The transmigrator who possessed my body for five years finally got bored. She left me with a ruined, weakened body and a shattered family. I cried, throwing my arms around my husband, thinking I was finally home. But he pushed me away. “Where is she?” I froze. A second later, glowing text—like comments on a livestream—scrolled past my eyes: 【Ugh, so annoying. Now the ‘Villainess’ is going to pull that ‘abused wife’ crap, where she leaves heartbroken just to make them all regret it!】 【But she’s the one who came back and stole the Female Lead’s husband and son! What’s she even complaining about?!】 【THIS. I hate this ‘playing the victim’ girl-on-girl drama! The cat-and-mouse game between the real Heroine and the Male Lead was so good. Who wants to watch this green-tea snake?】 I stared at the comments. Then I backhanded my husband across the face. “So you knew. You knew that thing… wasn’t me.” Cole was stunned. The floating comments were just strings of question marks: 【Wait, that’s not right. The Villainess is supposed to cry and wail about how this body was hers first, and ‘why did you fall in love with her soul?’】 【Why? Because our Heroine is a million times more charming, that’s why! If I were a guy, I’d choose the Heroine too.】 【I get it. This is a new tactic. She’s playing hard to get. Just watch, if he actually gets mad, she’ll go right back to the ‘abused wife’ script.】 Mad? I stared coldly at Cole. His stunned expression slowly morphed into something else. “Elara?” “Since you know who I am,” I said, my voice like ice, “you will never say that woman’s name in front of me again.” I shoved past him and went to my room. The comments exploded: 【Who the hell does she think she is! The one he’s been obsessed with for five years is our Heroine!】 【Exactly! She’s the one who hijacked the situation, and now she’s the one making demands?】 【Just wait. This kind of manipulative snake will get what’s coming to her. The Heroine and Male Lead will have their happy ending!】 Get what’s coming to me? I let out a cold laugh. She possessed my body for five years, drove it into the ground, and I’m the one who needs to be “cleared”? We’ll see who clears whom. That transmigrator had ruined me. My body, which I’d kept in peak condition, was now a weak, frail thing. I got winded just walking up the stairs. I stormed into the bedroom. I grabbed the mountains of cutesy, pink makeup cases and tacky stuffed animals and hurled them down the stairs. I ripped the frilly, floral wallpaper from the walls. I called an interior designer. “I’m sending you the original blueprints for my master suite. I want it back to exactly how it was.” Then, I opened the closet to find something to wear. It was a sea of pastel, ruffled “princess” dresses. I finally found one simple, blue silk nightgown. The moment I touched it, the comments flared. 【Here it is! I knew this snake was faking! How else would she ‘coincidentally’ pick the exact nightgown the Male Lead had custom-made for our Heroine?】 【I can’t take it, I’m spoiling it: The script says she wears this, he yells at her, and she acts all victimized.】 【Then, because she’s incapable of just talking, it causes more drama, and she throws down divorce papers and leaves, triggering the ‘chase her to the ends of the earth’ plot.】 【Seriously, lady? Who wants to watch a homewrecker get her ‘groveling chase’ plot? It’s just playing the victim to manipulate him.】 【The commenter above gets it! She only acts ‘hurt’ so he’ll regret it, chase her, and finally give her his whole heart.】 【She’s nothing like our Heroine. Our girl is spontaneous, fun, says what she means! That’s the kind of woman a man obsesses over!】 【It doesn’t matter. In the end, Elara is just the evil side-character. Let her have her moment. She’ll be dealt with soon enough.】 My hand tightened on the silk. So that was my “plot.” I put the nightgown on without a second thought. 【SEE! I TOLD YOU! She knows it was made for the Heroine! She’s wearing it just to provoke him!】 【I see you, girl. I’m a snake too, I get it.】 “Elara.” Cole’s voice came from the doorway. I turned. He was frowning at the nightgown. “This dress…” “You have a problem with it?” I asked, my voice flat. He hesitated. I ripped the giant, fluffy bow off the neckline and threw it in the trash. “This is ridiculous. It’s a nightgown, not a costume! Can’t you buy anything normal?” 【AAAAH I’M SO MAD! This ‘not-like-other-girls’ snake! That was the Heroine’s favorite bow!】 “Now that I’m back, everything in this house is going back to my standards. I want all her things out of my house within 24 hours. Or I’ll do it myself.” He just stood there, watching me. I stepped closer. “What’s wrong? You upset to see me wearing her clothes?” “It’s beautiful.” He smiled, a small, soft smile. I froze. Cole was looking at me with that old, familiar tenderness. The way he looked at me before. “I was just going to say,” he said, “it’s beautiful on you.” I was completely blindsided. The comments were just as shocked: 【COLE, WAKE UP! SHE’S THE VILLAIN! YOUR TRUE LOVE IS THE HEROINE!】 【You’re a CHEATER! The Heroine hasn’t even been gone 24 hours and you’re already moving on?! I’m out!】 【Ummm… guys? Isn’t it possible he was… her husband first?】 That last comment was immediately buried in an avalanche of hate: 【Don’t blame him! This Villainess is just a master manipulator! She’s playing hard to get, but everything she’s doing is just a game to steal him!】 【THIS. ‘Not-like-other-girls’ or ‘green tea,’ it’s all just a type of snake!】 “If you don’t like these,” Cole said gently, taking my hand. “I’ll have new ones made. I meant no offense, wife.” Wife… How long had it been since I’d heard him say that? The last time… I was bleeding out on the asphalt after pushing him and our son out of the way of that car. He’d held me, screaming it… “Wife! Elara!” I thought I’d never see them again. But then… I woke up, trapped in my own mind, as another soul opened my eyes and called my husband… “honey.” “Who said you could wear my mommy’s dress!” A small body slammed into my stomach, knocking the wind out of me. I staggered, catching myself on the bedpost. My son, Leo, was glaring at me, his face red with anger. “Daddy had that made for Mommy! Take it off! You’re a bad lady!” I frowned. “Leo, it’s me. I’m Mommy. I’m back.” “I know! But you’re not her! My real mommy came back five years ago! You can’t wear her clothes! Take it off!” He lunged and tore at the silk, trying to rip the gown from my body. My voice was shaking. “Leo, don’t you remember? Don’t you remember how I used to take care of you?” “Pfft!” He put his hands on his hips. “She’s the one who made me better! She made me run around and get her packages and work out! You’re just a lazy fake who reaped the benefits!” The comments were hysterical: 【Aww, Leo is so cute! He can already spot a snake! He’s a genius!】 【You tell her, Leo! Put that fake mommy in her place!】 【It’s true! If the Heroine hadn’t made him run errands all the time, he’d still be sick! This villain has some nerve trying to take credit!】 