I was the orphan Alistair Blackwood rescued from St. Jude’s Home. For eight years, I was his daughter in name. In my last life, I drowned in his gentle care, mistaking inappropriate kindness for love. So when he brought Isabelle Thorne home and announced their engagement, I shattered. My hysterical accusations scandalized New York society. All I got was a cold dismissal—I was childish. He had me committed to a psychiatric hospital, where electroshock treatments killed me. The day after I died, he gave Isabelle the wedding of the decade. And I was remembered as the ungrateful wretch who tried to seduce her guardian. I’ve been reborn, sent back to the day I first asked him: “Can we be more than father and daughter?” The man across from me, peeling a shrimp for my plate, paused. His fingers stilled. “What did you say?” Last time, I missed the disgust in his eyes—just cried and repeated those desperate words. Hearing the question now… I could almost smell my burning flesh, the acrid scent of electroshock pads. A violent shiver ran through me. I forced a smile. “Dad, you wanted me to grow up, right? I can peel my own shrimp. No need to trouble yourself.” 1 Alistair’s hands froze mid-air. In eight years, this was the first time I had ever willingly put distance between us. The silence stretched for a few seconds before he looked down, resuming his task. His voice was a low rumble. “Let me. I don’t want you to get your hands dirty.” He said that in my last life, too. Back then, my heart had soared. I thought it was a sign of his special affection. Only now, in this second life, did I understand. It was nothing more than the gentle condescension of an elder caring for a child. I reached out and took the shrimp directly from his fingers. My voice was calm, placid. “There’s no need. I’ll have to get married someday. There are some things I need to learn to do for myself.” “Get married?” Alistair’s voice turned sharp, edged with ice. “You’re only twenty.” “Twenty isn’t a child.” I kept my head down, focusing on the delicate task of peeling the shrimp, refusing to meet his eyes. “You said it yourself, you hoped I would marry soon so I wouldn’t always be clinging to you.” Those were his exact words, spoken on the day he brought Isabelle home. Then, they had shattered me. Now, repeating them felt strangely… hollow. Silence descended upon the dining table once more, broken only by the faint clink of porcelain. I ate my food quietly, then stood. “I’m finished. Take your time.” As I turned, the harsh scrape of a chair being pushed back echoed behind me. But I didn’t look back. Back in my room, I leaned against the door, feeling as though every ounce of strength had been siphoned from my body. Pretending not to care was more exhausting than I ever could have imagined. My eyes swept across the room. The shelves by my bed were lined with fairy tale collections, the ones he’d read to me night after night to lull me to sleep. The bay window was crowded with dolls and trinkets he’d brought back for me from business trips all over the world. And on my desk, last year’s birthday present still sat in its velvet box—a diamond necklace. I remembered the day he’d fastened it around my neck himself, smiling. “Our Clara is all grown up. It’s time she had jewelry of her own.” In that moment, I believed it was a confession of love. In my last life, I wore this necklace when I confronted him. In front of everyone, he ripped it from my neck and threw it in the trash. “Clara, don’t you know your place?” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I pulled out a cardboard box and began to pack. Each item was a memory, and each memory was a dull blade twisting in my heart. The books, the dolls, the gifts, the photographs… I packed them all away, shoving the box into the deepest corner of my closet. Out of sight, out of mind. Just as I was finishing, a soft knock came at the door. “Clara? Are you asleep?” It was Alistair. “Not yet. Do you need something, Dad?” The door opened, and he walked in holding a glass of milk. “Drink this before you sleep. Goodnight.” This, too, was a ritual unchanged for eight years. Every night, without fail, a glass of warm milk. I took the glass but didn’t playfully demand he stay until I finished, like I always used to. “Thank you, Dad. You should get some rest, too.” Alistair stood there for a moment, as if waiting for something more. After a few seconds, he turned to leave. Just as the door was closing, I saw his shoulders tense, as if he wanted to say something, but then he was gone. I looked at the milk in my hand, walked into the bathroom, and poured it down the drain. 2 The next morning, I was woken by the sound of voices downstairs. When I came down, Isabelle Thorne was already at the dining table, greeting me with a radiant smile. “Clara, good morning! Come, have some breakfast.” This woman. The woman who had me sent to a place of nightmares. The woman who, after my death, married Alistair and became the enviably perfect Mrs. Blackwood. I suppressed the viper of hatred coiling in my gut and gave a curt nod. “Thank you.” I’d only taken a few bites when Isabelle spoke up. “Clara, a friend of mine has a son who’s a wonderful young man. How would you feel about me setting up a meeting?” Here it comes. This was her first move last time, too. An offer to set me up on a date, a thinly veiled attempt to push me out of the house. Back then, I had screamed and cried, swearing I would rather die than leave Alistair. He had immediately scowled, calling me childish. This time, I agreed without hesitation. “Fine. I’d appreciate that, Isabelle.” The words had barely left my mouth when Alistair set his coffee cup down with a sharp click. His brow was furrowed. “There’s no rush for dates. You’re still young. I can take care of you for a few more years.” “There’s no need.” I dabbed my lips with a napkin. “I’ll have to get married eventually. The sooner it happens, the sooner you can have some peace and quiet.” The words “peace and quiet” made Alistair’s expression darken completely. He opened his mouth to say more, but Isabelle was already leaning in, linking her arm with his and cooing, “Alistair, darling, don’t you trust my judgment? I wouldn’t introduce her to just anyone.” Watching them, so intimate and close, my heart didn’t feel the searing agony it had last time. Perhaps it was because the electric shocks had already burned that heart to a cinder. I stood up. “I’m finished. Just let me know when it’s arranged.” As I walked upstairs, I heard Alistair’s low voice behind me. “Is she… angry with me?” Isabelle laughed lightly. “Darling, you’re overthinking it. Clara is just finally growing up.” Growing up. What an ironic choice of words. Last time, he said I was childish and sent me to a madhouse. This time, I was “grown up,” and he couldn’t seem to handle it. Three days later, the date was set. The moment I saw the man across the table, I froze. He was famous. Infamous, even. Julian Vance. The head of the Vance Corporation. Rumor had it he was cold, ruthless, and, at thirty, still unmarried, despite being the most sought-after bachelor in the city. I never imagined Isabelle could arrange a meeting with him. “Hello, I’m Clara,” I said, extending my hand. He nodded, his voice cool and crisp. “Julian Vance.” After the briefest of pleasantries, he cut straight to the point. “I am only here for one reason: marriage.” “My grandmother is gravely ill. Her greatest wish is to see me settled.” “I need a wedding within the week.” “You may state your terms.” So direct. It certainly saved time. I thought of the past eight years, of everything Alistair had spent on me. My clothes, my food, my education… a conservative estimate would be in the tens of millions. If I was going to make a clean break, I needed to settle the debt. “A hundred-million-dollar settlement.” Julian didn’t hesitate for a second. “Done.” “City Hall is still open. Let’s go now.” An hour later, I was married to a man I had just met. Standing on the steps of City Hall, I stared at the red certificate in my hand, a profound sense of unreality washing over me. “I’ll come for you in a week. The funds will be in your account by the end of the day,” Julian said, then turned, got into his car, and drove away. My phone buzzed. [A deposit of $100,000,000 has been made to your account ending in 8888.] One hundred million dollars. It was there. I stared at the number, a sudden heat rising behind my eyes. The debt of my upbringing… I could finally pay it back. When I got home, Isabelle was pacing in the living room, her face a mask of fury. The second she saw me, she rushed over. “Clara! What is wrong with you? I set up a date for you, why did you stand him up?” I blinked. “I went.” “You went? Then why did Mr. Davenport say you never showed?” Isabelle’s voice grew shrill. So, the man she’d arranged for me to meet wasn’t Julian Vance. Then who was he? Did I… meet the wrong person? A moment later, I shrugged it off. Wrong person or not, the hundred million was real. I hadn’t lost anything. “I must have gone to the wrong place,” I said, offering a weak excuse. Isabelle was about to argue when Alistair emerged from his study, his expression grim. “You made a promise to someone. You don’t break it. Arrange another meeting.” A glint appeared in Isabelle’s eye. “Actually, the Vances are hosting a gala tonight. We could take Clara and introduce her to their younger son.” The younger son—Leo Vance. Notorious across the city as a degenerate playboy who treated women like toys. Alistair frowned. “Leo Vance?” “Alistair, my hands are tied,” Isabelle sighed dramatically. “With the reputation Clara has built up over the years… marrying into the Vance family at all is a stroke of luck.” She said it as if I were damaged goods. But what had I done wrong? Alistair was silent for a moment before finally nodding. “Fine. We’ll all go.” I lowered my head, a cold smile touching my lips. So that’s what he thought of me. So tarnished that I was only fit for a playboy. “I’m not going.” I lifted my head, my voice even. “And don’t bother calling me for dinner.” With that, I turned and went upstairs. Behind me, I heard Isabelle’s saccharine voice. “Alistair, see? She’s throwing a tantrum again…” “Let her be.” Alistair’s voice was devoid of emotion. Bang. I shut my bedroom door, leaned against it, and closed my eyes. Alistair Blackwood, in this life, who you love, who you marry… it has nothing to do with me anymore. 3 In the twilight of a half-dream, I felt arms gently wrap around me. A hand patted my shoulder, a voice murmuring the garbled words of a half-remembered bedtime story. Suddenly, a warm pressure touched my lips. I jolted awake. Alistair. It had been so long since he’d come into my room. Before I could react, he whispered a name, his voice hoarse with sleep and drink. “Isabelle…” A tremor shot through my entire body. I struggled, trying to push him away, but he growled in frustration and pressed closer, his kiss turning rough, demanding. His hand slid down my body, an invasive touch that made my skin crawl. “Alistair, look at me. It’s Clara.” Hearing my name, his body went rigid. He stopped. He rubbed his temples, preparing to pull away. But just then, Isabelle burst into the room. “Alistair, how could you?” She rushed to his side, her voice a tearful whisper. “Tell me you didn’t do this on purpose. Please.” Her eyes darted to me, full of accusation. “It was her, wasn’t it? She seduced you!” Alistair’s brow furrowed. “I was drunk. I thought she was you.” He looked away, his voice strained. “I’ll find another place for Clara to live. This won’t happen again.” Only then did Isabelle nod, clinging to his arm. “Let me help you.” I watched their retreating backs, my gaze falling to the dark mark blooming on my neck. How utterly absurd. I didn’t sleep a wink. Early the next morning, a sharp knock brought Isabelle to my door. “Clara, until we find a place for you, Alistair and I will be staying at my apartment.” Her eyes caught the bruise on my neck. She leaned in, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “You’d be wise to kill whatever filthy thoughts you have about him. Or else…” “What are you two doing?” Alistair appeared in the doorway. Isabelle immediately straightened up, linking her arm through mine with a look of sisterly concern. “Alistair, I was just telling Clara about our plans. I’m a little worried about leaving her here all alone.” “She’s a grown woman. She’ll be fine.” When Alistair had first brought me home, I was terrified of being abandoned again. I used to cry myself to sleep at night. He would sit with me for hours, even cancelling billion-dollar meetings just to come home and comfort me. But ever since he discovered my feelings for him, he had grown more and more distant. A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. “You don’t have to go to so much trouble. This is Dad’s home, after all.” “I’ll find a new place and move out as soon as I can. Thank you, Dad, for taking care of me all these years.” The word “Dad” felt foreign, a title I hadn’t used in years. “I can’t be a burden on him forever.” At the sound of that word, a shadow of pain crossed Alistair’s eyes. Suddenly, his phone rang. He answered, and as he listened, his face darkened with fury. He turned on me, his eyes blazing. “What in the hell did you do?” 4 Someone had leaked pages of my diary online—pages filled with my adolescent confessions of love for Alistair. In an instant, I was at the center of a firestorm. The old rumors, the whispers about my inappropriate affection, were all dragged back into the light. On Alistair’s phone screen, the headlines screamed. #BlackwoodHeiressDiaryExposed #GuardianAndWardForbiddenLove My heart seized. Before I could process it, Alistair shoved the phone in my face. It was my diary. The pink cover, the childish handwriting, and the secrets that were never meant to see the light of day. [Today is my sixteenth birthday. Dad gave me a necklace. When he put it on me, my heart beat so fast. Am I falling in love with him?] [I’m seventeen now, and I’m sure of it. I love him. But he’s my father. What do I do?] [He touched my hair today and smiled, saying I was all grown up. I wish we could be more than just father and daughter…] Page after page, line after line. The deepest, most hidden parts of my soul, laid bare for the world to see. “I didn’t post this!” My voice trembled. “Then who did?” Alistair’s voice was like ice. “You wrote it. It’s your handwriting. Did someone force you to make it public?” My eyes shot to Isabelle. She was looking down, her shoulders trembling slightly, as if she were terrified. “Alistair,” she began, her voice hesitant, “do you think maybe Clara did this as a way to… well, after all, she’s always wanted to marry you.” The accusation, slick and poisonous, landed squarely on me. “It wasn’t me!” I practically screamed. “Enough!” Alistair’s roar cut me off. He stared at me, his eyes a maelstrom of disappointment, anger, and something else I couldn’t name. “Clara, I am deeply disappointed in you.” He’d said those exact words in my last life. Right before he sent me away. The blood in my veins turned to ice. “You don’t believe me?” My voice was a whisper, so faint I could barely hear it myself. Alistair was silent for a few seconds. When he finally spoke, his voice was heavy. “The media is having a field day. The company’s stock is dropping. Our partners are getting nervous.” “The PR team’s recommendation is…” He paused, his gaze shifting away as if he couldn’t bear to look at me. “To have you admitted to a psychiatric hospital. We’ll release a statement saying you’re unwell, that this is all a delusion brought on by your condition.” A psychiatric hospital. Again. Was my nightmare destined to repeat itself? My breath came in ragged gasps. My hands and feet went cold. The memory of the electric shocks, of my body convulsing, of my mind fraying into nothing, washed over me like a tidal wave. “No… please, no…” I scrambled backward until my back hit the wall. “I’m not sick! I won’t go!” Alistair’s brow creased. “It would only be temporary. Once the scandal dies down, I’ll bring you home.” He took a deep breath, his voice firming with resolve. “It’s settled. I’m calling the hospital now.” Isabelle chose that moment to speak. “My cousin is a psychiatrist. He works at the best private facility in the state. I can call him right now, have him arrange for the finest room and the best doctors.” The finest room? The best doctors? That’s what she’d said last time. And what had I gotten? The darkest cell. The most sadistic “doctors.” They said I was violent and needed to be restrained. They said I was delusional and needed electroshock therapy. They said I was uncooperative and needed higher doses of medication. Again, and again, and again. Until my spirit shattered, and during one final session, I simply never woke up. “No… I won’t go…” I shook my head wildly, trying to bolt for the door. Alistair’s hand shot out, his grip on my wrist like a steel trap. “Clara, stop making a scene.” His voice was laced with exhaustion and impatience. “You’re only making things worse. Going to the hospital is what’s best. For you, for me, and for the company.” Best for you. Best for me. Best for the company. Was this really what was best for me? A laugh, raw and broken, escaped my lips, tears streaming down my face. “Alistair, do you remember what you promised me?” He flinched. “You promised you would protect me, that you would never let anyone hurt me.” “You promised that as long as I was good, you would always be there for me.” “You promised I was the most important person in the world to you.” Each word was an indictment, a final farewell. “And now, you’re the one casting me into hell.” Alistair’s face went pale, his grip slackening for a fraction of a second. And in that instant— VROOOM— The roar of a powerful engine grew from a distant hum to a thundering presence. A Rolls-Royce Phantom, sleek and black, pulled up to the front of the house. The door opened, and a man in a bespoke black suit stepped out. His features were sharp, his presence commanding, radiating an aura of absolute power. He walked directly to me, his voice a low, resonant baritone. “Mr. Blackwood, you have no right to commit my wife to a mental institution.” He looked from Alistair’s stunned face to mine. “I am Clara’s legal guardian now.”

