Understood. I’m on my way.” He got out of bed and dressed in a flash. Then, he scribbled a string of numbers on a piece of paper. “I have an emergency cross-border acquisition I have to handle immediately. You can reach me at this number.” I didn’t even know his name. I figured we’d get in touch later, but a month later, I stared at a positive pregnancy test. In sheer panic, I called the number. It rang and rang. Nobody ever picked up. I assumed I’d been ghosted. He probably wasn’t interested, made up a dramatic excuse to leave, and gave me a fake number to keep me from clinging to him. Due to some health complications, abortion wasn’t a safe option for me, so I chose to have the baby. And I never regretted it. Nina was the sweetest, smartest little girl, and these past years with her had been the best of my life. The next morning, Lauren called me, nursing a massive hangover. “My brother is such a brute! He practically threw me into the car and bruised my arm. I’m telling you, Sophia, men like him are dominant and have zero gentleness. Avoid them at all costs…” Before she could finish, Logan’s deep, emotionless voice drifted through the line. “It seems you’ve already forgotten the lesson from last night.” Lauren instantly shut up. But then, she seemed to remember something, and her tone turned shameless. “Hey, Logan, are you free this afternoon? Can you help my friend move?” “No.” “Perfect!” Lauren completely ignored him and spoke directly to me. “I found us some free labor. He’ll help us move this afternoon.” “No, really, Lauren, I can do it myself,” I pleaded. “Come on, we’re family! Plus, he’s just adjusting to the jet lag and has nothing better to do anyway.” I thought Lauren was joking. But that afternoon, she actually showed up at my place. And right behind her was a towering, breathtakingly handsome man.

I own a boutique coffee shop in the city center. I’ve been running it for years, and business is pretty good. I don’t have extra staff, so I handle everything myself. Sometimes, when it gets crazy, Lauren comes over to help out. Lately, business has been great, and I’d saved up enough to upgrade my living situation to a nicer apartment. That afternoon, I was in the middle of labeling moving boxes when I heard arguing outside my door. “You made me cancel a business dinner just to help her move? She didn’t even hire a moving company…” “What’s wrong with helping her move? Do you sleep on the streets, Logan? If you keep being a jerk, I’m telling Dad you’re a heartless monster!” “Fine. I’m keeping score,” Logan replied, his voice calm, though the threat was clear. “You better pray you don’t need a favor from me anytime soon.” Realizing they were about to start a full-blown sibling war, I quickly stepped out. “It’s fine, really! I don’t have that many boxes. I don’t need this much help.” I looked up, intending to apologize to Lauren’s brother. “I’m so sorry, Logan. Lauren didn’t explain things clearly, and she dragged you here. I—” The words died in my throat. He was wearing a dark brown overcoat today, looking even more striking in the daylight than he did under the streetlights last night. His features were sharp, his jawline perfectly chiseled, and his eyes—the exact same eyes that had haunted my dreams again last night—were locked onto me. My heart skipped a beat. Even though I’d realized the truth last night, seeing him this close in the broad daylight brought a wave of raw, overwhelming shock. I hadn’t even processed the fact that he was Lauren’s brother, let alone how to face him. I forced myself to look away, turning to Lauren. “…I can really do this myself.” “Fine! If you don’t want to help, just leave! Nobody’s begging you with that grumpy face of yours anyway,” Lauren rolled her eyes and linked her arm through mine. “Don’t apologize to him, Sophia. He’s been gone for years and has completely lost his manners.” “I never said I wouldn’t help,” Logan sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Where are the boxes?” “Wait, what?” Lauren blinked. “The boxes. Where are they?” Logan took off his overcoat, revealing a perfectly tailored black button-down shirt that subtly showed off the hard lines of his chest and back. He draped his coat over a chair and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. The muscle definition in his forearms was insane—he clearly worked out religiously. My mind flashed back to the night of our one-night stand, remembering how those strong hands had gripped my waist… I violently shook my head to clear the thoughts. With Logan there, Lauren and I were instantly relegated to the sidelines. Lauren sat by the counter, sipping coffee and scrolling through Snapchat, happily bossing her brother around. I hid in the bedroom, pretending to be busy packing clothes. My mind was a complete mess. *Does he remember me? Probably not. It’s been so long…* As I was spiraling, a deep voice broke the silence. “I’ve moved everything from the living room.” “Oh! Thank you!” My bedroom wasn’t huge, and with his massive frame stepping inside, the space suddenly felt incredibly cramped. I instinctively took half a step back, accidentally knocking over a small storage organizer. Logan reacted instantly, bending down to catch it. The lid popped open, revealing a piece of neatly folded lace underwear. The delicate, soft fabric caught on his finger, creating a stark, wicked contrast against his black sleeve. I froze. I vividly remembered wearing something very similar that night… My face flushed a violent crimson. Logan stared at me, his eyes darkening. He leaned in, so close that I could count his eyelashes. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous murmur. “You seem terrified of me, Sophia. Why?” My breathing hitched, our gazes locking. Trapped and desperate, my brain completely short-circuited, and I blurted out the first thing that came to mind: “Lauren told me you hit women!” Without waiting for his reaction, I ducked under his arm and bolted out of the room. Outside, Lauren heard the commotion and walked over. “Hit women? Who the hell is hitting women?!” With Logan’s help, the move went incredibly fast. An ordeal that should have taken until 8 PM was completely wrapped up by four in the afternoon. Lauren didn’t want to overstay, so she grabbed Logan to leave. But the giant of a man stood firmly in my half-unpacked living room, looking like he had no intention of moving. “Is Sophia really so stingy that she won’t even buy us dinner?” he asked smoothly. My cheeks burned. “Of course I can. What do you guys want to eat?” Lauren’s eyes went wide. “Logan, how do you have the nerve? Asking my friend to buy you dinner? Are you serious?” Logan’s face remained impassive. “You guys pick the place. I’ll pay.” “Okay, now we’re talking!” Lauren grinned, linking her arm with mine and whispering, “My brother is loaded, Sophia. It’s rare for him to open his wallet. Don’t be polite—pick the most expensive place you can think of!” I don’t know if it was coincidence or fate. But the restaurant we ended up choosing was right next to the bar where Logan and I had met four years ago. Neither Logan nor I were big talkers. Thankfully, Lauren was a chatterbox, keeping the atmosphere from becoming painfully awkward. Still, I could feel Logan’s gaze lingering on me throughout the meal. It was intense, burning, and completely undisguised. Suddenly, my phone rang. Lauren immediately leaned over to sneak a peek at the screen. “Is that Nina? Oh my god, I miss her so much. Put her on FaceTime!” Across the table, Logan’s expression froze. As I stood up to take the call outside, I caught his deep, strained voice asking: “She’s… married?”

Logan’s question immediately set Lauren off. “What is that supposed to mean? You don’t need a husband to have a kid, Logan. Don’t be such an old-fashioned boomer!” “So she’s not married?” Logan instantly relaxed, leaning back in his chair and taking a sip of his drink. A tiny smirk played at the corner of his lips. “Good. What about the father? Have you met him? Who is he?” Lauren stared at him, her expression turning suspicious. “Logan, you’re looking a little too happy about this. You can’t start hating on other people’s happiness just because you’ve been single for a century.” Logan raised an eyebrow. Lauren leaned in. “Look, when Sophia gets back, don’t you dare bring up Nina’s dad. I’m pretty sure she hasn’t dated anyone else because she still can’t get over that deadbeat jerk.” Hearing this, Logan’s smirk vanished instantly. By the time I walked back to the table, they had finished their little hushed argument, and I sat back down. I’d never told Lauren the full story about Nina’s dad. For one, we only met after Nina was already born. Secondly, I figured I’d never see the guy again, so there was no point in digging up the past. I had only vaguely mentioned that the father was unreachable after I got pregnant. But Lauren had clearly filled in the blanks herself, assuming he was a classic pump-and-dump scumbag. To spare my feelings, she had never pressed for details. And now, things were incredibly awkward. Even though I felt guilty lying to Lauren, I didn’t dare drop the truth bomb about Nina’s parentage yet. I didn’t know Logan well enough. If things went south, it would ruin my friendship with Lauren. Later that evening, Lauren and I had a few drinks, so Logan naturally took the keys to drive us back. As the car headed north, Lauren pressed her face against the window. “Wait, you’re going the wrong way! Sophia’s place isn’t over here.” “I’m dropping you off first,” Logan said smoothly. “I have some errands to run later, so I’m not heading straight home.” Lauren pouted, grumbling, “If we knew you were busy, we wouldn’t have let you drive. Sophia and I could have gone to another bar for round two.” Logan glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “In your condition? I don’t think so.” The car pulled up to the Miller estate, and Lauren reluctantly got out. Feeling the suffocating tension of being alone with Logan, I quickly unbuckled my seatbelt. “Actually, my place is pretty close from here. I can just call an Uber. Since you have errands—” “It’s no trouble. It’s on my way.” Lauren nodded in agreement through the window. “Yeah, just let him drive you. He doesn’t have anything important to do anyway!” Pushing it any further would make me look guilty, so I had no choice but to accept. “Where to?” “Cherry Street Apartments, please.” He glanced at me through the rearview mirror, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “Didn’t you want a round two? I’m taking you there now.” “No, really, Lauren was just joking,” I said politely. “Thank you for today, Logan. Sorry for the trouble.” “Are we really going to pretend we’re strangers, Sophia?” I hadn’t expected him to be so direct. My breath hitched. Before I could answer, he spoke again, his voice filled with certainty. “You remember.” “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Liar,” he murmured. “Did Lauren never tell you what my background is? I’m trained to read micro-expressions and emotional shifts.” Panic surged, and I tried to force my face into a blank mask. Seeing this, Logan let out a soft, genuine laugh. “I was kidding about that part.” “Logan!” “There you are,” he said softly. “You’ve been so incredibly tense around me all day.” Terrified of giving away anything else, I shut my mouth and refused to say another word.

