I woke up on the cold marble floor of Hollywood’s “Zen Prince,” Liam Pierce. He handed me my torn silk slip, his voice a low purr. “Put this back on. It looks good.” As I reached for it, a pop-up, like a chat box, flashed in front of my eyes. 【Heiress, drop it! That predator thinks torn silk is trashy. He saves the good stuff for his ‘White Moonlight.’ He’s just tricking you into wearing it.】 【Tomorrow, at your mother’s funeral, he’s going to publicly announce his relationship with her.】 【Seraphina, this dog is only after your company. Ditch him!】 … Liam knelt at my feet, all perfect angles and feigned concern. “What’s wrong? Did I rip it badly?” I smiled. I wrapped the silk slip tightly around his neck. “Are you trying to die?” 1 Liam Pierce’s perfect, camera-ready face instantly turned crimson. I waited until he was about to pass out before I let go. He looked at me, stunned and terrified. I patted his cheek. “You only love me?” Gasping for air, he looked up at me with an expression more devoted than a puppy’s. “Of course.” I was momentarily lost. When I was ten, my mother took me to some ridiculous spiritual retreat in Ojai. I saw him there—Liam, LA’s “Zen Prince.” Years later, when he announced he was entering show business, I was so excited I couldn’t sleep. I chased him 999 times, using every resource at my disposal, before he finally agreed to date me. And now this… I was about to ask who his “White Moonlight” was when my butler, Alfred, called. “Miss Seraphina. It’s… it’s your mother. She’s not going to make it.” I dropped Liam, threw on my clothes, and redlined my McLaren all the way home. I made it. I saw her for one last time. My “biological father,” however, was nowhere to be found. I sat vigil by her bed all night. Around 3 AM, I asked Alfred, “Has Arthur Chen died somewhere?” Alfred, ever respectful, replied, “He is at his usual place, Miss. With Ms. Summers.” I gritted my teeth. “He can join her. Permanently.” Alfred cleared his throat. “Miss Seraphina, please remember your mother’s final instructions.” I took a deep breath. “…Fine.” 2 After the funeral, I was kneeling in front of the casket in my black veil, saying my final goodbye. Arthur Chen—my father—stormed in, dragging a girl with him. He looked down on me. “Seraphina, this is your sister, Isabelle. She’s a year older than you. From now on, she is the eldest Miss Jiang. Understood?” I remained expressionless. “Arthur, a trophy husband should…” “Shut up!” He practically shrieked, terrified of being exposed as the family’s powerless add-on in front of Isabelle. I smirked. “Then take your bastard daughter and get out. Don’t disturb my mother’s peace.” “You insolent girl!” He postured, but he quickly ushered Isabelle out of the chapel. I returned to kneeling. Half an hour later, Alfred appeared at my elbow. “Miss Seraphina, he is currently hosting a ‘welcome’ party for Miss Isabelle. He wasn’t able to get any A-listers, but he has invited several reporters from the tabloids.” “Let him,” I said, my voice flat. Arthur thinks my mother was the tree that sheltered me, and that with her gone, he can finally control me and seize the Jiang family empire. He’s wrong. My mother was the only thing suppressing my worst impulses. 3 Arthur’s announcement that Isabelle was his daughter just became gossip fodder. No one in our circle acknowledged her. Because Alfred ran the house, Isabelle was forced to stay in the servants’ quarters. As a result, she came to bother me at the family mausoleum every single day. On the 49th day, I decided I was bored enough to play along. I let her in. She put on a show of polite concern. “Sister, I know you’re grieving, but Mom has been gone for 49 days. It’s time to move on. I’d like to talk.” I could see her stupidity from a mile away. This was the girl Arthur adored? I walked past her, out of the mausoleum. She followed closely. When we reached the reflecting pool, I stepped up onto the ledge, looking down at her. “Talk.” Isabelle nervously clutched her dress, then stepped up on the ledge opposite me, trying to be my equal. “Sister, Dad only ever loved my mom. He brought me back to the Jiang estate to replace you. You’ve been the heiress for twenty-three years. That’s enough. You need to tell the staff to respect me. Don’t make this difficult, okay?” I laughed. Did she really not know her father was just a kept man? And with that, she thought she could replace me? Her “true strength” was so pathetic it was boring. I was done. I shoved her into the pool. “Splash!” She flailed, shrieking. “Seraphina! How dare you! Dad will kill you for this! Pull me up… ugh! Pull me up right now and I’ll… I’ll forgive you!” I walked away without looking back. While waiting at a red light, I made one international call, then continued on my way to find Liam. He hadn’t contacted me in 49 days. It was time for him to pay. 4 At 7 PM, I arrived at the wrap party for his new movie. The first person I saw was Isabelle, dressed to the nines. She was wearing a Chanel 2025 couture gown, Christian Louboutin heels, and the new Tiffany High Jewelry collection. Not a trace of the drowned rat from this afternoon. And Liam. He was kneeling at her feet, taking off her shoe, gently massaging her ankle. Isabelle looked down, blushing demurely. So. She was his White Moonlight. Two crew members nearby were gossiping. “I always thought Liam Pierce was this cold, untouchable ‘Zen Prince.’ I never knew he could be so sweet to his girlfriend.” “Are you kidding? That’s Isabelle Jiang. The real Jiang heiress. That dress probably costs more than your car, and she’ll wear it once and throw it away.” … I started to walk over. One of the crew members stopped me. “Hey, this is a private wrap party. If you’re not cast or crew, you can’t be here.” I pointed at Liam. “I’m here for him.” The other crew member sneered. “Are you one of his psycho stans? Get lost. We don’t want you here.” “Liam Pierce.” My voice cut through the noise. The entire party went silent. Liam looked up, panicked, and dropped Isabelle’s foot. He stared at me in disbelief. Isabelle quickly put her shoe on and linked her arm through his, forcing him to walk over and face me. Liam looked guilty. He was probably used to obeying me. Isabelle, however, held up her hand, flashing a diamond ring that matched his. “Sister, I forgot to tell you. Liam and I have been together for years. He’s already asked me to marry him. I’m taking him to see Dad next week.” I had to laugh. While I was funding his entire career, I’d asked him to marry me. He said, “Wait. Just wait until I’m a global star. I’ll propose to you on a live global broadcast.” And I actually believed him. Isabelle leaned in, her voice a low, triumphant hiss. “Does that hurt? Seraphina, this is just the beginning. I will make everyone remember that I am the real heiress. You’re not even worthy of carrying my shoes.” “RIIIIIP!” I grabbed the front of her gown and tore it open. She screamed, clutching the fabric to her chest. “My dress! Why did you rip my dress? This is the new season! It’s priceless!” I smiled. “It was a press sample that was delivered to my house this morning. I can rip my own clothes if I want to, can’t I?” She panicked, terrified I’d expose her for stealing my clothes and jewelry. She immediately burst into tears. “Sister, first you pushed me in the pool, and now you embarrass me at my own party… We’re family, not enemies…” She looked so pitiful. I was unmoved. Liam, however, looked heartbroken. He immediately took off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, scowling at me. “Seraphina, are you trying to kill her?” I raised an eyebrow. “It’s her fault, you mean? Did she get that name from my mom’s memorial, or did you find her just to please me?” Liam said, seriously, “Isabelle is not a ‘her.’ She’s not a toy. She’s my girlfriend of three years, the woman I’ve loved for ten.” I smiled. “Then what am I?” Isabelle clutched his hand. He squeezed back, his voice firm. “You were a mistake, Seraphina. We’re over.” My smile faded. “I was a mistake?” He looked scared. But the thought of finally being free of me, of marrying Isabelle, must have given him courage. “Seraphina, I’m grateful for your… love. But as LA’s ‘Zen Prince,’ I need to be pure. Even though you’ve insulted me, I thank you for the money you spent paving my way in Hollywood. Don’t worry, I’ll pay you back. Every cent.” “But I can’t give you myself.” “I love Isabelle. I’m going to marry her. Don’t harass me, and stop attacking her. Just let us go.” He seemed to forget: without me, he was nothing.

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I was running a fever, getting fluids from an IV drip, so I asked my sister to make dinner for my mom. When I got to her house that night, I was giving my mom a sponge bath when she spoke, her voice cold. “You’re so dramatic. If you don’t want to take care of me, just say so. You don’t have to make up excuses.” I froze. She took my silence as guilt and continued. “You’ve been like this since you were a kid. Always faking something. Always an excuse when things get hard. “Your sister and brother are so much better. They never make me worry.” I silently put the towel down, dumped the water, and walked out of the room. As I closed the door on her stunned face, I decided I was never coming back. 1 I passed my sister, Chloe, in the hallway as I arrived. She was changing her shoes, her face tight with annoyance. “Can’t you get your IV after Mom’s asleep? It’s not a big deal. I have a presentation this afternoon.” She slammed the door behind her before I could say a word. “Hannah! Get in here and get me some water! I need to be cleaned up, I feel disgusting!” My mother’s voice called from the bedroom. I dropped my bag and went to the bathroom to get the water. I could feel her bad mood the second I walked in. She was glaring at me. I was too tired to care. “Ow! You got it in my hair! Are you trying to hurt me?” “Sorry, I’ll be careful.” “Hiss! Can you close the window? The draft is freezing.” I looked at her. It was ninety-five degrees outside. The breeze was like a furnace. But I just got up and closed it. She let the silence sit for a moment before she said it. “You’re so dramatic. If you don’t want to take care of me, just say so. You don’t have to make up excuses.” I paused. “It’s not an excuse.” I wanted to say that I was exhausted. That I’d been caught in a downpour two days ago and my entire body ached. But I was too tired to even form the words. “You’ve been like this since you were a kid. Always faking. Always an excuse. “Your sister and brother are so much better. They never make me worry.” 2 The washcloth slipped from my hand and fell into the basin with a splash. “What are you doing? Was I wrong?” A few drops hit her arm, and she shrieked. I felt the tears well up and fought them back. My mother had a stroke last March. She’s been paralyzed and bedridden for over a year. In that entire time, I am the only one who has taken care of her. And I’m still not as “good” as my siblings. “Oh, fine, now you’re crying. I was just kidding. “Besides, you were always faking it. We were all supposed to go to the state fair, and suddenly you’re throwing up. We were going to go shopping, and you pretended to be asleep.” The tears finally came. The day of the fair, she had forced me to eat day-old leftovers she didn’t want to waste. I told her it smelled sour. She insisted it was fine. “It’s not going to kill you. This is good pot roast, don’t waste it.” She scraped all of it onto my plate. When my brother, Leo, tried to grab some, she smacked his hand. “Don’t eat that junk, sweetie. You can have eggs.” She made two fried eggs for him and two for Chloe. They went to the fair. I spent twelve hours with violent food poisoning, thinking I was going to die. And the shopping day? I’d been up all night with a 103-degree fever. In her memory, I was just lazy. “Are you really mad?” she asked, that familiar, condescending look on her face. I just smiled a little, pulling her nightgown straight. “When are Chloe and Leo taking their turn? We all agreed to four-month rotations.” 3 “For that? You’re going to abandon me over that? How can you be so selfish! Was I wrong? “You suddenly get a ‘fever’ and can’t come, so your sister has to be inconvenienced. Do you know how busy she is? She’s so busy at the firm she barely has time to eat!” I glanced at the two empty Grubhub containers on the dresser. A two-person order, licked clean. When I was too tired to cook and suggested takeout, she’d yell. “How do you know that food is clean? It’s poison! Is this how you take care of me?” I had to cook. Three meals a day. Always what she wanted. We were all her children. Why was I the only one? I thought about my husband and my daughter, Lily, and the looks on their faces when I left them again this morning. I was done. “I had a career, too. I quit to take care of you. I’ve done it for over a year. They’re your children, too. They need to be responsible.” Her eyes darted away. “Well, your sister and brother gave me money!” I laughed. “They each gave you $1,000. Your first hospital stay was $30,000. I paid for it.” Her face twisted in rage. “Are you asking me to pay you back? You’re throwing that $30,000 in my face? “Hannah, do you know how much I spent raising you? It was a lot more than $30,000! “You are unbelievable! Get out. Get out! I don’t have a daughter named Hannah!” “It’s just too hard to be your daughter,” I whispered. She didn’t hear me. She asked what I said. I just shook my head, my smile bitter. I picked up the basin, dumped the water in the bathroom, and walked out of the room with my purse. She stared, shocked. I closed the door. I guess she doesn’t have a daughter named Hannah anymore. 4 I drove to a mall, ordered a coffee, and texted my husband, Mark. ‘I’ll pick Lily up from school. We’re having dinner at home tonight.’ He replied instantly with a dancing emoji. ‘Thank god. I am so sick of takeout.’ He didn’t ask what happened. He knew. I went grocery shopping, got home, and started dinner. When it was time, I drove to Lily’s school. Right as I parked, Chloe called. “Did you and Mom have a fight?” “Not really.” She sighed. “Then why is she calling me, crying her eyes out?” The school bell rang. Kids spilled out of the doors. I remembered a day, years ago, when it started pouring rain. The schoolyard was full of parents with umbrellas. I ran out, searching, and saw my mom. She had two umbrellas. She handed one to Chloe and one to Leo. The three of them walked off together, leaving me behind. I tried to run after them, but the creek by the school had flooded over the bridge. I slipped and almost got swept away before a stranger pulled me out. When I got home, soaked and shivering, my mother slapped me. “What is wrong with you? I brought you an umbrella! Why are you soaking wet?” My brother piped up. “Nuh-uh, Mom. You only brought two. You forgot Hannah.” She just stared for a second, then said, “Oh.” …I wasn’t listening to Chloe anymore. I hung up and waited for Lily. That night, my family was halfway through dinner when my phone rang again. My mother. I picked it up, and her shriek pierced my ear. “You’re still not here? Are you trying to starve me? “How can you be so petty? I say one little thing and you throw a tantrum! “Hannah, I am your mother! I am allowed to criticize you!” 5 I looked at Mark and Lily. They were both staring at me. I got up and went to the patio. “I took care of you for over a year. It’s Chloe and Leo’s turn. “Mom, I am not your only child. “And you said it yourself: they’re the good ones. I’m sure they’ll be happy to step up.” I hung up and went back to the table. “Are you leaving again, Mommy?” Lily asked, her voice small. “Can you finish dinner first?” My eyes burned. I stroked her hair. “I’m not leaving, sweetie. Mommy’s staying home. I’m going to read you a story tonight.” “Yay!” She was so happy. I was supposed to read her a story, but I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I woke up hours later in my own bed. The house was quiet. My phone said 11:00 PM. I had over a dozen missed calls. Aunts, uncles, cousins. I ignored them and rolled over, but Mark came in. “You should at least shower,” he said gently, pulling me up. I buried my face in his chest. “I’m sorry.” He stroked my hair. “It’s okay. Dinner was amazing, by the way. Your cooking has seriously improved.” I managed a weak laugh. He led me to the bathroom. When I came out, he had my fever medication and a glass of water waiting. “My fever’s gone. I don’t need it.” He just scooped me up. “I think I know if you’re better or not. Take it. Or I’m telling Lily to be your medicine-monitor tomorrow.” I grumbled, but I took the pills. As he was drying my hair, I fell asleep again. He carried me to bed. I felt him take my hand, rubbing his thumb over my palm. “You have calluses,” he whispered. I pulled my hand back and wrapped my arms around him. I wasn’t that little girl anymore, desperate for a drop of affection. I just had to admit it. She doesn’t love me. I picked up my phone, went to the family group text, and uploaded the spreadsheet of all my mother’s medical expenses. I tagged Chloe and Leo. ‘Here are Mom’s medical bills from the past year. Let’s split it three ways. The rounding is in your favor. You each owe me $10,000.’ 