I closed my eyes. She had made him better? Leo was born frail, constantly sick. I was the one who spent years hunting down specialists. I was the one who spent ten hours a day brewing that bitter, complex medicinal formula. He was too sick for school, so I homeschooled him. We were finally, finally healthy, a normal family, when that car hit me. That transmigrator didn’t “train” him; she abused the healthy body I had painstakingly built. And for him to know this… for him to say this… there was only one way… I turned to Cole. CRACK. I slapped him again, harder this time. “Is this what you’ve been teaching our son?” Cole stared at me, holding his cheek. Leo is ten. A child’s behavior is a reflection of his parents. If Cole didn’t respect me, Leo never would. “You bad lady! Don’t hit my dad!” Leo lunged at me, but Cole grabbed him by the scruff of his neck. “Leo. Apologize to your mother. Now.” Seeing his father’s serious expression, Leo’s lip trembled. “Why? She’s the one who stole Mommy’s body…” “Apologize!” Cole’s voice had the same authority that silenced boardrooms. Leo’s face crumpled, but he just glared at me. “S-sorry…” I turned and walked away. The child could be dealt with later. This house was contaminated. I was halfway down the stairs when I felt a violent, two-handed shove from behind. My body, weakened from five years of atrophy, had no balance. I tumbled, head-first, down the entire flight of stairs. My whole body exploded in pain. I looked up. Leo was at the top, grinning, his hands on his hips. He stuck his tongue out. “Hah! That’s what you get for wearing Mommy’s dress! And for making Dad yell at me! Serves you right!” The comments were cheering him on:

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Seven years into my new life in this novel, I married the man I was sent to conquer. He loved me, and I… I genuinely loved him back. But for a “Player,” winning the game meant it was time to go home. The System said I could choose to stay. I missed my parents. But I loved Julian. I was agonizing over the choice when I overheard him talking to his best friend. “It was genius, man,” his friend Carter said. “Using tech to plant a chip in Chloe’s brain, making her think she was transported into some fantasy world.” “Telling her the only way home is to ‘conquer’ you?” Carter laughed. “Making your lifelong obsession actually chase you? Brilliant.” Julian’s voice was smooth, arrogant. “What can I say? I’m just that crazy about her.” “If she chooses to stay,” Julian said, “I’ll take her home. Deactivate the chip, let her see her parents.” And if I chose to go home? “Then the System glitches,” he said, his voice turning cold. “She stays. She just has to keep trying to ‘win’ me.” He glanced at his secretary, Sarah. “Of course… as punishment, I’ll just have to give her a little more insecurity to deal with.” In that instant, our seven-year marriage felt like a sick joke. But I didn’t burst in. I didn’t scream. Because starting right now… we were playing a new game. And this time, I was setting the rules. I’d been agonizing. I knew I had to leave for my parents, but I felt like I was betraying Julian. I decided to pour everything into compensating him. He loves this incredibly complicated beef bourguignon, a secret recipe from his childhood housekeeper. I spent weeks learning it in secret, finally nailing the flavor. I wanted to surprise him. Julian’s office is on the penthouse floor of his high-rise. CEO level. No one gets up there except him and his executive assistant, but I have a key card. He insisted I have one, so I could see him anytime. I rode the private elevator up, not telling a soul. The door was cracked open. I could see Julian on the sofa with his best friend, Carter. His assistant, Sarah, was standing nearby. Sarah’s gorgeous, capable, and totally into him. But I’d never worried. I trusted him. Our love felt that real. I was about to knock, but I paused. They were talking about me. “Julian, the deadline’s almost up,” Carter said. Julian nodded, his smile tight, worried. “She’s loved you for seven years, man. It’s real,” Carter added. That caught my ear. Were they talking about… me? Did Julian doubt my love? Before I could process it, Carter laughed, that lazy, rich-boy drawl. “Still, it was a hell of a plan. Planting a chip in Chloe’s brain, making her think she’s in a novel? Telling her the only way home is to ‘conquer’ you?” He shook his head. “Making your lifelong obsession actually chase you? Brilliant.” My blood ran cold. What? Chip? Making me think I was in a novel? Was this all… fake? It all came rushing back. Seven years ago, my life was simple. I’d just graduated college, was working at my family’s company. We weren’t billionaires, but we were comfortable. My parents wanted me to marry well, someone from our circle. I had plenty of guys I’d grown up with. I hadn’t felt that “spark” for anyone, but I’d picked one. It was fine. A good match. Then, right before my engagement party, I went on a trip. A car crash. And I woke up here. In this… world. I was still Chloe, but I was an orphan, alone, struggling. A voice in my head told me it was “The System.” I was a “Player.” To get home, I had to conquer this world’s “male lead.” I had to make him fall in love with me, and I had to fall in love with him. Love had to be mutual. I thought it was insane. I tried everything. I looked for my parents. I went to the police. No records. No trace of my old life. The voice in my head kept buzzing. I had to accept it: I was trapped in a story. The target was Julian. The billionaire heir, impossibly handsome, powerful. For a second, he looked familiar, like someone I’d seen before… but the System said he was just a character. I pushed it aside. I had a mission. But… his love felt real. Pure. Fiery. I once joked that a man who could cook was sexy. He burned his hands learning to make me that beef bourguignon. I said I wanted to see fireworks. He staged a private symphony of them, just for me. For seven years, he treated me like I was treasure. The happier I got, the more terrified I became. I was dreading the day I’d have to leave. Then it came. [Player status: 100% Conquered. You may now choose: Stay in this world with Julian, or return to your original world.] I hesitated. My parents… or Julian. It was an impossible choice. The System gave me three months. The guilt was eating me alive. Julian was so good to me, and I was a liar. I started crying all the time. I was a wreck. A doctor diagnosed me with severe depression. I hid it from Julian. I didn’t want him to worry. These last three months have been hell. I felt like the worst person on earth. And now, I find out it was all the lie. The guilt? It was a joke. Back in the office, Carter was still talking. “I mean, a multi-billion-dollar budget? Building this entire city from scratch, hiring thousands of actors, just to create a bubble for her?” “She was always obsessed with her parents,” Julian said. “I had to know. Would she choose me over them?” He paused, and his voice softened. “I love her. I can’t let her be sad. Her mother… her mother’s been sick with grief since she ‘disappeared.’ If Chloe chooses to stay, I’ll bring her home. Let her see them.” “And if she chooses home?” Carter asked. Julian’s voice went flat. “The System glitches. ‘Error. Player must try again.’ She’s not leaving me.” He looked over at Sarah, his assistant. “I’ll just… give her a little punishment. A little more insecurity. Keep her on her toes.” A joke. Seven years of my life, a sick, twisted joke. He knew I was missing my family. He knew I was in pain. And he just watched. He’s disgusting. My heart was pounding, a cold, hard knot of rage. I didn’t burst in. I just stood there, counting down the seconds. Today was my deadline. The voice in my head buzzed. [Player, you must choose.] I took a silent, steadying breath. “I’ve made my choice,” I thought, my voice clear in my head. “I want to go home.” The game was on. But now, it was my game.