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My best friend was dead-set on setting me up with her brother. She swore he was the total package: handsome, sweet, with an eight-pack, and he even knew how to cook. All I had to do was meet him once, she promised, and I’d be completely hooked. After weeks of her relentless pestering, I finally gave in and agreed to go to her family’s house. I didn’t see her brother at first, but I did see her older brother. My best friend, Ruby, leaned in and whispered, “My other brother’s a great guy too, but he’s got a kid from a previous relationship. Word is, the trashy mother just took off after giving birth, leaving him heartbroken and raising their daughter all by himself.” I didn’t think much of it. But halfway through my blind date, a little girl came running up to me, tugged on my sleeve, and called me “Mommy.” And following right behind her was the very same brother Ruby had just told me about. My ex. The man I had dumped three years ago. 1 Ruby and I were partners in poverty. We met working a soul-crushing part-time job and bonded over our shared state of being perpetually broke. We split cheap takeout, shared a tiny apartment with two other people, and our wardrobes were courtesy of fast-fashion websites. To make a little extra bonus pay, we’d work ourselves to the bone, often staying at the office past midnight. Life was tough, but we made do. Then one day, Ruby casually told me she was quitting. I thought she’d been fired and was about to march into our boss’s office to give him a piece of my mind when she stopped me, a mysterious glint in her eye. “I’m rich,” she announced. It turned out Ruby was a long-lost heiress. Her biological parents, ridiculously wealthy, had finally found her. Overnight, Ruby’s savings account went from four figures to seven. But she was loyal. She didn’t forget about me after she hit the jackpot. She started treating me to fancy dinners and designer shopping sprees. “Sienna, this feeling of not having to work for anything is incredible,” she’d sigh, reclining in the back of a town car. “It’s so much easier to spend money when you didn’t actually earn it. You should quit your job too. I’ll find you a rich husband!” She was always impulsive, so I just laughed it off. But three days later, she sat me down with a dead-serious expression. “I’ve gone through all the eligible bachelors I know, and I’ve decided my brother is the perfect match for you.” Before I could refuse, she launched into a full-blown presentation. “First, he’s handsome, tall, and has a great personality, which meets all the basic requirements. Second, he’s rich, works out, and can cook, which are major bonus points. And most importantly, he’s my brother. If he ever treats you badly, I’ll be there to back you up.” She slammed her hand on the table, making her final verdict. “So, this weekend, you’re going on a date with my brother. It’s non-negotiable.” I stared at her, dumbfounded. “Ruby, I can’t.” “Why not? You’re my best friend. You deserve the best man in the world, and that includes him.” She was already pulling out her phone to call him. I lunged forward and grabbed her arm. After a bit of back-and-forth, I knew I had to tell her the secret I’d been hiding for years. “Okay, wait, just listen to me first,” I said, my voice dropping. “I… I’ve had a child. With my ex.” 2 The story of me and Noah is a cliché. We met during my study abroad program in Sydney. I saw him at a party and fell for him instantly. Then, I pursued him relentlessly. Noah was reserved and a little cold. It took me a solid six months to break through his walls. The day I confessed my feelings, he reached up and removed a small device from behind his ear, holding it out for me to see. It was a cochlear implant. “I have a congenital hearing impairment,” he said, his voice flat. “Are you sure you want to be with me?” Seeing my stunned silence, a look of resignation crossed his face. He gave a small, self-deprecating smile and started to turn away. I grabbed his arm. “I’m sure.” I didn’t care about his hearing. I genuinely, truly liked him. So I looked him in the eye and repeated, my voice firm, “Can we try this, Noah?” He stopped, and when he looked back at me, the gloom in his eyes was replaced by a sudden, brilliant light. “Okay.” Noah was a novice when it came to romance, but he was a quick study. He went from being clueless about women to understanding my every mood. He went from clumsy kisses to kisses that left me breathless and weak in the knees. I loved to melt into his arms, feeling the firm muscles of his abdomen through his thin t-shirt, my heart racing. I’ll admit, my attraction to him was intensely physical. Whenever he was near, I felt an almost uncontrollable urge to explore every inch of him. But for some reason, Noah was always incredibly restrained. There were times when he was clearly aroused, his body burning with heat, but he never crossed that final line. That all changed on Christmas Day. 3 I had spent all afternoon getting ready for our Christmas date. But just as I was about to leave, an old friend from back home, who was passing through Sydney, called and asked to meet up. His schedule was tight, and he was leaving the next day, so I had no choice but to postpone my date with Noah for an hour to grab a quick dinner with him. But Noah, who was supposed to be waiting for me at my apartment, showed up at the restaurant. He was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching us with an unreadable expression, his lips pressed into a thin line. After I said goodbye to my friend, Noah silently took my hand and started walking us back to my place. I tried to talk to him several times along the way, but he didn’t respond. I figured he must have forgotten to wear his implant. When he opened the apartment door, the first thing I saw was a huge Christmas tree, twinkling with lights. Beneath it, on a soft rug, were gift-wrapped boxes and a perfect, shiny apple. Before I could take it all in, he had me pinned against the wall. Noah’s hand was a firm pressure on my waist, while his other hand toyed with the strap of my dress. He looked down at me, his eyes dark. “You look beautiful tonight. Was it for your friend?” he asked, his voice low. “You two seemed to be having a good time at dinner. Laughing a lot. Are you close?” It hit me then. He wasn’t having trouble hearing me. He was jealous. I opened my mouth to explain, but his lips crashed down on mine, fierce and possessive, stealing the air from my lungs. We ended up on the sofa beneath the Christmas tree, the atmosphere in the room thick and electric. I expected him to stop at the last moment, like he always did, and disappear into the bathroom for a cold shower. But this time was different. He pulled me into his lap and reached for one of the small gift boxes. Inside was a ring. He slipped it onto my finger with an almost reverent gentleness. Pressing his forehead against mine, his other hand found the zipper of my dress. “Sienna, I’ll take responsibility for you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll marry you.” His eyes were shimmering, his long lashes wet. “So… can I?” There was no way I could say no. I leaned in and brushed my lips against his. “Yes.” That night blurred into a haze of passion that lasted until dawn. At some point, I was crying and begging him to stop, but he just smiled, mischievously taking out his cochlear implant. “What’s that, Sienna?” he’d ask, his eyes wide with fake innocence. “I can’t hear you.” The ring on my finger was a cool, constant pressure against his skin. At the time, I thought it was just a simple ring. I had no idea how much he meant it when he said he wanted to marry me. Not until I posted a picture of us holding hands on social media. A single comment jumped out at me. “Is that a HARRY WINSTON diamond?! Girl, did you bag a billionaire??” 4 I never imagined Noah came from money. And I certainly never imagined the ring on my finger was worth over half a million dollars. It was too much. I couldn’t accept it. I tried to give it back, but he just smiled at me. “You can’t return a gift.” The sunlight caught the fabric of his white t-shirt. I realized then that even his casual clothes were from obscure, high-end European brands, each shirt costing more than I made in three months. The vast difference in our financial situations suddenly felt like an insurmountable chasm. “Will your family try to force you into an arranged marriage?” I asked him one day. Noah took my hand, his grip firm. “I’ll refuse,” he said, his voice unwavering. “When I said I want to marry you, I wasn’t joking.” Our time in Sydney was pure and simple. After that Christmas, Noah shed his inhibitions. He loved taking off his implant, pulling me into thrilling, secret encounters in every corner of our apartment. We were always careful, but on our last night together, things got a little too wild. The condom broke, and in the heat of the moment, neither of us noticed. Three months later, I was pregnant. At the same time, Noah’s family began to put immense pressure on him to agree to an arranged marriage. His father threatened to disown him if he refused. Honestly, I was prepared for us to break up. But instead, Noah showed up in my city with a suitcase in hand. It was pouring rain, and he was soaked to the bone, but he was grinning. “Sienna, I’m here,” he said. “And I’m not leaving.” Youth makes you reckless, especially when it comes to love. Noah was willing to give up his family fortune to be with me, and I chose to have our child. He was the perfect partner throughout my pregnancy, taking care of my every need. But when his family cut him off financially, the prince was brought down to the gutter. He never complained, but I knew he wasn’t used to hundred-dollar clothes or crowded subways. His friends were learning to take over their family businesses, and he was crammed into a tiny rental with me. When I was seven months pregnant, he lost his cochlear implant. The original was too expensive to replace, so he had to settle for a cheaper model that didn’t work as well. One day, when we were out grocery shopping, a group of young boys surrounded him, mocking him, calling him a deafie. In that moment, Noah just stood there, completely humiliated. He, who had been coddled and praised his whole life, had never experienced such cruelty. Watching him, my heart shattered. For the first time, I realized that our stubborn insistence on being together might have been a terrible mistake. Three months later, I gave birth to a daughter. While Noah was still lost in the joy of being a new father, I told him I wanted to break up. I had my reasons all planned out. I told him his hearing impairment was a burden. I told him I wanted to marry a normal man, not be tied to a deaf one for the rest of my life. My words hit him right where I knew it would hurt the most. He flinched, his whole body seeming to shrink, as if he might break apart. Still, he tried to keep his composure, his voice trembling. “I’ll work harder, I’ll earn enough to buy a better implant, one that makes me just like everyone else. Please, don’t leave me.” He begged me for a long time that day, humbling himself in a way I’d never seen. I remained unmoved. Finally, he brought our daughter to me. “What about her?” he asked, his voice cracking. “You don’t want our baby either?” “No, I don’t.” “She’ll just get in my way. You raise her.” His mother had already told me. If I broke up with him, he could go back to his family. And they would take care of the child. Noah stared at me for a long, long time. Then, a broken, tear-filled laugh escaped him. “Sienna,” he whispered, “when we first got together, you swore you didn’t care about my hearing. If you couldn’t accept it, why did you lie to me? Was it fun, playing with me like that?” Our breakup was ugly, but in the end, I got what I wanted. We went our separate ways. Noah took our daughter and went back to his family. I moved to a new city. Before I left, his mother offered me a check as compensation. I didn’t take it. I was young, and I felt that taking the money would be a betrayal of what we once had. I never contacted Noah again, and I never saw my daughter. When I told Ruby this story, I kept the names vague, giving her just the broad strokes. She was stunned. After a long silence, she pulled me into a hug. “It’s okay, Sienna. That’s all in the past now.” “It doesn’t matter if you’ve had a kid. You’re single now, you can find love again. Not all rich families are that old-fashioned. My parents are really open-minded, you don’t have to worry.” I mumbled, “The main thing is… I’m not really over my ex.” “Then you definitely need to go on this date with my brother! You’re never getting back with your ex, so you might as well use my brother to help you move on.” Once Ruby gets an idea in her head, there’s no stopping her. From that day on, every time she saw me, she brought up the blind date. It was driving me insane. “Please, just meet him,” she’d beg. “He’s totally your type. If you don’t like him, we can leave right away, I promise.” I couldn’t take her constant nagging anymore. I finally caved. “Fine,” I sighed. “But we’re just meeting. That’s it.” 5 Ruby’s family mansion was in New York City. I was a little hesitant about going back. Noah’s family lived there too. But then I thought, New York is a huge city. We weren’t tied by some deep, cosmic fate. The chances of us running into each other were practically zero. Ruby’s parents were definitely rich. The mansion had a sprawling garden that looked like something out of a magazine. The whole way there, Ruby chattered on and on about her brother. I was only half-listening when I saw a man sitting on a veranda in the distance. His back was to me, and I could only see a sliver of his profile, but something about him felt… familiar. Ruby followed my gaze. “Oh, that’s my older brother.” “He’s really handsome too, you know,” she continued. “I thought about setting you up with him, but his love life is way too complicated.” My gossip-loving heart couldn’t resist. “What’s his story?” “Well, I heard he dated this awful girl, and they had a kid together. But right after the baby was born, she just abandoned them both and took off. He was completely heartbroken. Now he’s just focused on his career and raising his daughter, totally sworn off love.” The story sounded eerily familiar. If Ruby’s family name wasn’t Sterling, I would’ve sworn she was talking about Noah.