6 Mark, watching over my shoulder, let out a small laugh. I turned off my phone and buried my face in his chest. “What? They should pay their share.” He just held me. “Whatever makes you happy.” My nose stung. Happy. This was the happiest I’d been in a year. My phone lit up with notifications from the group text. Not from my siblings, but voice messages from my mother. ‘Why aren’t your sister and brother saying anything? They gave me money!’ ‘Hannah, you can’t treat family this way! This is blackmail!’ ‘I knew you were always a cold, heartless child!’ ‘I’m your mother! I’m sick! How dare you ask me for money!’ ‘Are you trying to kill me? Is that what you want?’ Her voice was choked with sobs. My relatives started piping up, telling me to “let it go” and “be the bigger person.” I dropped Lily at school, found a park bench, and tagged Chloe and Leo again. ‘How much did you pay? Show me the receipts. I have receipts for every single bandage and grocery run for the last 14 months. Mom has three kids, not one. Or maybe you two could just die? If you die, I promise I’ll take care of everything myself.’ My fingers were shaking, but I hit send. It felt good. I bought a popsicle and ate it in the sun. The group text lit up again. This time, it was Leo. ‘Fine. I’ll look at it tonight. But seriously, Hannah, you don’t need this money. Why are you making this so ugly? We’re family. The rich ones should just pay.’ I bit down on the popsicle. ‘The problem is I’m the one who’s rich AND doing all the work. Now it’s your turn. Good luck!’ I added a smiling emoji. My phone rang. My mother. “That thing yesterday… I was wrong, okay? Just stop harassing your brother and sister.” 7 She sounded embarrassed. I crunched on my popsicle. “I’m not harassing them. I just want my money.” “Isn’t it your duty to pay for my medical bills? Hannah, don’t be like this! Your husband makes good money! You should pay more! It’s called ‘from each according to his ability.’ Your sister has a mortgage. Your brother is still in school!” The popsicle was gone. My mouth was freezing. “I have a mortgage, too. $6,000 a month. And Leo is almost thirty. He’s not ‘in school,’ he’s ‘avoiding work.’” My brother, Leo, had been in and out of community college for eight years. He was now “full-time” studying for the GRE. He hadn’t held a job in his life and still got an allowance from my mom. I remembered when I’d just graduated, trying to find a job, and I asked my mom for $500 to cover rent. She’d immediately started crying. “I’m sick, I had to borrow money from your aunt for my co-pays… your cousin is having a baby, that’s another gift… the utilities are past due… I was going to ask you for money…” I ended up giving her the last $200 in my account. I lived on credit cards until my first paycheck. Now, my mother’s voice was sharp and righteous in my ear. “Your sister isn’t greedy like you, living in some huge house! And your brother is ambitious! You’re just jealous of your own siblings!” I laughed. “You’re right. I am. That’s why I’m suing them.”

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I was working a summer job at a KFC. After my shift, I was still in my uniform when I went to the noodle shop next door and ordered a bowl of wontons. I was about to add some of the free toppings from the self-serve bar when the owner blocked my path. “The $5 promotional bowl doesn’t include the free toppings.” Wanting to avoid trouble, I didn’t argue and went back to my seat. But when I reached for the vinegar on the table, she snatched it away. “This bottle of vinegar costs thirty dollars. It’s not for poor people like you to drink.” “You’re a service worker yourself, you should know these things.” “Tomorrow, I’m going to talk to your manager and have you fired.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I flipped the table. The bowl, chopsticks, and condiment bottles shattered on the floor. The owner, seeing my fury, threatened me. “I’m warning you, my son-in-law is from one of the richest families on the East Coast. If you mess with me, I’ll make sure your whole family pays!” She pulled out her phone to make a call, but I suddenly froze. That emerald bracelet on her wrist… why did it look exactly like the one I gave my girlfriend last week? 1 I was exhausted and starving. Luckily, with all the delivery apps in a price war, I’d gotten a $30 bowl of wonton soup for a $5 promotional price. The shop’s self-serve bar had a huge “Free Toppings” sign, with all sorts of garnishes and an extra soup pot. But as I reached for the chili oil, the owner stopped me. “The $5 promo doesn’t get free toppings.” I pointed to the sign. “But it says ‘Free Toppings’ right there.” She sneered. “Not for promo customers. I’m already losing money on a $5 bowl. You think I can let you take toppings, too? How am I supposed to stay in business?” Fine. I’ve always been easygoing, and I could even see her point. I went back to my table, deciding to just eat the plain wontons. I saw the bottle of black vinegar and figured adding a splash wouldn’t be a problem. The second I picked it up, she rushed over and grabbed it out of my hand. “That vinegar costs thirty dollars. It’s not for poor people on a $5 promo.” I started to get angry. “You’re the one who set up the promotion. Now I can’t even use the table vinegar?” She looked me up and down, sizing up my KFC uniform. Her spittle nearly landed in my bowl. “Do you know how hard it is to run a business? You’re just a service worker, you should understand! In fact, I don’t think you should be a service worker at all. Tomorrow, I’m going to your manager and getting you fired!” Stepping back only makes you angrier. I was done being patient. I stood up and, with a loud crash, flipped the entire table over. “If you’re so cheap you have to guard a bottle of vinegar, why are you even running a restaurant? You should be begging on the street!” “And you’re going to pull rank on me? We’re both service workers. The second I clock out, I’m a customer. You’re the one who can’t afford to honor your own promotion. You’re pathetic. You deserve to fail.” She was stunned by my outburst and staggered back. “I’m warning you! My son-in-law is an heir to the Gu family! If you trash my store, I’ll have your entire family ruined!” Hilarious. My family is the Gu family. The only reason I was working at a KFC was because I’d made a bet with my older brother. If I could hold a normal job for two months, he’d pay for my trip to Barcelona. I had no idea this kind of blatant class discrimination still existed. She was dialing her phone, furious. I was about to call my own backup, but my eyes locked onto her wrist. That bracelet. Why did it look exactly like the one I gave my girlfriend, Jessica, last week? 2 I frowned. I remembered Jessica asking for it, saying her mom’s birthday was coming up and she wanted to get her something nice. She said her mom worked so hard running a small restaurant. I sympathized, so I bought her the $300,000 emerald bracelet. To make it special, I had a master engraver carve her mother’s initials on the inside. I remembered the letters: “S.Z.Y.” The owner’s call didn’t go through. She glared at me. “My daughter is busy right now. You just wait. You better start thinking about how you’re going to pay for this!” I ignored her, stepped forward, and grabbed her wrist to see the inside of the bracelet. She shoved me off. “Don’t you touch my bracelet with your filthy hands! This was a gift from my son-in-law!” “Do you know how much this cost? $300,000! You could sell yourself and not afford it!” What a coincidence. Also $300,000? “What’s your daughter’s name?” She looked at my uniform and sneered. “None of your business. Even if I told you, my daughter would never look at a broke loser like you.” Me? Broke? I had to laugh. That was a first. Our argument had drawn a crowd. People were filming, some were even live-streaming. The owner saw her audience and immediately burst into tears, wailing. “Everyone, look! This young man is attacking a 60-year-old woman! He smashed my store, and now he’s trying to rob me! He tried to steal my bracelet! Is there any justice in the world?” The crowd started murmuring. “Kid, what’s wrong with you? Attacking an old lady?” “Young people are so impulsive. Just smashing things up. I’d never hire someone like that…” I was done arguing. I just looked at the owner. “Fine. How much for the damages? I’ll pay.” Her tears vanished. A smug smile spread across her face. She started counting on her fingers. “This is a solid rosewood table. That’s $8,000.” “The bowl was high-grade porcelain. That’s $200.” “The vinegar, chili oil, and napkins… $30.” “And all the toppings you wasted at the bar… let’s call it $500.” “Total: $8,730. How do you want to pay?” I frowned. “That table is ‘solid wood’? I flipped it with one hand. I run a 10-minute mile and you think I’m Hercules?” She crossed her arms. “I don’t care. You owe me at least $8,000!” “And I haven’t even added my mental distress! If you can’t pay, you can go to jail!” A regular customer at a nearby table finally spoke up. “Come on, Susan. That table isn’t worth that much. He’s just a kid working a summer job. Don’t be so hard on him.” The owner turned on him, spitting fire. “Are you blind? I’m the victim here! If you feel so sorry for him, you pay for it!” She turned back to me. “If you really can’t pay, that’s fine. Get on your knees, kowtow three times, and apologize. I’ll forgive you. My son-in-law is rich. I don’t need the money.” I didn’t say anything. I just pulled out my phone. Someone in the crowd whispered, “Kid, just apologize. It’s not worth it.” I shook my head and smiled calmly. “No need.” “$8,000? That’s not enough.” “I’ll give you three million. I’m buying this restaurant.” 3 The crowd went silent. The owner stared, then burst out laughing. “You? Three million? Are you insane?” People in the crowd started whispering again. “Kid, don’t do something crazy. It’s not worth it.” I sighed and opened my banking app, showing them the balance. Just over $3 million. “My brother has a limit on my main accounts. This is just what’s in my checking.” If I hadn’t just bought that bracelet for Jessica, it would have been more. The silence was deafening. The owner’s face went pale, then red, then pale again. “Th-three million isn’t enough! This is prime real estate! It’s worth eight million!” The customer who had spoken up before scoffed. “Susan, you bought this place thirty years ago for eighty thousand, tops. Eight million?” “You shut up! Property values are through the roof! I say it’s eight million!” But my attention was on what the customer had called her. Susan. Jessica’s mother’s name is Susan Zhang. She’s “Susan,” she has a $300,000 emerald bracelet, and a daughter… The coincidences were piling up. I asked, “Ma’am, is your name Susan Zhang?” “None of your business!” she snapped. I kept going. “Is your daughter’s name Jessica Jiang?” She suddenly sneered. “What? Are you one of her pathetic admirers?” “You look decent enough. If you’re really that obsessed with my daughter, I guess I could let you be her side-piece.” I couldn’t believe it. This woman was actually my future mother-in-law. I wasn’t even married to Jessica, and her mom was already calling some other guy “son-in-law.” “Side-piece? Ma’am, I’m your daughter’s boyfriend.” She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. “Kid, if you’re crazy, go get help! My daughter’s boyfriend is the heiress to the Gu family, a real big shot. Not some loser in a KFC uniform.” Note: The user’s original text has a gender-swap for the girlfriend/boyfriend. I will stick to the original’s final intention: The protagonist is male, the girlfriend (Jiang Ruyan) is female. The owner’s line about “Gu family heiress” (顾家大小姐) seems to be a mistake in the original text, as the protagonist (顾清风) is male. I will correct this in the adaptation to “heir.” I sighed and crossed my arms. “I am the Gu family heir, Alex Gu. Want to see my ID?” “Plenty of people have the same name! Stop trying to fool me! My son-in-law is probably on a date with my daughter right now!” I shrugged. “Why don’t you call her and ask?” “Fine, I will!” She dialed again. This time, it connected. Jessica’s voice came through the speaker. “Mom, what’s up? I’m on a date with my boyfriend!” 4 My stomach dropped. I frowned. Susan shot me a triumphant look, then put on a tearful voice. “Honey, my restaurant got smashed! This guy came in, he was totally crazy, said he was going to buy the whole place just to smash it!” “Who?! Who would dare! Mom, you wait, I’m coming over right now!” “It’s some service worker from the KFC next door. He even said he was your boyfriend!” Then, a man’s low voice came from the phone. “Jess, what’s wrong? Someone messing with your mom?” My blood went cold. I knew that voice. It was Leo Shang. Jessica’s ex. When we first started dating, I found a bunch of saved voice memos in her phone from a strange guy. It was a bucket of ice water on our new relationship. I froze her credit cards and we fought. She kneeled outside my apartment for three days in the rain until she collapsed with a fever. I finally caved and let her in. She cried, explaining he was just an ex, that they were done, she’d just forgotten to delete the messages. Her phone was clean otherwise. She begged, and I forgave her. But I never forgot that voice. And the man on the phone with her was Leo. She had been lying to me. She was cheating on me. My mind went blank. I stalked forward and snatched the phone from Susan’s hand. “Jessica, you dare cheat on me?” The line went dead. She’d hung up. Susan tried to get her phone back, but I was so furious I just shoved her. She stumbled and fell, and the bracelet on her wrist hit the tile floor and shattered. She let out a piercing scream. “My bracelet! You broke my bracelet!” “You little bastard! That was a gift from my son-in-law!” She scrambled up and lunged at me, raking her nails across my face and pulling my hair. My scalp and cheek were on fire. I wasn’t going to just take it. I kicked her hard in the stomach. The crowd surged forward to pull us apart. I collapsed onto the floor, the anger, humiliation, and betrayal hitting me all at once. I was exhausted, starving, and now I’d been insulted, cheated on, and assaulted. I pulled out my phone and sent a text to my brother, Damien. [Bro, someone’s beating me up. Help.] His reply was instant. [Address.] He was supposed to be slammed with work. That’s why I had to do this stupid KFC bet in the first place. How was he replying so fast? The wave of self-pity got stronger. I sent him the address, along with a picture of my scratched face. [? On my way.] I put my phone away and took a tissue from a bystander. “Kid, you’re just a worker, you can’t win this. Just apologize.” Before I could answer, Susan shrieked again. “Apologize? I’m not accepting an apology!” She stalked over to me, looking down. “You smashed my store. You broke my bracelet. You’re not leaving. When my daughter gets here, she’s going to teach you how to be a human being!” I just laughed. “Your bracelet? You mean the one with the ‘S.Z.Y.’ engraving on the inside, from the master carver Fang?” Susan frowned. “How did you know that?” “Because your daughter begged me for it last week, as a birthday present for her mother!” Susan paused, then sneered. “You just saw the engraving on the broken pieces. Nice try. You really want to be the Gu family heir, don’t you? Look at yourself. You’re not worthy.” I was done talking. My brother would be here soon. A car screeched to a halt outside. It was my family’s Maybach. But before I could stand, Susan was already rushing to the door. A man in an expensive designer suit stepped out. With him, a woman carrying a Birkin. It was Jessica and Leo. Susan was crying. “Honey! Son-in-law! You’re finally here!” She held up the broken bracelet. “I’m sorry, Jessica, the store was smashed, and this guy attacked me… he broke the bracelet you gave me…” Leo put his arm around Susan. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll just buy you a new one.” Jessica’s eyes scanned the room, landing on me. She stormed over. “Who did this? I’m going to skin them alive!” Susan pointed at me, still sitting on the floor. The crowd parted. “It was him! That little bastard attacked me!” The moment Jessica saw me, her face went white.