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My crawfish boil arrived. My boyfriend, Liam, went downstairs to get it but came back empty-handed. He said the delivery guy slipped, and the bag was a total loss. Funny, because his little protégé just updated her Instagram story. A picture of my exact order. “Was craving crawfish so bad, and then my knight in shining armor appeared! Thanks for the hookup, Dr. Hayes!” I let out a cold laugh, picked up my phone, and dialed 9-1-1. “Hello, 9-1-1? I’d like to report a theft. I believe my food delivery was stolen…” 01 I didn’t even finish the sentence before Liam snatched the phone from my hand, his face red with anger, and hung up. “Ava, what the hell? It’s a minor thing. You’re calling the cops? You’re wasting public resources, wasting their time.” “I told you it spilled,” he said, his voice rising. “Do you not understand English? Or do you just not trust me?” He was furious, immediately on the offensive. I grabbed my phone back and, staring him dead in the eye, opened Chloe’s Instagram. I held the screen up to his face. His jaw tightened. “Fine! I gave the crawfish to Chloe. I ran into her by the elevator when she was taking out her trash. She said she was hungry, so I gave it to her. She’s just an intern, a young woman in a new city. Are you really going to pick a fight over this?” Caught in a lie, he didn’t even flinch. He just doubled down. I had to wonder if I’d been letting him get away with too much lately, because his sense of entitlement was staggering. Chloe was the daughter of Liam’s mentor from his residency. Three months ago, she’d started as an intern in his department. Under the guise of “repaying a favor” to his mentor, Liam had been bending over backward. He never takes interns, but he made an exception for her. Then, without telling me, he rented an apartment for her in our building, just two floors down. He gives her a ride to and from the hospital every single day. His excuse was that it wasn’t safe for a young woman to live alone, and this way, he could “keep an eye on her.” Day in and day out, it was always, “Ava, you have to understand,” or “Ava, just be patient.” Today, I was done being patient. “What, is she destitute? Is she starving?” I snapped. “If she wants food, she can order it herself. Since when do you hijack my dinner? What is this, poker? You just intercept the deal?” My voice was rising, matching his. “How can you talk like that? It’s one order of crawfish. Why are you blowing this out of proportion? You’re always making a scene!” “Are you going downstairs to get my food back from her right now, or am I letting the police handle it?” I held up my phone, my expression flat. I gave him two options. 02 “Ava! I’m warning you…” He was losing face, and he was livid. He looked at me like he could wring my neck. The second my thumb hovered over the ‘9’ on my keypad again, he cursed, turned on his heel, and slammed the door behind him. Ten minutes later, Liam returned, stone-faced, holding the bag of crawfish. I was already at the table, slurping a cup of instant ramen. I didn’t even look up. I just took the bag from his hand and dropped it directly into the kitchen trash can. Liam stood there, arms crossed, simmering with residual anger. He was doing that thing he always does—waiting for me to back down, to be the one to apologize. When I didn’t, he finally broke the silence. “You’re unbelievable. You force me to go get it, and now you throw it in the trash. What do you actually want, Ava?” I ignored him. I finished the last of the noodles, then slowly stood up. Liam and I grew up together. We were inseparable. To everyone else, we were the perfect couple. The same social circle, the good families, the childhood sweethearts. All those labels were plastered onto us before we even knew what they meant. We made it official in college, and our families exchanged heirlooms as a promise of engagement. Barring a catastrophe, we were going to get married. Our relationship was so stable, so certain, that I never imagined anything could actually break it. Chloe’s arrival made me realize, with painful clarity, that this was the end of the line. Since she’d moved in, her “emergencies” had become constant. One day, it was a cockroach in her apartment, and she was “too terrified to sleep.” The next, her water heater was broken, and she was “so helpless she could just cry.” Then, it was raining too hard for her to get a cab home—the list was endless. And Liam, without complaint, was there. Every. Single. Time. Sometimes I wasn’t even sure who his girlfriend was anymore—me or her. I’ve been buried in a major project, too busy to deal with this mess. But tonight, the crawfish was the last straw. “Liam, we’re breaking up,” I said. I looked him straight in the eye, my voice perfectly steady. 03 Liam blinked, stunned. He genuinely thought he’d misheard me. “Ava, what did you just say?” “I said, we’re done.” “You’re insane! You’re breaking up with me over crawfish?” “Yes.” “You’re angry right now. I’m not going to hold you to this. Calm down. I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.” That was the end of the conversation. He went straight into his study and didn’t come out for the rest of the night. The next morning when I got up, Liam was already eating. He was acting like nothing had happened. He’d even made breakfast. There was warm milk, toast, and two perfectly fried, sunny-side-up eggs on a plate. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice soft as he pulled me into a chair. “I wasn’t thinking last night. I shouldn’t have given Chloe your food without asking.” “I’ll buy you a whole new order tonight. Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I promise it won’t happen again.” He fundamentally did not get it. He thought I was throwing a tantrum over a missed meal. What I hated was the total lack of boundaries. What I hated was him repeatedly disrespecting me. I didn’t answer him, but I sat down. The milk was warm, the toast was crispy. I wasn’t going to punish my own stomach. Seeing me eat, Liam visibly relaxed. “Ava,” he said, his tone casual, “starting tomorrow, when you make breakfast, can you just make an extra portion? I’ll take it to Chloe when I pick her up.” “The hospital cafeteria food is the same old stuff. She’s a little picky and can’t get used to it. I’ll send you her menu requests later.” He said it so easily, as if it wasn’t the most absurd thing in the world. 