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The new assistant my boyfriend hired was in charge of our client’s holiday gifts. The following Monday, at our all-hands meeting, she walked up to the podium and plugged in a USB. “If I hadn’t gone to the supplier myself, I’d have no idea how much our procurement department is skimming off the top!” “This shop’s ‘Premium Grade’ artisanal cheese is half the price of what we were quoted! And it’s the same for everything else!” She turned to me. “Sarah, you picked the supplier. You approved the budget. I guess this means you’re the one lining your pockets, right?” My boyfriend, Mark, immediately turned on me. “Were you taking kickbacks?” I explained that the “Premium” cheese on the shelf was their standard stock. What I had ordered was the “Reserve Batch,” a private selection not available to the public, hence the price difference. Mark just frowned. “Why can’t we just use the Premium? You’re the VP of this company, and you don’t have the common sense of an assistant when it comes to saving money!” “From now on, Chloe handles the procurement budget!” I gave a cold smile and relinquished control without a fight. Under her diligent “cost-saving,” the company’s client retention budget was slashed by 80%. Simultaneously, our client roster was slashed by 90%. 01 I had started preparing the holiday gifts for our clients two weeks ago. To get the best quality, I’d personally driven to small dairy farms upstate, comparing quality. And now, Chloe was slandering me for embezzlement. “These are business gifts, Chloe. We’re sending the ‘Reserve Batch,’ not the standard ‘Premium Grade.’ They’re not the same,” I explained. “Furthermore, some of these are limited-run products. If we send a lower-grade item, we risk quality issues, which will cause us even bigger problems.” Chloe just rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right. It’s all just cheese. Are you really falling for their marketing ploys, Sarah?” From across the table, the other VP, Alex, scoffed. “She’s not ‘falling for it.’ They’re thick as thieves.” “There’s no way Sarah, who’s usually sharp as a tack, would ‘fall’ for a ‘scam’ like this unless she was in on it.” He turned to Mark. “Right, Mark?” Alex was clearly backing Chloe, so I ignored him and looked straight at my boyfriend, the CEO, Mark. His brow was furrowed, his eyes full of disappointment. “Sarah, a 60% price difference? How much of a kickback were you taking?” My heart went cold. “Mark, you don’t believe me?” “The evidence is right here. How am I supposed to?” I looked at Mark’s so-called “evidence.” It was two, shoddily-made price comparison charts. I pointed to one of the “high-value” shops Chloe had highlighted. “As far as I know, that shop’s ‘Premium’ grade is just a marketing gimmick. It’s standard, mass-produced cheese. It doesn’t even come in a decent gift box.” “These gifts are for our most important clients. In our business, a stable, long-term relationship is worth far more than a one-time expense.” I tried to keep my voice even. Chloe immediately turned to Mark, her head bowed. “I’m sorry, Mark. I was just… I was just trying to save the company money. I didn’t mean to make Sarah upset.” “It’s my fault… I’m just not used to this corporate world. I guess I care too much about money.” And then, she started to cry. Alex, sitting next to her, immediately handed her a tissue, glaring at me. “You really had to bully a new hire just because she cut into your kickbacks? That’s a pretty bad look, Sarah.” “Don’t throw around accusations you can’t prove, Alex,” I shot back. “Are two “charts” all the proof you need to convict me?” This just made Chloe cry harder. “Mark, I’m so, so sorry. Maybe… maybe I should just quit…” “Boo-hoo… it’s all my fault. Sarah, please don’t be mad…” Now even Mark was comforting her. “It’s okay, Chloe. It’s not your fault.” He gently wiped her tears, then turned to me. “Sarah, Chloe’s right.” “Why can’t we use the Premium grade? You’re the VP, and you have less business sense than an assistant!” “From today on, Chloe approves all procurement budgets!” 02 Mark made the decision, just like that. Having won, Chloe’s tears vanished, replaced by a bright smile. “Thank you, Mark! From now on, this company is my family. I’ll pinch every penny for us!” Alex actually laughed and clapped. “Hey, if you’re saving Mark money, what about my department? We could use some savings too!” Chloe blushed, looking at Mark with pure adoration. “Well, that’s up to Mark.” A flash of disappointment crossed Alex’s face, but he kept his arm resting on the back of her chair. Even Mark was smiling. The other employees just looked at each other, uncomfortable. Finally, our CFO, Jessica, spoke up. “Mark, Chloe just got off her probationary period. And her degree is in… biology. She doesn’t know anything about procurement or client relations…” Several others nodded in agreement. Alex’s face darkened. “What’s wrong with being young? Young people are fearless. They’re the only ones who can take a stand for what’s right!” He shot me a nasty look. “Not like some of the ‘old guard’ around here, who just care about the smell of money.” I laughed, a slow, cold sound. “Alex, last month, that new client I worked my ass to land demanded a full refund, plus damages, because your tech department screwed up the rollout.” “If I hadn’t paid the damages out of my own pocket and sent them a $20,000 antique vase as an apology, you’d be buried in lawsuits right now.” “But since you ‘hate the smell of money’ so much, feel free to pay me back.” Alex shot up from his chair. “Are you threatening me, Sarah?” “Enough!” Mark’s voice cut through the room. “Chloe will handle procurement for now. It’s time we fixed the… culture… in this office.” “If any problems come up, Sarah can take over.” So, I’m just supposed to clean up her mess? No, thank you. I smiled, holding my hands up in surrender. “Mark’s right.” “But if we’re giving the new hire a chance, let’s really give her a chance.” “Since you trust her so much, why don’t you give her all your accounts? Let her manage all client relations.” 03 My public surrender made Mark pause. Before he could respond, Alex jumped in. “Great! Sarah, that’s your idea.” “So how about a little bet? Let’s see who has a higher client retention rate, you or Chloe?” Our company structure was simple. Alex ran tech. Mark and I handled clients and business development. But as we grew, Mark became the full-time CEO, and I ended up managing his client relationships, too. Alex was practically vibrating with excitement. Chloe’s eyes were sparkling. “What… what’s the bet?” Alex sneered at me. “If we win, you pack your things and get out!” That stirred the pot. The room erupted. “This is insane! Our entire quarterly revenue depends on Sarah!” our CFO, Jessica, protested. Others agreed. But Mark, at the head of the table, just watched, his expression dark. “Wow, Sarah,” Alex sneered. “You’ve really got them all on your side.” Finally, Mark spoke. “Sarah, you’re the VP. Stop picking on a new hire. Apologize to Chloe, and we’ll drop this.” Alex slammed his hand on the table. “Hell no! We’re not dropping it!” I just stared at Mark. He wanted me to apologize. This wasn’t the first time. Ever since Chloe arrived, it had been one thing after another. And in Mark’s eyes, this unqualified, inexperienced girl could do no wrong. And me? The woman who built this company with him? I was suddenly the problem. No. I wouldn’t. I turned to Chloe, my voice sweet. “And if you lose?” 04 Chloe flinched, her eyes immediately filling with tears. Alex yelled, “She’s not leaving!” Even Mark frowned, as if he was afraid I’d demand she be fired. “She can stay.” I leaned back, tapping my pen. “A bet with an assistant is boring.” My pen stopped, pointing directly at Alex. “I want you gone.” Alex froze. Chloe, however, lit up. She tugged on Alex’s sleeve, her face a mask of tragic self-sacrifice. “Alex, no. You don’t have to do this for me… I’ll just… I’ll just apologize to Sarah. It’s fine.” She made a slow, pained show of starting to stand up. Alex grabbed her arm. “No.” A classic “retreat to advance” maneuver. It worked every time on men like Alex, who thought they were white knights. I had to hide my smile. Alex was so obviously in love with her, he was trapped. He hesitated, looking to Mark for help. Mark said nothing. Alex gritted his teeth. “Fine. It’s a bet.” I smiled. In front of the entire senior staff. He was done. And Chloe… I glanced at Mark. His eyes were full of a poorly disguised relief. And they were fixed, tenderly, on Chloe.

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I’m Lily. The unloved, “real” daughter, shipped off to an elite prep school, Crestwood Academy, where someone was always trying to make my life hell. Until the day I got cornered in an alley by a girl with a rainbow-dyed undercut. She was shaking me down for protection money. “I don’t take your money for free,” she’d growled. “You’re in trouble, you call me.” So, the next time the school’s queen bee, Madison, had me cornered, I shakily dialed that number. “Hey, Janky? It’s Lily. Help…” Who knew? For the price of a lemonade, she actually meant it. 1. The first time I met Janky, I was riding a beat-up Lime scooter to the subway station. I hadn’t even gone a block before a group of kids dragged me, scooter and all, into an alley. Seriously. They had to help me off the damn scooter. The leader was the rainbow-haired girl. She had seven friends with her, all with bad bleach-blond jobs. It was the first time I’d seen so many colors on one person’s head. I just stared. She snarled, trying to look tough. “Protection money. You gonna pay up, or we gotta search you?” “…” Her crew tried to do an evil laugh. “Heh… heh… heh…” I blinked. “Guys, hold up. First, nobody carries cash. Second, if I Venmo you, the cops will trace it in five minutes.” A bleach-blond guy raised a fist so big it looked like a cartoon ham. I yelped and clutched my backpack. “Wait! I’ve got an idea! You can take me to a store, and I’ll buy you stuff!” The rainbow girl shoved him aside and grabbed my collar. “Don’t try any tricks, nerd.” “Okay.” 2. My brain was running calculations at light speed. Sure, I went to Crestwood, but I was the “poor” rich girl. I got $800 a month. Which was a lot, until the school bullies smashed my glasses the first week ($200 gone). Add in my subscriptions for online AP courses and the scooter rental I was about to be charged for… I had $398.66 to my name. For eight people… that’s $49.83 each. If I begged, maybe they’d leave me enough for the subway and an Uber home? I had to get home. The Astors—my so-called family—had made it clear: show up for their stupid dinner party tonight, or my allowance was cut. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to walk. 3. They took me to a street cart. They bought eight lemonades and eight corn dogs. And they used a coupon. Total: $28.72. The shakedown of the century. 4. The rainbow-haired girl, Janky, stuffed the last of her corn dog into her mouth and slapped me on the back. “Name’s Janky. I run this block.” “Since you paid up, you’re my girl now. Got trouble? Call me.” With that, she and her seven bleach-blonds hopped on three beat-up mopeds and sputtered away. The setting sun caught her rainbow ponytail. It looked like a beautiful oil slick. 5. A half-hour scooter ride, two subway transfers, and a 45-minute Uber later, I got “home.” It was past 9 PM. The guests were gone. Just the four Astors. Rosalie, the fake daughter, was sitting there in a designer dress and a freaking tiara, looking like she was about to cry. The second I walked in, my “dad,” “mom,” and “brother” all turned to glare at me. Only Rosalie stood up, managing a perfect smile-through-tears. “Lily! You’re back!” My blood-related brother, Grayson, exploded first. “You finally decided to show up? You’ve embarrassed us all!” I pushed my new glasses up. “The driver left without me.” I’d seen him. As I was walking out of school, the family Bentley sped off. Rosalie had rolled down the window just long enough to flip me the bird. “Don’t you dare blame Rosalie!” Grayson snapped. “She called, said you flat-out refused to ride in the same car with her!” Rosalie grabbed his arm. “Grayson, stop, please… It’s my fault. I’m the one who made her hate me…” My “mother,” Mrs. Astor, sighed. “We understand you’re upset, Lily. But you can’t take it out on your sister. She wouldn’t even cut her birthday cake, she was waiting for you.” “Mom, don’t…” Grayson was still on me. “Even if you took public transport, you shouldn’t be this late!” I answered honestly. “I got mugged. It took a while.” Grayson just stared. “…That’s the best lie you can come up with?” I shrugged and opened my banking app. “It’s true. I was mugged for eight lemonades and eight corn dogs.” Rosalie’s eyes welled up instantly. “Oh, Lily… you mean you made friends and went out to eat?” “…” It was the perfect example of that old saying: even if you hang yourself, people who don’t love you will just think you’re swinging. 