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I once believed that a doctor’s oath, our “benevolent heart,” would be met with a patient’s gratitude. I fought with everything I had to pull Sarah Miller back from the brink of an amniotic fluid embolism. I saved her life, and her baby’s life. The surgery was a success. Mother and daughter were stable. I never imagined that this life-saving act would, in turn, become the knife aimed straight at my own heart. Days after her discharge, she and her family launched a vicious online assault against me. “This butcher-doctor ruined my life!” “What kind of woman am I without a uterus? I can’t have a son! My husband is going to divorce me, and it’s all her fault!” “My sister-in-law is in nursing school! She said you can’t survive an AFE! This doctor is a hack! She just wanted to cut me open!” “We’re not done! She ended our family line! She owes us! One million dollars! Not a penny less!” I trembled with a rage I had never known. An amniotic fluid embolism—the absolute worst nightmare of every OB/GYN. A condition with an 86% mortality rate. The patient I dragged back from the gates of hell was now calling me a monster. Under the weight of their relentless campaign, I wasn’t just suspended from the hospital. I was diagnosed with severe clinical depression. And then, a year later, her sister-in-law—the one from nursing school—went into labor. She, too, was diagnosed with an amniotic fluid embolism. Because of what they had done to me, not a single doctor in that hospital would touch her. With nowhere left to turn, they came back. They found me. “Dr. Reed, please, you have to save her! You always talk about the ‘benevolent heart’ of a doctor, please!” I just shook my head, my face blank. “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.” “Thanks to you, my medical license was revoked months ago.” 1 “Dr. Reed! Bed 16, Sarah Miller, probable AFE! Her pressure is tanking!” “Dr. Reed, you need to see this, now!” The nurse’s call was a siren. I sprinted, almost falling, into the delivery room. The numbers on the monitor made my heart stop. Blood pressure: 70/40 mmHg. Oxygen saturation: 85%. It was a textbook, catastrophic amniotic fluid embolism. Just thirty minutes ago, this 23-year-old mother was laughing with me, her eyes bright with anticipation. Now, her face was as white as the sheets, her lips already turning blue. I felt the chill. “Code Blue! Get the crash cart, now! Call the blood bank, activate massive transfusion protocol! I want Anesthesia and ICU down here, stat!” In the same breath, the nurses and I were running, pushing her gurney to the OR. I’ve been an OB for thirty years. “AFE” are the three letters we fear most. A complication so violent, so fast, it has an 86% mortality rate. In these moments, you don’t panic. You get cold. The full team assembled. Time slowed down, but the patient was crashing faster. “Pressure’s still dropping! Sats are falling!” “Uterine atony! She’s not clotting!” “Dr. Reed, we can’t stop the bleeding!” Sarah was fading. Blood wasn’t just pouring out; it was seeping. From her IV sites, from her gums. My stomach clenched. It was over. The uterus had to go. “Get the family! Get them to the OR doors, now!” Sarah’s husband and mother-in-law arrived, shaking so hard they could barely stand. Time was life. I was blunt. “The situation is critical. Your wife is bleeding to death. The only way to stop it is an emergency hysterectomy. If we don’t, she will be dead in minutes.” “This is the consent form. You need to sign it. Right now.” The husband, trembling, took the pen. But as he went to sign, the mother-in-law grabbed his arm. “Doctor… if you take her uterus… can she still give us a son?” The question hung in the air, sucking all the warmth from the hallway. I’d seen this before. I snapped. “Are you kidding me? It’s her life!” “What’s more important, a hypothetical son or your daughter-in-law?” I turned to the husband. “You are her husband. You sign this, or she dies. There is no more time.” A patient can go from diagnosis to death in under ten minutes. Every second we wasted was pushing her closer to the edge. He finally signed. I didn’t wait. I ran back into the OR. It was a brutal, terrifying surgery, but we did it. Hours later, Sarah Miller was alive. She had a healthy baby girl. Mother and daughter were safe. Sarah was endlessly grateful. Every time I did my rounds, she would grab my hand and thank me until she cried. The day she was discharged, she and her husband stopped by my clinic. “Dr. Reed, thank you. Thank you so much.” “You saved my life. You saved my daughter’s life. We wouldn’t be here without you. You’re our hero.” Her husband presented me with a large, framed plaque. Engraved on it were the words: “With Skill and a Benevolent Heart.” I got a lump in my throat. I’d seen this moment many times. The gratitude, the new life. It’s why we do what we do. All the exhaustion, all the stress, it just melts away. We took a quick photo, the new family, the plaque, and me. I thought that was the end of the story. A perfect, happy ending. I never, ever imagined that their gratitude, one month later, would become the weapon they used to destroy me. 2 I had just finished a grueling, five-hour surgery for a placental abruption. My legs were numb. The charge nurse caught me in the hall. “Dr. Reed, you need to see this.” She handed me her phone. It was a viral TikTok. The title: «MALPRACTICE. Butcher Doctor at City Hospital Mutilated Me to Cover Her Mistake!» I read, my blood running cold. «I am publicly accusing Dr. Elena Reed, Chief of OB/GYN, of ruining my life. I am begging the medical board to investigate and give me justice!» «I’m 23 years old! This was my first baby! And she cut out my uterus! She took away my right to be a mother! I can never have more children! My family is falling apart because of what she did!» «I just want to die. This is all her fault! She’s a hack! She lied and said I had an ‘amniotic fluid embolism’ to cover up her own surgical mistake! She is a monster!» «I came here to have a baby, and I left… less than a woman. Please, someone help me. There has to be justice…» «Submitted by: Sarah Miller.» «Patient ID: XXXXXXXXX» My mind went blank. Sarah? It had to be a mistake. She was so grateful. This wasn’t her. I rushed to my office and pulled up her chart. I had her cell number. I called. She picked up. Her voice was ice. “Sarah? This is Dr. Reed. I just saw a post online… it has your name on it. Did you post that?” I expected a denial. An explanation. A mistake. I got hatred. “I posted it. So what?” I was stunned. “Why?” “Why? You have the nerve to ask me why?” “Dr. Reed, you destroyed my life!” Her voice was a hysterical shriek. “My husband’s family… they told me… a woman who can’t have a son isn’t a real woman!” “You saw my ultrasound! You knew I was having a girl! You cut out my uterus on purpose! What was your agenda?” “Now my in-laws mock me every day! They say I’ve ended the family line! My husband is threatening to divorce me!” 3 So, that was it. Because she had a daughter. She was barely a month postpartum. I tried to stay calm, to reason with her. “Sarah, please, just listen. Your condition was critical. If we had not performed the hysterectomy, you would not be alive right now.” “AFE is not a joke. The mortality rate is 86%.” “You can look it up. I am not lying to you. We did it to save your life. Yes, the uterus is gone, but you’re 23. You’re alive. You have a beautiful daughter. You have your whole life ahead of you…” “Stop lying, Dr. Reed!” she screamed. “I was stupid. I don’t have a medical degree, so I believed you!” Her words confused me. “What do you mean?” “My sister-in-law, Megan, is in nursing school,” she sneered. “She told me everything. She said it’s impossible to survive an AFE!” “You know that billionaire, the tech guy? His sister died of it! They had the best doctors in the world, and they couldn’t save her! You think this hospital, you think you, could save me? “It was all a lie! You and the hospital, you covered it up! “You messed up my labor, you caused the hemorrhage, and when you couldn’t stop it, you made up the ‘AFE’ story to trick us into signing!” “I’m 23, and I can never have a son. It’s your fault! You’re a murderer!” Every word was a needle. I’d been on my feet for sixteen hours. I was exhausted. Hearing her twist my work into something monstrous… I felt dizzy. “Sarah, a high mortality rate doesn’t mean zero survival. Your life was in immediate danger.” “Everything I did was standard medical procedure. And your husband signed the consent form…” “He was tricked! You scared him into it! You’re a con artist, and the hospital is covering for you!” Suddenly, a man’s voice, rough and angry, was on the line. Her husband. “I only signed because you threatened me!” he yelled. “We’re not done with you, Dr. Reed! Our family line is broken. And you’re going to pay for it!” “One million dollars! Not a penny less!” “If you don’t pay, we’re going to the police, to the medical board! We’re going to post on every website until the entire country knows what kind of butcher you are! You just wait!” 4 The line went dead. I tried to call back. Blocked. The floor was silent. It was long past closing. I just stared at the wall where her plaque used to hang. I’d taken it home. “With Skill and a Benevolent Heart.” The irony burned. Why? I saved her. I saved her child. Why were they doing this? I just… I didn’t understand. I opened the TikTok app again. The comment section had exploded. 【Butcher!】 【They should revoke her license!】 【Someone needs to find this Elena Reed. Doxx her!】 【I know her! Dr. Reed was my doctor! My uterus ruptured during labor, and my baby died! It was her!】 【ME TOO! My son is two and has cerebral palsy, all because of her! She’s a hack! She should be in prison!】 A tsunami of hate, from strangers and former patients with bad outcomes, washed over me, drowning me. That night, I had nightmares. Sarah and her husband chasing me with scalpels. The patient who refused a C-section, holding a blue, lifeless baby out to me. All of them screaming. “Murderer. Pay us. Give us back our lives.” I went straight to Hospital Administration the next morning. The director was supportive. “Dr. Reed, please. Your skill and your ethics are beyond reproach. We all know it. The hospital will handle this. Don’t worry.” I nodded. I tried to focus on my work. But it got worse. The family was organized. They created new accounts on every platform: “City Hospital OB/GYN Victims.” They posted daily. «Dr. Elena Reed: How Many Souls Are On Her Scalpel?» «She Calls Herself a Top Doctor, But Her Specialty is Removing Uteruses!» «Medical Error, A Cover-Up, and a Mutilated Mother…» They found other patients. They formed an “alliance.” They twisted complications into malice. They edited charts, took quotes out of context. Under their fabricated “evidence,” the public’s outrage grew. They believed it. They believed me to be a monster. The slander was one thing. The real-world attacks were another. 5 I was in my clinic, seeing patients. Suddenly, Sarah’s husband, her in-laws, and her sister-in-law, Megan, burst into my office. The mother-in-law pointed a long, bony finger at me. “There she is! That’s the butcher! Everyone, look!” “She cut out my daughter-in-law’s uterus! She ended our family line! She’s a murderer!” Her voice was so loud that the entire waiting room—dozens of pregnant women—stopped and stared. My patients. Women who trusted me. Their faces filled with doubt. Fear. I saw women instinctively cover their stomachs. I saw their husbands pulling out their phones to record. I tried to speak, but my throat closed up. The mother-in-law smiled, seeing the effect. She nodded to her daughter, Megan. Megan, the nursing student, stepped forward. “It was her! She removed my sister-in-law’s uterus! It was a routine delivery, and she messed it up, caused a hemorrhage, and then lied, calling it an AFE!” “I’m in nursing school! I know for a fact her symptoms weren’t AFE! We even have a third-party report proving Dr. Reed is guilty of malpractice!” “My poor sister-in-law, she’s only 23! She can never have children! Our family line is broken! How are we supposed to live?” Megan started to cry. Real, heaving sobs. As if on cue, the mother-in-law dropped to the floor and began to wail. “Everyone, look! A butcher doctor! She ruins lives and the hospital protects her!” “Is there anyone who will give us justice?” “This whole hospital is corrupt! They’re cutting people up for money! They’ll all go to hell!” The noise brought people from other clinics. The hallway was packed. Everyone was staring at me. Pointing. “That’s her? The killer doctor?” “Why is she still allowed to practice?” “These doctors… they get paid so much to sit in an office. This is where the money comes from. Carving up patients.” Their words were knives. I felt dizzy. Thirty years. Thirty years of my life, given to this. Skipping vacations, missing my own daughter’s childhood. I’d delivered over 30,000 babies. And for what? Was all of it… a mistake? Security finally arrived. They tried to escort the family out. The family fought back. In the chaos, the mother-in-law shoved past a guard and charged me. She slammed her shoulder into my chest, knocking me to the ground. My white coat was smeared, stepped on. My glasses flew off. I was on my hands and knees, blind, scrambling for my glasses. Utterly humiliated. As they were dragged away, they screamed. “We’ll be back! One million dollars, or we will never stop! We will ruin you!”