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My CEO boyfriend just gave the promotion he promised me to someone else. And demoted me to a satellite office. He casually told his friends, “Chloe needs this platform more. Evelyn is stronger anyway; she can go to the New York branch and open up the new market.” “It’s her own fault for refusing to hand over the design drafts for the Starlight Collection to Chloe. A little reality check will teach her how to make the right choice. Don’t worry, I know Evelyn better than anyone. Where else could she possibly go without me?” My mind went completely blank. Among my luggage scattered on the floor was the anniversary gift I had specially bought for Liam. I left the group chat, blocked his number, and threw the gift in the trash. Then, I accepted the job offer a rival company’s partner had sent me. He had no idea. He could throw away our future for Chloe. But I could throw him away, too, and choose my own path. Liam’s words cut through my heart like a knife. He used to say his partner had to be a capable, independent woman, not someone relying on family connections. So I started from the very bottom. The Creative Director position was a promise he made to me five years ago. He promised that once I secured that role, we’d get married. But now, he handed it to someone else on a silver platter. Without even having the decency to tell me to my face. In the group chat, someone asked him, “What if Evelyn actually accepts the relocation?” Liam laughed it off. “Are you kidding? She worked harder than anyone for this promotion, pulling all-nighters just to be closer to me. There’s no way she’d agree to move that far away from me… You guys just don’t get it.” The guys in the chat started hyping him up, calling him a boss. Then someone else chimed in. “But what if she really does? She’s incredibly protective of her projects. She’d never just let someone else take them.” Liam paused for a few seconds before typing back, his tone turning cold. “Cut the crap.” “Evelyn can’t live without me. Last time I went to New York for a merger, she found an excuse to fly out to see me within three days. This relocation is miles away. There’s no way she’d agree to it.” “To her, I’m way more important than any job title or project. She’ll back down. Just watch.” After that, the chat went dead silent. After a long pause, someone finally ventured, “Liam, isn’t that a bit harsh on Evelyn? I mean, she built the Starlight Project from scratch. Everyone knows that. You should at least talk to her.” Liam let out an annoyed sigh. “Ugh, I don’t want to deal with it.” “You know how dramatic Evelyn can get. If she finds out I gave the director position to Chloe, she’ll blow up. It’s easier this way. Less drama.” The group chat buzzed again. “True, Chloe’s family has way more influence anyway.” “Liam really is the man.” … Those casual jokes crushed what was left of my spirit. I wanted so badly to call him, to scream and demand answers. But my thumb hovered over the screen, unable to press dial. In the end, I just stared blankly at the ceiling, completely numb, and buried myself under the covers.

Staring at the ceiling, my mind drifted. How could someone change so fast? The Creative Director position was his promise to me five years ago. He told me it wasn’t just a job—it was the throne he saved for me, the starting point where we could stand side by side and receive everyone’s blessings. He had said, “Once you’re in that seat, we’ll get married. I want the whole world to see that the woman I chose deserves the absolute best.” But just when our future was finally within reach, he let go of my hand and ran toward someone else. If he wanted to give the position to Chloe, I wouldn’t even have hated him if he had just been honest. But why keep me in the dark? Did he really think so little of me? If I was such a nuisance, what was that late-night proposal, when he slipped a ring on my finger and promised me forever? Was the night too dark, the lights too dim, for him to see who he was actually promising his life to? I curled into a ball, hiding in the dark, and finally let the tears fall. The irony was, I wasn’t the one who couldn’t survive without him. He was the codependent one. Every time I took on a major project and we had to be apart, he would get incredibly anxious. He only calmed down when he dragged me back to the core decision-making table by his side. So while I steadily built my career, I constantly pulled him along with me. Liam was right about one thing—I had always written him into my future. I was willing to compromise for love, as long as it didn’t compromise my integrity. But that didn’t mean I would let him walk all over me. I closed the company portal I had accidentally opened, wiped my tears, and logged out of my work email for the last time. He had his schemes, but I had my backup plan. From now on, our paths diverged. I had just finished washing my face when my phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from Liam. “Babe, pick up! I need to see you!” When I didn’t answer, he sent several more FaceTime requests before finally texting: “We’re all at our usual spot. Everyone’s waiting for you. Come over, I’ll send my driver to pick you up.” But I was done. “Tired. Staying in,” I replied. The reply came instantly. “Are you sick? I’m coming over.” “No. Don’t come,” I texted back, frowning. Just as I hit send, a text from Chloe popped up. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. I practically begged Liam to let me tag along. I didn’t know it would upset you. I can leave right now. As long as you come, I don’t mind going home.” The text reeked of fake sweetness. Before I could reply, my phone started blowing up with notifications from the group chat, tagging me repeatedly. “Evelyn, what is your problem? Can you not stand Liam having other friends? Your jealousy is getting out of hand.” “Are you seriously throwing a tantrum just because Chloe is prettier and more popular than you? Get over yourself.” I froze, my instinct to explain myself dying instantly when a direct text from Liam arrived. “Evelyn, I invited Chloe. If you’re mad, take it out on me. Why are you targeting her?” “Whatever. Come or don’t. We actually get things done faster without you here anyway.” Right after, someone posted photos of them at a high-end restaurant in the group chat, with a passive-aggressive caption: “Dinner tastes so much better without certain people bringing down the vibe.” Unbelievable. I left the group chat, blocked every single one of them, and then blocked Liam on Snapchat, FaceTime, and my contacts. He used to be my pinned contact. Now, he was just trash in my blocked list.

To be honest, when Chloe first joined us as a representative for our partner company, I actually considered her a friend. Back then, Liam even warned me, saying she wasn’t as innocent as she seemed and told me to keep my distance. I spent so much energy trying to smooth things over between them to make the partnership work. But that changed at the annual charity gala. Chloe traded her clunky glasses for a stunning red silk gown, and overnight, Liam’s tune changed completely. He never told me to stay away from her again. Instead, they grew closer and closer. He started introducing her to our most important clients and investors. By the time I realized what was happening, my hard-earned professional network had been handed over to her. Liam treated Chloe with a strange, delicate tenderness. Once, after Liam and I had a massive blowout over a major investment decision, we didn’t speak for three months. I told him, “If you think Chloe aligns better with your vision, I’ll step down from the executive team.” But Liam actually cried. He held me and said, “You’re the only one I care about, Evelyn. Chloe’s family is going through a rough patch and her company is sinking. I’m just helping her out of pity while integrating their assets.” And I, like a fool, believed him. He treated me like an idiot. Their “strategic partnership” became a convenient shield for their constant flirting. And now, he had officially kicked me out of the game just to clear a path for her. I felt like the biggest joke in the world. By the time I snapped out of my thoughts, the sun had set. My mom came home and noticed my sour expression. She smiled softly. “Fight with Liam again? He called me saying you blocked him. He wants you to unblock him.” I muttered a vague excuse and headed out. HR had scheduled my final transition meeting. When I entered the conference room, the prime seat to Liam’s right—which had always been mine—was empty. Without hesitating, Chloe slid right into it. Liam didn’t object. He casually accepted the cup of coffee she handed him, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. He was waiting for me to bow my head and apologize. Too bad for him. I walked past them and sat at the far end of the long conference table. “Alright, everyone,” Liam announced, his voice professional. “Starting today, Chloe will be taking over as Creative Director. She will also head our partnership with Vanguard Group. Evelyn will be relocating to our New York branch to oversee the expansion.” Ethan, the senior executive from Vanguard Group, suddenly looked at me and smiled. “What a coincidence. Our headquarters in Paris is actually looking for a Creative Director with exactly your caliber, Evelyn.” I ignored the VP’s question and opened my mouth to speak to Ethan, but Liam stood up, grabbed my arm, and pulled me out of the conference room. “Evelyn, when are you going to stop this?” Liam hissed the moment the door shut. “First the silent treatment, and now you block my number?” “I’m warning you, unblock me right now, or don’t even think about stepping foot in my office again.” I stared at his angry face for a second. “Good. I wasn’t planning on it anyway.” Liam’s face flushed with anger. “Fine! Don’t come crawling back begging for my attention later!” I turned to leave, but he suddenly grabbed my wrist again, his eyes softening slightly with a strange urgency. “The transfer deadline is tonight. Review the relocation package and benefits again. Make sure you didn’t miss anything…” Before he could finish, Chloe stepped out of the room with a folder. “Liam, babe, I’m a bit confused about this European market budget draft. Do you have a few minutes?” “Sure, let’s take a look,” Liam said instantly, focusing his attention on her papers. I let out a cold laugh and walked away. By the time Liam looked up to say something else, I was already at the door. “Evelyn, make sure you double-check those contract details! Double-check them!”