04 I almost laughed. He wasn’t just “repaying a favor”—he was trying to outsource it to me. My appetite vanished. “What am I? Her mother? Her personal chef? Am I supposed to be her free nanny, too?” Liam’s brow furrowed instantly, his eyes flashing with that familiar impatience. “Why do you have to be so harsh? It’s just an extra plate of food. How much more work is that for you? She’s a young woman, she was sheltered her whole life…” I dropped my fork and pushed my chair back. “Liam, get this through your head: we are broken up. If you want to get up early and cook for your precious protégé, that is your business.” My words lit his fuse again. He cut me off. “Are you still on this? I apologized! I made you breakfast! You just can’t let it go, can you?” I glanced at the insulated lunch bag already packed and sitting on the counter. I scoffed. “You’re right. I can’t.” Made me breakfast. Right. More like I got Chloe’s leftovers. “Ava, the first time you said ‘break up,’ I thought it was just drama. But bringing it up again is pathetic. Stop with the jealous girlfriend act. It’s not a good look.” “I’m going to work. You need to stay here and reflect on your attitude.” He stood up, grabbed his keys, and stormed toward the door. He paused, walked back, and snatched the insulated bag from the counter. Everyone who knows us knows I’ve been crazy about Liam my whole life. I followed him everywhere. I chose the same college just to be near him. So, in his mind, it was impossible for me to actually leave him. He was convinced I was just being petty over a $50 crawfish order. Ten minutes later, a new notification from Chloe. “Private chauffeur and a custom breakfast. Thank you, Dr. Hayes! 🥰” It was immediately followed by a direct message to me, complete with little winking emojis. “Ava, Liam just told me that if I want anything to eat, I should just tell you! Thank you so much! For tonight, I’m thinking bouillabaisse. I heard the saffron from that little import shop downtown is the best, and you have to get the seafood fresh from the market on the south side.” 05 I suspect Liam and Chloe are both idiots. One of them can’t comprehend the words “we are broken up” and has decided I’m the new private chef for his intern. The other is shamelessly flaunting it in my face and demanding I drive 20 miles round-trip for her custom-ordered dinner. They really think I’m their goddamn servant. “How about you wait?” I typed back. “On your deathbed, I’ll bring you a whole damn buffet. I’ll even cater the funeral.” I wasn’t holding back anymore. Three months. When Chloe first arrived, Liam was on call, so I was the one who picked her up from the airport. I bustled around, found her a hotel, and arranged a nice dinner to welcome her. That night, she called Liam—who had just gotten home—and said she “felt sick.” He came home the next morning and yelled at me. “If you didn’t want to pick her up, you should have just said so! You ignored her the whole ride and then took her to eat ‘weird food.’ Really, Ava?” “She spent her first night here in the ER! How am I supposed to explain this to my mentor?” I was floored. I’d been perfectly polite. I tried to make small talk in the car; she was the one glued to her phone. I thought she was just tired. I asked her where she wanted to eat. She chose the restaurant. She ordered the food. I was furious and demanded to confront her. Liam, sensing a real fight, immediately backed down. He grabbed my hands. “I’m sorry, Ava, I’m sorry. She’s just a kid, she’s been spoiled. She doesn’t know any better. Don’t stoop to her level.” I was just… tired. He seemed to forget that I used to be my parents’ “spoiled kid,” too. I gave him the silent treatment for days. He must have felt guilty because he was on his best behavior. He apologized, bought me gifts, and swore it would never happen again. I forgave him. 06 My message must have hit its mark. Seconds later, my phone rang. It was Liam. I could hear faint sobbing in the background. “Ava, have I spoiled you too much? Is that it? You’re just cruel and toxic. And you call yourself an educated woman? That’s pathetic.” “My protégé is your protégé. I thought we were a team. Stop acting like a child! Go buy the groceries, and tonight, you will apologize to Chloe. Do it for me. Can you just do this one thing for me?” His voice softened at the end, trying to coax me. A wave of absurdity washed over me. Since Chloe arrived, Liam—normally so calm and brilliant—had lost his mind. He couldn’t see straight. No sane person would ever ask their girlfriend to cater to another woman. He wants to worship his “protégé,” fine. He wants to repay his mentor, fine. But dragging me into it, humiliating me? That’s where he crossed the line. “Liam, are you even human? You know what, don’t answer. Just go bark up a tree. At least a dog has an excuse for not understanding basic human decency.” I heard a sharp intake of breath on his end, cut short by a strangled sob from Chloe. I know how to land a punch. I hung up before he could respond and immediately started packing. I’d been staying in his apartment for the last six months because it was closer to the institute while I was on a critical project. Thirty minutes later, I was packed. My phone had blown up with texts from Liam. Just a stream of insults—calling me crass, toxic, ungrateful. But the last one caught my eye. “You think you’re still Ava Calloway, the family princess? With that attitude? Who the hell besides me would ever put up with you?” 07 He wasn’t wrong about that first part. I wasn’t that princess anymore. Three years ago, my parents’ business collapsed. Bankruptcy, liquidation. After the assets were seized to pay the debts, they moved overseas to try and rebuild. That’s when the Hayes family’s attitude… shifted. Liam became a star attending surgeon, while I stayed at the research institute, working on projects with my mentor. My income was stable, but it was nothing compared to the new standards Liam’s mother had for a daughter-in-law. She used to pull me aside, calling me her “daughter.” Now, she just made passive-aggressive comments, implying the “bankrupt daughter” was no longer good enough for her “brilliant son.” Back then, Liam didn’t disappoint me. He stood up to her. He chose me. He told me, more than once, “Ava, don’t be afraid. Don’t listen to my mother. I’ve got you. I am going to marry you.” At the time, I thought he was my rock in the storm. I couldn’t tell if I loved him or was just grateful. But looking back, our relationship was already fractured. I just refused to see it. His “loyalty” wasn’t love. It was a form of charity. I was no longer his equal. I was the “poor girl” who needed him. His “devotion” was just his superiority complex, his pity, wrapped up in a pretty bow. He’d gotten used to me being agreeable. The moment I pushed back, he couldn’t handle it. And I’d been trapped for way too long by the label of “perfect couple.”