6. Sometimes I think the Astors are just badly programmed NPCs. Rosalie cries. Grayson yells. Mrs. Astor sighs. Mr. Astor stays silent, then hits me with one devastating line. I’d tried explaining myself before. When I first arrived, Grayson cornered me. “Just because you’re blood doesn’t mean anything. Don’t think you can steal the love I have for Rosalie.” I was just confused. “Hi. Don’t worry, I don’t even know you. I have zero possessive urges.” That just made him angrier. Later, they decided to send me to board at the school, giving me only $800 a month. “Don’t be jealous of your sister,” Mrs. Astor had said. “You grew up… that way. We’re afraid if you get too much money, you’ll go wild.” I’d thanked her. “$800 is great. I used to have to collect cans for cash.” She totally lost it. Grayson stormed in, yelling about how I shouldn’t “play the victim.” 7. How do you even respond to a script that bad? I couldn’t. 8. So I just stood there, clutching my backpack, waiting for them to finish. I was starving. I really regretted not taking Janky up on her offer of a corn dog. My new friends were right, they were crispy… But today, Rosalie was really hamming it up. I hadn’t said a word, but she suddenly ran to Mrs. Astor, sobbing. “It’s my fault! I stole her place! Lily has every right to hate me!” “Mom, she’s your real daughter! How can you give me the Amex Black Card and only give her $800 a month? Make me live in the dorms, not her!” Mrs. Astor hugged her, looking pained. “Rosie, stop. This was our decision. It has nothing to do with you.” She shot me a warning glare. “And Lily doesn’t hate you. She knows this is what she deserves. Right, Lily?” Rosalie turned, her eyes hopeful. “Sister… can you please not be mad at me anymore?” I was just so tired. “I’m not mad. I was never mad at you.” “I don’t believe you!” she cried. “Or you would have ridden home with me instead of going out to eat with your… your friends!” I couldn’t help it. “Rosalie, you and I are strangers. We’re not even related. Why would I have any expectations of you?” 9. I knew I shouldn’t have broken script. The whole NPC squad crashed. Grayson slapped me. Hard. “Who the hell do you think you’re insulting?” Mrs. Astor: “Go back to the school.” Mr. Astor, finally speaking: “Since you don’t like the family car, you’re not welcome in it. Go back the way you came.” Before I left, I had to check. “The tuition… and the allowance. That’s… that’s still happening, right?” “GET OUT!” Fine. 10. I scrambled to get back to the dorm. By the time I made it, it was past 11 PM. I opened my laptop and started studying. 11. I never wanted to go to Crestwood. The academics were a joke. Not like the public magnet school I’d tested into. But the Astors had yelled at me. “Rosalie is at Crestwood,” Grayson had said. “You’re going to go to some… some public school? Are you trying to make us look bad on purpose?” Fine. But the teachers here just phoned it in, saving all their real energy for their high-dollar private tutoring sessions. I’d asked the Astors for a tutor. “Just a normal one…” Mrs. Astor had scoffed. “Don’t bother with that. You’re 17. We can’t ‘buy’ you into being a scientist now.” I told her I was first in my class. I heard her laugh over the phone. “Oh, that’s sweet. A real small-town brainiac.” 12. What was her degree in, again? Oh, right. I didn’t get it. You can’t reason with NPCs. No tutor? Fine. The internet is full of free AP guides and resources. I made my own study plan. I was just glad I could make up for the time I’d lost. 13. And, luckily, I’d bought a corn dog on my way back to the dorm. This school had single-room dorms. It was late. I was studying, eating a greasy corn dog, and I was, for a moment, totally happy. 14. The next morning, Madison, a girl in my class, cornered me. She said my “early morning studying” was too loud. This was a lie. Madison didn’t even live in the dorms. She was the school’s top bully, Rosalie’s best friend, and the one who’d smashed my first pair of glasses. I knew she was just looking for a fight. I shrank back. “Sorry. I’ll be… quieter.” She patted my cheek, her rings cold. “You think ‘sorry’ is enough? Just having a charity case like you at this school makes me sick. Don’t go home after class. I’m going to teach you a lesson.” “I’ll tell the principal.” SLAP. She hit me, hard, right across the face. “You try it.” 15. I found out what “you try it” meant. I’m the top student. I sit in the front row. I sat through an entire day of classes with a bright red handprint on my face. Not a single teacher asked me about it. They wouldn’t even make eye contact. I sat there, sick to my stomach. Before the last bell, I tried calling Mrs. Astor. It rang once. She hung up. I was out of options. My hand was shaking. I dialed the number from the alley. “Hey… Janky? It’s Lily. I’m in trouble…” 16. “Who?” I babbled, explaining everything. “Oh! Lemonade-Corn-Dog-Girl! Right! Don’t worry, I’m comin’ to bust you out.” Then she asked, “So, where’s this chick gonna jump you?” “I don’t know.” “…” “She just said… ‘don’t go home after class.’” “Right.” 17. I didn’t get a chance to go anywhere. The bell rang, and Madison and her friends grabbed me and dragged me into the girls’ bathroom. The bathroom. Crap. How was I supposed to tell Janky? 18. Madison didn’t waste time. She punched me straight in the face. My nose exploded. I was crying, tasting blood. “Madison, I never did anything to you!” She and her friends laughed. “You, this piece of trash… how dare you even compare to Rosalie?” “I’m not trying to compare!” Why would I? I had better grades, better morals, and honestly, better looks. Her only skill was acting. “Still talking back!” I saw her fist coming and I did the only thing I could: I head-butted her in the stomach. She shrieked. I made a break for the door. …And got caught. Her two friends grabbed me, dragged me back, and started kicking. “Kill this little bitch!” Help! These NPCs were set to “Hard” mode! My new glasses… they smashed them. Again.

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The final painting of my life, the very last stroke I’d ever make, was the wedding portrait of my fiancé and his childhood sweetheart. The second I finished, my fiancé crushed my hand. It crippled me for life. 01 The bodyguards slammed me onto the marble floor, their heavy boots pinning down my right hand—the one that painted. I writhed in a pain that felt like my bones were melting. “Ethan! The painting is yours! What more do you want?” My fiancé, Ethan Vance, stood above me, towering and untouchable, his arm casually draped around his little muse, Hailey Carter. “It’s a masterpiece, Clara,” he purred, inspecting the canvas. “Absolutely perfect. Your hand, however, is a little… messy now.” I stared up at him, disbelief choking the scream in my throat. I remembered countless nights when he would gently take the brush from my fingers, his breath warm as he kissed my knuckles. “Guard this hand, my artist. I’m waiting for the day you paint our wedding portrait.” Now, he kissed Hailey’s temple. “Do you want to hear her beg, Haiz?” “No! Ethan, stop!” Panic surged. I twisted on the floor, frantic as a trapped animal. I’d spent years mastering that hand. It was the only part of me that could translate the vivid chaos of my mind into something beautiful. My art was more precious to me than my own life. And now, it was about to be shattered. “Ethan! I swear I won’t interfere! I’ll disappear! Please, for God’s sake, don’t do this to me!” He laughed—a cold, short sound. “Clara Reynolds, playing the martyr? You’re the one who schemed to climb the social ladder and latch onto the Vance fortune. You trying to play the noble ex-fiancée doesn’t wash.” I went mute. I watched, helpless, as Ethan pulled Hailey back, shielding her from what he knew would be a bloody spectacle. The bodyguard raised the iron pipe high above my hand and brought it down with a sickening CRUNCH! “AHHHHHHH!!!” A bolt of pure agony shot up to my brain. My world dissolved into a flash of blinding white. Tears and snot sprayed onto the floor. The bodyguard had to press harder to keep my body from arching off the ground. 02 Ethan Vance was the heir to Vance Corp, a generations-old financial giant. Hailey Carter was the receptionist at one of his companies. I found out during a major charity gala. Ethan slipped away early. When I went to look for him, I heard them through the hotel room door—a chorus of gasps and moans that stopped my heart. I wanted to kick the door down. I wanted to run away. I wanted to plug my ears until they bled. But I couldn’t move. On the drive home, Ethan and Hailey sat together in the front. Ethan’s face was flushed with the goofy, manic glee of a teenage boy in love. Back at the penthouse, he slapped a psychiatric report onto the coffee table. “Hailey has severe Bipolar Disorder. She needs stability. She needs a wedding. I’m her boss; I have a responsibility to care for my people. You, Clara, are and always will be the real Mrs. Vance. A true Vance wife is poised and generous.” My whole body shook with rage. He knew a fake wedding would make me the laughingstock of the entire East Coast elite. Then, Hailey had the audacity to ‘request’ that I paint their engagement portrait. Ethan didn’t know this, but Hailey and I went to the same art school. She was rubbing my face in it. I slapped her. Hard. Right then, I decided to break the engagement. Hailey could be the real Mrs. Vance soon enough. But as I was consulting my lawyers, my world crumbled again. My parents’ small art gallery—a place I loved more than anything—was deep in high-interest debt. The loan sharks found them. They dragged my father in front of my mother, beating him until I was forced to watch. I cracked my head open begging them to stop. My parents were broken, hysterical. “If you’re still his fiancée, he’ll help us! Do you want to see your father beaten to death?” I drove to Ethan’s office and knelt outside Hailey’s door for an entire night, begging him to come home. His secretary delivered his message: “Mr. Vance is deeply troubled that you refused the portrait, which triggered a severe episode for Ms. Carter. He is currently apologizing on your behalf.” He cared for her that much. A few days later, he came home, drunk, and fell on me. He tore at my clothes, yelling Hailey’s name as he used me. I didn’t fight him. I let him take it all out. My love died in that moment. When the sun rose, I finally agreed to paint the wedding portrait. I was a fool to think I could salvage a clean break. As my agonizing scream faded into a gurgle, Ethan held up the canvas, presenting it like a trophy to the Queen: Hailey. “Haiz, I promise you, at our wedding, you will look exactly this beautiful.” Hailey smiled coyly, but her voice was a chilling whisper. “Ethan, I’m grateful for the wedding. But when Clara’s other hand can paint again, I’ll tell everyone the truth and give the painting back to her.” Ethan froze, then his face turned dark as midnight. “Clara Reynolds, you’re still clinging to the idea of painting?” My vision was swimming, my consciousness dimming. My head, sticky with tears and snot, shook weakly on the floor. “Don’t pretend to be helpless now. My commitment stands: you will remain the nominal Mrs. Vance. The wealthy socialite.” He focused on meticulously smoothing a loose strand of hair from Hailey’s face. “But for Hailey to be the sole creator of this masterpiece, you must never pick up a brush again.” “The Vance wife has plenty of help. You don’t need hands anyway.” He turned and waved his goodbyes, dismissing me like a stray dog. “Lose the other hand too.” I gasped. My consciousness snapped back. The first wave of pain had been unbearable. I couldn’t survive another. I thrashed wildly, spewing frantic apologies to him, to Hailey—but they only had eyes for each other. They didn’t hear my blood-gurgling pleas. The iron pipe went up again. Rusty, smeared with my own blood. CRUNCH! “!!!” CRUNCH! “AAAGH!” CRUNCH! “AAAHHHH!!!” Ethan’s voice drifted over: “Keep going. Make sure every hit is solid. Ensure she can never recover. Don’t stop until I say so.” CRUNCH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH!… The world was a kaleidoscope of color. My throat tore with inhuman sounds. I prayed for oblivion. It felt like a lifetime until Hailey finally winced. Then, Ethan graciously granted my reprieve. I was a dead weight on the floor, my hands twisted into grotesque, broken claws, like mismatched roots of some strange vine. They stood over me, picture-perfect, their love radiating brightly, a glorious symphony witnessed by the wedding portrait. I tried to move my lips, to speak, but no sound came. Ethan instructed the guards: “Bandage her. And watch her. She is not to see a doctor until the wounds are healed. We can’t risk her being able to paint again.” A guard uncorked a bottle and poured a liquid over my mangled flesh. I screamed, a final, ragged sound, and coughed up blood. Ethan gently covered Hailey’s ears. The pain was so absolute that I passed out. 03 I woke up in the hospital a week later. My hands were heavily bandaged. “Still hurting?” Ethan looked completely normal, as if nothing had happened. He carefully scooped up a spoonful of lukewarm soup and held it to my lips. “What’s the point of sitting in a dusty studio all day? When you’ve healed, I’ll get you a great executive position, or you can travel abroad to clear your head. Let’s not be mad at each other anymore, okay?” It was rare for him to be this comforting. He was probably worried I’d make a scene and ruin his wedding with Hailey. SMASH! I knocked the bowl away. Ethan’s hands froze mid-air. I swung my legs off the bed, ignoring the throbbing pain, and started to change my clothes. Ethan’s face darkened, but his eyes widened with alarm when he saw blood seeping through my bandages. “This is no time to be dramatic. Your hands can’t be moved!” “It’s none of your business. I don’t need your pity.” “You are my wife! How is it not my business?” “Not for long.” I didn’t look at him. “You and Hailey can have your life.” Ethan’s eyes were wide. I tore off the bandages he’d wrapped. The pain was breathtaking. But I wanted all connection with him gone. Ethan’s face was stone-cold as he hit the emergency bell. A swarm of nurses rushed in and pinned me back onto the bed. “Ethan Vance, you’ll burn in hell!” I screamed, blood spurting from my hands, cursing him with every ounce of air in my lungs. Ethan looked away. “Clara, I know this is hard to accept. Stay here and heal. You will always be my wife in name.” “I’ve assigned my secretary, Chen, to look after you. You can ask him for anything.” Ethan instructed Chen, “Take her phone.” I struggled, I roared, I hurled every curse word I knew. But it was useless. I was confined to the room, forced to “accept” his generous treatment. It wasn’t long before I understood why he was so desperate for me to heal: The wedding portrait went viral. While people marveled at the piece, others voiced suspicion: “Doesn’t that style look exactly like Clara Reynolds’s?” “Don’t you know? Hailey Carter started by copying Clara. She’s known in the art world as ‘Mini-Clara.’” “Seriously, what miracle pill did she take? This portrait is an exact copy, almost like the original artist painted it!” “Hold up, isn’t this actually Clara’s work? And isn’t that the CEO of Vance Corp? Wasn’t he engaged to Clara…?” “This feels really creepy…” I guessed Hailey was due for another “episode.” Sure enough, Ethan reappeared in my room. “Hailey is devastated by the online accusations. I’m hosting a dinner tonight to ease her mind. I’m giving you a chance to apologize to her.” Chen, the secretary, respectfully held out a bridesmaid dress. Seeing me turn away, Ethan cleared his throat. “Cooperate tonight, and I’ll let you leave the hospital and go home to see your parents.” My heart clenched. I hadn’t seen them in ages—not because I didn’t want to, but because I couldn’t. After Ethan had “mistakenly” thought I was Hailey that night, he settled my parents’ debt, but used the excuse of “protecting us from the loan sharks” to forbid me from seeing them freely. Ethan knew my weakness. He always did. Half an hour later, I was in the bridesmaid dress, standing at the dinner party. The table was filled with art critics and gallery owners. Hailey and Ethan sat together at one end. There was no seat for me. “Clara, I need you to publicly explain why you stole Hailey’s art.” Ethan’s voice was unnervingly calm. I stared at him. “I stole whose art?” Ethan glared at me. “You’ve always been jealous of Hailey and intentionally mimicked her style. It’s okay. Just apologize publicly. Admit that all your past work was actually hers. Hailey is very generous; she will forgive you.” Ethan turned to Hailey. “Haiz, you agree, right?” Hailey’s eyes welled up. “Actually, Ethan, you don’t need to do this for me. I’m used to being slighted. Clara is your fiancée. Whatever she does to me, I deserve it. I don’t have the right…” Ethan cut her off, his voice laced with resentment. “You have me now. What are you afraid of?” So, this was it. Ethan was going to strip away my entire career and hand it to Hailey so she could be perfect. Of course. Who would tolerate an imperfect partner? The critics began murmuring: “Her copied work is better than the original? How is that possible?” “It makes more sense that Hailey copied Clara.” Amidst the growing whispers, Hailey maintained a polite smile, but her hand was trembling under the table. Ethan’s face began to turn black. He dragged me out into the hallway before I could speak. “Clara, forget admitting to copying.” Seeing my confusion, Ethan spoke slowly. “You’re going to say that all your work was stolen.” “?!” I forgot how to be angry. Ethan touched his nose. “You should realize by now: this dinner is to validate Hailey’s claim as a legitimate artist.” “I’ve worked hard keeping your parents’ loan sharks at bay. I took a lot of heat. Don’t you think you should do something for me?” The blood drained from my face. “You’re threatening me?” “Let’s not use that ugly word.” Ethan was sickeningly elegant. “You miss your parents’ gallery, don’t you? If you handle this right, I promise to rebuild the gallery for your parents.” He was confident. “This is your one chance. Don’t waste it.” My mind exploded. It wasn’t just filial piety. My obsession with that gallery was because it was where Ethan and I first met. When he first saw me, I was lost in my work, the studio quiet, the brush gliding across time. He told me he fell for my concentration instantly. When the gallery went bankrupt, my parents knelt amidst the ruins, pleading with me to go to Ethan. That night, I went to Ethan’s bed. The next day, I became the CEO’s fiancée. I went willingly. Ethan never knew that night, as my eyes focused on the canvas, my heart was already a mess. When he paused outside the gallery in his tailored suit, he paused my heart, too. These secrets, these hopes. He was taking them all and using them as fuel for Hailey’s fire. Ethan Vance. You are something else. 04 “I owe you all an apology.” “I lied to you. I’m so sorry.” I stumbled through the apology. “I was jealous of Hailey’s talent. In school, I bullied her until she agreed to do all my assignments, even my thesis… I took countless masterpieces from Hailey and claimed them as my own. I used my status as Ethan’s fiancée to force her to ghost-paint for me. None of the seven pieces at the last annual exhibition were my own work…” “It was all me…” The room was silent. The critics who had just defended me stared in shock. The Head of the Association, his face beet red, slammed his glass down. “You are a disgrace to the art world!” Whispers of disdain rose, quickly becoming an angry consensus: I should be permanently blacklisted, my work never recognized again. I stood there like a statue. Hailey’s eyes flashed with triumph, but her voice was full of concern. “Clara! Why did you say that publicly? I told you I don’t care about the fame! How will you live now? I feel so awful!!” Ethan quickly pulled her into a hug, soothing her. “Hailey, don’t be so kind. Theft is theft. She has to face the consequences. She’s not worth your worry. I’ll take you to the Maldives to celebrate you finally reclaiming your honor, okay?” Hailey buried her face in his chest. “Ethan, I don’t know how to repay you…” Afterward, Ethan smoothly rallied everyone to raise a toast to Hailey, letting her bask in the spotlight. A greasy, fat-bellied man seized the moment to offer me drink after drink. My hand injuries made drinking tantamount to suicide. Ethan snatched the glass from Hailey’s hand. “Hailey shouldn’t drink. I’ll drink for her tonight!” My eyes tightened for a second. The fat man roughly grabbed my hair and forced my head back. “You plagiarizing b****. You think I’m invisible when I offer you a drink?” The burning alcohol stung my throat and nostrils. Glass after glass. My wounds tore open. Tears streamed down my face. Instinctively, I looked to Ethan for help. But through the crowd, I saw Hailey cup Ethan’s face and kiss him passionately on the lips. The plea died in my throat. I snatched a whole bottle from the fat man’s hand. “You want me dead?” I ripped the bandages off, exposing my raw, bloody hands, and tilted the bottle back, letting the wine cascade down my throat. The noisy private room instantly fell silent. The fat man saw my mangled hands. His face finally paled. He grabbed the bottle. “Ms. Reynolds, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I grabbed another bottle and chugged. They wanted me dead? Fine. Who was I asking for help? Did I need to? My stomach was on fire, but I felt a strange sense of comfort. Everything blurred. Ethan was watching me from a distance. I expected him to look happy, but his face was surprisingly somber. I didn’t care to investigate. 05 Too bad. I didn’t die. I was back in the hospital. Ethan came to see me, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “You’ve been blacklisted. Hailey can finally step into her own spotlight. You did well.” He paused, then softened his voice. “Do you still want to paint?” He stared at the corner of the room. “You gave me what I wanted. I’ll give you back what’s yours. I’ve brought in a top surgeon from Switzerland. You’ll have the operation in a few days. I’m letting you paint again.” I suddenly wanted to laugh. “Thank you, Mr. Vance, but don’t bother.” He noticed my distance and frowned. “Even if you don’t paint, you won’t be able to do anything for yourself with those hands.” “What are you fighting for?” I stared at him. “That’s my business. You’re a busy man, Mr. Vance. Don’t worry about me.” Ethan stood up, his voice cracking with a rare loss of control. “Are you breaking up with me?” I was unnaturally calm. “Didn’t you two just kiss publicly?” Ethan choked. With my clumsy fingers, I opened my phone. Hailey’s latest tweet: “Ethan mistook me for his fiancée at the party. We are innocent. Please stop harassing Clara.” “She took care of me in school; she never bullied me. I don’t know why she’s still holding a grudge, but I’ve truly forgiven her. I’m just so hurt…” The comments were a unified attack on me: “Gaslighting a victim! The plagiarizer is whining?” “The unloved one is the mistress. What is Clara doing? Does she think ruining other people’s lives makes her superior?” “Our sweet Hailey is too kind… Burn that Reynolds b****!” “BURN HER +1” Amidst the support, a comment from a profile with a pig avatar caught my eye: “Hailey, show them your real talent! Paint a masterpiece and silence that plagiarizer forever!” I pointed at the comment. “I hear the Head of the Association wants to collaborate with her. You want me to ghost-paint for her again, don’t you?” Ethan’s face went through shades of red and white. I looked out the window, smiling without a trace of warmth. “I won’t accept your surgery. I won’t paint another stroke. Clara Reynolds is dead. You killed her yourself.” Ethan was silent for a long time, then spoke awkwardly. “It’s not just for the painting. Don’t be ridiculous, Clara. You’re exhausting me…” I cut him off. “Then let go. Stop bothering me, the thief who stole art and people.” “Clara Reynolds, I am your fiancé!” Ethan’s eyes widened. “Hailey is sick. Why are you jealous of a sick person?” I didn’t answer. I was too tired. I had nothing left to say. Ethan was silent for a long time, then offered a dismissive laugh. “When Hailey is well, I’ll give you the real wedding. I told you, you are the only Mrs. Vance.” “Don’t be so dramatic. It makes you look pathetic.” 06 Ethan left with a slammed door. He’s a vindictive man. Since he didn’t get what he wanted, I figured he’d hate me. The retaliation came swiftly. My mother called, her voice thick with tears—a new group of loan sharks had shown up. My father was beaten. I rushed home with my injured hands. The walls were covered with vile graffiti aimed at my parents. My father was sprawled on the floor amidst the wreckage. My mother screamed: “Are you only happy when we’re dead?” I tried calling Ethan, but he had blocked me. I borrowed a random number. “Ethan, don’t harm my family. Why are you doing this to them?” Ethan’s voice was devoid of emotion. “They owe money. That’s business. From now on, even if you sell yourself into slavery to pay the debt, it has nothing to do with me.” “Harming your parents? Who do you think you are? You’re nothing to me.” He hung up before I could speak. The next day, Vance Corp officially announced Hailey Carter as Ethan’s fiancée. Ethan publicly cut all ties with me. Without his protection, the loan sharks celebrated by having a “party” at my parents’ house. I was a helpless little lamb, posturing weakly. My parents had sacrificed everything for me. I would break myself, but I couldn’t let them be hurt anymore. I invited the loan sharks to my cheap rental apartment. I braced myself, then lay down on my tiny bed. I opened my legs… No one was coming to save me. I had to save the Reynolds family myself. I started chasing money ruthlessly, shamelessly calling every friend, colleague, and even acquaintance, using soft words and desperate pleas until my lips cracked. Mostly mockery. Rarely a loan. The loan sharks came to “collect” a few more times. The last time, after they were done, they ground a cigarette butt into my sensitive skin. A startled bird flew off the windowsill outside. They grabbed my tear-streaked head and whispered in my ear: “We’re bored of you. Next time you don’t have cash, we’ll give you a real sickness!” “Come on, guys, one more cigarette. Let’s see how many times this b**** can scream…” When they left, I was a dying fish, sprawled in my own blood, gasping for breath. The pain, the terror. It completely broke me. I gave up.