Please. He really thought his word was law. He probably thought the threat of being shipped off to New York would scare me into giving up my projects and begging him to let me stay. Keep dreaming. Since he didn’t have the guts to tell me the truth, I played along. He thought dealing with my feelings was too much work, and honestly, explaining myself to him was exhausting. Thank God my brain finally started working again. Back in the room, Ethan noticed my tense expression. After the meeting adjourned, he invited me to a small private cocktail party to take my mind off things. As I was leaving the venue later that evening, I ran into Liam standing near the entrance, his face dark. He glared at Ethan, his expression murderous. I knew he was jumping to conclusions, but I couldn’t care less. I walked right past him, treating him like a ghost. Near the entrance of the parking garage, I bumped into him again, this time talking to one of our VPs. “Liam, seriously, you need to talk to Evelyn,” the VP was saying. “Are you really okay with sending her to New York alone to start from scratch?” Liam scoffed. “She’s expanding our market. Why wouldn’t I be okay with it? Besides, she’s definitely signed the relocation agreement by now. She’s just throwing a tantrum to get my attention.” I paused, stepping right into their line of sight. Liam quickly dismissed the VP. Ethan gave me a polite nod and walked ahead to give us space. Liam cornered me against my car. “Going to parties behind my back and hanging out with our rivals? You’re getting pretty bold, aren’t you, Evelyn?” “Did you think this would actually make me jealous?” He grabbed my wrist, his voice dropping into that familiar, casual tone. “Fine, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have snapped at you the other day. We’re good now, right? Did you sign the transfer papers?” Then, he hesitated before adding, “Also… do you mind taking a quick look at Chloe’s budget draft? She’s struggling with the numbers.” I stared at him in dead silence. The tension became thick enough to cut with a knife. Right on cue, the click of high heels echoed through the garage. Chloe sauntered over, pouting. “Liam, the legal team is being so mean to me. Can you come help me look at this contract?” Then, pretending to notice me for the first time, her eyes widened in fake surprise. “Oh! Evelyn! You’re here too? Don’t tell me you saw the industry press release about me being here and decided to follow us?” “Please don’t get the wrong idea. I just wanted to learn, so I begged Liam to bring me. I’m still so new to this and need all the exposure I can get.” Ugh. There it was again—that grating, manipulative tone. I had zero energy to play along with her little drama. Taking advantage of Liam’s momentary distraction, I yanked my hand free and went to open my car door. But Chloe stepped right in front of my car, blocking my way.

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After we got back together, I changed every single habit Alexander hated. I stopped calling him to ask where he was. I stopped getting jealous over nothing. I stopped making a scene over the little things. Even when I found a delicate diamond bracelet in his suit pocket. I simply took it out and placed it quietly on the vanity. He thought I had finally learned to be understanding. He thought I finally realized how hard he worked for our future. What he didn’t know was that my one-way ticket to Paris was already booked. I was leaving him. For good. *** Alexander paused when he walked into the bedroom and saw the bracelet on the vanity. His face darkened. He loosened his silk tie but didn’t head straight to his study like he usually did. Alexander had sharp, aristocratic features and a chillingly handsome face. He carried the heavy, natural authority of a man who ruled a business empire. But right now, he pinched the bridge of his nose, looking incredibly exhausted. “Sophia dropped that,” he said. “There was a yacht party hosted by her father last night. She drank on my behalf, and the sea breeze was freezing, so I let her wear my coat. She must have slipped her bracelet into the pocket and forgotten about it.” He looked at me, making an explanation he would usually deem beneath him. “I’ve told you a thousand times, Zoey. She’s only the daughter of my grandfather’s oldest business partner. The Wright and Reynolds families have massive joint ventures. I have to play nice.” “Past, present, future—there is absolutely nothing between us.” I remained silent. Seeing my lack of reaction, a rare crack appeared in his always-calm composure. A look of sheer helplessness—something I had never seen on his face before—flickered in his eyes. “What do I have to do for you to believe me?” I smiled gently. “Nothing. I believe you. I’m not angry.” It was like throwing a heavy punch only to hit empty air. Alexander’s face went blank for a second. “…Then why are you acting like this?” I glanced at my watch, calculating the time I needed to get to JFK Airport, and offered a quick excuse. “You always said you didn’t like listening to useless details. I have an appointment to handle some personal business, so I need to head out early.” I turned to grab my purse, completely ignoring how his face suddenly fell. “You don’t usually go out at this hour,” Alexander said, his voice dropping. “It takes at least forty minutes to get downtown from here. You’re leaving way too early.” I hadn’t prepared for him to pay this much attention. I was forced to look up and meet his sharp, analyzing gaze. “It’s first thing in the morning. Instead of going to the office to handle the files for tonight’s charity gala, who are you running off to see?” Just as the suspicion in his eyes began to deepen… *Ding—!* A custom ringtone echoed through the room. It was Sophia. Alexander’s sharp gaze instantly shifted. His eyes flickered, looking guilty for a split second. “It’s Mr. Reynolds. I need to take this.” He immediately threw his suspicion of me to the back of his mind, turning to walk out onto the balcony. “Go ahead and make your own plans.” I nodded, quickly grabbing my handbag and coat. But before I could close the front door, he called out to me from the balcony, sliding the glass door open slightly. “Be careful on the road.” His voice was low, carrying that familiar, dismissive tone he used when he was trying to placate a child. “The jewelry set I ordered for you will be delivered tonight.” “I promised you before—I will never miss another anniversary.” “Happy seventh anniversary.” “I’ll see you tonight, Zo.” My hand froze on the doorknob. On our last anniversary, he had abandoned me at our dinner table to accompany Sophia to her father’s birthday gala. I had been in so much pain back then. Yet now, hearing him mention it, my heart didn’t even flutter. “You should answer your phone,” I whispered, not looking back. “Don’t keep her waiting.” After all, Sophia couldn’t wait. And my flight wouldn’t wait either. As for our anniversary… This year, next year, and every year after that—I would be permanently absent. ***

I barely made it onto the morning flight to Paris. Once I sat down in my first-class seat, a wave of dizziness hit me. I had skipped breakfast in my rush. Instinctively, I reached into my handbag. Sure enough, my fingers brushed against a box of artisanal chocolates. Ever since I had fainted at a high-society gala years ago due to severe stress-induced hypoglycemia, Alexander had made it a strict habit to slip a box of chocolates into my bag before any major event. As the sweetness melted on my tongue, the dizziness quickly faded. But right after, a lingering, suffocating bitterness rushed up my throat. Seven years together. How did Alexander and I end up here? In the beginning, I truly believed his excuse—that Sophia was just a family friend he had to indulge for the sake of business. That was why Alexander always kept his distance from me in public, introducing me merely as his “Executive Assistant,” while treating Sophia with utmost care as his “family sister.” When the manager of the Wright Group’s European division made my life a living hell at work, Alexander did nothing. But when someone slightly inconvenienced Sophia’s project, that person was fired the next day. People in their wealthy circle secretly nicknamed Sophia “the future Mrs. Wright.” They said it right to my face—the face of the “assistant” who was never publicly acknowledged. I forced myself to understand his pressure. But that “special treatment” eventually bled into our private life. Alexander stood me up again and again, canceling our dates the moment she called. Our first explosive fight happened on a cold night a year ago. I was scrolling through Instagram and saw a grid of photos posted by a mutual friend. Alexander, who had told me he was locked in a grueling, all-night global board meeting, was actually attending the Monaco Yacht Show with Sophia. I had begged him for months to take me to that very show. He had rejected me coldly: *“Those events are mindlessly superficial. It’s not appropriate for you to attend as an assistant.”* I remembered tugging on his sleeve back then, teasing, *“But I heard they’re debuting a limited-edition yacht this year. Can’t we just go look?”* Alexander hadn’t even looked up from his tablet. *“Going to those vanity shows is a waste of time.”* Yet in those Instagram photos, he was the picture of elegance, smiling warmly at Sophia. There wasn’t a single trace of annoyance on his face. When Alexander finally came home that night, I asked him in a flat, dead voice: “How was the Monaco Yacht Show?” A flash of surprise seemed to cross his eyes. Or maybe I was just hallucinating. Because a second later, his face became completely blank, devoid of any guilt. “Did you hire someone to stalk me?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed by a giant, icy hand. I couldn’t breathe. “Do I need to stalk you?” “The pictures of you and her at the show are all over social media!” My chest heaved violently as I struggled for air. “Alexander, if you want to break up, just say it! You don’t have to lie to me like this!” Alexander’s expression didn’t even change. He was as calm as a detached spectator. “If you don’t even have basic trust in me, then I have nothing to say.” “Zoey, I’ve been networking all day. I don’t have the energy to fight with you.” No guilt. No explanation. Compared to my hysterical, messy self, he was so painfully dignified. He didn’t even forget to place the yacht show’s souvenir brochure neatly on the coffee table. The luxurious yacht on the cover felt like a sharp blade, stabbing straight through my chest. All the resentment and humiliation I had suppressed for years suddenly boiled over. The last thread of my sanity snapped. In a fit of rage, I grabbed the brochure and hurled it at the floor. The envelope wasn’t sealed. The items inside tumbled out, scattering across the hardwood floor with a soft clatter. I didn’t even look down. I just stared at Alexander with bloodshot eyes. We glared at each other, like two enemies on a battlefield. After a long, agonizing silence, he grabbed his coat and slammed the door as he left. I stood there like a statue, frozen in the cold apartment. Until something rolled against my foot. I looked down. My breath caught. It was chocolate. A scattered mess of handmade, customized chocolates. My heart softened again. I decided I wanted to talk to him. To fix us. ***