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The week before my wedding to Liam, I noticed a cute plush charm hanging from his rearview mirror. I casually asked where it came from. Liam didn’t miss a beat. “Just bought it. Thought you’d like it.” But I knew exactly what it was. It was the Valentine’s Day limited edition from that viral pop-up in SoHo, the one you could only buy if you and your partner kissed at their “Love Booth” for ten solid minutes. I stared at the little charm. “Let’s call off the wedding,” I said, my voice flat. … The car screeched to a halt, tires screaming against the asphalt. Liam turned, his eyes locking onto mine. “What the hell is wrong with you?” “I’m serious,” I said, meeting his gaze. “I’m not kidding.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. His look was complicated. Tap, tap, tap. A sharp knock on the passenger window broke the tension. I rolled it down. A bright, smiling face leaned in. “Liam! Fancy seeing you here. Am I interrupting?” Her eyes flicked to me, sizing me up. “Get in. I’ll give you a ride.” Liam got out and opened the back door for her. “Hi, you must be Maya. I’m Sienna, Liam’s executive assistant.” The moment I saw her, my gut screamed: This is her. It wasn’t the first time I’d suspected Liam was drifting. He’d been coming home later and later, sometimes smelling like a perfume that wasn’t mine. His phone was locked with a new passcode. Every time I asked, he had an answer. A late merger. A colleague bumped into me. I need my privacy, Maya. I’d listened, nodded, and stopped asking. I’d even started to tell myself that if he was going to lie, he should just get better at it, good enough to fool me for a lifetime. I was this close to convincing myself I was just being paranoid. Until the charm. Until Sienna. That fragile little bubble of denial just burst. I’d pictured her based on Liam’s “type”—soft, long-haired, demure. But Sienna was all sharp angles, with a pixie cut and a gaze that was pure, unfiltered confidence. Apparently, it wasn’t just loyalty that could change. His taste had, too. “Maya, could you be a dear and grab me a hair clip?” Sienna asked from the back. “My hair’s a mess.” “I don’t have one.” She pointed to the glove compartment. “Oh, there are some in there. I’m always losing mine, so Liam, sweet as he is, bought a few to keep in the car for me.” I didn’t move. My fingers curled into my palm. “Get them for her,” Liam ordered. His voice was sharp. I popped the compartment open. It was full of expensive, delicate hair clips, each one nicer than any jewelry I owned. And a box of condoms. “Oh,” Sienna’s voice chimed in again. “By the way, I think I broke your old earbuds a while back. We were… working out in the car, and I must have crushed them. My bad. Pick one of those clips, consider it my apology.” “No, thanks.” I turned, tossing a clip into her lap. “I don’t want things other people have already used. I find it… dirty.” Sienna’s hand snapped shut. She looked at Liam, her eyes wide, playing the victim. Liam’s brow furrowed. Before he could start defending her, I got out of the car and walked away. 2 When I got home and out of the shower, Liam was sitting on the sofa, scrolling through my phone. I stormed over. “What do you think you’re doing?” He looked up, his expression lazy. “You’ve been acting weird all day, Maya.” The old me wouldn’t have asked about the charm. Wouldn’t have snapped at him. Wouldn’t have challenged his new pet. I frowned. “So you go through my phone?” “If you have nothing to hide, you shouldn’t be afraid of me looking.” He stood up, towering over me. “Fine.” I held out my hand. “You’re so confident? Give me yours.” His face changed. He placed my phone back in my hand. “If you’re going to be like that, this isn’t going to work, Maya. Relationships are about trust.” “You’re not allowed to mention canceling the wedding again.” His phone rang. He immediately lowered his voice to answer it, turning his back to me. But I still heard it. The way he said, “Hey, SiSi.” Watching him walk out onto the balcony, I swallowed the acidic taste in my mouth, pulled out my burner phone, and sent a text. “I’m leaving the city in five days. I’ll see you then.” 3 The message sent, I looked around the apartment—our new apartment. Our pre-wedding home. Every piece of furniture, down to the lamps, we’d picked out together. We’d laughed, planning our future, saying this was where we’d watch our lives unfold. Now, the whole place just felt like a monument to his lies. The air was thick with sarcasm. I couldn’t stand it. I grabbed my suitcase, packed, and walked out. A cold rain was falling, plastering my hair to my face. The wheel of my suitcase jammed on a loose cobblestone. As I was yanking it free, a force slammed into my shoulder, nearly knocking me over. “Sorry about that!” A hurried apology, but the voice was familiar. I looked up. Through the rain, I saw Liam, carrying Sienna on his back, laughing as they ran through the downpour. Sienna held an umbrella over them, creating a perfect, dry little world just for the two of them. Neither of them even saw me. It was like a scene from a rom-com. I was just the blurry, out-of-focus extra. We’d started fighting six months ago. The reasons were always small, but the cause was always the same: I could feel him pulling away. I acted like a child, pouting, hoping he’d notice, hoping he’d pull me in and ask me what was wrong, like he used to. But he never did. I’d get a small, expensive gift to shut me up. As if a new bracelet could fix the fact that he was already gone. His acting was sloppy. I’d known he was cheating. I was just too much of a coward to admit it. I thought about my Nana. The only family I have left. Liam had gotten her into the best memory care facility in the state. When her Alzheimer’s gets bad, she gets violent, sometimes hurting herself. No one can stop her. Except Liam. He’d just whisper a few words, and she’d become calm, pliant as a child. She always said he reminded her of my grandfather when he was young. Because of that, I’d been terrified to confront him. He and Sienna disappeared into the warmth of a five-star hotel. The rain kept falling. I stepped off the curb and walked into the storm. 4 We didn’t speak for days. Then the call came. The hospital. “Ms. Evans? It’s your grandmother. She’s having a severe episode. We can’t get the knife away from her. You need to bring Mr. Hayes. Now. We’re afraid she’s going to hurt herself.” My hands were shaking. I called Liam. Over and over. Each time, the busy signal. He was rejecting my calls. I finally tracked his location. I burst into the private dining room, out of breath. He was at a table with Sienna, patiently picking the bones out of a fish. “Liam!” I gasped, hating the begging tone in my voice. “It’s Nana. She’s having an episode. You’re the only one she’ll listen to. Please. You have to come with me. I’m begging you.” A cold smile touched his lips. “Running away? Ignoring my calls? You’ve got a lot of nerve coming here to ask me for anything.” “Maya, don’t stress,” Sienna said, smiling. “Sit down. Have some of this dessert, it’s amazing. We can talk after dinner.” I tried to pull away from her grip, but Liam’s voice cut through the room. “Do what she says. Or we’re not going anywhere.” I sat, my teeth clenched. I ate the bite of marzipan she handed me. Liam passed the de-boned fish to Sienna. “It’s all my fault,” Sienna sighed, showing me her finger. “I slammed it in a door this morning. Liam’s had to do everything for me. You don’t mind, do you, Maya?” My nails dug into my palms. Liam tapped the table. “Stop staring. Can’t you see our guests need drinks? Pour.” The table full of his smirking friends watched. The waiter watched. I looked at Liam. My voice was a rasp. “I pour the wine. Then we go.” “Deal,” he said. I picked up the bottle. I went around the table, stone-faced. When I got to Sienna, she smiled. “Maya, I’d love some shrimp. Could you peel one for me?” That was it. I slammed the bottle down. The table shuddered. “You’re really pushing it, Sienna. Anyone would think you’re a helpless invalid. Maybe you should check into the hospital. See if they can treat you for being a homewrecking bitch.” A split second later, a glass of red wine hit my face. Sienna was clutching the stem. “You can’t talk to me like that!” Liam dabbed at her fake tears. “Maya. Apologize to her.” The cold, sticky wine dripped down my chin. The string I’d been holding onto finally snapped. I lunged forward and slapped Sienna, hard, across the face. She gasped. Liam grabbed my wrist. I raised my other hand to hit him, too. But a sudden, violent wave of dizziness hit me. I couldn’t breathe. My throat was closing. I realized, in a daze, what she’d given me. The marzipan. Almonds. I’m deathly allergic. As my vision tunneled, Liam’s face loomed over me, cold and distant. “This is your punishment, Maya. For running away. For ignoring me. If I let this go, you’ll be impossible to control after we’re married.” The last thing I heard before I blacked out was their voices, angry and annoyed, as I collapsed.