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1 A freak thunderstorm hit the city. I raced to the office, but I was still one minute late. The CEO’s Executive Assistant, Marcus, stopped me at the door. He didn’t smile. “One minute late. As per policy, you can make a ‘voluntary contribution’ of one condo.” It was so absurd I almost laughed. I’d heard of “voluntarily contributing” for a coffee run, or for office supplies. Never a condo. “Because I was one minute late… you want me to donate a condo to the company?” I asked, just to be sure I’d heard him right. He gave me an annoyed, dismissive look. “Do you have any idea what can be accomplished in one minute? Twelve missile defense protocols can be launched. Understand?” I decided he was insane and ignored him. What could he do? I wasn’t going to just hand over my deed. Then I got my pay stub. Salary & Commission: +$100,000 Voluntary Contribution (Condo, Appraised): -$1,000,000 Total Pay: -$900,000 My vision went red. I grabbed my phone and called the CEO. “Honey, is your new assistant having a psychotic break?” … An angry, cold voice snapped back from the other end. “What right do you have to question my assistant?” “Don’t bother me with this. It’s a small thing.” She hung up before I could speak. A million-dollar fine… she called it a “small thing”? I stormed over to Marcus’s desk. “What the hell is this? You can’t just fine me a million dollars!” He looked up, a smug, arrogant smirk on his face. “Late employees make a voluntary contribution. It’s the rule.” He then shouted to the entire open-plan office: “Hey! Have you all made your voluntary contributions?” A few people immediately piped up: “I have! I donated a pen!” “I donated a stapler!” “I donated a whole ream of paper!” Marcus turned back to me, raising an eyebrow. “See? Everyone contributes. Why are you trying to be special? It’s company policy. You’re not trying to welsh, are you?” I didn’t fall for it. “I can accept a reasonable penalty for being late. But why do they donate office supplies while I’m donating a condo?” Marcus actually laughed, pointing at me. “Ryan, you’re not stupid. Use your head. The contribution is tied to your personal economic situation.” “You’re rich. So you contribute more. What’s the problem? Ask Leo over there. If he were rich, he’d donate more, wouldn’t you, Leo?” Leo, his number one sycophant, practically jumped out of his chair. “Of course! If I had $20 million, I’d gladly donate $10 million to the company!” Marcus clapped Leo on the shoulder, looking impressed. “That’s the spirit, Leo! The company won’t forget this. Here, a reward for you. A coupon for the coffee shop downstairs. Two dollars off any purchase over eighty.” Leo was so grateful he was almost crying. Marcus spread his arms wide, projecting power. “As long as you follow the rules and understand the spirit of ‘voluntary contribution,’ this company will take care of you.” I was done with this circus. “Show me the company handbook. Show me the rule.” He tossed a supplemental contract addendum onto my desk. I scanned it, even using my phone’s magnifier. Nothing. He impatiently jabbed a finger at the last page. “Ryan, if you’re blind, get glasses. If you can’t read, go back to elementary school.” Finally, under his finger, I saw the microscopic print: “All policies herein are subject to interpretation by executive management.” I looked at him, confused. He cut me off. “I represent executive management. My interpretation is the rule. Got it?” “Your seniority doesn’t mean you’re above the rules. And my rules are the rules.” He looked around the office, smug. Everyone knew he was the CEO’s new favorite. No one dared challenge him. But he was messing with my money. I wasn’t going to be “everyone.” “Marcus, you’re an assistant. Stop acting like you own the place.” “I’m going to the CEO. We’ll see who she sides with.” 2 I slammed open the CEO’s office door. Before I could speak, Serena’s icy gaze hit me. “Get out. Who said you could come in without knocking?” I did as she said. The moment the door clicked shut, I raised my hand to knock. But before I could, Marcus burst right in. This idiot, I thought. He’s about to get his head bitten off. But the screaming I expected never came. When Serena saw who it was, her pinched, angry expression melted. “Oh, Marcus, you’re here!” Her voice was warm, gentle. The exact opposite of how she’d spoken to me. I coughed, then knocked. After she called “come in,” I re-entered. I explained the situation. Serena’s expression was calm, as if this was all perfectly normal. “So? You feel Marcus did something wrong?” I was stunned. “You don’t think this is… excessive? He’s using his position to extort employees. The entire office is toxic!” Serena’s face darkened. “Ryan, I will not have you speak about him that way.” “Everything he has done was with my full authorization.” “The ‘Voluntary Contribution’ policy… was my idea.” I stared, my jaw slack. I couldn’t connect the brilliant, driven woman I’d married to this… this tyrant. “I was one minute late, Serena! He’s taking my condo! You don’t find that a little insane?” She just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “Why? A company needs rules to function.” “He is being 100% dedicated to this company’s success. What’s wrong with that?” I was speechless. “It’s a house, Serena! Not a… a sandwich!” Marcus, seeing the tension, stepped in. “Serena, I did have a strategic reason.” “With great power comes great responsibility. He earns the most, so he should contribute the most. Plus, our intern housing is full. I told Ryan to donate his condo so the interns would have a place to live. It solves an HR problem and saves the company a huge expense.” Serena’s eyes lit up. “That’s brilliant! Two birds with one stone. Marcus, you’re always so thoughtful.” She turned to me. “Ryan, if you were half as dedicated as Marcus, this company would be twice as large.” The anger I’d been suppressing finally boiled over. “If I were as ‘dedicated’ as that brain-damaged moron, my mother would have disowned me!” The room went dead silent. Serena’s face turned black. She stood up, walked over, and slapped me. Hard. I just stared at her. Blank. Married for three years. She had never laid a hand on me. Now, for him, she slapped me. A flicker of regret crossed her eyes, but it vanished instantly. Her voice was ice. “Marcus does have a head injury. He got it in the car crash that he saved my life from.” “For years, he’s had chronic pain, and not even the best specialists in the country can figure out why. “I will not allow anyone to mock his condition. Especially not in front of me.” Marcus immediately looked “nervous.” “Serena, please don’t fight. It’s not good for your relationship to be strained over an outsider like me. I… I should probably just cancel Ryan’s contribution. I just don’t want to undermine your authority…” Serena shook her head, all CEO again. “Don’t be ridiculous. The contribution stands. Ryan’s condo is donated.” 3 My heart ached. Her tone was final. Marcus put on a sympathetic face. “Ryan, I’m already giving you a deal, out of respect for Serena. A small condo in this city is at least $1.5 million. I’m only valuing it at $1 million on the books. I’m saving you $500k.” Serena chimed in. “He’s right. You should be thanking him. He’s being more than fair. Why are you acting like this?” I let out a short, bitter laugh. “Thank him? You’ve got to be kidding me.” Serena’s hands went to her hips. “You bought that condo with the salary I pay you! I never realized you were so petty! You have no vision!” I just sighed. She was completely under his spell. She couldn’t remember the beginning. In college, she told me she’d rather build an empire than work for one. I told her I’d help. After graduation, I joined her startup for zero pay. Ops, strategy, marketing, sales, client relations… I was the entire executive team. The company nearly went bankrupt three times. Each time, I saved it, pouring in my own money that I’d made from stock trading in college. This “100-person ship” was afloat because I’d plugged the holes with my own cash. Then, two months ago, Marcus, her “one that got away,” showed up. And she forgot everything. He’d been targeting me from day one. I’d put up with it, for her. But this… this was a bridge too far. And all I got was “petty.” The money I’d earned here wasn’t even a third of what I’d invested. But she didn’t remember that. “Fine,” I said, my voice empty. “Whatever you say.” My surrender only made her angrier. She stared at me, her chest heaving. Marcus put a hand on her arm, gently rubbing her back. His eyes met mine over her shoulder, and he smirked. “Look what you did, Ryan. You’ve upset her. For that, you’re cleaning all the company restrooms. You can’t go home until they’re spotless.” I crossed my arms. “Not my job. That’s what the janitorial staff is for. And you’re an assistant. You don’t get to give me orders.” Before Marcus could speak, Serena snapped. “What if the order comes from me?” I looked at her, incredulous. She knew I had a thing about germs, about public restrooms. She used to hire a private cleaning service for our house. She’d always said my hands were “for building, not for scrubbing.” Now, she was telling me to clean a toilet. She meant it. I had to do it. The smell in the men’s room was foul. I grabbed the mop and started on the floor, then began wiping down the stall doors. I heard his expensive Italian shoes click on the tile behind me. “You’re still a long way from beating me, Ryan.” 4 I turned. It was Marcus. “If you’re here to gloat, you’ve done it. Now you can get out.” He stayed put, his voice dropping to a hiss. “Serena is mine. If I hadn’t gone to London for my MBA, you’d never have had a chance. Your little joyride is over. I’ll be taking care of her from now on.” I laughed. “She’s my wife. When does she need an assistant to take care of her? Worry about yourself. Stop sniffing around another man’s wife.” He slammed his fist into a stall door. “You’re so tough, huh? Then why are you on your knees scrubbing a toilet? I thought you were so important to her. Turns out, you’re just… this.” “You still have so much energy. Looks like this isn’t hard enough for you.” He then proceeded to walk, deliberately, all over the wet, clean floor, leaving dirty footprints everywhere. It got worse. He unzipped his pants and urinated all over the floor I had just mopped. “Oops,” he said, zipping up. “You missed a spot, Ryan. You’re not very good at this.” My rage was blinding. I lunged, grabbing his collar. Just as I was about to speak, a wave of dizziness hit me. My skin started to itch, intensely. I collapsed, my limbs weak, gasping. “What… what did you do to me?” Marcus roared with laughter. “I heard you had a severe allergy to industrial-strength bleach. I dumped half a bottle in your mop bucket.” I was wheezing. “Serena… will kill you…” He just smiled. “Wanna bet?” On cue, I heard high heels clicking outside. “Marcus? Are you in there?” Marcus’s face changed instantly. He slapped himself, hard, three or four times. He ripped his tie askew, messed up his hair, and then collapsed on the floor near me. “Ryan, no! Please, stop! I’m sorry! I’ll leave!” The door burst open. Serena ran in. She looked right past me, her eyes only on Marcus. “Marcus! Oh my god, what happened? Are you okay?” He fell into her arms, groaning. “I… I just came in to see if he needed help… I don’t know what happened… he just went crazy. He started punching me… I think… I think he’s mad about me being here…” Serena’s eyes, when she looked up at me, were filled with murder. “Ryan. He came in here to help you. And you assaulted him?” “If anything happens to Marcus, I swear to God, I will destroy you.” She was fussing over him. “Oh god, my head… I’m so dizzy…” Marcus groaned, and I saw him, over her shoulder, give me a tiny, triumphant smirk. Serena was completely fooled. She started to help him up. As they were leaving, Marcus “generously” looked back. “Serena… maybe we should check on Ryan. He… he looks like he’s in pain, too.” Serena didn’t even glance at me. “He’s fine. He’s never sick. He’s obviously faking it.” “Only a pure-hearted person like you would fall for such a cheap trick. I’m not.” They left, supporting each other. I was alone on the wet, filthy floor. I passed out. Ryan, Ryan… you’re a failure. Your own wife can’t see you’re dying. She’s obsessed with another man. It’s all your fault. If there’s a next life… you have to find someone who actually loves you. “Hey! Wake up!”