But for three whole days, Alexander didn’t answer my calls, and he didn’t come home. I swallowed my pride, typing a message through my tears: *“I’m sorry for throwing a tantrum without talking to you first.”* *“But it’s a fact that you lied about the global meeting to go to the yacht show with her.”* *“Tonight is our sixth anniversary. I’ll be waiting for you at home.”* *“Can we please just sit down and talk?”* I waited from sunrise to sunset. He never showed. As the clock neared 11:00 PM, I finally made up my mind to drive to his family’s estate to find him. But on my way to the parking garage, I ran into Marcus Rossi—the manager Alexander had kicked off the project team. He had been drinking, his eyes wild with rage. He dragged me into a dark alleyway. “Fucking bitch! I don’t dare touch the future Mrs. Wright, but you think I won’t touch a pathetic little ‘assistant’ like you?” I screamed. I called Alexander’s private number over and over, but it just went to voicemail. If it hadn’t been for a security patrol car passing by and scaring him away, my injuries would have been far worse than just a sprained ankle and bruised wrists. When my phone suddenly lit up and started ringing in the back of the police car… I let out a sharp, traumatized gasp. Seeing his name on the screen, the strength that had held my spine straight all night collapsed instantly. I broke down, crying hysterically into the receiver. “Alex—” “Hello?” Sophia’s voice answered, thick with sleep and a soft, irritated whine. “…Who is it… so late…” In the background, I heard Alexander’s deep, muffled voice close by. Sophia seemed to cover the mouthpiece, whispering softly to him, “It’s fine, go back to sleep… I think it’s just Zoey.” Then she spoke back into the phone. “He drank too much at the downtown club tonight and just fell asleep. If it’s about work, can it wait until tomorrow?” My throat felt like it had been stuffed with burning coal. The raw flesh of my throat felt scorched, blistered, and torn. The pain was so intense I wanted to rip my own vocal cords out. Simply pressing the button to end the call felt like it took every ounce of life left in me. I went to the police station alone, limping, looking utterly wretched. By the time the paperwork was done, the clock on my phone hit 12:01 AM. I finally received another call from Alexander. His tone was as arrogant and detached as ever. “Have you realized your mistake yet?” In that second, I understood. He had done this on purpose. All those unanswered calls on our anniversary. It was his punishment for my “lack of trust.” Tears streamed down my swollen face, burning my scraped skin like battery acid. When I spoke, my voice was a broken, raspy whisper. “Alexander, let’s break up.” There was only a second of silence on the other end. Then, Alexander let out a cold scoff. “Fine. Don’t regret it.” He hung up without a shred of hesitation. He agreed to the breakup as if throwing away a piece of trash. ***

In the beginning, the hardest part was falling asleep. I couldn’t stop tossing and turning, replaying every single detail of our seven years together. I was terrified that I had misjudged him, that I had unfairly sentenced our relationship to death. I went through our text history over and over. But the more I read, the more miserable I became. The sadness slowly twisted into a dark, suffocating resentment. I began to hate Alexander. Six years. Six whole years of my life. I hated how easily he had discarded me, without a single ounce of care. At 4:00 AM one night, in a fit of agony, I blocked and deleted him from every single social media platform. I dragged myself out of bed, packed every single item he had ever bought me into heavy boxes, and shoved them into the back of the storage locker. I thought doing this would bring me peace. But it felt like trying to swat a mosquito that was draining my blood, only to end up covered in my own wounds. I still had to attend essential business galas as his “former assistant” or “ex-project lead,” pretending nothing was wrong. But only I knew that a massive piece of my heart had been violently carved out. That piece had belonged to Alexander. It had rotted away. To survive, I had to amputate it. But I forgot that when the wound is too deep, the body bleed to death anyway. My emotional dam completely broke when I ran into him at a charity gala a month later. Alexander was as poised and commanding as ever. In fact, he looked even more radiant, as if my absence hadn’t affected his life in the slightest. Sophia was clinging to his arm, looking up at him with a blushing, secret smile. After that night, I stopped sleeping entirely. I couldn’t keep any food down. Since Alexander didn’t have public social media, I began obsessively stalking Sophia’s Instagram. I analyzed every single post, every geotag, looking for traces of him. I kept this up until my blood sugar crashed, and I fainted during a networking cocktail hour. I woke up in a hospital bed. Alexander finally condescended to visit me. It was the twenty-ninth day after our breakup. He sat by my bed, casually spinning the matching silver promise ring on his finger. “You’ve lost weight, Zo.” I stared at him, my eyes hollow, my mind completely numb. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. Alexander let out a satisfied, victorious smile. And just like that, we got back together.

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“Don’t call me Daddy! I’m not your father!” My mafia husband snarls, shoving our seven-year-old daughter away right before she can blow out her birthday candles. Sophie stumbles backward. Her little party crown slips off her head and lands on the floor. Nobody says a word. Fifty guests. Capos. Wives. Men who kill for the Hale family. Every one of them watches my daughter fall apart. I rush forward and catch Sophie before she hits the table. Her body shakes. She doesn’t cry. She just looks up at me, confused. “Julian.” My voice comes out low. “What the hell are you doing?” He doesn’t even look at me. He reaches into his suit jacket and pulls out an envelope. Tosses it onto the cake. The white frosting smears across the paper. “Paternity test,” he says. Loud enough for the whole room to hear. “Sophie isn’t mine.” The whispers start at once. My hands go cold. “That’s a lie,” I say. “She’s your daughter. You know she is.” Julian straightens his tie. Calm. Collected. He just destroyed a child’s birthday. He doesn’t care. “The DNA doesn’t lie, Riley. Maybe you should think about who else you were fucking seven years ago.” I can’t breathe. Before I can speak, my mother stands up from the head table. I think she’s going to defend me. I think she’s going to tell Julian he’s lost his mind. Instead, she walks over to me and slaps me across the face. The slap is loud. “How dare you,” she hisses. “You’ve shamed this entire family. Wasn’t it enough that you stole Elena’s life? Now you bring a bastard into a respectable marriage?” I press my hand to my cheek. The sting spreads across my whole face. Elena. Of course. I look past my mother, and there she is. Elena—the woman my parents believed was their blood daughter. Their lost heir. The one who replaced me overnight. She’s standing next to Julian, holding his arm. Her eyes are red. She wants everyone to think she’s been crying. Then I catch her smile. She’s enjoying this. “Riley,” my father says from his seat. He doesn’t stand up. Doesn’t even raise his voice. “We’ll discuss the family holdings tomorrow. You owe Elena that much.” Family holdings. They don’t care about Sophie. A seven-year-old just got called a bastard at her own birthday party, and they’re already carving up my family shares. Sophie tugs on my sleeve. Her voice is barely a whisper. “Mommy, can we go home?” Home. Where is that now? I pick her up. She buries her face in my neck. I can feel her tears soaking through my dress. I turn to Julian one last time. He’s already looking at his phone. Elena leans into his shoulder, whispering something. He smirks. I don’t say a word. I carry my daughter through the ballroom, past the staring guests, past the ruined cake. Nobody stops me. Nobody follows. The valet brings my car around. I buckle Sophie into the backseat. She still has her party crown in her hands. “Mommy?” she says quietly. “Yeah, baby?” “Is it true? Is he not my daddy?” My throat closes. I look at her in the rearview mirror. She looks exactly like Julian. The same jawline. The same dark eyes. Anyone with eyes can see it. “He’s lying,” I say. “I promise you, he’s lying.” She nods. But something in her face has changed. Something that shouldn’t change in a seven-year-old. I grip the steering wheel until my knuckles go white. Julian thinks I’ll crawl back. He thinks I’ll cry and beg and wait for him to forgive me for something I never did. He’s wrong. I pull out of the driveway and head toward Hale Tower, the clean front Julian runs for the family. If that test is fake, there has to be proof. And I’m going to find it tonight—even if I have to tear his desk apart with my bare hands. But when I get there, the lobby lights are still on, and I hear Julian’s voice drifting through the half-open door of his corner office. He’s laughing. —

I press my back against the wall outside his office. The hallway is dark. No one else is around. Julian’s voice comes through the cracked door. Easy. Proud. “You should’ve seen her face,” he says. “She looked destroyed.” Another man laughs. Marcus. Julian’s underboss. His drinking buddy. The man who never says no to Don Hale. “What about the kid?” Marcus asks. “She really isn’t yours?” Julian snorts. “Of course she’s mine. You think I’m stupid? Look at her face. She’s my clone.” I grab the wall. He knows. He’s always known. “So the DNA test—” “Fake.” Julian says it casually. He sounds bored. “I paid a family doctor to switch the results. Cost me ten grand. Worth every penny.” My nails dig into my palms. “Elena needed something to use against Riley,” he continues. “Her parents—well, Riley’s parents—they’ve been too slow to hand over the family holdings. Elena’s the blood heir, but Riley’s name is still on everything. The trusts. The clean businesses. The family shares. All of it.” Marcus whistles. “So you humiliate Riley in public, make everyone think Sophie’s not yours, and suddenly the whole family turns on her.” “Exactly. Now her parents will cut her off themselves. Elena gets everything she’s owed, and I get to keep the family alliance on track. Elena already promised me forty percent of the clean assets once the transfer goes through.” I can’t breathe. This was never about Sophie. This was a deal. “What about Riley?” Marcus asks. “You think she’ll actually leave?” Julian laughs again. That laugh I used to love. “Leave? Riley?” He takes a sip of something. I hear the glass clink. “She’s obsessed with me. She has been since college. She’ll cry for a week, I’ll send some flowers, take her to dinner, and she’ll come crawling back. She always does.” “And if she doesn’t?” “Then I’ll let her go. She walks away with nothing. No money, no shares, no family. Where’s she gonna go? No family protection. No money. A kid. No skills. She’ll be back in two weeks.” Marcus laughs. “Cold, man.” “Smart,” Julian corrects him. “There’s a difference.” I stand in that hallway for a long time after they move on to talking about golf. My hands stop shaking. I feel dead inside. Seven years. Seven years. I built his home. I raised his daughter. I helped grow his empire. I brought the alliances. I handled the books while he slept. And he just called me a woman with no skills. I walk back to the elevator. I barely recognize myself in the elevator doors. Mascara under my eyes. My mother’s handprint on my cheek. But her eyes are dry. I get in the car. Sophie is asleep in the backseat, still clutching her paper crown. I don’t drive to Julian’s house. I drive to my parents’ compound. Not because I think they’ll help me. I know better now. I’m going because everything I own—my documents, my trust papers, my shares—is locked in the study safe. And I need to get them before Elena does. The gates open automatically. The compound gate still opens for me. For now, the Hale guards still think I belong here. I carry Sophie inside and lay her on the couch in the foyer. She doesn’t wake up. She’s exhausted. I head down the hall toward the study. The light is already on. I push the door open and find my mother sitting behind the desk. Elena is standing next to her. My papers are spread across the desk. Trusts. Territory papers. Property papers. My mother looks up at me with no warmth in her eyes. “Good,” she says. “You’re here. Sit down. We need to talk about what you owe the real heir.” —