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I was still staring at the word “PASS” on the results page for the state bar exam when my mother-in-law called. “Did you make it, honey?” I braced myself, figuring she was calling to tell me it was time to quit this career nonsense and be a full-time mom. Instead, her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ll wire you the retainer. I need you to be my lawyer.” “I want a divorce.” I froze. “What? Mom, why?” Her life was perfect, wasn’t it? My husband, Mark, overheard and signaled for me to brush it off. “She’s just being dramatic. She pulls this crap every few years. Just ignore her.” That night, I got another call. My mother-in-law was in the ER. 1 I never imagined my first official case as a licensed attorney would be my own mother-in-law’s. Or that it would be a divorce. Gripping the phone, I chose my words carefully. “Mom… Eleanor… you’re kidding, right?” In my heart, I didn’t believe for a second she’d actually leave him. She had moved across the country for him thirty-seven years ago and hadn’t worked a day since. Last month, her last living relative passed away. She had no one. My father-in-law, Arthur, was a kind, refined man. In the five years I’d known him, I’d never seen him raise his voice. He was always gentle with Eleanor. I’d never even heard them argue. But the voice on the phone was choked with real sobs. “No, Jenna. I’m serious. I’m done.” “But why?” I pleaded. She was silent for a long, heavy moment. Before she could answer, my husband, Mark, snatched the phone from my hand, his voice sharp with irritation. “Mom, seriously? You’re pulling this act again?” “You’re sixty years old! What are you going to do, get divorced? Let’s be real, you’d be homeless in a week.” “I’m telling you, you’ve been a housewife for so long your brain is broken. Everything you eat, everything you wear, every luxury you have—it all comes from Dad. You’re a parasite. What are you going to do when you detach from the host?” The words were so cruel, I physically winced and jabbed him in the ribs. “How can you talk to your mother like that?” I grabbed the phone back. “Mom, don’t listen to him. He’s an idiot. I am so, so sorry.” She didn’t say anything. The line just went dead. Mark was rubbing his arm, fuming. “Jenna, I’m telling you, stay out of this.” “She’s just being dramatic. She does this every few years for attention. Just let it go.” “What does she ‘do,’ exactly?” Mark threw his hands up. “I don’t know! She’s just… ungrateful. My entire life, Dad has done all the cooking. They have a cleaning service. She’s a ‘housewife’ who literally does no house work. She just enjoys the good life.” I cut him off. “She watched Lily for two years so I could go to law school. She’s not doing ‘nothing.’” “And she hired a nanny to help her! With Dad’s money!” Mark shot back. “Jenna, you’re being naive. We have this life because of my dad. My mom has contributed nothing, and she just creates drama.” His tone shifted, becoming a cold warning. “I’m serious. Do not get involved. It will make me very, very angry.” I sighed. I was stuck, and there was no right answer. Fine. Their family, their problem. I backed off. 2 Eleanor just turned sixty. She married Arthur at twenty-three. This is their thirty-seventh year. They had Mark late, when she was thirty-two. In five years, I’ve never found her to be anything but the perfect mother-in-law. Gentle, quiet, never interfered. Not like the monsters you read about online. When I got pregnant with Lily, we had a shotgun wedding. They didn’t use the pregnancy as leverage to control me. They were generous, helped with the down payment on our house, and paid for the wedding. Because of the baby, I missed my LSATs. I missed my chance at law school. Eleanor was the one who consoled me. She insisted on watching Lily, paying for a nanny to help her watch Lily, just so I could finally study. I only passed the bar because of her. I’m not some heartless person who only sides with whoever pays the bills. But I also know a normal family’s success isn’t built by just one person. I didn’t fully believe Mark’s “parasite” narrative. I texted her: Mom, please don’t be angry. I tore Mark a new one. He knows he was wrong. We’ll come see you this weekend. She replied almost instantly: Why does no one believe I’m serious? Why does he call me a parasite? I never wanted this. I wanted to work. Your father wouldn’t let me. It wasn’t my choice. … I quickly typed back: Mom, Mark was just running his mouth. He didn’t mean it. I’ll make him apologize tomorrow, okay? She replied: Jenna, tell me the truth. Do you think I’m just an accessory? That he’s been supporting me all these years? Am I a parasite? I wrote: Of course not. Don’t ever think that. Then I remembered. When I was studying for the bar, she’d once said, “When you pass, you’re the only lawyer I’ll ever use.” I thought she was joking. I’d told her I wanted to specialize in divorce law. Her life, to all of us, was a fairy tale. We never thought she was serious. But as a daughter-in-law… should I really get involved? This is a minefield even for a biological daughter. I sent a few more placating texts, but I really didn’t know what to do. To celebrate me passing the bar, Mark picked Lily up from daycare and we went out for Korean BBQ. We were a happy little family, full and laughing, heading out for a walk. Then Mark’s phone rang. “What?” “Is she fucking insane?” He hung up, his face grim. He scooped up Lily. “Something happened. We have to take Lily to your mom’s.” “We have to go to the hospital. Now.” The look on his face told me it was bad. I immediately called my mom, begging her to take Lily for a couple of days. Lily started to pout. “Why can’t I go to Grandma’s? She promised me we’d make cupcakes!” Mark, already halfway to the car, lied through his teeth. “Grandpa ate all the cupcake mix. Next time, okay?” As soon as we dropped Lily off, Mark’s voice went flat. “My mom took pills. They’re at the hospital, pumping her stomach.” My heart stopped. “What? Is she okay?” He shook his head, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. “I don’t know.” He bit out the next words. “I almost wish she’d actually done it! Why is she always so fucking dramatic? She’s tearing this family apart.” I stared at him, horrified. “How can you say that? That is your mother.” 3 Mark slammed on the gas, the engine screaming. He was vibrating with a rage I’d never seen before. “My mother? Does she act like my mother? She’s trying to destroy us! Do you have any idea what my dad has sacrificed for this family?” The rest of the drive was suffocatingly silent. Mark pushed the car to ninety. I could hear him grinding his teeth. I didn’t say another word. I just buckled my seatbelt and prayed. A woman doesn’t do this unless she is utterly, completely hopeless. Mark called it “drama.” But was it? 4 When we got to the hospital, Eleanor had been moved to a private room. She was lying perfectly still, her face ashen, her lips cracked. She looked like a skeleton, as if all the life had been siphoned out of her. Arthur was sitting by the bed, calmly peeling an apple. He was dressed in tasteful casual wear, his silver hair perfectly combed. He looked, as always, like a refined, gentle man. He stood when we entered, sighing with a practiced weariness. “You’re here.” Mark rushed past him, glanced at his mother, then turned on his father. His voice was a mix of fury and sympathy. “Dad, what is this now? What did the doctors say?” Arthur cut the apple into perfect slices. He speared one with a toothpick and offered it to Eleanor. She didn’t move. She just turned her head away, her eyes squeezed shut. Arthur didn’t react. He placed the apple on the nightstand. “The doctor said it’s nothing serious. Just some sleeping pills. The dose wasn’t high. We found her in time.” He paused, patting Mark’s shoulder. “Don’t be angry with your mother. She’s just… unhappy. She’s throwing a tantrum.” He was trying to de-escalate, but his words felt horribly wrong. “Throwing a tantrum.” He was reducing a life-or-death crisis to a child’s silly outburst. Mark’s anger boiled over. “A tantrum? This is a tantrum? She tried to kill herself! Dad, you are too soft on her! Look what she’s become!” Arthur just patted his shoulder again. “That’s enough. She just woke up. She needs rest.” He turned to me, his smile as warm and kind as ever. “Jenna, thank you for coming. I’m so sorry you have to see this mess.” I forced a tight smile. “Arthur, please. I’m just glad she’s okay.” I moved to the other side of the bed. Her hand was ice-cold and trembling. I held it. “Mom? How are you feeling?” Eleanor’s eyes slowly opened. They were cloudy, and it took her a long second to focus on me. Her lips moved, her voice a dry rasp. “Jenna…” Tears began to spill from the corners of her eyes, tracing paths down her temples into her hair. “They… they all think I’m being dramatic…” “Do you… think that, too?” I shook my head, my grip tightening on her hand. “No, Mom. I don’t.” In that instant, I made my decision. Mark could abandon her. Arthur could gaslight her. But I wouldn’t. This wasn’t a family squabble anymore. This was a life. I leaned in close, my voice a fierce whisper meant only for her. “Mom. I’m taking your case.” “Whatever you want to do, I will support you.” A tiny spark of light flared in her dull eyes. Her fingers, surprisingly strong, clamped down on my hand like she was holding on for dear life. 5 Predictably, Mark exploded. He was silent the entire drive home. The second we were inside, he slammed his keys on the counter so hard they bounced onto the floor. “Jenna, what the hell was that?” He stared at me, his eyes bloodshot. “I told you to stay out of it! Were my words just background noise to you?” I met his gaze evenly. “Mark, this isn’t ‘getting involved.’ Your mother is literally screaming for help, and you can’t see it.” “Screaming for help? That’s emotional blackmail!” he yelled. “She’s using her death to threaten my dad, to threaten all of us! All because she’s ungrateful and wants a stupid divorce!” “You’re a rookie lawyer who just passed the bar! You don’t know anything! You think you’re helping her? You’re going to destroy this family!” I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “My status as a ‘rookie lawyer’ has nothing to do with what’s right and wrong. Mark, ask yourself: what is your mother to you?” “Is she your dad’s property? A nuisance who causes problems? Or is she your mother?” My question staggered him, which only made him angrier. “Stop twisting my words! Of course she’s my mom! And because she’s my mom, I can’t stand by and watch her be this stupid!” “I think you’re the one being stupid!” I finally snapped. “You believe every word your dad says, but your mom’s agony is invisible to you! Have you ever, for one second, wondered why she would rather die than stay married to him?” “A woman who has everything, who doesn’t have to lift a finger—what kind of hell is she living in that makes suicide the better option?” “I don’t know!” He was pacing, yanking at his hair. “I just know my dad is a saint! He gave her everything! She’s spoiled rotten and bored, and this is the crap that happens!” He was a brick wall. He was completely blinded by the “perfect father” image Arthur had spent a lifetime crafting. “Mark,” I said, my voice flat and final. “I am taking this case. I’m doing it for those tears she cried while holding my hand today.” “If you think that’s wrong, then we have nothing left to talk about.” “You…” He pointed a shaking finger at me, speechless. “Fine. Fine. You want to side with her against me? You’ll regret this, Jenna.” He grabbed his coat and slammed the door. The sound of it echoed in the apartment, a sharp, sudden crack. I collapsed on the sofa, and for the first time, I felt a terrifying doubt about my own marriage.

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1 Eight days postpartum, my husband, Ethan, told me an “emergency project” had come up at work. He needed to go out of town for a few days. I was furious, but too exhausted to fight. Not long after he left, my cousin sent me an Instagram Reel. A travel blogger was on a scenic highway out west, interviewing a family on a cross-country road trip. There was Ethan, grinning into the camera. “It’s amazing out here,” he said, “This trip to the National Parks is just what I needed to relax and clear my head.” In the video, his parents and his sister, Sophie, were laughing, looking happier than I’d ever seen them. I didn’t sleep that night. By dawn, I had packed up my daughter, left our condo, and was on a flight back to my hometown. I also sold the condo. If he loved relaxing so much, I was going to make sure he had all the time in the world to do it. 2 On the drive from the airport, my cousin Maya just held my hand, terrified I was going to shatter. My mom had broken her leg a few weeks back and was recovering at home, and my dad was in D.C. on business. So, my aunt’s family was on pickup duty. My aunt chattered nervously from the front seat. “Liv, honey, just try to breathe. Look at this beautiful baby girl. She’s so perfect.” I just sat there, numb, the tears streaming silently down my face. Right on cue, Ethan texted me: ‘Hey babe, how’s my little girl? Is she behaving? Send me a video so I can see her!’ I felt nothing. It had been four days. He was finally remembering he had a daughter. I texted back: ‘Don’t call. I just fed her. She’s asleep.’ He replied instantly: ‘Great! You get some rest too! Btw, I ordered a box of diapers for her from Amazon, they should have arrived. Did you get them?’ Oh, I got them. A plain brown box with no label, but the shipping sticker showed it was from some sketchy third-party seller. And worst of all, he’d bought size NB. My daughter was twelve days old. We’d been on Size 1 for a week. Maya saw the look on my face and quickly changed the subject. “Hey, Liv! Are you craving that coconut curry place? The one we loved in high school? They moved to a new spot, it looks amazing. My treat, what do you say?” I managed a weak smile and nodded. 3 When I got home, my mom, sitting in her wheelchair, burst into tears as she took the baby. “Oh, my sweet girl. You’ve been through so much.” The postpartum nurse I’d hired was already waiting. My old bedroom had been completely redone, even the lighting was softened. My mom was firm. “Don’t you dare think about anything else. Your only job is to heal and take care of this baby.” That night, after the baby was asleep, I did it anyway. I opened Instagram. I always thought Ethan had one account. I never knew he had a “finsta,” a private one just for his “real life.” It had over 20,000 followers. He’d just posted a new video. ‘Visiting a local ranch, met this amazing hiker girl. So beautiful and really knows her stuff.’ Someone commented: ‘Prettier than your wife?’ He replied: ‘The grass is always greener, man. 😉’ Like picking at a scab, I scrolled through his entire feed. He seemed obsessed with this trip, overflowing with a thirst for adventure I’d never seen. His sister, Sophie, was even worse. There was a photo of the two of them, hands tightly clasped, sitting in camping chairs watching a sunset. If you didn’t know they were siblings, you’d assume they were a couple. A comment underneath read: ‘Dude. Sweet Home Alabama much?’ Sophie herself had replied: ‘WTF! What’s wrong with you? Is it illegal for a brother and sister to hold hands??’ I let out a bitter laugh. Thank God they had the same mother, or I’d seriously wonder. 4 The first time I met Ethan’s parents, everything seemed normal. They weren’t overly warm, but they were polite. The only weird thing was at dinner. His sister, Sophie, insisted on sitting between Ethan and me. She didn’t just sit—she squeezed her chair right up against his. “Eth, can you get me the shrimp? Ooh, and the potatoes.” Her voice was sickly sweet, making my skin crawl. When Ethan put some food on my plate, Sophie pouted. “Aw, got a girlfriend and already forgot about your little sister?” At the time, I just thought she was spoiled, but it also meant his family wasn’t toxically patriarchal, right? I mentioned it to Ethan later, and he just laughed and hugged me. “Don’t be ridiculous. Sophie’s just a kid. She has a major case of ‘brother worship.’ Just ignore her.” I’m naturally pretty trusting, so I let it go. Until our wedding rehearsal dinner. There was a tradition where the groom’s mother was supposed to give a toast and offer the new bride a sip of champagne, welcoming her to the family. The moment the liquid hit my tongue, an intense, chemical bitterness exploded in my mouth. It was awful. It was bitter cooking sherry. I fought the urge to gag and forced myself to swallow it down. Sophie, holding the tray, was beaming at me. “Welcome to the family, Liv!” With a room full of guests watching, I had no choice but to smile and finish the toast. Later, in our hotel room, I finally lost it. Ethan was completely unbothered. “Oh, come on. It’s an old tradition. ‘A bitter sip for the bride, so she can handle the hardships of marriage.’ It’s a good omen! Besides, it’s just a silly ritual. And hey, it clears out your system, it’s good for you!” Just then, Sophie knocked and came in. “Liv, I’m so, so sorry. It was all my fault… I must have grabbed the wrong bottle… If you’re mad, be mad at me. It has nothing to do with Ethan…” Before she finished, my father-in-law walked in, his face serious. “That’s enough. It was a small mistake, let’s move on. Stop crying. Liv is a reasonable person. She’s not going to hold a grudge.” That phrase, “reasonable person,” lodged all my anger right in my throat. From that day on, Sophie and I were polite on the surface, but the war was on. The sherry wasn’t a mistake. It was a warning shot from her to me, the “invader.” 5 My daughter grew stronger every day. As far as I knew, Ethan was on paternity leave plus his PTO, which totaled about 20 days. I was curious to see how long he’d drag this “work trip” out. The condo we lived in was mine, bought and paid for before I ever met him. His family had a place for us, but Sophie was living in it. Since my condo was closer to my office, Ethan just paid to have it remodeled and we moved in. To avoid any weirdness, Sophie paid Ethan $2,000 a month in “rent” for his family’s place. Now, all I felt was profound relief that our finances were mostly separate. I put my condo on the market for 30% below its value. It sold two days ago. I got the $1.5 million wire-transferred directly to my account, then immediately used it to buy gold bullion. I couldn’t wait to see Ethan’s face when he got home. I did all of this with a strange, cold calm. 6 My parents are both government employees. They were high school sweethearts. I grew up believing that marriage was a partnership, a sacred pact to face the world together. I met Ethan at a trade conference. He was the client. We dated for five years before getting married. He was the perfect, doting boyfriend. He took care of everything. He even cut my toenails for me when I was pregnant. My parents adored him. But after I gave birth, everything changed. The hormone crash was brutal, leaving me weepy and raw. My stitches from the episiotomy throbbed constantly. I thought Ethan would step up, that we’d figure out this newborn thing together. But on day three, he was already complaining. He complained about the baby’s crying waking him up. He complained that making bottles and changing diapers cut into his one hour of video game time. Once, when the baby had a blowout, he just looked at her with disgust. “God, it stinks. This is exhausting. It’s worse than work.” My mother-in-law came to “help” for a few days, which mostly consisted of her inspecting my apartment and criticizing me. “You’re holding her wrong.” “Is your milk not coming in? She seems hungry.” “We weren’t so delicate in my day.” Sophie came by once, looked me up and down, and said with a smirk, “Yikes, Liv. You better hit the gym. Your boobs are already sagging to your knees.” Every word was a tiny cut on my already frayed nerves. I finally snapped at Sophie. My mother-in-law immediately took her side, and they both left. “You young people have your own ideas,” she said. “We’re just in the way.” As for my father-in-law? He was in his own blissful retirement world of fishing, chess, and walking his dog. The mess of a newborn never crossed his radar. In those long, lonely nights, exhausted and sore, I told myself this was just the newborn phase, that this was normal. But now, watching Ethan’s Instagram videos—him laughing, trying new foods, looking so alive—all I could think was: I hope he crashes. I was furious. Like a detective, I started digging. I checked every social media account I knew he had. Facebook, Twitter, even his old gaming forums. I looked for any suspicious likes or comments. Nothing. It was all clean. Just as I was starting to doubt myself, the new owner of my condo called. “Hi, Ms. Hayes? It’s not a big deal, the condo is great. But I was doing some cleaning today, and I found a small box tucked behind the circuit breaker panel. Did you leave it?” “A box?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “It’s tiny. I can send you a picture, or just mail it to you?” “Yes, please. Thank you so much, that’s so kind.” It arrived the next day. A small, vintage-style metal box, about four inches long, with a little combination lock. I tried all of Ethan’s usual passwords. Nothing. My cousin Maya, ever impatient, went and got a toolbox. “Damn. Tucked away like that? I bet it’s something shady.” She wedged a screwdriver in and popped the lock. Inside, there were no love letters, no photos. Just one, single, black flash drive.