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Three years into my marriage with Alex, I started to think about divorce. My best friend, Chloe, thought I was insane. “He’s literally one in a million, Thea. What could possibly be wrong?” Alex was the perfect husband. I couldn’t find a single fault. I just gave her a tired smile and asked her to play a game with me. “Send your husband a text,” I said. “Tell him you’re not coming home tonight.” 1 [Not coming home tonight.] I typed the words into my chat with Alex. My thumb hovered for a few seconds before I pressed send. I showed the “delivered” message to Chloe. “Don’t add anything else. Just that.” “You know what Mark is like. He’s going to call me instantly.” Chloe scoffed, pulling out her own phone. “Fine. Sent. Now what?” And then— Her phone immediately rang. “See? I told you,” she said, rolling her eyes affectionately as she put him on speaker. “Why aren’t you coming home, babe? Are you still with Thea? Is she the one who doesn’t want to go home? You can bring her here, you know. Or… are you staying at her place?” A rapid-fire string of questions, one after another. “I’m kidding! Of course I’m coming home. Thea just wanted to play a game…” Chloe quickly explained, her voice melting into a playful purr. “But honey, it’s pouring rain out, and it’s impossible to get a cab. Can you come pick us up?” She was glowing. That soft, easy affection of a woman who knows, without a doubt, that she is cherished. “Of course, babe. I’m putting my shoes on now. Don’t move. I’m on my way.” The reply was just as disgustingly sweet. I smiled, listening to them, and drained my wine glass. My own phone finally buzzed. A new message. [Okay. Have fun.] From Alex. 2 I declined Chloe and Mark’s offer to wait for them and called my own Uber. The rain was getting worse. By the time I ran from the curb to my front door, I was soaked and miserable. It was rare to see him in here. The long, ten-foot-long dining table was covered in case files, spread out like a military map. Alex was at the far end, sitting perfectly straight, staring at his laptop. His shirtsleeves were neatly rolled, revealing strong, toned forearms. His gold-rimmed glasses softened the intensity of his gaze. The antique chandelier above cast a warm, yellow light, making him look softer than he was. I paused in the entryway. That table. I’d had it custom-made before we got married. It was wide enough to hold all my research when I was deep in a script. It was my workspace. Alex is a man of rigid order. In his world, dining tables are for dining. Work is for the study. This was the first time I’d ever seen him use this table for anything other than a meal. He’d just made senior partner. It must have been a massive case. I didn’t want to disturb him. I wiped the rain from my face and quietly toed off my shoes. As I put them away, I accidentally kicked the cabinet. The sound made him look up. He saw me and immediately closed his laptop. He didn’t ask why I was home. He didn’t ask if I was wet from the rain. He didn’t ask where I’d been or what I’d had for dinner. He just started stacking his files. “Sorry. I’ll move to the study.” His voice was polite. Apologetic. Like a guest who had accidentally wandered into the master bedroom. I watched him. That tiny, strange flicker of warmth I’d felt seeing him there… it just vanished. “It’s fine,” I said, my voice tight. “I’m not working tonight. I had a few drinks. You can stay.” Alex knows I’m allergic to most alcohol. I never drink. He looked at my damp hair, his eyes narrowing for a fraction of a second, as if he was analyzing a piece of evidence. But he didn’t ask. He just put down the files he’d gathered and gave a short nod. “Okay. You should get some rest.” 3 Maybe it was the alcohol, or the cold rain. I couldn’t even stand for the whole shower. I ended up sliding down the tiled wall, letting the water hit me. It felt lukewarm by the time it reached my shoulders. I shivered but didn’t have the energy to stand up. Alex is the perfect husband. Everyone says so. Good family, great job, handsome. His temperament and character are flawless. My graduate advisor introduced us. “Thea, I’m telling you, you could search the world and not find another man as good as Alex. He’s a unicorn. One in a million.” My advisor was a notoriously difficult man. Hearing him praise someone like that… I was intrigued. From the first time I saw Alex, my heart went haywire. He was reserved, quiet, but it was a true, 100% case of love at first sight for me. He was the one who pursued me, and I found our values aligned perfectly. It felt like destiny. We went from first date to marriage in six months. His mother adored me. The first time I met her, she held my hands and cried. “Thank you for loving my Alex. Thank you, dear.” My parents were even happier. Every friend who met him said the same thing: “You must have saved a country in a past life to deserve a man like that.” I used to believe it, too. I’m high-energy. I love to work out. Before I even moved in, he had our basement converted into a full gym for me. Every piece of equipment was calibrated to my height. When I stopped using the rowing machine for a few months, he quietly had it replaced with a newer model. The smart speaker plays my workout playlist the second I walk downstairs. The media room’s download queue is always full of films I’d like. I’m a writer. I work at night. Alex is a light sleeper. To accommodate my schedule, he just… adapted. He started sleeping with an eye mask and earplugs. Every holiday, every anniversary, there are flowers and perfect, thoughtful gifts. Every time he travels for work, he brings back something I’ll love. If I’m in a creative funk, he’ll come home with my favorite pastry. “Eat something sweet. You’ll feel better.” He is so, so perfect. His kindness is tangible, practical. He’s too good for me. That’s what I used to think. Knock, knock. A soft tapping on the bathroom door. I’d been in here too long. I struggled to my feet. “Just a minute!” I saw his shadow pause at the frosted glass, then turn and walk away. He didn’t say anything. The alcohol I’d washed away came roaring back. I grabbed a towel, threw on my robe, and yanked the door open. I froze. Alex was standing just to the left of the door, waiting. His expression was calm, but he was clearly waiting for me. Like he had something to say. 4 I felt a strange, tight knot of anticipation in my chest. In that split second, I ran through a dozen scenarios. If he asked, “Are you upset about something?” If he said, “You know you’re allergic. You shouldn’t be drinking.” If he got angry, “Why did you text that you weren’t coming home and then show up in the rain?” I knew if he showed any of that, any emotion, I would have burst into tears. I would have used the alcohol as an excuse to finally, finally ask him the question that had been poisoning my marriage. But after a beat of silence, Alex just said, in a level tone: “My father called. He wants to go out for seafood.” “I have court in the morning. I’ll pick you up after.” His expression was neutral. He was just here to pass on a message. I clutched the lapels of my robe. I felt like an over-inflated balloon that had just been pricked. My grandfather has Alzheimer’s. He forgets everyone. Except, for some reason, Alex, whom he adores. “…It’s fine.” My voice came out as a croak. “Just text me the address. I’ll drive myself.” I rarely say no to Alex. Especially not to things like this—him going out of his way to pick me up, a small, public display of our perfect, happy marriage. He looked at me, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. But he didn’t ask. He just watched me for a few seconds. “Okay,” he said, and turned to walk away. 5 The next day, I drove to the restaurant. It was a full family lunch. Both sets of parents. My grandfather was having a bad day and had a fistful of Alex’s shirt, refusing to let go. Alex, unfazed, was patiently shelling shrimp for him, his face a mask of perfect calm. My mom and his mom were in deep conversation. “We’re both turning sixty next year. If you two don’t give us a grandchild soon, we’ll be too old to babysit!” “She’s right. You’ve been married three years. It’s time to get serious.” Alex placed the bowl of shrimp in front of my grandfather, then shelled one more and put it in my bowl. He smiled at our mothers. “We’re trying.” His tone was sincere. His expression was serious. It worked. The moms were satisfied. The table became lively again. I looked down at the pale, perfect shrimp in my bowl. A wave of nausea hit me. I pressed my lips together, but it was no use. I covered my mouth, stood up, and ran to the restroom. 6 The second I was out of my chair, I heard my mom’s excited shriek. “Oh my goodness! She’s been so quiet all day! Do you think… is it morning sickness?” Alex’s mom was right behind her. “Alex, why didn’t you tell us? Go check on her, go!” I locked the door and retched into the sink. I stared at my pale reflection in the mirror for a long time before I finally unlocked the door. I almost ran right into Alex. He was standing there, holding a glass of warm water. His face was… dark. We stared at each other. It was, bizarrely, the first time I’d ever seen him look truly, unequivocally angry. He never gets angry. He never gets sad. He is a perfectly calibrated machine. At home, he’s a ghost. He never shares his day. He never asks about mine. If I’m bursting with a new story idea and force him to listen, he will. He’ll listen intently, his expression perfectly neutral. And when I’m done, he’ll say, “That’s great, Thea,” and that’s all. Unless I press him. Then he’ll say, “As long as it makes you happy.” “What do you want for dinner?” “Whatever you want.” “When should we see my parents?” “Whatever works for you.” It’s funny. Before Alex, I’d never been in a serious relationship. It wasn’t until I saw Chloe and Mark, how they bicker and laugh and live together, that I realized how abnormal my own marriage was. I’d tried to ask him about it. Once. It was a Wednesday, our… scheduled night. He was, as always, efficient and focused. As he reached for the nightstand drawer, where the condoms were, I stopped him. His mom had been relentless about a baby. “My mother,” he’d said, hesitating, “would like us to have a child.” We were both healthy. We were perfect candidates. I’d been ready since day one. But he had never, ever seemed interested. Until that night. “A child,” he said. I thought he was finally ready. But as he moved over me, his breathing was even, his technique flawless, but his eyes… his eyes were empty. There was no passion. I put my hand on his chest. “Alex, did you marry me just to check a box? Is this… is this just another task to complete?” I was so terrified of the answer, I stopped breathing. His expression was… interesting. A flicker of surprise. And then, something that looked almost like… relief. He was silent. Then, he performed the necessary “task” to create a child, withdrew, and went to the bathroom. He came back out wearing his pajama pants. “You’re overthinking it, Thea. Get some sleep.” He closed the door. The bedroom was silent. But in my ears, I just heard the echo of a door slamming shut.