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My husband, Leo, and I were the Hollywood dream. Childhood sweethearts who’d made it, from high school theater to the Oscars. For him, I’d given up my own acting spot at Juilliard, choosing instead to become his manager. But when he finally won his Oscar, a new face appeared: his “little protégé,” Chloe, nearly ten years younger and buzzing with a desperate kind of energy. And between her and me, he always chose her. He let me take the fall for her mistakes, let me be humiliated by her antics, all while swearing, “She’s just like a little sister to me.” Then I saw the TMZ blast: Leo and Chloe, in a passionate kiss outside Musso & Frank. I had to laugh. Since when do you kiss your sister like that? 1 When Leo loved me most, he proposed to me live on the Oscars red carpet, at the absolute peak of his career. The internet broke. He lost over a million followers that night. He just kissed me and said, “It was worth it.” We’d made it. We’d survived the climb. But five years into our marriage, Chloe, his new co-star, latched onto him, and everything changed. On our date nights, her name was in every story. Even when I changed the subject, he’d find a way to bring it back to her, a soft, unfamiliar smile on his face. Today was my birthday. It was also, coincidentally, Chloe’s. On set, the crew threw Chloe a massive surprise party. When Leo and I got back to our hotel, he got a call, and that same soft smile appeared. He grabbed his jacket. “You rest up. I’m just going to… take a walk.” My heart gave a stupid little jump. All day, “Happy birthday, Chloe!” echoed around the set. They’d even gotten her a huge, custom-baked cake. Not a single person had wished me a happy birthday. But I didn’t care. All that mattered was that he remembered. He’d never forgotten. He was going out to get me a surprise. A gift, and a cake just for me. 2 While he was gone, I set the scene. I ordered a bottle of Dom and a massive platter of spicy king crab legs. He loved crab, but he was a notorious germaphobe and hated the messy, primal work of cracking the shells. I always did it for him. I waited. I cracked shell after shell until the entire platter was a mountain of perfect, pristine meat. I waited until my fingers were raw, stinging from a dozen tiny cuts from the shells. I waited until I accidentally rubbed my eye, and the cayenne from my fingers made me cry out, tears streaming down my face. He didn’t come back. Finally, at 6:00 AM, he walked in, holding a small, wilted bouquet of roses. The crab meat had long since gone cold. He saw me, asleep in the chair, and had the grace to look guilty. “Hey,” he whispered, his voice soft. “I’m so sorry, I got held up. A late happy birthday, Zoe.” He held up a small paper bag. “I brought you cake.” He remembered. In that moment, the entire, miserable night evaporated. He gave me a quick kiss. “Happy birthday.” Then he disappeared into the shower. I smiled, touching my cheek. I opened the bag. Inside was a single, plastic-domed slice of ice cream cake. It was completely melted, a soupy, sugary puddle soaked into the cardboard. It wasn’t pretty. But I ate it. The stale cake and gritty, melted ice cream coated my tongue. But he’d brought it for me. While I waited for him, I opened my phone, intending to post a picture of the roses. But Instagram was already full of him. Chloe had posted a nine-picture carousel. It was blinding. There she was, holding a bouquet of ninety-nine, perfect, long-stemmed red roses. There was Leo, personally cracking crab legs for her, his notoriously clean hands stained red, a slight smile on his face. And the last photo: a beautiful, elaborate, homemade ice cream cake. It looked vaguely familiar. The caption: “Thank you, ‘big bro,’ for making my birthday so special! A man who shells crab is a king! (PS: The homemade ice cream cake was AMAZING. Literally the best I’ve ever had. And the roses are gorgeous!)” My body went cold. I looked at my eleven dying roses. I looked at her ninety-nine. The cake he brought me wasn’t a gift. It was a leftover. He said he was busy. He was. He was busy spending my birthday with her. The sugary sludge in my mouth turned to ash. 3 I told myself to be rational. Maybe they were just friends. We’d been together for so long. I shouldn’t be so paranoid. Besides, their movie was wrapping. He’d be on to his next project. They’d drift apart. But after the wrap party, he brought her to our agency. “Zoe,” he said, “you’re the best manager in the business. You’ve launched so many careers. I want you to take Chloe on. She’s got real talent.” Chloe beamed. “Ms. Hale, I’m so excited to work with you. I’ll do whatever you say.” Her cute, baby-doll face was all smiles. It was a terrible position to be in. I couldn’t say no. 4 I got her an audition. A gritty, complex, critically-acclaimed cable drama. It was the part of an unlikable villain, a real career-maker. On the surface, she was grateful. “I trust your instincts, Zoe. You’ve never been wrong.” But that night, Leo stormed into our home, dragging her behind him. “Zoe, what the hell is your problem? Are you really this petty?” I was completely blindsided. “What are you talking about?” Chloe, hiding behind him, started to sniffle. “Zoe… I don’t know what I did to make you hate me. I just… I just asked Leo if I could audition for the girlfriend role in his new movie. Why are you trying to sabotage me with that horrible villain part?” I looked at Leo. “Is that what you think? That I’m unprofessional?” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. He just looked at me with pure disappointment. “She’s a kid, Zoe. She’s not cynical enough to lie about this.” He didn’t even wait for my answer. “You’re going to apologize to her. And then you’re coming with me to dinner with the studio heads. You’re going to get her that role. You owe her that for your little power trip.” My blood froze. “And if I don’t?” His eyes were cold. “Fine. But you’re my wife. Your mistake is my mistake. I’ll go. I’ll beg them. I’ll get on my knees if I have to. I’ll pay them, I’ll drink, whatever it takes. I’ll humiliate myself to fix the mess you made.” He knew me too well. He knew I’d never let him do that. He was using himself to threaten me. For her. My heart felt like it was tearing in two. “Fine,” I bit out, my face pale. “I’ll go.” 5 Some Hollywood dinners are business. Others are just gross. Leo was the Oscar winner. I was the kingmaker manager. The studio execs wouldn’t mess with us. So they aimed all their slimy attention at Chloe. The head producer, a notorious pig, raised his glass. “So, Chloe. You drink? Us old guys love our scotch. Leo, here, is a lightweight. And Zoe’s got a weak stomach.” Everyone knew I didn’t drink at these things. Not anymore. “You’re young,” the producer said, smiling. “You won’t mind having a few with us, will you?” Chloe said, “Of course,” but her eyes darted to Leo, pleading. He jumped in instantly. “Oh, she’s just a kid, she can’t handle this stuff. It’s no fun. Zoe will drink with you. She can drink you all under the table.” He said it without a moment’s hesitation. My blood turned to ice. I wasn’t born with a high tolerance. I’d earned it. I’d earned it in cheap bars, doing vodka shots with sleazy producers to get him auditions, back when he was a nobody. I’d earned it until I’d burned a hole in my stomach. I have a chronic ulcer. The slightest bit of alcohol feels like swallowing glass. He knew. When I was diagnosed, he’d nursed me for months, feeding me broth, swearing I’d never have to go to another one of those dinners again. And now, to protect her, he’d forgotten. I gripped my glass. I looked at him, one last time. “You really want me to drink this?” He avoided my eyes. “Chloe’s just starting out, Zoe. You’re different.” My heart just… shattered. I raised the glass and downed it. Then I grabbed the bottle. I was on my feet, going around the table, a manic smile on my face. “To the director! To the producer!” One for them, five for me. They tried to wave me off, but I was on a mission. I wanted him to watch. This was his doing. If I ended up in the ER, it was on him. The high-proof vodka hit my ulcer like a blowtorch. My stomach seized, but the pain in my chest was so much worse. I just kept pouring. It was the director who finally noticed. “Zoe, hey… you’re white as a sheet. You’re sweating. Let’s switch to water, okay?” Leo finally looked at me, and his face filled with panic. “If you can’t drink, why are you drinking? You have a mouth, don’t you? You can’t say no?” But when I had said no—when I said I wasn’t sabotaging her—had he listened? His heart was open for her, which meant his ears were closed to me.