I don’t sit down. “Those are mine,” I say, looking at the papers on the desk. “Every one of them has my name on it.” My mother folds her hands. “Your name. On papers that belong to this mafia family. This family took you in, Riley. Don’t forget that.” Borrowed. Twenty-six years. They raised me since I was three months old. Birthdays, holidays, school plays. I called this woman Mom every single day of my life. So that’s what I am now. Not family. Property. Elena touches a tissue to her eyes. She’s wearing one of my old cashmere sweaters. The cream one I left in my closet last Christmas. “I’m not trying to take anything from you,” Elena says softly. “I just want what’s fair. You had my life for twenty-six years. My parents. My home. My name. My protection.” She pauses. “I had nothing.” I stare at her. She has practiced every word. “I earned those shares,” I say. “I worked for three years before I got a single—” “Enough.” My father’s voice comes from the doorway behind me. He walks past without looking at me and stands next to my mother. “We’ve spoken to the consigliere. You’ll sign tomorrow morning. The trusts, the family shares, the downtown apartment—all of it goes to Elena.” “And if I don’t sign?” He finally looks at me. “Then we take the paternity test to the Families. Julian’s already given us a copy. Every Don in the city will hear what you did.” “It’s fake,” I say. “The test is fake. Julian admitted it.” My father’s face doesn’t change. “Do you have proof?” No. I don’t. I was standing in a dark hallway, alone. “That’s what I thought,” he says. Elena reaches across the desk and touches my hand. Her fingers are cold. “Riley, I know this is hard. But think of it as giving back what should’ve been mine. You can start fresh. You’re strong. Everyone says so.” I pull my hand away. I look at the three of them. My mother. My father. The stranger wearing my sweater. “What about Sophie?” I ask. My mother’s mouth tightens. “What about her?” “She’s your granddaughter.” “She’s from your marriage. Your problem. Not this family’s.” A child with no blood claim. No protection. That’s what they mean. I look at the desk one more time. My whole life is spread out there. Twenty-six years. A stack of papers they want me to hand over to a woman I met six months ago. “I’m not signing anything,” I say. I turn around and walk out. My father calls after me. “You have until Friday, Riley. After that, we take it to court ourselves.” I don’t answer. I pick Sophie up from the couch. She stirs, wraps her arms around my neck. “Mommy, are we going to Grandma’s house?” “We just left, baby.” “Oh.” She rests her head on my shoulder. “Did Grandma give me a birthday present?” My throat closes. “Not today. But I’ll get you something better. I promise.” I carry her to the car. The porch light turns off behind us. My mother did that. Before I’m even out of the driveway. I buckle Sophie in and sit behind the wheel. No husband. No parents. No money. No home. No protection. Julian froze the bank accounts. My parents are ready to strip me of everything. My best friend won’t even answer my calls because she’s scared of Julian. I have a quarter tank of gas, a sleeping child, and the clothes on my back. I open my contacts and scroll. Old friends. Former colleagues. People who owe me favors. Not a single one of them will go against Julian. Not one. My thumb stops on a name I haven’t called in seven years. Silas. The man Julian once called “the only Don in this city who could ruin me.” The man I turned down seven years ago because the Hale family seemed safer. I stare at the number. My finger hovers over the green button. In the backseat, Sophie coughs. Then again. A rough, rattling cough that doesn’t sound right. I reach back and touch her forehead. She’s burning up. I don’t think anymore. My thumb hovers over Silas’s name. Then Sophie coughs again, harder this time. I almost press call. Then I stop. I can still make it to a hospital. —

Sophie’s cough gets worse every minute. By the time I pull into a gas station, she’s wheezing. Her forehead is so hot I can feel it through my sleeve when she presses against me. “Mommy,” she whispers. “My chest hurts.” I unbuckle her and hold her in the front seat, rocking her. She’s limp. Too limp for a kid who was running around a party three hours ago. I need medicine. A doctor. A bed. I pull out my wallet and try my credit card at the gas station register. Declined. I try the second one. Declined. Julian. He froze everything. Every account. Every card. I have eleven dollars in cash. I get back in the car and drive toward St. Mary’s on Fifth. They treat kids first. But it’s forty minutes away. Sophie moans in the backseat. My phone rings. For one stupid second, I hope it’s Julian calling to say this was all a nightmare. It’s Megan. My best friend since freshman year. “Megan, thank God. I need help. Sophie’s sick and Julian cut me off. Can I bring her to your place? Just for tonight—” “Riley.” Her voice is tight. Careful. “I heard what happened at the party.” “It’s not true. The test is fake—” “I can’t get involved.” She cuts me off. “Julian’s family controls Brad’s business. If I take your side, Brad loses everything. I’m sorry. I really am.” She hangs up. I stare at the phone. Eight years of friendship. She was my bridesmaid. Sophie’s godmother. Gone in fifteen seconds. Sophie coughs again. Deep. Rough. My stomach drops. I drive. I don’t know where. Just away. At ten p.m., I pull into a motel outside Hale territory. The sign says forty-nine dollars a night. I have eleven. I carry Sophie to the front desk anyway. Maybe they’ll let me pay in the morning. Maybe I can leave my watch until morning. Julian gave it to me on our third anniversary. The clerk looks me over. Smeared makeup. Wrinkled dress. Sick kid in my arms. “Card or cash?” he says. “I can leave my watch. It’s worth—” “We don’t do that.” He doesn’t even let me finish. “Card or cash. No exceptions.” “Please. My daughter is sick. I just need a bed for a few hours.” He leans back in his chair. “Lady, this isn’t a shelter. Card or cash. Try Grover Street. They take walk-ins until midnight.” Sophie lifts her head. Her eyes are glassy. “Mommy, I’m cold.” The clerk glances at her, then back at me. Not a single thing changes in his expression. “Grover Street,” he repeats. “Left at the light.” I walk back to the car. Sophie is shaking now. Not just coughing—shaking. I wrap my blazer around her and blast the heat. A shelter. He told me to go to a shelter. Twelve hours ago, I was hosting a catered birthday party in a house with six bedrooms. I sit in the driver’s seat and cry. Just for thirty seconds. I give myself that. Then I pick up my phone. Don Kent Silas. Seven years ago, he told me something I never forgot. We were standing outside a restaurant, and he’d just told me he was in love with me. I turned him down for Julian. Safer. More respectable. Better family connections. Silas looked at me and said, “If you ever need help—protection, money, anything—you call me. I don’t care if it’s been ten years.” It’s been seven. I press the call button. Three rings. “Riley?” His voice is deep. Alert. He sounds wide awake. “Silas. I need help.” My voice cracks on the last word. Silas doesn’t answer for two seconds. “Tell me where you are.” “Highway 9. The Bluebell Motel. My daughter is sick and I have no money. Julian—” “I know what Don Hale did. I heard an hour ago.” His tone shifts. Harder. “Stay exactly where you are. Don’t move. I’m sending someone.” “Silas, I don’t—” “Riley.” His voice drops low. Steady. “Let me help you. Just this once. You can yell at me tomorrow.” I almost laugh. Almost. “Okay,” I whisper. Fourteen minutes later, a black SUV pulls into the lot. One of Silas’s men opens the back door. Inside: a blanket, water, and kids’ fever medicine. My hands shake as I give Sophie the medicine. She swallows it without fighting. She’s too tired to fight. Silas’s man takes us straight to a private Kent clinic. Not St. Mary’s. Doctors come running the moment we arrive. A nurse takes Sophie from my arms. “Don Kent called ahead. We’ve been expecting you.” “Please help her,” I say. They take her through double doors. A nurse leads me to a waiting room with leather chairs and fresh coffee. I sit down. My legs give out. My phone buzzes. A text from a number I don’t recognize. *She’ll be fine. I’m on my way. —Silas* I stare at the message until the words blur. Then another text comes through. This one from Julian. *Don’t use the kid to guilt-trip me. We’re divorcing in three days. Hope you found somewhere to sleep tonight.* I read it twice. Then I delete his number. —