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In our suite, we were like sisters. We did everything together—brunch, late-night library meltdowns, borrowing each other’s clothes. We had a rule: We don’t let anyone mess with our girls. We celebrate everything. So today, my twentieth birthday, I woke up practically buzzing. Then, I saw their Instagram post. The three of them, at Seoul’s Fire, my absolute favorite, impossible-to-get-a-reservation-at Korean BBQ place. The caption, under a photo dump of them clinking soju glasses, read: “Besties who K-BBQ together, stay together! 🥢🔥” I was alone in my dorm, pulling the comforter over my head as the tears started to fall. 1 Last month, for Mia’s birthday—she’s the baby of the group and obsessed with cute guys—we special-ordered this insane, multi-layer cake from that bougie bakery downtown. We even tipped the delivery guy, who looked like a total frat god, an extra twenty bucks to sing “Happy Birthday” at the door. Mia’s shriek was legendary. We all laughed until we cried. We were that close. So I was dreaming big for my birthday. It was a Saturday. A whole day. What would the surprise be? That professional Copic marker set I’d been drooling over for art class? A road trip? Or maybe… Seoul’s Fire? I was smiling about it in my sleep when I woke up to… noise. It was 9 AM. The three night owls—Jessica, Leah, and Mia—were actually up before noon, doing makeup, rummaging through closets, zipping bags. A little thrill went through me. I pretended to just wake up, mumbling, “Why are you guys up so early?” Mia, balanced on her desk chair, popped her head up. “It’s gorgeous out! We’re hitting the mall. You in?” Before I could even answer, Jessica cut in, not even looking up from her mascara. “Chloe’s gotta study for the GREs. We can’t distract her, right? She’s in the zone.” “The GRE isn’t for two months,” I said, my voice small. “I can take today off.” I don’t think they even heard me. There was a flurry of perfume and the jangling of keys, and then the door clicked shut. The room was silent. I stared at the ceiling, and one thought calmed me down: They had to be planning a surprise. This was just a diversion. Just like we’d scouted three different bakeries for Mia’s cake. My heart settled. I rolled over, smiling, and fell back asleep. I dreamed we were at some karaoke bar, screaming Taylor Swift songs off-key, Leah spraying us all with silly string. I woke up with that smile still on my face. The room was still empty. I grabbed my phone. 11:03 AM. It was dead silent. No “Happy Birthday!” texts. No notifications. Even our group chat, “Suite 402’s Finest,” usually blowing up with memes, was a ghost town. A knot tightened in my stomach. What surprise takes this long to set up? I opened Instagram. First post. Jessica. A nine-photo carousel. The sizzling grill, the endless plates of banchan, the three of them laughing so hard Mia was blurry. And that caption. “Besties who K-BBQ together, stay together! 🥢🔥” It was the place. The one with the premium wagyu I’d been talking about for months. The one Jessica had said was “way too expensive” and “a total rip-off.” Leah had said, “We should save it, go for a really special occasion.” I guess my birthday wasn’t special enough. I stared at the pictures. They looked so happy. So complete. Without me. Someone from the next suite over, a girl named Lauren, commented: Where’s Chloe?? 😢 Jessica replied instantly. Ugh, she’s chained to her desk studying for the GREs! We can’t drag our little genius down! 😜 A winky-face emoji. It felt like a bucket of ice water. My blood ran cold. They hadn’t just forgotten. They’d actively lied. But why? I scrolled through my texts, my brain spinning. We hadn’t fought. There was no drama. Maybe it’s a misunderstanding? I thought. Maybe they just wanted me to study? But Jessica was studying for the GREs, too. And she was there, front and center, holding up a piece of galbi. I wanted to call them. To scream. But my pride wouldn’t let me. I just laid there, feeling hollow. 2 Then my mom called. “Happy birthday, sweetie! Did you get the Venmo I sent? What are the girls doing for you? Are you guys going out?” My throat closed up. The tears I’d been holding back started to sting. I turned toward the wall, trying to keep my voice steady. “Thanks, Mom! I’m actually… at the library right now.” I whispered, trying to sound like I was being quiet for other people. “On your birthday? At the library?” “Yeah, we’re all studying for the GREs,” I lied, the words tasting like ash. “It’s a huge grind. We’re gonna go out later tonight, though. A big celebration.” “Oh, okay, honey. Well, don’t study too hard! Love you!” “Love you too, Mom. Gotta go, don’t want to bother people.” I hung up fast, and the tears I’d been holding back just… broke. I buried my face in my pillow and cried, fat, silent tears dropping onto the sheets. The feeling of being dumped, of being left out, was so heavy I could barely breathe. After a while, I dried my eyes, pulled myself out of bed, and ordered a single vanilla cupcake from DoorDash. I washed my face, grabbed my backpack, and went to the campus pond. The bakery, bless them, had seen my “Happy Birthday to Me” note and sent two little number candles: a ‘2’ and a ‘0.’ I stuck them in the frosting. I didn’t have a lighter. I closed my eyes. “I wish,” I whispered to the ducks, “to always be strong enough to handle anything.” I “blew” out the imaginary flames and ate the whole thing. I spent the rest of the afternoon in the library, and honestly, my focus was razor-sharp. I aced a practice test. At 8 PM, I grabbed a container of Pad Thai from the place off-campus and headed back. I slid my key into the lock. The door swung open into total darkness. I fumbled for the light switch. Before I could hit it— POP! My heart leaped into my throat as confetti and streamers rained down on me. “Don’t turn on the light!” Mia yelled. Three phone flashlights clicked on, blinding me. Jessica was holding a small, slightly lopsided birthday cake, singing “Happy birthday to you…” Mia and Leah chimed in, filming me with their phones. The song finished. “Make a wish, Chloe!” Jessica cheered, her smile huge. I just stood there. My Pad Thai was getting cold in my hand. Then, click. I flipped the main light switch. 3 The harsh fluorescent light made them all blink. Their smiles froze. “Surprise!” Mia yelled, a little weaker this time. “Aren’t you surprised?” “Surprise what?” I asked. My voice was flat. Dead. “A surprise?” I set my takeout on my desk. “You mean… ditching me to go to Seoul’s Fire, the one place I’ve been dying to go, and then lying about it on Instagram for the whole campus to see?” The silence in the room was so thick you could cut it. The only sound was the sizzling of the cheap candles, wax dripping onto the frosting. “Chloe, listen, it’s not like that…” Mia started, putting her phone down. She reached for my arm. I pulled away. “Explain what? Explain how you ‘forgot’ me? On my birthday?” “No!” Jessica snapped, shoving the cake into Leah’s hands. “We… we were checking it out for you! Scout mission!” “Yeah! Scout mission!” Leah echoed, nodding way too hard. “It’s so expensive, we wanted to make sure it was, like, actually good before we took you!” A laugh, cold and bitter, escaped my lips. “A scout mission. Right. Does a scout mission require a nine-photo carousel? And a public comment about how I’m too busy studying to be ‘dragged down’?” “I…” Jessica’s eyes darted around. “I just didn’t want you to see it and spoil the real surprise! This! This is the real surprise!” “Oh, really?” I said. “Well, thanks for being so thoughtful. I’ve only been feeling like garbage all afternoon because of your ‘scouting’.” “What is your problem, Chloe?” Jessica’s voice got sharp. She dropped the nice-girl act. “We ran all over town to get you this cake, we didn’t even eat dinner, and you walk in and give us this attitude? After all the trouble we went to? You’re being so ungrateful!” I was so stunned by the gaslighting I actually laughed. “Trouble? For me? You went to a hundred-dollar-a-person barbecue… for me? You posted ‘sisterhood’ selfies… for me? Jessica, I’m asking you seriously, did you think about me, me, for one second today?” “God, Chloe, don’t be so sensitive,” Leah muttered, frowning. “We just thought you were stressed about the GREs and wanted to study. We didn’t think you’d even see the post…” “You didn’t think I’d see the post.” I repeated. That was the most ridiculous lie of all. “You know what? Save it.” I was done. The string inside me just… snapped. “The cake looks great. You guys enjoy it. I’m not hungry.” “From now on, let’s just be… roommates. This whole ‘best sisters’ act… I’m tired.” I yanked my bed curtain shut, climbed into my bunk, put in my earbuds, and blasted music until my ears buzzed. I heard them arguing in whispers below me. Jessica’s voice was the loudest, sharp and indignant. Later, I heard the thud of the cake box hitting the communal trash can. That night, our group chat stayed silent.

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The day Elias took the fall for me, we had just turned twenty. Through the visitor’s glass, he smiled, his eyes pinning me. “Elena. Wait for me.” I nodded, my throat too tight to speak. The moment he was gone, I became the blade he’d left behind. I threw my acceptance letter to Johns Hopkins in the trash. I dove into the underworld, playing chess with monsters, living on a razor’s edge for ten years. By the time he was paroled, I’d built an empire. I scrubbed his record. I laundered every dollar. I handed him the keys to a clean, legitimate corporation, and he became Mr. Elias Thorne, a man to be feared. I was late to the jeweler—I’d been cleaning up one of his messes. When I walked in, I saw her. A young, fragile-looking woman, wearing my diamond. The one he had designed. One of his new flunkies was fawning over her. “Miss Isla, Mr. Thorne had this custom-made just for you.” I picked up a glass of hot tea from a nearby tray and poured it, slowly and deliberately, right over her head. In the dead silence of the showroom, I looked at his men. “I’m done with Elias,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “But you don’t get to touch what’s mine.” … Elias moved faster than I’d seen him move in years. He ripped off his thousand-dollar suit jacket, wrapped her in it, and half-carried her into a private viewing room. When he came back out, he backhanded his top man across the face. The crack echoed. “Get out. All of you. Line up on the sidewalk.” His voice was ice. “When did any of you get the right to make decisions for me? Remember this: Only Elena gets that kind of respect. No one else.” The men bowed, their apologies quick and meaningless. I leaned against the wall, unimpressed. “Who’s the performance for, Elias? You really think they’d dare give her that ring without your nod?” He stepped close, his old scent—sandalwood and steel—filling my lungs. He reached to touch my face. I didn’t move. “Elena… Isla’s just… she’s naive. She’s exactly like you were when we first met. I couldn’t say no. But no one, no one, compares to you.” I laughed, a short, bitter sound. “Hours ago, you said you were stuck in a board meeting, that the ‘old guard’ was riding you, and you couldn’t get away. She calls, and you ditch them? What are you afraid of, Elias? That I’ll kill her?” I reached up and tapped his throat. “Tell me. What is she?” His Adam’s apple jumped. “Elena, I was afraid you’d misunderstand. That’s why I rushed over. It’s not about her.” “Really?” I smiled, a cold, sharp thing. “You know I don’t believe in words.” Just then, a shriek came from the viewing room. Elias’s body tensed. He threw my hand aside. I saw the shift. The panic in his eyes. He spun to run to her. I kicked the back of his knee, hard. He grunted, his body pitching forward, and his elbow instinctively shot back, aimed right for my ribs. His voice was a snarl: “Elena, haven’t you made enough of a scene!” I blocked, twisting my torso so the blow glanced off my side. But he used the moment to break free and burst into the room. He pulled the woman—still just in his jacket—into a desperate hug. I followed, leaning on the doorframe. “That touches a nerve? It was just hot water, Elias. I took a broken bottle to the head for you in Chicago, and you didn’t look half this frantic.” He was furious, his eyes red, but his hands on her were impossibly gentle. “She’s not you, Elena! Isla’s been sheltered her whole life. Not every woman is like you.” The girl burrowed into his chest, her sobs precise, her words perfectly clear. “Elias, don’t blame Elena. It’s not her fault she’s… like this. Not after everything. You did ten years for her… how can she not trust you!” I froze. “You’ve been busy, haven’t you?” She looked up, tears like crystals on her porcelain cheeks. “Of course! Elias tells me everything. He says with me, he can finally… be himself. The real him. The clean him.” Clean. I’d spent ten years wading through filth for him. He gets to the top and now he’s ashamed of the hands that built his throne? “The real you?” I locked eyes with Elias. “Are you serious? You miss prison, Elias? Miss the stale bread and getting your head kicked in?” A flash of shame crossed his face. He handed Isla to a bodyguard. He turned, trying to take my hand. “Elena, stop. So it’s a ring. I’ll buy the whole store. Pick anything.” I slapped his hand away. “Elias. That ring. You designed it yourself with the first real money we made from the syndicate. You stayed up for three nights drawing it. You said… you said you’d put it on my finger the day we got married. And you’re giving it to her?” My fist flew. He turned, shielding Isla with his own body, taking the punch on his shoulder. “Get Miss Isla home. Now!” He knew my temper. He knew what I was capable of. The room exploded. My men and his new crew. It was a blur of motion. He blocked me, a wall of muscle, keeping me away from her. I heard a car engine. She was getting away. Rage, pure and black, burned through me. I reached into my boot and pulled the five-inch dagger—the first gift he ever gave me—and plunged it into his thigh. He hissed, but he didn’t back down. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron, a twisted smile on his face. “Feel better? I promise, Elena. This is the last time. She’ll never be in your way again.” I twisted the blade. “Isla. 22. College grad. Met her at a fundraiser three months ago… ‘spilled’ a drink on you. You’ve gotten sloppy, Elias. Or did you forget how you climbed this high?” His face changed. The smile was gone. He grabbed my shoulders, his fingers digging in so hard I knew I’d have bruises. “Don’t make this bigger than it is. I’ll have an exact copy of the ring made. Just… let it go.” The gash was too deep. He couldn’t handle it himself. His men half-carried him out. I stood there, breathing hard. As I was leaving, I sent him a text. That knife was the first thing you ever gave me. Now it’s yours. We’re even. I knew he’d been icing me out. Sidelining me. Putting new faces in key positions, men loyal only to him. “Elena, you’ve been running for ten years,” he’d say, massaging his temples. “You need to rest. Let me handle the dirty work.” It was a lie, a tranquilizer to keep me calm. My hand went to my stomach. This morning… the nausea. The sudden dizziness. As I left the jeweler, I had my driver, Chloe, take me to our doctor. The on-payroll one. She looked at the report, then at me. “Elena… you’re pregnant.” The words hit me. The fucking irony. Elias had grieved over us not having a child. After they’d captured me, years ago… after the torture, the drugs… the doctor said the damage was irreversible. “You’ll likely never carry a child to term.” Elias had broken down. He’d smashed his fist into the wall, screaming, “My fault, my fault, if I’d been faster…” It was the only time I’d ever seen him cry. This baby… it was a miracle. And it arrived today. The day he handed my ring to another woman. “Chloe,” I said, my voice flat. “This doesn’t leave this car. Tell the doctor. If one word of this gets out, you’ll be swimming in concrete shoes.” “Elena…” “This baby is mine,” I interrupted, my voice like stone. “Elias Thorne has no right to it.” Because of the day’s stress, the doctor insisted I stay overnight for observation. As I was checking in, I heard them. Down the hall. Isla’s voice, clinging. “Elias, she’s terrifying! How can she treat you like that? After everything you’ve done for her!” And his. “She’s just… she’s been through a lot. I spoiled her.” “Don’t move, your stitches will tear. I’ll kiss it better.” “Elias,” she whispered, “I don’t have her power. I can’t run your company. But I can give you a home. With me, you can just be Elias…” She stood on her toes and kissed him. I watched. He didn’t pull away. He put his hands on her waist and kissed her back. My heart seized. It was just a kiss. But it was a betrayal that ten years of bullets and blood hadn’t been. We’d had so many kisses. Kisses that tasted like gunpowder and victory. Kisses in the back of armored cars, desperate and hungry. Kisses in the dark, promising forever. The last kiss before he went in. Him, gripping the bars. “You wait for me, Elena. You wait, and I’ll marry you.” The same mouth. Kissing her. In my empire. I walked toward them. The bodyguard saw me first. He saw the look in my eyes and he stepped back. Elias finally turned. The desire in his eyes turned to shock. My fist connected with his jaw. At the last second, he jerked his head, shielding her again, taking the blow. His leg buckled. Isla shrieked. “We’re in love! Just leave us alone!” I slapped her so hard she hit the linoleum floor. I put my heel on her hand. “Say that again.” Elias grabbed my arm, his voice pleading, desperate. “Elena, don’t. Don’t hurt her. I swear to you, your place… no one can take it. You’ll be my wife. You’ll always be Mrs. Thorne.” I laughed, a sound that hurt my own ears. “Mrs. Thorne? You think I need your name? You think you’re clean enough to give it to me?” I pressed my heel down. Isla screamed. That did it. The last bit of warmth in his eyes died. His face went blank. “Get her off!” he roared. The bodyguards moved.