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It was my daily “quiet quitting” time. I clicked on the pinned contact at the top of my list, the one for my ice-king stepbrother, and fired off my usual message. [Bro, cooking tonight?] The second I hit send, a coworker stopped by my desk. We chatted for maybe two minutes, but when I looked back at my phone, my work-chat was exploding. My deskmate, Chloe, was spamming me. [OMG! I think Mr. Pace is dating someone!] [And it’s SPICY 🌶️🌶️🌶️] My heart leaped into my throat. My fingers moved faster than my brain, clicking the video she’d sent. It was a recording of a conference call. Landon (Mr. Pace, to the rest of them) was on screen, looking unfairly good in a dark red shirt and a black waistcoat. His sleeves were rolled, showing a hint of forearm, and he was wearing those old-fashioned sleeve garters that, on him, looked less “grandpa” and more “sexy intellectual.” I felt a fire light up… in my stomach. Yeah. God, he looked good enough to eat. I shoved that thought down and focused. The camera was shaky, aimed at the giant monitor where Landon was screen-sharing. A notification popped up. The profile picture was… familiar. It was… mine. But my name wasn’t “Autumn.” And it wasn’t “Sister.” My contact name was a bizarre chemical compound: [Phenylethylamine]. I frowned, but before I could even google it, I saw the message I’d sent. I almost jumped out of my chair. I’d meant to type [Bro, cooking tonight?]. But my fingers had flown too fast. “Bro” had become “Hubby.” That, I could have explained. A ‘B’ and an ‘H’ are… well, okay, they’re not close. But the real problem? I’d deleted the word “cooking.” So, the message that flashed on the screen for the entire executive board to see was: [Hubby, tonight?] The entire conference room went dead silent. You could see all the department heads trying not to look at Landon, their faces screaming, “You, Mr. Cold-and-Proper, are into THIS?” Landon froze for a second. Then, without explaining, he calmly closed the chat window, looked down at his phone, and typed something. “Sorry,” he said, his voice smooth and magnetic. “She’s… playful.” The audio in the video was crystal clear. That deep, steady voice hit my ears and sent a jolt straight to my brain. My face was on fire. The video ended there. Chloe was losing her mind in our chat, insisting his tone was dripping with affection. Which, of course, made me blush even harder. [Chloe: No idea who snagged that demon, but damn, she is eating well!] [Chloe: Wait.] [Chloe: That profile pic is YOU.] [Chloe: Autumn, are you…?] I frantically cut her off. [Me: NO! It’s not! I barely even know Mr. Pace!] I’d hidden my connection to Landon since I started working here. I avoided him at all costs. Chloe bought my denial. I let out a huge sigh of relief and swiped out of her chat. And there it was. The little red ‘1’ next to my pinned chat with Landon. I didn’t even have to open it. I could see the preview of his reply. One word. [Yes.] I stared at it. My mind was completely blank. When I was watching the video, I’d been trying to guess what he’d type. A question mark? A “WTF”? I never expected this. So… He must be talking about… food, right? I had no idea how to reply. The message was so bad, it was hard to believe it was an accident. I did the only thing I could: I posted on Reddit. Title: TIFU by texting my stepbrother “Hubby, tonight?” instead of “Bro, cooking tonight?” He’s in a meeting, screensharing, and he just replied “Yes.” What do I do??? User_A: “Accidentally” or “accidentally-on-purpose”… User_B: @User_C, get in here. This is that step-sibling-romance plot you love! User_C: Read the post. Where can I find “Hubby, Tonight? Part 2 (Uncensored)”? User_D: If he’s not into you, I’ll eat my keyboard. User_E: Wait… aren’t you the girl who posted a few years ago, “Help! I met my dream guy at a family dinner, and he’s my new stepbrother”? …Shit. I can’t believe someone remembered that. Before I was sixteen, everyone in our small town felt sorry for my mom. She’d been a “brainy girl who threw it all away” by running off with my dad, a broke musician who was hot and knew it. Then they got divorced, and she married a real estate mogul in Chicago. Just like that, my senior year of high school, I was suddenly a rich kid. The only problem was, at the first big “welcome to the family” dinner, I met him. My ideal man. My cold, beautiful, new stepbrother, Landon. He was only four years older than me, home from college. He sat right across from me. He had platinum-blond hair back then, and I couldn’t stop staring. He didn’t seem to like me. He’d push up his black-framed glasses and pointedly look away. I was crushed for about half a second, until I got distracted by his hands. And the hint of collarbone at the neck of his sweatshirt. And the little mole on his throat that bobbed when he drank his water. My god. I was a small-town girl. I hadn’t been poisoned by the internet yet. I’d never seen an incubus in real life. I just… stared. That crush festered for six years. I spent that time trying to get close to him, playing the role of the perfect, adoring little sister. Landon remained unimpressed. Whenever one of his friends would say, “You’re so lucky, your stepsister is so sweet,” he’d frown, his eyes getting colder. “I don’t see her as a sister.” It was a polite, brutal rejection. It stung so badly I avoided him for weeks. But we lived in the same house. It was impossible. I’d run into him at the pool. Him, in nothing but swim trunks. The wide shoulders, the abs, the pale skin. My eyes just… locked on. Or I’d find him by the front door, leaning against his motorcycle, helmet on, just those intense, dark eyes watching me. The summer wind would blow the roses on the wall behind him, and my high school English lessons would kick in. “It is not the wind moving. It is not the flag moving. It is your mind moving.” I’d clutch my backpack straps and, after a long internal battle, I’d put my “good sister” mask back on. “Bro… can I get a ride to campus?” That was the day I made that Reddit post. I’d hidden it later, scared someone I knew would find it. And now, here it was, dredged back up. I sighed. I decided to just ignore Landon. Based on six years of him being a cold, distant jerk, he probably just wanted me to drop the awkward subject. But when I got to the elevator after work, he was there. His eyes were half-lidded, but his gaze was fixed right on me. I swallowed and stepped in, standing with my back to him. The elevator filled up. With every stop, I