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I am the youngest lead surgeon for aortic dissection in the country. A lot of people say these hands of mine can snatch lives right back from death. But four years ago, I couldn’t snatch back my own daughter. That day, my assistant Mia placed an emergency consultation form in front of me. One glance at the family member’s name and my fingertips went rigid. The chart slipped from my hands and hit the floor with a dull thud. Adrian Blackwood. That name—I will never forget it as long as I live. Seven years ago, I was still Clara White. Back then I was pregnant and unmarried when I married the heir to the most powerful mafia family on the East Coast. Everyone said I was a woman chosen by fate. Only I knew it was the beginning of my nightmare. The year Lily turned three, Adrian took her to the countryside estate behind my back. For seven straight days I searched for her like a woman gone mad. I later found out he’d taken my daughter only to keep Sophia Hayes’s son Noah company. Sophia, the woman he’d grown up with. The day I found Lily, her congenital heart condition had flared. Her lips were blue-violet, her little body curled on the lawn, crying out for Daddy. But Adrian scooped up the boy who’d only scraped his knee, got in the car, and never once looked back. My daughter died that day. Mia bent down, picked up the consultation form, and asked me carefully: “Dr. Hart, are you taking this surgery?” I pushed the form back to her. My voice was cold, without a single ripple of inflection. “Initiate resuscitation. Follow standard consultation protocol.” “As for the lead surgeon, assign someone else.” “I’m recusing myself.” Mia froze completely. She’d been with me for years. No matter how dangerous the aortic dissection, no matter how high-risk the neonatal resuscitation, no matter how hopeless the case no one else dared touch, she had never seen me back down. She clutched the consultation form, her voice barely above a whisper: “Dr. Hart, this child is only seven years old.” My fingers faltered, just slightly. Seven. If Lily were still alive, she would have been seven this year. But she was frozen forever at three. I looked up at Mia. “When have I ever refused an emergency case?” “Resuscitation proceeds as normal. Consultation proceeds as normal. The treatment plan stays the same.” “Just assign a different lead surgeon.” Mia had no answer for that. Then, suddenly, a commotion erupted in the hallway outside. Someone was crying. Someone was arguing. Rapid footsteps hammered closer and closer. Mia’s face changed. “Dr. Hart, the family is forcing their way in.” I didn’t move. Through the half-open door, I heard a man’s voice—low, commanding, suffocating. “I don’t care what protocols your hospital has.” “I want the best doctor. Now.” That voice was like a rusted blade, ripping open a wound I thought had scarred over long ago. Adrian Blackwood. Four years, and he hadn’t changed a bit. Still accustomed to controlling everything. Still accustomed to ordering everyone around. Still accustomed to grinding rules beneath his heel with sheer power. Mia looked at me, caught between a rock and a hard place. “The family insists they won’t feel reassured until they’ve seen you. You have the highest success rate for aortic dissection surgery in the entire hospital.” I looked away. My tone left no room for negotiation. “Find another doctor.” “Don’t make me repeat myself.” Mia didn’t dare push further. She silently retreated to the side. I leaned against the wall, my fingernails slowly digging into my palms. Four years ago, on the third day of Lily’s disappearance, Adrian had been just as “calm”. He’d stood before me in a crisp suit, his expression indifferent. “They’ll find her. I’ve already sent people.” “You don’t need to panic like this.” At the time, I was clutching Lily’s little blanket, having cried until my voice gave out entirely. He stood right beside me and didn’t even extend a hand. I found out later that Lily hadn’t wandered off at all. He had taken her. Sophia had said Noah had been in a terrible mood lately, and the only time he’d settle down was when Lily was with him. So Adrian took my daughter to the countryside estate. Without asking me. Without telling me. By the time I got to the estate that day, Lily had been off her medication for seven straight days. She was crouched on the lawn, her small face turning purple, both hands clutching her chest, crying: “Mommy, it hurts.” I begged Adrian like a madwoman to drive her to the hospital. His car was right there at the gate. But Sophia screamed that Noah had fallen. So Adrian picked up the boy who’d only scraped his knee, got in the car, and never once looked back. I knelt on the gravel road, holding Lily, begging him. “Adrian, please, save Lily first.” “She really can’t hold on.” The sound of that car door slamming shut. I’ve remembered it for four years. After that, I divorced him. I left the Blackwood family. I changed my name. I went back to the hospital. I started from the bottom as the most junior surgeon, practically living inside the operating room. Cases no one else dared take, I took them. Dissection surgeries no one else would touch, I did them. Again and again I pulled patients back from the edge of death, and again and again I dragged myself out of the abyss. Until today, everyone knows that Dr. Evelyn Hart’s hands can snatch a life back before the aorta ruptures. But Adrian doesn’t know that. All he knows is that his son needs me now. And I am his only hope.

The door was thrown open while I was reviewing imaging for my next surgery. A group of people stormed down the cardiothoracic center hallway. The man at the front had bloodshot eyes, a loosened tie, and an overcoat carrying the chill of the small hours. Behind him trailed four or five bodyguards in black. Hospital security had been trying to stop him the whole way, but the bodyguards brushed them aside with ease. The head of security was drenched in sweat. “Sir, this is a medical area. You can’t barge in like this. You’ll interfere with the doctors’ work.” Adrian didn’t even glance at him. His gaze landed on the consultation form in Mia’s hands, and he closed the distance in long strides. “Where is Dr. Hart?” “Get my son’s surgeon out here. Now.” “Money is no object.” “Whatever you want—name the figure.” Mia took half a step back under the force of his presence and instinctively glanced in my direction. I stood at the far end of the corridor beside a pillar, most of my body hidden in shadow. From there, I could see Adrian’s profile clearly. Four years on, he was colder than before—more like a man who had truly assumed control of the Blackwood family. But that air of superiority hadn’t changed one bit. He didn’t see me. Or rather, it would never cross his mind that the woman he had personally driven to the brink could be standing here again—the one person he had no choice but to beg. His voice was ice. “The moment Dr. Hart agrees to operate, I’ll wire twenty million dollars.” “If you waste a single second, St. Catherine’s cannot afford the consequences.” “Don’t talk to me about rules.” He swept his gaze over everyone, eyes like blades. “Rules are for people without power.” The security chief tried once more to explain. Adrian raised a hand and flicked it. The bodyguards immediately blocked the man off. “I’ve done my research on this hospital.” “The best aortic dissection surgeon in the country is right here.” “You have the capability to treat him, yet you deliberately stall.” “That’s called disregard for human life.” Disregard for human life. Those words falling from his mouth, so light—like an accusation that cost him nothing at all. I stood in the shadows and nearly laughed out loud. The day Lily’s lips went from blue-violet to ashen gray, he carried another woman’s child away. Did those four words ever cross his mind then? Adrian glanced at his watch. “One final hour.” “If Dr. Hart does not appear within one hour, I will make everyone in this hospital pay—from the board of directors down to the last cardiothoracic surgeon.” The corridor fell deathly silent. Mia looked at me, white-faced. Adrian’s back was to me. He never turned around. His son’s life was a life. My daughter’s, apparently, was not. That car door slamming shut four years ago—he’d probably forgotten all about it. Or maybe he never cared to begin with. But the life he owes—someone has to collect.

Dean Morrison was summoned by the head nurse almost immediately. His forehead was slick with sweat, but he forced himself to speak: “Mr. Blackwood, this is a hospital. Emergency treatment has to follow protocol. As for Dr. Hart—” “I don’t care about protocol.” Adrian cut him off. “I want the person.” “You said the most capable surgeon is Dr. Hart. Then get her here.” Morrison tried to continue, but the sharp click of heels echoed from the other end of the corridor. “Adrian!” Sophia practically threw herself at him. Her face was ashen, her eyes rimmed red, and she seized his arm. “What’s happening? Is Dr. Hart here yet?” “Noah can’t wait any longer!” Her voice trembled, yet it still carried that same entitled shrillness. “He’s only seven! You’re going to make him lie in there waiting for what?” “For you people to hold your meetings and plod through your procedures?” Adrian put an arm around her and murmured: “I’m handling it.” “Soon.” Sophia couldn’t calm down. She turned on Morrison. “There’s a child in there, not some case file for you to drag your feet over!” “I want an expert who can actually save him, not some random body you’ve trotted out to placate me!” A few cardiothoracic surgeons finally spotted me in the corner, their voices dropping one after another. “Dr. Hart, just go ahead and see them.” “The child has acute aortic dissection. You’re the only one in this hospital who has the best chance.” “If this drags on any longer, none of us can bear the responsibility.” I leaned against the pillar and didn’t move. Just then, Adrian’s gaze swept in my direction. He looked at me once, then frowned—clearly impatient. “What’s this supposed to mean?” He turned to Morrison. “I’m looking for Dr. Hart. Why are you bringing me some young doctor?” Morrison answered immediately: “Mr. Blackwood, she is Dr. Evelyn Hart.” “Her?” Sophia looked me over too. Her eyes raked me up and down, full of skepticism and displeasure. “Is this some kind of joke?” “My son is in critical condition, and you’re putting a woman this young at the operating table?” The deputy chief steeled himself to explain: “Mrs. Blackwood, Dr. Hart is our strongest specialist in this area. Her success rate—” “What I want is someone who can save his life.” Sophia cut him off, her face cold. “Not your pretty talk.” “If something goes wrong, who takes responsibility? You? Or her?” I stood there, still saying nothing. The mask covered most of my face. After all these years, it wasn’t strange they didn’t recognize me at first glance. Besides, at this moment their eyes were fixed on Noah in the operating room—they weren’t going to look closely enough to figure out who I was. Adrian clearly didn’t buy it either. His expression grew even darker. “I’ve done my research.” “The best aortic dissection surgeon at St. Catherine’s is Dr. Hart.” He stared at the dean. “I want her. Not whoever you’re pushing out to placate me.” Sophia clenched her fingers, her breathing ragged, but she still managed that cutting edge. “My son can’t afford to wait.” “You’d better not gamble with his life.” The words had barely left her mouth when the corridor PA system crackled to life. “Cardiothoracic OR requesting backup—aortic dissection patient’s blood pressure continues to drop, vitals unstable. All relevant physicians report immediately.” This time, the hallway went completely quiet. Every pair of eyes landed on me. Morrison’s voice was tight: “Mr. Blackwood, the Dr. Hart you’re looking for—it’s her.” Adrian stared at me. He clearly hadn’t expected that the lead surgeon he’d mobilized every connection to find would be me. Sophia froze for a moment, then frowned. “Dean, are you certain there’s no mistake?” “My son’s life is not a game.” Morrison rushed to explain: “Dr. Hart may be young, but she has the highest success rate for this type of surgery in the entire hospital.” “Given the situation, she’s the one with the best chance.” Sophia’s face was grim, but she finally held her tongue. Adrian looked at me, his tone cold and hard. “Since it’s you, then get in there and operate.” “Everything else can wait until the child is saved.” I looked up at him. “So your son’s life is the only one that matters? Other people’s dignity and careers—those don’t count?” Adrian’s eyes darkened. The next second, he pulled out his phone. “The State Medical Board?” “I’d like to file a complaint against the cardiothoracic department at St. Catherine’s.” “A critically ill child can be treated, yet they refuse to operate. Disregard for human life.” “Send investigators immediately.” The line went dead. The air in the corridor snapped taut. Within minutes, calls flooded in from hospital administration and risk management. Morrison hung up and his face had gone white. “They’re demanding a full incident report immediately.” “The cardiothoracic emergency corridor is being placed under administrative oversight.” “All physicians involved in the consultation are to have their clinical privileges suspended pending investigation.” Several doctors panicked at once. Morrison hurried over to me, his voice nearly pleading. “Dr. Hart, please just take this case.” “This department didn’t get to where it is overnight. If this blows up, everyone is finished.” The deputy chief whispered: “Once a suspension of clinical privileges hits the record, who’s ever going to trust us at the table again?” “Please. Just help us out.” Adrian pocketed his phone and looked at me, still imperious. “Ready to operate now?” “Do it, and I withdraw the complaint immediately.” “Money, compensation, conditions—name them.” He paused, his voice dropping lower. “But if you keep stalling, the consequences of this entire department being suspended and investigated today—that falls on you.” Sophia finally couldn’t hold back, staring at me with reddened eyes. “Everyone is saying only you can do this, and you’re still standing here doing nothing. What exactly do you want?” “Do you need every single person here to grovel before you’ll save my son?” “You know perfectly well no one can replace you!” The corridor was terrifyingly still. Adrian stepped closer, his voice so low it scraped like frost. “I’ll say this one last time.” “You will take this surgery.” I looked at him. “Besides threats, is there anything else you know how to do?” That sentence ignited him completely. Sophia snapped too, the words tearing out of her: “If it were your child lying in there, could you really stand here this unmoved?” Every eye was on me. I looked at this man who would stop at nothing, and the irony hit me like a wave. Four years ago, he had stood before me exactly like this. Only back then, the ones he was protecting were Sophia and her child. And the one he trampled underfoot was my daughter’s life. I raised my eyes to Sophia, my voice so quiet it was almost ice. “As a matter of fact, I did have a child once.” I stared at them both and spoke, word by word: “And the person who watched her die and did nothing is standing right beside you.”