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I was mucking out stalls for cash when I accidentally splattered horse manure on the bumper of his G-Wagon. He was already in a foul mood, sulking over his adopted sister’s latest romance, but he’d never yell at her. So, he threw his anger—and his keys—at my head. “If you don’t break up with that townie loser, you can get the hell out of our house!” The girl, Chloe, burst into tears. “Then who do you want as your sister? Her?” She jabbed a finger at me, still rubbing the spot on my forehead where the keys hit. The crown prince, Julian, didn’t even look at me. He just sneered. “Yeah, fine by me.” I was about to speak when bright, ethereal text scrolled past my eyes: 【LOL, does Stall Girl actually think he’s serious? He’s just lashing out.】 【He already regrets it. If she hesitates for one second, he’ll take it back.】 【Although… if she did become a Thorne family ward, she’d be set for life. Money, private schools, the works…】 I snapped to attention. “Hi, big brother!” The moment the words left my mouth, the air went dead. Everyone’s expression soured. Julian Thorne looked me up and down, his eyes finally landing on the muck caked on my boots. His face was a mask of confusion. “You… seriously want to be my sister?” I nodded, looking up at him through my eyelashes. “Are you going to take it back?” His expression froze. He just stood there, his jaw tight. “Julian!” Chloe shrieked, stomping her foot. “You promised I was your only sister!” The silence stretched for a few more seconds. Julian sighed, his voice going flat and cold. “Sorry. I was just kidding.” My stomach dropped. The floating text reappeared: 【Wow. I’ve seen desperate, but this is a new low. Begging a stranger to adopt you.】 【She should take a look in the mirror. A literal farm girl covered in horse shit. Does she really think she can compare to our perfect, sweet Chloe?】 【Besides, the ‘sister’ role is a special status reserved for the female lead. He’s never letting some random girl take that title.】 I rubbed the growing bruise on my forehead. I looked down, my voice small. “In that case… can you just pay me more?” Julian gave me three hundred-dollar bills. By the time I left, the siblings were back to normal. Chloe was giggling, hanging on his arm, though she shot me a smug look over her shoulder. “That’s probably not even enough for me to buy a new backpack. Should we give her more, Julian?” A chorus of 【Chloe is the sweetest! A true angel!】 filled my vision. I carefully rolled the bills and shoved them deep into my pocket, shaking my head. “No… that’s fine.” This was compensation, not a shakedown. I grabbed a rag from my bucket and meticulously started wiping the manure off his bumper. Good. It was coming off clean. The whole time, Chloe watched with a hand over her mouth. “Ew, Julian, it stinks! Is that what manure smells like?” Julian shot her a look, but for once, didn’t reply. He just watched me until I had cleaned his entire car. He didn’t say another word. But just as he was about to get in, he frowned, pulled out his wallet, and stuffed another wad of cash into my hand. That money from Julian was a lifesaver. I split it three ways. One part for my high school tuition. One part for living expenses. And one part for the hospital bills. When the money ran out, I started collecting cans. Right after school until late at night. The next time I saw Julian, he was drinking alone on a park bench. Under the streetlight, his silhouette looked thin, his handsome features shadowed with a kind of deep, lonely frustration. The floating text, which had been silent for weeks, flickered back to life. 【Aww, he just saw Chloe kissing the supporting-character guy. My poor baby’s heart is broken.】 【She’s just being a rebellious teenager! It doesn’t mean she doesn’t love Julian!】 【If only Chloe could see how much he cares! She’s only acting out because she knows Julian will always spoil and forgive her!】 【He knows what the problem is, he just can’t bring himself to be hard on her, can he?】 … I quietly walked over and set a carton of milk on the bench next to him. My eyes flickered over his watch. It was worth more than my tuition. I took a deep breath. “Big brother.” He looked up, his dark eyes heavy and unfocused. “What did you call me?” I was so nervous, my voice trembled. “If you take me in… I can help you. With your sister.” He just stared at me. “You? How?” This was it. This was the moment. I widened my eyes, trying to look as sincere as possible. “I’m a really good cook. I can clean… I’m a really hard worker. I can do all the chores…” His expression shifted to something like amusement. I dropped my gaze, my voice trailing off. “…I can just be a servant. I’m cheap. You should consider it…” My voice got quieter and quieter, fading into the night air. After a long moment, I heard a sound. A quiet huff of laughter. Julian was actually smiling. It lit up his face. “My family doesn’t have a history of employing child labor.” My shoulders slumped. “Oh.” I turned to leave. “But,” he called out, “I am currently in the market for a sister who’s a little more… obedient.” I whipped around, not daring to believe it. “What’s your name?” he asked. “Mia.” The air seemed to freeze for a second. A tiny, almost invisible frown crossed Julian’s face. 【Mia??? Isn’t that the same name as the scheming, evil side-character?】 【I thought she was just a random extra… no wonder she’s throwing herself at him.】 【She’s the one who keeps trying to seduce the male lead, which makes the female lead (Chloe) jealous. All her little plots fail and just end up pushing the main couple together.】 【I heard that in the end, Julian personally marries her off to some 70-year-old creep… who has a psycho son.】 … I just stood there. My hands were in my pockets, rubbing my last two dollars together. Compared to another day of not knowing if I’d eat… …my future husband’s age didn’t seem all that important. Finally, Julian ruffled my hair. “Let’s call you Mia Holland. It’s easier to remember.” Julian’s parents were good people. They didn’t freak out when he brought home a random girl. They just gave me the guest room. They didn’t agree to formally adopt me, though. They wanted an “observation period.” Chloe, however, threw a fit. She screamed. She cried. She went on a hunger strike. It took Julian four hours to calm her down. When he walked out of her room, he looked exhausted. I felt a wave of despair. I was so sure I was about to be kicked out, I packed my small bag and sat on the front steps all night. I woke up to someone nudging me with their foot. “What, are you running away?” Julian asked, sounding annoyed. His eyes landed on my face, and he paused. “Huh. You clean up nice. You’ve even put on some weight. Looks better than the scrawny look.” He casually pinched my cheek. “Relax. You can stay. My parents really like you.” I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. I slept soundly that night for the first time in a week. No more collecting cans. No more worrying about tuition or food. I poured all my energy into my studies. I was in the top ten of my class by the end of the month. With me as a new “comparison,” Chloe finally felt the pressure. She stopped skipping class. She ignored the letters from the “supporting-character” guy. She actually started studying. The day she broke up with him, Julian did something he’d never done: he came to pick me up from school himself. “Nice work, sis,” he said. He was leaning against his car, a rare, genuine smile on his face. He was holding an unlit cigarette, and the look in his eyes was… proud. It was the first time he’d ever called me ‘sister.’ I couldn’t help but smile back. My smile seemed to make him pause, just for a second. I smoothed my skirt, playing the part. “I know what I have to do next, brother.” I started, very deliberately, “bothering” Julian whenever Chloe was around. Julian was a picky eater. I learned all his favorite dishes and made a huge show of bringing him lunch at his office, rain or shine. It got his employees talking. “The new sister is so much more mature than the other one.” “She’s smart, she’s polite, and she actually takes care of her brother.” Julian would just smile mysteriously and ruffle my hair. Those rumors got back to Chloe, just as I’d planned. After a predictable tantrum, she started… trying. She’d ask Julian about his day, offer to get him things. One night, Julian was washing fruit for Chloe. I snuck up behind him and covered his eyes. “Guess who, brother…” I whispered. I felt his long eyelashes flutter against my palms. He turned, grabbing my hands. His expression was… strange. “Mia. Personal space. You know that, right?” Just then, Chloe walked into the kitchen. Her eyes turned red. She stormed out. From then on, Chloe not only became super-clingy with Julian, she started treating me as her mortal enemy. After my SATs, she convinced her parents to send me abroad for college. “Julian is my brother, not yours. You can’t steal him. Stay away,” she warned me, her voice cold. I didn’t say anything. I just thanked her profusely. My scores were high. I could get into a better school overseas. For four years, I didn’t forget my “promise” to Julian. I couldn’t be there in person, so I’d send him things for his car—like a little bobblehead that looked like me. Sometimes, his passengers would tease him. “Girlfriend put that there?” Julian would just smirk. “Something like that. She’s a handful. Can’t live without me.” When I’d come home for breaks, I’d ignore Chloe’s death glares and pretend to have nightmares so he’d have to sit with me. My junior year, some frat boy wouldn’t leave me alone. I called Julian. He flew out and handled it. He was a great acting partner. He always knew exactly what to do to make Chloe jealous. He played the part of the perfect, doting brother so well. Sometimes… sometimes, I thought he played it too well. He’d buy out every flower shop in the city and have them deliver camellias to my dorm, just because I’d idly mentioned I liked them. He’d call late at night and ask, “Do you miss me?” And when I’d say yes, he’d be on a plane the next morning. Slowly, everyone in Julian’s circle learned he had this new sister he was completely obsessed with. His friends would look me over, their smiles a little too slick. “Damn, Julian. Your sister’s hot.” “How old are you, sweetheart? You dating anyone?” From the corner of my eye, I saw Julian, who had been lounging, sit up straight. He was frowning. I answered honestly. “I dated someone.” “Oh yeah? Who? Does ‘big brother’ know?” I smiled sweetly. “Just a stupid college thing. I kept it from him. I guess I’m confessing now.” “A college thing?” one of them laughed. “So, what, you held hands? That doesn’t count, sweetheart. Boring.” “Shut up, you assholes. All you think about is sex,” Julian cut in, his good mood suddenly restored. He slung an arm around my shoulder. “My sister is the best. She’s only ever cared about me. She wouldn’t have time to date anyone behind my back.” Is that so? A very different, very specific, very dark memory flashed in my mind. I just smiled and nodded. “That’s right, brother.” But I couldn’t stop the heat from rushing to my face.