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After losing my memory in the car accident, my boyfriend’s sister called me “sister-in-law.” Looks like we’re married. After dinner, I went to open his bedroom door, ready for bed. He was wrapped in a towel, looking at me in surprise: “W-what are you doing?” I innocently replied, “Sleeping.” He stammered, “Wh-what?” Just then, someone grabbed my hand. I turned around. His older brother, dressed in a suit, was staring intently at me: “Wife, what are you doing?” I stammered, “Wh-what?” Without a word, he pulled me to his room. And locked the door. As I pondered this, he loosened his tie and slowly bound my hands. “You not only looked at him, but you also talked to him.” He gave a cruel smile: “Tonight, I’m going to punish you severely.” 1 “Mia, seriously, you have to be more careful! Are you still feeling dizzy?” The girl in front of me, wearing a high school freshman uniform, was Chloe. My boyfriend’s sister. I remembered celebrating my boyfriend’s birthday. Everyone was happy. Then he got a call about an emergency, left in a hurry, and asked his older brother to drive me home. On that winding mountain road, a drunk driver rear-ended us. We almost went over the cliff. Luckily, his brother wrenched the wheel, and we only slammed into the stone guardrail. 2 I shook my head. “I’m fine.” I stared at Chloe. She seemed… older. More like a young woman than the kid I remembered. It felt like just yesterday she was this awkward middle-schooler, throwing a fit because her parents grounded her for trying to go to a party. She was packing a bag for me. A moment later, my boyfriend’s mom came in. She fussed over me, telling me to be careful. “And you two are trying for a baby! What if something had happened?” I froze. I scrambled for my phone. I stared at the date. It was three years later. 3 By the time we got back to their house, I was silently trying to process the fact that I had amnesia. My last memory was from three years ago. Apparently, in that time, my boyfriend and I got married. And I seemed to get along with his family. Great. The mother-in-law (let’s call her Mrs. Pierce) was kind. My sister-in-law, Chloe, seemed to adore me. When we got home, Chloe pulled me into her room—a pink princess explosion on the third floor—and immediately started complaining about her love life. Two different guys liked her, and she couldn’t decide… 4 Chloe was an absolute knockout—pretty, sweet, and funny. I had her show me their texts, their Instagrams, trying to help her pick the best one. Before I knew it, we’d both fallen asleep on her bed. A housekeeper woke us for dinner. At the table, my father-in-law sat at the head. My mother-in-law was to his right. My boyfriend, Liam, had just gotten home from work, still in his suit, looking exhausted. He glanced at me as I came down. “You okay?” His tone was… weird. Distant. I forced a smile. “I’m fine.” He looked at me for a second, a strange look in his eyes, then just nodded and looked away. 5 I moved to sit next to him. But Chloe, quick as a whip, slid into the seat right beside Liam, blocking me. I awkwardly took the empty seat next to my mother-in-law. Dinner was silent. My father-in-law was old-school, a strict “no talking, no phones at the table” kind of guy. Liam had told me about that back when we were dating. I’d never actually met his parents before my memory gap, though I’d met his brother. I’d even stayed at this house, but his parents were in Boston expanding the business at the time. 6 After dinner, Chloe leashed up two dogs. A Golden Retriever—Max—who I vaguely remembered was mine. And a Samoyed, who belonged to Liam’s older brother, Julian. I’d forgotten I had a dog. I felt like a monster. Max bounded over, whining and licking my hand, pushing the leash into my palm. “C’mon, sis,” Chloe said. “Let’s walk the dogs.” I glanced at Liam. He was on the couch, listlessly flipping through channels. He met my gaze. His eyes looked… strange. Pained. Like he wanted to say a thousand things. I was about to ask him if something was wrong, but Chloe was already pulling me out the door. 7 The second we were outside, Chloe let out a huff. “Mia, I thought you said you were done with Liam? Why were you staring at him like that?” She pouted. “You can’t go back on your word! You’ll just end up complaining to me again.” I was completely lost. Had Liam and I gotten into a fight? A huge one? Had I sworn to his sister that I was done with him? That seemed extreme for a married couple. But maybe he’d done something to make me furious. His behavior tonight certainly felt like it. It couldn’t be cheating. I wouldn’t have stayed. I couldn’t figure it out. But I didn’t want to tell anyone about the amnesia. I was worried my in-laws would panic, and I was worried Liam would… well, lie to me. If he had done something wrong, this was the perfect time for him to cover it up. I’m a cautious person. So, I just nodded and let Chloe lead the way. 8 The gated community was beautiful, built on a hill overlooking a lake. The air was misty and cool. Chloe started begging me. “Mia, can you please talk to Julian? He won’t let me go on the Eurotrip with my friends for winter break.” “What trip?” She laid out a plan for a group of high school sophomores to backpack through Europe. No guides, no chaperones. I wouldn’t even be comfortable with that, let alone her brother. She kept whining, showing me their itineraries, insisting they were responsible, that they wanted to “see the world” and “be independent.” I was almost… jealous. My memories were still stuck in my sophomore year of college. I was still young! And I woke up married. I didn’t even know what my job was. 9 We got back home around 8 PM. The dogs, Max and Ghost, had their dinner and passed out. Chloe’s phone buzzed, and she glanced around to make sure her parents weren’t watching, then sprinted upstairs. The house had three floors. The parents and Julian were on the second floor. Liam was on the third. I hesitated. I should probably go to the third floor. Back to our room. Whatever was going on, we needed to talk. And Liam looked like he wanted to talk, too. Besides, I needed a shower. And sleep. 10 I heard the front gate open. A car pulled in. From the glass landing on the stairs, I saw him get out. Liam’s older brother, Julian. He was in a suit, wearing thin gold-rimmed glasses. His eyes were cold, assessing. He glanced up and saw me watching him. I immediately looked away and hurried toward Liam’s room. Even though I was missing three years, my gut reaction to Julian was the same: he was intense. His presence was overwhelming, and I always wanted to hide. The first time I met him, Liam had brought me here, promising the house was empty. We were playing with Max in the living room when Julian just appeared. He’d frozen, his eyes locking onto me, just… staring. It made my heart hammer in a way that wasn’t pleasant. After a very awkward explanation, Liam grabbed me and Max, and we basically ran out of the house. 11 The second time, our whole group went skiing. I got separated on the last run, used the restroom, and when I came out, everyone was gone. Then I slipped, twisted my ankle, and the ski lift had just closed. I was terrified. The temperature was dropping below zero. I thought I was going to freeze to death. 12 I limped for almost two hours. Then I heard it. A helicopter. I waved, crying with relief. The helicopter landed, and Julian got out, his face like thunder. He was furious. He didn’t say a word. He just grabbed my arm, hard, and dragged me onto the helicopter. I should have been grateful, but he looked so angry I was scared to even speak. Finally, he spoke. “Liam is not right for you. This weather, this situation… and he just left you on the mountain.” I was mortified. I mumbled that it was an accident, that I’d gotten lost. I wasn’t even sure where Liam was. The third time I saw him was right before the accident, when he drove me home.