The moment my words fell, the corridor went so silent you could have heard a pin drop. Adrian’s eyes locked onto me, and something in them finally changed. It wasn’t simple anger. It was more like suspicion being pried open by force—carrying with it a dawning, belated dread. That line— I did have a child once —had finally given him something to grasp amid the chaos. He was beginning to overlap the doctor named Hart standing in front of him with the woman from his memory, the one who should have vanished long ago. Piece by piece, the images were converging. His voice sank. “What did you mean by that?” I didn’t answer. He stared at me, his brow knotting tighter and tighter. “Do you know me?” He took a step forward, his voice colder still. “Or are you telling me you came here today because of me?” Sophia sensed something was wrong, too. Her eyes were still red, but her fingers clenched instinctively. “What exactly are you trying to say?” “Noah is still in there. Who are you trying to scare with this nonsense?” I looked at her. My expression didn’t shift. Sophia, seeing me stay silent, only grew more frantic. “Everyone knows you’re the only one who can do this surgery.” “You clearly can save him, but you’d rather stand here and waste time.” “You just want to force us to our knees, don’t you?” Adrian’s gaze never left my face—as though he were trying to see through the mask, to make something out. After a long moment, he could no longer suppress that rising unease. His voice was low and strained. “Who… are you?” I looked at him, and suddenly I found it laughable. So after all these years, he could barely even recognize me. He only ever remembered the people he chose to remember. As for those he’d discarded, betrayed, ground into the dirt—why would they be worth keeping in mind? Sophia stared at me. “Noah is only seven. He can’t hold on much longer!” I spoke, my tone faint: “Seven.” “What a coincidence.” “If my daughter hadn’t died, she’d be seven this year too.” Sophia went still. I looked at her. Her expression froze. The panic in her eyes was almost impossible to hide. Adrian seemed to finally remember something. His gaze on me sharpened, and then turned complicated. I didn’t continue looking at them. I simply said, evenly: “Withdraw the complaint.” “Restore everyone’s clinical privileges.” “Do that, and then we can discuss what comes next.” Adrian stared at me, his eyes dark. “Why should I?” “Because right now, I’m the only one with the best chance of saving him.” I met his gaze. “You don’t have another option.” He stared at me for several seconds. In the end, he pulled out his phone and made the call. “It’s me.” “The complaint I just filed—withdraw it.” Ten minutes later, Morrison received the news. Complaint withdrawn. All physicians’ clinical privileges restored. No further action. Adrian put his phone away. His voice was pressed very low. “Now, can you go in?” I looked at him, my tone so flat there wasn’t a single ripple in it. “What I agreed to was giving you a chance to talk.” “Not letting you withdraw a complaint and then stand here giving me orders again.” Adrian’s face went dark. “You played me?” “Played you?” I tugged the corner of my mouth. “Compared to what you’ve done, this is nothing.” His fury ignited almost instantly, his hand already reaching for his phone. “I can make that call again anytime and have your entire department suspended.” “Go ahead.” I looked at him calmly. “But let me remind you—it’s not that this surgery can’t be done by someone else.” “It’s that the moment you switch surgeons, the success rate drops to a number you wouldn’t dare bet on.” That sentence nailed him where he stood. His chest heaved violently, his finger pressed against the phone, but he didn’t move again. Because he knew I was telling the truth. Just then, a nurse came sprinting down the corridor, her voice shaking. “Dr. Hart, the patient’s blood pressure is still falling—it’s dropped below fifty!” “If we don’t get on the table now, it’ll truly be too late!” Sophia’s legs buckled, her face white as paper. This time, she was genuinely terrified. She stared at me, tears finally falling, but her voice still held a last sliver of its edge. “What do you want?” “Do you actually want to watch my child die?” Adrian’s eyes locked on me. It was as though he had finally crushed every last scrap of pride. “Name your terms.” “Money. Status. Resources.” “Whatever you say, I’ll agree to it.” I said, coldly: “I don’t want any of that.” His brow knotted even tighter. “Then what grudge do you have against us?” I didn’t answer. The alarm from the operating room suddenly shrieked again. Shrill, urgent, shredding everyone’s nerves. The nurse’s voice was nearly breaking: “Blood pressure is still dropping!” “Dr. Hart, if this goes on any longer, the child will die on the table!” Sophia collapsed into sobs. And in Adrian’s eyes, something appeared that had never been there before. Not anger. Not a threat. Fear. He was finally feeling it—the same desperation I had felt four years ago, kneeling on that gravel road, clutching Lily, begging him. I looked at him and asked, softly: “Adrian, do you know what it feels like to watch your child die right in front of you?” His pupils contracted sharply.

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The prom after-party had descended into chaos by the time the spinning bottle stopped, pointing straight at Natalie. “Of course I have a boyfriend.” Her gaze slid toward Byron, the boy I had loved for ten years. The room fell silent. Then everyone erupted. I looked toward the corner, where Byron sat. He had told me countless times, “Celeste, on prom night, I’ll tell everyone that when I become Godfather, you’re going to be my wife.” But now he was slouched on that leather sofa, not even looking at me. Someone whistled. “Prove it.” Natalie smiled. She stood and walked straight to Byron. She cupped his face, bent down, and kissed him in front of everyone. He didn’t push her away. He reached up and deepened the kiss without so much as glancing at me. I dropped my gaze. My ten years were over. … Whistles. Screams. Applause. The noise hit me like a wall. “Oh my God! I knew it!” “When did this happen?” Natalie straightened, a pretty flush on her cheeks. “The day Byron became Godfather,” she said. “That was when he finally stopped hiding us.” Every eye in the room fixed on the new couple. No one saw me in the corner. No one noticed the breath leaving my lungs. I watched Byron lift a hand and casually wipe his mouth. “Come on, tell us. Who made the first move? We want details!” The crowd pressed in around them. Natalie gave Byron a coy little look. “It wasn’t anything dramatic. The day he became Godfather, I texted him to congratulate him…” She laid it all out: asking him to meet her by the lake, taking his hand, the way he hadn’t pulled away, how naturally it had all happened. Every detail drew louder teasing. Every detail sent another glance in my direction. “Wait, wasn’t there something between Byron and Celeste? They grew up together! Wasn’t Celeste supposed to be Byron’s future wife?” “Who told you that? Byron never even looked at her that way. He probably just treated her like a sidekick.” “Celeste? The tomboy nobody even sees as a girl? Why would Byron want her?” “Exactly. Who would want her? Byron is the Godfather. He has standards.” “You guys know about her seafood allergy, right? That ER thing? Byron made her pasta with shrimp paste and didn’t even remember she was allergic. Sent her straight to the hospital.” “Natalie wanted that full-ride scholarship back then. Celeste was her only real competition. You figure it out.” “That’s brutal. Natalie really went all in.” Natalie wore a look of perfect innocence, without a shred of remorse. Victory shone in her eyes. “Celeste, I’m truly sorry. I did mention the scholarship to Byron. He must have been so focused on helping me that your allergy slipped his mind. Please don’t blame him. If you have to blame someone, blame me.” Everyone could see how little Byron cared. Everyone except me. Or maybe I had known all along. Byron had started keeping his distance when I was fifteen. Sometimes I would see him on the street, and he would duck his head and walk past me like I was a stranger. Once, I caught up to him and asked what was wrong. “I’m afraid you’ll be targeted by rival families. I’m afraid you’ll be in danger,” he said. Back then, it had made me dizzy with hope. I thought it meant he loved me too. Then I saw him with Natalie, tucking a strand of windblown hair behind her ear, smiling like he had stepped into sunlight.