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1 My daughter and I accidentally time-traveled back to when my husband was still living like a dog in a dungeon. Back then, he was the circus’s prized moneymaker. Because one-half of his face was impossibly beautiful, and the other half was a grotesque, demonic horror. One look would send anyone into fits of screaming terror. But my daughter just waddled straight toward him, pushing her chubby little arms through the iron bars, her voice milky and sweet: “Daddy, hold me~” The moment I realized when we were, I felt the sky crack open and fall in. One second ago, I was in our magnificent, opulent castle, rocking my daughter in the nursery. My husband was right beside me, his voice gentle as he read from a new picture book. The next, I was holding my daughter, stumbling onto a filthy, damp floor. The roar of a raucous, surging crowd was all around us. Several heavy boots nearly stomped on me. Before I could even react, the shriek of an old-fashioned microphone filled the air: “Ladies and Gentlemen! And now, for the most thrilling moment of the night!” “Our prized treasure, the Cursed Demon, the Half-Man, Half-Ghoul!” “Are you ready to cover your eyes and SCREAM?” My heart sank into my stomach. This was bad. Of all the times to travel to, it had to be this one. It had to be his human life. His experiences before he became the immortal monster I knew… I never dared to ask. Partly because he refused to speak of it. Partly because I couldn’t bear to imagine it. Because… In the next second, the entire tent plunged into darkness, save for a single, stark white spotlight on the stage. The heavy, crimson velvet curtain slowly began to rise. A rusted iron cage sat center stage. I instinctively slapped my hand over my daughter’s curious, blinking eyes. And then, I saw him. José Tourinan. Though, back then, he didn’t even have a name. He wasn’t even considered a person. He was livestock. An animal for public amusement. The curtain continued its ascent. I didn’t dare breathe, my eyes fixed on the stage. The first thing I saw was the filthy, wet floor of the cage. An ankle, locked in a heavy, gilded shackle. Then, a tattered, frayed animal pelt that barely offered any decency. Up to a honey-colored, scar-covered abdomen, completely devoid of fat. Wrists, bound tight in gold-plated chains as thick as a man’s arm. Cheap chest-chains and glass jewels, meant to catch the audience’s eye. Finally, I met his eyes. They were sunken, terrifying, and ocean-blue. His left side was beautiful, like a wild, untamed god. Deep-set eyes, long brown curls falling across his brow. It was heartbreaking. The circus ringmaster cracked his whip. The man in the cage slowly, stiffly, turned his head. A wave of screams erupted from the crowd. Then came the disorganized chorus of disgust, curses, and filth. His right side was horrifying. Livid, grotesque scars, unhealed wounds, and twisted, knotted flesh. Like a demon torn straight from a painting. Over the din, the owner calmly rapped on the cage, raising his whip with a smile. “One lash to ward off bad luck! Two to repel demons! Three to cleanse all misfortune!” “Tonight, we have one slot only! Highest bidder wins!” My hand trembled. I had to physically restrain myself from rushing the stage. Around me, people were already shouting out bids. I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood. I was trapped. The time travel had been so sudden, I was still in my loungewear. I was, quite literally, penniless. On stage, the owner’s voice was ecstatic. “Fifty pounds for the strike! Do I hear higher?” The tent went quiet. The man shrugged, clearly satisfied with the price. And just then, a chubby little hand shot up in the air. In her fist was a blood-red ruby pendant, the size of a pigeon’s egg, set on a gold chain. It was radiant, obviously priceless. It was the gift her father had spent months searching for, the day she was born. It had never, ever left her neck. The owner’s voice was shaking. “Oh, my… my dear… tiny lady! Is that your bid?” I finally realized my hand had slipped away from Eve’s eyes. She was beaming, an angelic smile on her face, and nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh!” I walked onto the high stage, carrying Eve, the stares from every direction burning into my skin. The owner obsequiously handed me the coarse, heavy whip. But Eve, with a toddler’s sudden speed, squirmed free and darted right past him. Like a little cloud, she plopped down right in front of the cage. Her voice was bright and clear: “Daddy, Daddy, what happened next? Did the princess kiss the toad?” 2 I’d almost forgotten. Before we were pulled through time, José was reading her a story. She hates cliffhangers. She’s just too young to understand that this wasn’t the right venue for storytime. I heard the audience gasp, and then the “buzz” of whispers started. “Who is that woman? Looks respectable, but… what a kinky private life.” “A child out of wedlock? How scandalous. The world is going to hell.” And… “My God, they let that thing breed? It’s a menace.” The owner was sweating, trying to save the show. “Haha… kids! They get so confused! Am I right, ma’am?” Before I could answer, Eve exploded like a tiny, angry firecracker. “I would never mistake my daddy!” As if to prove her point, she shoved her arms through the bars, straining. “Daddy! Daddy! Hold me!” Her little face was full of confidence. She knew this was her ultimate move. Usually, whenever she’d reach for him and babble, he’d drop whatever he was doing—state affairs, ducal decrees, anything—to pick her up and soothe her. It’s why she still refuses to sleep unless she’s being held. But ten seconds passed. The familiar embrace didn’t come. I saw the huddled figure in the cage flinch and shrink back. He buried his head even lower. My heart sank. Crap. Sure enough, the little ancestor’s nose twitched, her bottom lip wobbled, and she let out a “WAAAAAH!” I told him not to spoil her like this. In an instant, she was shrieking, a world-ending, heavens-collapsing tantrum. It was the exact same wail she used when I refused to buy her a new doll. I’d seen it a million times. I was immune. But to strangers, her angelic face was a devastating weapon. She was a natural at winning sympathy. Including from her own father. The filthy figure in the cage finally moved. He slowly, agonizingly, lifted his head. His dull, lifeless eyes were filled with wariness, confusion, and a bone-deep chill. But a child, upon sensing a victory, will only double down. She cried even harder. The kind of cry that twists everyone’s guts. No one could refuse her. So, in these moments, all I had to do was shrug, the picture of a helpless, indulgent mother. “I’m terribly sorry, but… could I trouble you, sir, to help me calm my daughter?” 3 It took the owner a full minute to realize who I was referring to as “sir.” He waved his hands frantically, his belly fat trembling. “Ma’am, you don’t understand! He’s dangerous! Extremely dangerous! You can’t let a child near him!” I smiled. “A pity. I have no interest in whipping him, either. In that case, we won’t be paying.” The fortune he’d just imagined was about to fly away. He couldn’t let that happen. And besides, Eve was just… heartbreakingly adorable. … The crowd dispersed. I was led backstage. We passed exotic beasts, three massive guard dogs, and finally, a dungeon door secured with six different locks. Eve’s eyes lit up. A familiar silhouette was shackled to the bars, kneeling, so broken he barely looked human. The owner was wringing his hands, making one last attempt. I just smiled and shook my head. “Open it.” The heavy iron door shrieked as it opened. Eve shot inside like a happy little bird. “Daddy, Daddy!” She expertly scrambled into his lap and started rubbing her head against his chest. I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe, in no hurry to stop her. The filthy figure tensed, trying to shrink away, as if he had no idea how to react. But perhaps due to some primal, blood connection, he didn’t push her away. He just stared at me, his eyes cold and uncomprehending. This was the first real look I’d ever had at the man he used to be. His eyes were like those of a wild animal. No emotion. No warmth. After a long moment, he spoke, his voice a raw rasp. “Who… are you.” I raised an eyebrow. So, he already knew how to speak. That was good news. I walked closer, smiling, and crouched down to meet his gaze. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Tourinan,” I said, my voice sincere. “I am your future wife.” 4 I thought I sounded pretty cool when I said it. Until, three seconds later, he let out a sharp, cold snort of laughter. It was a merciless sound, as if he’d just heard the most absurd joke in the world. “Marriage?” He raised a filthy hand and slowly, deliberately, pushed back the matted hair covering the right side of his face. The twisted, grotesque scars were exposed to the air. My vision filled with his terrifying, mocking smile. “With… me?” His meaning was clear. A monster like him, a creature without even the most basic human dignity. And me? I was clean, my clothes were fine, my daughter a perfect, cherished angel. How could he have a family? And how could that family possibly be us? But I didn’t even blink. I completely ignored the horrific scars he was using to frighten me away. My voice was firm and calm. “Yes. You.” He laughed again. It was a high-pitched, agonizing sound. He was shaking so hard, tears of bitter mirth squeezed from his eyes. He sounded like a beast gone mad. “My dear,” he choked out, gasping for air. “Where do we hold the ceremony? In this cage?” “And how… how will you walk me down the aisle? By my shackles? Or a dog collar around my neck?” He lunged forward, his face inches from mine, his words slow and stabbing. “Look at me. Look closely… and tell me… Are you really going to stand before a priest and God, and vow to kiss this face for all eternity?” I stared at him, my expression blank. Then I pecked him on his dry, chapped lips. It was as practiced as the thousand times I’d done it before. I even had the presence of mind to frown and critique him. “Mediocre. You really need some lip balm.” Eve dutifully slapped her hands over her eyes. Time seemed to stop in that dark, narrow dungeon. I could clearly see his pupils dilate, a hurricane of pure, unadulterated astonishment raging within them. “So… your terms,” I said. I tapped him on the forehead, then turned to the thunderstruck owner, smiling brightly. “I want him.” 5 My demand left the owner sputtering. He looked at me, then at the man in the cage who was still radiating pure, scathing mockery, and his jowls trembled. “M-Ma’am, you can’t be serious.” “He’s a monster. An animal. You buy him… what would you even do with him?” I smiled. “What I’ll do with him is none of your concern.” I slowly unfastened a chain from my own neck. Compared to Eve’s massive ruby, mine was painfully simple. A thin platinum chain, holding a small, intricately carved silver ring. It was our wedding ring. In the long, immortal life of the Blood Dukes, these things were mostly symbolic. But we were sentimental enough to get a pair. The owner’s expression instantly shifted from confusion to contempt. “Ma’am. You’re offering me this… this trinket… for my prized moneymaker?” “Are you trying to insult me?” I wasn’t offended. I just held the ring out. “Look closer.” Inside the band, a minuscule line of script was engraved. José had carved it for me himself. “Tu es ma seule lueure.” You are my only light. The owner squinted, clearly having no idea what it meant. I didn’t expect him to. I just gently pressed a tiny, hidden stud on the ring’s setting. Vssshht. A soft, clear holographic projection instantly bloomed in the dim air of the dungeon. It was a magnificent, impossibly beautiful castle. Sunlight streamed through stained-glass windows, illuminating a long gallery carpeted in velvet. At the end of the gallery, on a sun-drenched balcony, a man in a black tailcoat was holding a cherubic little girl. The man was unearthly handsome, his blue eyes overflowing with a gentle smile as he kissed the girl’s forehead. And the girl… was, unmistakably, Eve. The owner’s eyes nearly bulged from their sockets. He pointed at the regal, princely man in the projection, then back at the gaunt “monster” in the cage, and stammered. “That… that’s… that’s…” “Witchcraft! This is witchcraft!” I snapped the projection off and put the ring back on. “Now,” I said, “what do you think he’s worth?” I watched him coolly. “Or perhaps, what do you think it’s worth… to get on the wrong side of a family that practices ‘witchcraft’?” The color drained from the owner’s face. The fear of the unknown was carved into the bones of people from this era. He dropped to his knees with a wet thud. “M-My lady! A sorceress! No, no, a goddess! Please, spare me!” “Take the monster! Take him! I don’t want a single coin! Consider it a gift! My respects to you!” I almost laughed. Damn. Running a psyche-op on a Luddite like this was almost too easy. It was all thanks to future tech. I nodded, satisfied, and pointed at the cage. “Open it.” “And by the way, his name is José Tourinan. Not ‘monster.’” “Got it?” I felt like a human trafficker as I led a “brand new” José out of the circus. Of course, we were “warmly” seen off by the terrified owner. He even shoved a heavy purse of coins into my hands, calling it “apology money.” I hefted it. Not bad. Well, that solved our food and lodging problem. The real problem, however, was the gentleman walking behind me. He was in a clean set of clothes, his hair washed. But the bone-deep gloom and wariness hadn’t faded one bit. He was like a wild animal let out of its cage for the first time, trailing me but keeping a precise distance—far enough to flee, or to attack. Those blue eyes were fixed on me and Eve, as if assessing what new kind of trap this was. Eve, however, was completely oblivious. She held a fistful of my skirt in one hand, and a fistful of José’s trouser leg in the other, her little legs working hard to keep up. “Mommy, where are we going?” “We’re going to find Daddy a new home.” The second I said it, I felt the footsteps behind me stop. I turned. José was standing still, the dim yellow streetlight casting stark shadows across his face. His beautiful left side was hidden in darkness; his grotesque right side was perfectly, cruelly illuminated. “Home?” He repeated the word, his voice like sandpaper. And then he laughed. That same, agonizing, mocking laugh. “Are you people not tired of this game of ‘house’ yet?” “What do you want from me?” “Is it my blood? My flesh? Or do you want to train me into a more obedient dog, just to sell me for a higher price?” I watched him quietly. I knew those words weren’t for me. They were the words he’d been telling himself, over and over. They were the only truth his world had ever offered him. I didn’t speak. I just held out my hand. He flinched back, wary, like a cat whose tail had been stepped on. “Don’t touch me.” I ignored him. I walked right up and took his ice-cold hand. His wrist was raw, with deep, red abrasions from the iron chains. He was so thin, just a bundle of bones. His entire body went rigid. I could feel the tremors in his muscles. But I held on tight. “First: I’m not ‘you people.’ I’m your wife.” “Second: I don’t want anything from you, because everything you are is already mine.” “Third,” I pulled his hand over and placed it on Eve’s tiny head. “From now on, you need to learn to be a father.” Eve, right on cue, tilted her head back and gave him a gap-toothed, goofy grin. “Daddy!” José jerked, as if he’d been burned. He tried to rip his hand away. But I held it fast. His fingers remained there, stiff, impossibly, touching his daughter’s soft hair. In that instant, I saw the glacier in his eyes… crack.

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