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I worked late, got home after midnight, and found a Porsche parked in my spot. It took me forever to get in touch with the owner. When I finally did, she refused to move it. Her excuses were insane: “That’s what you get for coming home so late,” “Just find another spot,” and my personal favorite, “What if you’re a creep trying to rape me?” I thought about it. Then, I had an idea. The next day, I got a call: “Sir, you’re a reasonable guy, don’t stoop to her level.” I laughed. “Don’t say that. I’m not reasonable at all.” 1 I live in an old condo complex. Parking is a nightmare, which is why I paid $30,000 for my own deeded spot. Tonight, I work one overtime shift, and my spot is occupied by a cherry-red Porsche. No parking pass, no note on the dash, nothing. I tried the non-emergency police line for a tow; no luck. I posted in the HOA Facebook group; no response. Finally, the building’s property manager dug up the owner’s contact info. Her name was Tiffany. I was ready to unleash hell, but she was a woman, and I figured getting her angry wouldn’t get my spot back. So, I was super polite. “Hey, uh, Tiffany? Your Porsche is in my private spot. Could you please move it?” She let out an annoyed “Ugh, fine,” and said she was in the shower. She’d be down in thirty minutes. I had no choice. I sat in my car, starving, blasting the AC. Thirty minutes passed. No one. I called again. This time, she came at me, guns blazing. “What is your problem? Can’t you come home earlier? It’s the middle of the night! Where am I supposed to find parking now?” Normally, I would have lost it. But I just wanted my damn spot. I took a deep breath, drove a lap around the garage, and found one empty visitor spot in the far corner. I called her back and told her. Then she said it. “Since you found a spot, just park there! Why do you need me to move? What, is this some kind of trick? Are you trying to lure me to the garage so you can rape me?” 2 That was it. I snapped. I started cursing her out, going back generations. She blocked me. I was so angry I grabbed the tire iron from my trunk. I was about to smash her taillight, but then I remembered that in my state, anything over $1,000 is felony vandalism. I stopped. I parked on the street, fuming. Let it go, I told myself. She’s just an entitled idiot. Not worth it. The next day, I get home from work. The Porsche is still there. Gleaming. Like it’s mocking me. That’s when I decided I was done being the nice guy. I pulled my old Honda Civic right up behind her, bumper to bumper, blocking her in completely. Then I went upstairs. The next morning, my phone rings. It’s Tiffany, screaming that she’s late for work and that I have five minutes to get my “shitbox” out of her way. I put on my calmest voice. “Oh, man, I’m so sorry. I’m in the middle of a really bad crap. It’s gonna be at least fifteen minutes.” I hung up. Fifteen minutes later, she calls back, absolutely livid. “Where the hell are you?” I burst out laughing. “Oh wow, you actually waited? You should probably call an Uber. You’re gonna be in trouble.” She started screaming every curse in the book. I hung up. A few minutes later, the HOA manager calls. He says the Porsche is a temporary vehicle, and they charge $100 a day for that. If I don’t move, the fee will be charged to me. I was ready for this. “Parking is a nightmare, and you guys let this car in without a pass. That’s your fault. You want me to pay her parking fee? Fine. I’ll just stop paying my HOA dues. See how that works out for you.” The manager caved. A little while later, a guy claiming to be the head of the HOA board called, begging me to move. “Sir, you’re a reasonable guy. Don’t stoop to her level.” I smiled. “Don’t say that. Neither am I.” 3 I knew she couldn’t do anything to me. I have full coverage on my car, and she’s driving a Porsche. I’m in a Honda. In a collision, I make a profit. That afternoon, I get a call from the police. They tell me to move my car, or I could be charged with criminal mischief. I laughed. I wasn’t born yesterday. I told the cop I was out of town visiting family. I’d be back next week. If she was in a hurry, they could call a tow truck. I had no objections. I knew the garage ceiling was too low for a tow truck to get in. And they weren’t going to drive three hours to my “parents’ house” to get me. The cop sighed, realizing I knew the game. “Look, man,” he said, “why are you, a grown man, getting into this with a young woman? You blocked her in for a whole day. You’ve made your point.” I knew I couldn’t push the cops too far. So I offered a deal: “I just want an apology. If she apologizes, I’ll move the car right now. I just want her to admit she was wrong.” The cop agreed. I went down to the local precinct for “mediation.” The second Tiffany saw me, she went ballistic, screaming and swinging her Gucci handbag at my head, breaking the strap. Then she started sobbing to the cops, claiming I was a stalker, that I’d been following her and taking pictures, that I tried to assault her last night, and that I was blocking her car as revenge. The cops were done. “Ma’am, I’m going to ask you one time: will you apologize or not? If not, we’re washing our hands of this. You can figure it out yourselves.” Tiffany’s face went rigid. “Apologize to him? He should be apologizing to me! I’m warning you, you can’t just violate my will because you’re a cop! This is harassment! You’re raping me!” 4 Even for these seasoned officers, this was a new level of crazy. They just told her to leave. As she was storming out, the cop who’d been on the phone with me pulled me aside. “Buddy,” he said, in a low voice, “Block her in good. Make it tight. Take Ubers for a few days. Don’t you dare let her out. I’ll personally cover your Uber receipts.” I told him it was my pleasure. Community service. We’re all in this together. With the cops on my side, I was all in. I blocked her for seven straight days. Tiffany tried everything. She called a tow truck (couldn’t fit). She called a mechanic (couldn’t do anything). She even hired a group of day laborers, who spent an afternoon trying to push the Porsche out. They moved it maybe two inches. She started leaving threatening voicemails. Said her father was a “big deal” in city government. Said her mom was on the board of regents. Said they could end me. I almost laughed. “I’m a single guy. No wife, no kids. What have I got to lose? But if I have a bad day… you should be careful.” I never thought she’d go after my family. The next day, my sister, Sarah, called. She asked if I was in a fight with someone. I was stunned. “How did you know?” Sarah hesitated. “My principal just pulled me aside. He said I need to ‘advise’ my brother to move his car… or my probationary contract won’t be renewed next month.” My hand was shaking. I couldn’t believe Tiffany had found my sister and was threatening her job. My dad died when we were young. I was the only man in the family. I practically raised Sarah. She’d worked her ass off to get this teaching position. It was her dream. I couldn’t be the one to ruin it. I moved the car. Tiffany, predictable as ever, swaggered over as I was getting in. “Aw, what happened? Not so tough now, are you? Next time you see me, you better be polite, or I’ll have your sister…” I exploded. I grabbed her by the throat and slammed her against the garage wall. “I’m warning you,” I snarled, “you come after me, fine. But if you ever touch my sister again, I will end you.” “You want to file a report about a rapist? Fine. I’ll be the rapist.” 5 She scrambled into her Porsche and peeled out, terrified. I immediately regretted it. She’d played me. That afternoon, I got the call. The police were formally opening an investigation into me for assault and attempted sexual assault. My heart pounded. I ran to the station. I told them she’d threatened my sister, that I just lost my temper. I never intended to assault her. But the cop on duty just shook his head. My fingerprints were on her neck. The garage had security cameras. The evidence was iron-clad. Luckily, Officer Diaz—the cop who’d told me to block her in—was on shift. He knew what Tiffany was. He believed me. With Diaz’s help, the DA’s office declined to press felony charges due to “insufficient evidence of intent.” But I still got booked for assault and spent seven days in lockup until my sister could post my bail. Diaz warned me. “You’re not out of the woods. She can still sue you. If she pushes the attempted rape charge in civil court, you’re screwed.” The only way out was to get her to sign a settlement. I was hopeless. This woman wasn’t going to settle. She wanted me in prison. My sister, Sarah, insisted on handling it. She was afraid I’d explode again. She bought a $3,000 La Mer gift set—a year’s worth of her salary—and went to Tiffany to beg for forgiveness on my behalf. After weeks of effort, Tiffany agreed not to sue. On one condition. “From now on, your parking spot is mine. And, you will personally wash and detail my car. Every. Single. Day. If I find one fingerprint on the glass, I’ll send you to prison. I mean it.”

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I got home late from my internship, only to find my deeded parking spot taken by a brand-new Porsche. It took me forever to track down the owner. When I did, she refused to move, hitting me with a laundry list of excuses: “It’s your fault for coming home so late,” “Just find another spot,” and my personal favorite, “What if you’re a creep trying to rape me?” I thought about it all night. Then, I had a plan. The next day, I got a call. “Sir, you’re a civilized person. Don’t stoop to her level.” I laughed. “Don’t be so sure. I’m not civilized at all.” 1 I landed my dream internship at a major bank. As a graduation gift, my parents bought me a brand-new electric car, a sleek Xiaomi SU7. They wanted my commute to be safe and comfortable. I was so grateful I almost cried. I posted a picture on Instagram, thanking my parents for being the absolute best. A few minutes later, my boyfriend, Matt, texted me. ‘Babe, I got good news too! I landed that new job! It’s a $3k raise!’ Double good news! I agreed to meet him for dinner, driving my new car. We’d been together since college. His family situation was tough—his mom was partially paralyzed, and his dad ran a food truck. He was, to put it mildly, broke. But he was gorgeous. I’m an only child. My parents own a few businesses and got lucky with some real estate. We’re in completely different worlds. My parents weren’t thrilled about him and told him he needed to buy a house before they’d even consider marriage. Matt swore to them he’d have a down payment within three years. To help him, I never asked for gifts. But Matt had all the ambition and none of the hustle. Whenever I suggested he could pick up some gig work on weekends, he’d sigh. “I’m already exhausted from my 9-to-5, babe. I have no energy. Maybe next weekend.” But “next weekend” always turned into “I’m sick” or “I have to work.” The house was just a test. I knew it. But watching him flake out, again and again, was chipping away at my feelings. The cute, talented college guy wasn’t cutting it in the real world. We hadn’t spoken in almost a month. I was this close to breaking up with him when he sent that text. He finally got a new job. I was genuinely thrilled. I pulled into the restaurant, excited. But Matt just gave me a quick, distracted hug. His eyes were glued to my car. He immediately asked if he could take it for a spin. I hated to kill his vibe, but… “Matt, you still haven’t passed your driver’s test. And this is a parking garage. What if you hit something?” His face fell. But he recovered quickly, launching into a speech about his new job. I was happy for him until he mentioned the commute. “Wait, it takes you two hours each way? By bus and subway?” I did the math. “The raise doesn’t even cover the Uber fare if you’re late. You’re really going to spend four hours a day on public transport?” 2 He blinked, as if the question surprised him. Then, he put a piece of fish on my plate and casually dangled my car keys. “Babe, you have a car now. You can just drive me.” “That’s why I took the job. I figured you’d be able to. Otherwise, I’d be wasting four hours I could be using to moonlight.” I didn’t answer. My apartment, his apartment, my new job, and his new job were at four completely different corners of the city. Driving him would add at least two hours to my day. My parents bought me the car to make my life easier, not to turn me into his personal chauffeur. He didn’t notice my silence. “I’ll even pick you up breakfast! You’ll save money.” “And at night, we can go grocery shopping, I’ll cook, and you can just pay for the food!” I held up my hand. “Matt, stop. It’s not on the way. At all.” He leaned across the table, grabbing my arms and putting on his pathetic puppy-dog face. “But it would be on the way if you moved in with me!” I stared at him. “We’d commute together, eat together… it would be perfect!” I laughed, but it was a cold sound. “So, let me get this straight. You want me to give up my 800-square-foot apartment to move into your 300-square-foot studio?” “And pay for the groceries?” “And wake up an hour earlier every day to be your driver?” The audacity was stunning. He smiled, his voice turning into a wheedle. “Babe, don’t make it sound so bad! And hey, if you do… some of the chores, I won’t even make you pay for food. I’ll only charge you, like, a thousand bucks for rent. It’s a steal.” “This new job has a huge future, Liv. I’m doing this to save up for our house. This is all for you.” My voice was flat. “So I should be thanking you, then.” “Exactly! You’re my future wife!” he chirped. “Oh, by the way, my washing machine is broken, so you’ll have to hand-wash our stuff for a while. Or you could just buy a new one.” “And since you’re saving so much, you should really learn to cook. That’s what a good wife does.” “My college reunion is next month. My license should be here by then. Make sure you get the car detailed. I want to look good pulling up.” 3 I looked at the storm clouds gathering outside. Then I looked at the man in front of me. This was the first time I suspected his jawline might be made of titanium, because his nerve was incredible. I grabbed my purse and stood up. “I’m sorry, but I’m not signing up to be your bang-maid, your ATM, or your chauffeur.” “Matt, we’re done. Break up.” I turned to leave. He grabbed my wrist, hard. “Olivia, what the hell does that mean? ‘Break up’?” He glanced at my keys and his face contorted into a sneer. “Oh, I get it. Land the big corporate job and the first thing you do is dump the poor boyfriend, right? I knew there was a reason you were ignoring me. You planned this!” “And here I was, working my ass off for you, going to interviews in this disgusting heat, and you’re this cold? You can’t see any of my sacrifices?” It was the dinner rush. The restaurant was packed. I could feel people staring. My disappointment crystallized into pure, cold anger. I always thought he was just lazy. I never realized he was a manipulative, parasitic leech. As my expression hardened, he must have sensed he was losing. So he switched tactics, playing the victim for the audience. He took a deep breath, and his eyes weltered up. “Babe… I don’t want to break up,” he said, his voice cracking. “To buy you that house… I’m willing to commute four hours every day. I’ll do anything. Just… just don’t leave me. We’re family. I love you so much.” The restaurant, already quiet, went dead silent. The whispers started immediately. “Wow, she looks like a bitch. He’s willing to do that for her and she’s just staring at him?” The girl at the next table nudged her boyfriend. “If I were him, I’d dump her. He’s trying to save for a house and she’s going to dump him after she gets a good job? Disgusting.” Someone was filming me on their phone. Matt held his hand out, his eyes shining with fake tears. “Babe, don’t listen to them. Only I know how much I love you. Let’s not break up, okay?” 4 His words were like a slap. Suddenly, all the little red flags I’d ignored for years snapped into focus. The time I spent half my student loan refund on new Nikes for him because his were falling apart. He’d “refused” to take them. “Babe, you can’t spend this much on me. I’m not worth it. I’m used to having nothing…” I’d practically begged him to accept them, my heart aching for him. I didn’t notice how his eyes were glued to the box the entire time. He used my pity against me then, just like he was using public opinion now. He was weaponizing my success to keep me under his thumb. I was done. I looked straight at him and, in a clear, carrying voice, I said: “I’m sorry, but I am not your chauffeur or your maid.” “Move out of my own apartment to pay you rent, hand-wash your clothes, and drive you to work? I’d have to be brain-dead.” “And that house? We both agreed the down payment and the title would be in your name only. So how, exactly, are you ‘buying it for me’? Or are you planning to put my name on the deed now?” He was speechless. His face turned purple. “I… I was being sincere,” he stammered. “Why do you have to be so… so petty?” Petty? I just laughed, turned, and walked out. When I got home, I told my parents everything. My dad slammed his fist on the table. “I knew that kid was a user! I could smell the calculation on him!” My mom just hugged me. “Good thing we bought that car. It just saved you from a lifetime of misery.” My dad sighed. “It’s not over. A guy like that, who’s willing to make a public scene? He won’t let this go easily.” My mom scoffed. “What’s he going to do? Show up here? I’ll call the cops.” But she was wrong. He didn’t come to the house. He came to my new job. 5 It was my first day. My new manager was showing me and two other trainees the systems. Suddenly, Matt walked into the bank lobby, holding a comically large bouquet of flowers. He shoved them at me. “Babe, I’ve thought about it. I was wrong.” “You’ve been pampered your whole life. I shouldn’t have said all that crap about laundry and cooking. I’ll do it. I’ll do everything. Just please, don’t break up with me.” I froze. My manager’s face went from professional-and-pleasant to ice-cold. She looked at me with pure annoyance. “You need to go handle your personal business. Then you can come back to work.” The humiliation and anger were so thick I could barely breathe. I tried to drag him outside, but he planted his feet. “Babe, I know you love me,” he said, his voice getting louder. “If this new job is what’s stopping us from being together, I’ll talk to your manager right now! We’ll quit! I can support you!” “Is that her? Is she the one forcing you to break up with me?” He pointed at my manager. Her face turned to stone. “Ms. Hayes,” she said, her voice dangerously quiet. “I’m saying this one more time. Handle this, or I’m calling security.” He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to get me fired. The rage exploded in my chest. I shoved him, hard. “Matt, get the hell out of here! Stop this!” He just stood there. I was about to scream for security myself when a new voice cut through the lobby. “Mr. Davis? What are you doing here? You know the company’s policy for new hires. You’re not allowed to take personal days in your first month unless it’s a funeral.”

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