That day, I walked over to ask what was going on. His smile vanished, and his voice turned cold. “Need something?” I told myself he was only putting on an act, protecting his authority as Godfather in front of outsiders. Then he unfollowed me on Instagram and deleted our photos from his page. I told myself he was only cleaning up his social media so no one could identify his “weak spot.” Now I finally understood why that excuse had never felt convincing. He wasn’t afraid of rival families. He was afraid Natalie would see–afraid she would be upset. He had used the trust I placed in him to destroy my chance at a full-ride scholarship. He had handed me that plate of pasta so gently, his voice soft, his movements careful. This was the boy who had grown up beside me, ridden bikes with me, and written in my yearbook that we would love each other forever. And because of another girl, he had forgotten the one thing that could have killed me. That day, I used my EpiPen and missed the final scholarship interview. My eyes burned. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, sharp and metallic. I looked at Byron and forced the words out. “Is it true?” He sat beside Natalie, frowning. “Does it matter? It can’t be changed now.” His tone was flat, as if we were talking about what to have for dinner. It felt like a hand had closed around my throat. I couldn’t say a word. He didn’t care. Not about the eighteen years we had spent growing up side by side. Not about the future we could have had. I bit the inside of my cheek hard enough to taste blood, clinging to the sharp sting to keep myself from falling apart. I stood up and ran out. Laughter followed me out, turning my escape into one final humiliation. “Celeste! Don’t go! You put up with him ignoring you before, so why act hurt now?” “Is she actually crying?” “Let her go home and cry! Byron was never with her. Why is she being so dramatic?” I stood for a long time on the dark suburban street while the night wind dried the tears on my face. My phone lit up with a message from Byron. [Where are you? Come back. Don’t make this ugly.] I stared at the words and became seven years old again, small for my age, always unwanted when the neighborhood kids played games. Byron had been the one to take my hand and tell me he would always stay with me. That boy had once been my shield against the whole world. Now he was telling me not to make things ugly. [It was just truth or dare. Come back. I’ll explain.] Just truth or dare. My hand trembled around the phone. The memories wouldn’t stop. When I was ten, I came down with a brutal cold. My father wasn’t home, and Byron climbed over our backyard fence to bring me cough syrup. The neighbor’s golden retriever chased him for three blocks. When I was twelve, I lost the spelling bee. He tossed his first-place trophy into the trash and told me losing didn’t matter; next time, he would help me win it back. When I was fifteen, a boy at homecoming made a filthy joke and reached for my skirt. Byron hit him so hard the boy ended up badly hurt. Byron needed three stitches above his own brow, but he grinned at me and said it didn’t hurt at all. Had he changed? Or had he always been like this, and I had refused to see it? Had I been lying to myself all along? I decided to believe him one last time. I clenched my teeth, turned around, and ran back. Full of hope, I pushed open the door. A bucket of ice water came crashing down from above the doorframe, soaking my hair, blurring my vision, and plastering my T-shirt and jeans to my skin until every curve of my body showed. I stood there shaking while the crowd burst into laughter and the boys looked me up and down with filthy eyes. “Holy shit! She actually came back!” “Natalie, how did you know she would come back?” Natalie only smiled, her eyes fixed on Byron’s neck. “Byron, a bet is a bet. Give me the necklace. Now.” Natalie leaned into Byron, her fingers sliding over his neck before tracing lazy, suggestive circles on his chest.

Natalie laughed. “Your favorite fallback girl. One call, and she comes running.” Byron’s gaze skimmed over me. Then he lifted a hand and unclasped the silver chain around his neck. Half an antique compass pendant hung from it. I wore the other half. I had loved that pendant the moment I saw it. Byron had no money then, so he saved every dollar he earned boxing until he could buy it for me. “Our lucky charm,” he said. From then on, we each wore one half and never took them off, not even in the shower. I had imagined we would wear them until our wedding day, when we would finally fit the two halves together. Now he was handing his half to Natalie. She held it up to the light, her smile bright and vicious. “So pretty. It’s mine now. And so are you.” I wiped ice water from my eyes and stared at Byron. He glanced at me, and the sneer on his face disappeared. “What? Do I need your permission to give away something that’s mine? I bought it.” No explanation. No apology. Just a bucket of ice water, a room full of malice, and his indifference as he ground our vows under his heel. He was no longer the boy who would fight the whole world for me. “Let’s go. I booked a room downtown. Karaoke next! Keep the party going!” The crowd surged toward the door. As Natalie passed me, she shoved me. I pitched forward and fell, my knees slamming into the floor. Pain shot through both knees. She looked back with a sweet, innocent smile. “Oops. Celeste, did you trip?” Then she hooked her arm through Byron’s and walked out with a sway of her hips. He let her pull him along. As he passed me, he lowered his head for one brief glance. It was so brief I couldn’t tell what was in it. Then he looked away. And left with her. I knelt on the cold floor while blood from my knees mixed with the ice water dripping from my hair. Drip. Drip. Barely audible. Somehow unbearable. I could not go home. If Dad saw me like this, his heart would break. I didn’t have much cash on me. I had spent almost all of it on the cufflinks Byron liked best, so the only place I could afford was a cheap motel. I stood under the hot shower for a long time, waiting for my body to remember how to feel. When I came out, my phone screen was lit. Every notification was from Byron. [Your dad called. Asked when you’re coming home.] [I said you were with me. Go back early.] [Where are you? Are you safe?] Then came a FaceTime request. I hesitated, then answered. His face filled the screen, still unfairly handsome. When he saw the room behind me, he frowned. “You’re in a motel? Which one?” “None of your business.” Silence. Then his voice hardened into a command. “Stay there. Don’t move. I don’t want to deal with your dad.” Back then, my father had believed Byron loved me too. Quietly, he had given Byron enough help to secure his position as Godfather. Now my father was just someone he had to deal with. “Byron.” I looked straight into his eyes through the screen and asked one last time, “The compass pendant. Are you really giving it to her?” He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “You said it was ours. You said we would put the halves together on our wedding day.” Silence. “You gave it to Natalie. So what am I?” He swallowed. “It’s just a cheap piece of metal.” I laughed. “Right. Cheap. Worthless. Just like me.” “Celeste…” He frowned, and I hung up. Half an hour later, someone knocked on the door. It was a delivery driver. Inside the bag were a tube of antibiotic ointment for scrapes and a warm box of mac and cheese. I sat on the edge of the motel bed while my phone kept buzzing. In the class Instagram group chat, someone had posted a video. Natalie and Byron were singing at the party. Natalie leaned on his shoulder, drinking. Together, they sang a Taylor Swift love song. The comments came pouring in. “Oh my God, the way Byron looks at her. I’m dying.” “They are perfect together! Kiss already!”

In the video, Byron was smiling at Natalie with pure adoration. He had never looked at me that way. Not once in eighteen years. The video froze at the moment Natalie leaned close to him, her lips parted. Then Natalie updated Instagram. She posted two photos: one of her and Byron at the party, and another of her full-ride award certificate. Caption: The perfect ending. A full ride. And someone who loves me. The comments from mutual friends stung. [So jealous! Future wife of the Godfather!!] She replied with a heart emoji. [Someone is definitely losing her mind over this!] [That tomboy. Yeah, the one hiding behind her screen and stalking this!] I locked my phone and fell back onto the cheap mattress. Water stains blotched the ceiling, and the fluorescent light stabbed at my eyes. I thought of all the years I had worked myself to the bone for that scholarship. I had given up cheer tryouts, studied until three in the morning, sacrificed every weekend, and filled more than a dozen binders with review notes. I had been one step away from that dream. With the scholarship, I could have opened the bakery I wanted in Boston someday. He didn’t know that every plan I had made for after graduation led to Boston, the place he wanted to go. He had said he loved the East Coast. Loved the snow in Boston. And now? I sat up, picked up my phone, and accepted UC San Diego’s offer. California. The place Byron would never go. He hated summer. Said he could not stand the California sun. Back then, my father had urged me to leave myself a way out, so I had applied to a college in a place I thought I would never set foot in for the rest of my life. But suddenly, the thought of palm trees and West Coast sunshine sounded damn good. California. The farther from him, the better. When the green acceptance banner appeared, I turned off my phone and dumped the cold mac and cheese into the trash. He knew I hated cream. The smell made me sick, and he had still bought it for me. He didn’t remember details like that. Just as he had known I was waiting for him and still never once walked toward me. The next day, I planned to go back to school and pack up my things. But the moment I stepped into the hallway, every glance that landed on me was loaded with contempt. “Ran off to a motel to hook up on prom night. Nasty.” “Who?” “Who else? That tomboy. Someone got a video.” I stopped walking. Natalie stood a few yards away, surrounded by cheerleaders. She was holding up an iPhone, playing a video. The video showed the motel hallway from the night before: me, soaked through, holding a room key. “Desperate to get laid, huh?” Natalie covered her mouth and laughed, each word dipped in poison. Whispers spread around me. Stares cut into my skin. I walked over and stopped in front of her. “Delete it.” “Why should I?” She tilted her head, all innocence. “You went to that dump of a motel all by yourself. That’s not my fault.” “You’re spreading rumors.” “Am I?” She turned to Byron. “Byron. Tell everyone. Did she go there to meet some guy?” Byron stood to the side. He looked at the video on her phone, then at me. “Byron.” My voice shook. “Tell her. Tell her why I was there last night.” He knew exactly what had happened. Every single thing. Even if he no longer cared about me. Even if eighteen years meant nothing. At the very least, he could tell the truth. Right? He looked me in the eye, his voice casual. “If you’re innocent, you have nothing to fear, right?” I thought I had misheard him. “What?” “If you didn’t do anything wrong, what are you scared of?”

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