was pushed back, and back, until my shoulders were pressed against his chest. A second later, he pressed something into my palm. I looked down. It was his apartment key. Oh, my god. This was… this was a key. To his apartment. He was giving it to me. I nearly died. I had to give it back. I fumbled, trying to shove it back into his hand without anyone seeing. My fingers brushed… something. Something hard. A low, pained grunt echoed in the silent elevator. Everyone turned. I snatched my hand back, my face instantly turning the color of a tomato. “You stepped on my foot,” Landon said, his voice a little strained. “Oh! Sorry, so sorry!” I mumbled. The doors opened. I practically fell out of the elevator. I was halfway to my car before I realized I still had the key. My phone lit up. A new text from Landon. [Landon: That’s my only key.] Well. Shit. Now I had to go to his place. He beat me there. He was leaning against his apartment door, arms crossed, watching me drag my feet down the hallway. I finally made it to him, my head down. “Your key…” He held up another key and unlocked the door. I looked at him. “You lied to me?” “Yes,” he said, no shame at all. He held the door open. “Coming in?” “No! No, thank you!” I said, backing away. He didn’t push. He just leaned against the doorframe and coughed, a deep, rattling sound. He looked… sick. I stopped. “Are you okay?” “Just a fever,” he mumbled, his eyes downcast. He looked so vulnerable. My hand automatically went up to feel his forehead. He flinched, stepping back. “Just go home, Autumn. Don’t worry about me.” His voice was cold, but it was the cold of someone pushing people away. I marched right past him into the apartment, shutting the door behind me. “Where’s your medicine cabinet?” I was digging through his media console when I heard him chuckle. I turned around. He was sitting on the sofa, looking perfectly healthy, watching me with a lazy smile. He tugged his tie loose.

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I was with his mother, picking out wedding bands, when I saw Aris with another woman. We were at Cartier. Through the reinforced glass, I watched him emerge from a high-end bistro across the promenade. He held the woman’s coat for her; she smiled and nodded. As they reached the main doors, he jogged a step ahead to push the heavy glass door open for her. There was no physical contact. No lingering looks. It was all perfectly polite, standard social etiquette. But a bride-to-be has a particularly sharp sense of danger. I knew, instantly, who she was. Beside me, Aris’s mother, Mrs. Thorne, stiffened. She’d seen my focus shift. She didn’t offer a single word of explanation for her son. Instead, after a long silence, she reached into her purse and pulled out a heavy, vintage gold locket. “Maya,” she said, pressing it into my palm. “Let’s add this to your set. A little something extra.” 1 I looked down. The locket was heavy, easily three ounces of antique gold, intricately carved with filigree. It was a serious, substantial piece. Mrs. Thorne closed her hand over mine, clasping the locket tightly. “Maya, dear. I am so fond of you. I just want you and Aris to be happy.” Mrs. Thorne is a classic academic’s wife—a Vassar woman, elegant, impeccably dressed, and always composed. But now, her voice was strained. Her eyes wouldn’t meet mine, darting instead to the window where Aris had been. A cold, sad feeling settled in my stomach. Was this a bribe? Was she giving me this heavy, beautiful thing to lock me down? The sales associate, oblivious to the undercurrent, beamed. “A locket is such a beautiful choice. To lock in the love, the fortune.” She smiled at Mrs. Thorne. “You have wonderful taste, and you are so generous to your new daughter.” “And it’s your lucky day,” the associate continued. “We have a trunk show event…” I tuned her out. My mind was replaying the scene. We were at the Prudential Center. The restaurant was right across from the jeweler. Aris couldn’t have missed us. He chose not to see us. His attention had been entirely on the woman, Eva. They walked past, laughing, like any other couple, and disappeared into the crowd. They looked perfect together—if only he weren’t my fiancé. By the time I tuned back in, Mrs. Thorne was handing over her credit card. She had the sales associate box the locket separately and pushed it across the glass counter toward me. “Maya,” she said, her voice quiet. “Will you accept this? From me?” I didn’t know how to react. It was a classic, unspoken, high-society contract. Take the gift, and agree to forget what you just saw. I didn’t want to accept it, but I wouldn’t embarrass her in public. I nodded, my voice tight. “Thank you, Mrs. Thorne. It’s beautiful.” 2 Aris got home at 11 PM. I was in the study, organizing my camera equipment. He rushed in, dropped his briefcase, and wrapped me in a hug from behind. “Sorry, Maya. The tenure committee dinner ran forever. They insisted on drinks after.” I leaned back into his chest, but I frowned. Aris always had a specific, intoxicating scent—like old books and clean rain after a storm. It was the reason I loved hugging him. My friends called me a lunatic, said the “professor scent” was just my own pheromonal delusion. But tonight, it was gone. “Where did you eat?” I asked, stepping away. His body went rigid. Oh, that’s right. I never ask about his work. I’m a photographer; I don’t care about academic politics. That disinterest had always been the perfect cover for him. He never expected me to follow up. “Uh, the faculty club. Downtown. It was fine. We’ll go sometime.” He quickly changed the subject. “Did you and Mom find the bands?” He was supposed to come with me. But he’d claimed this “tenure dinner” was mandatory. I nodded. “We went to the Cartier at the Pru. We found them.” I emphasized the name of the mall. The same one he’d been at. A flicker of panic crossed his face. He picked up one of the boxes, fumbling with the ribbon. “Great. They look… great. The color is perfect for you.” I tilted my head. “Gold comes in different colors now, Professor?” He blinked, then forced a laugh, rubbing his temples. “God, I’m tired. I’m talking nonsense.” He put the box down and gave me a light, dry kiss on the forehead. “I’m going to shower. Don’t wait up.” He walked into the bathroom without looking me in the eye. 3 The water started running. I looked at the entryway table. His briefcase, his keys. I looked at the kitchen counter. I looked at the coffee table. No phone. There was only one other place it could be. I looked at the bathroom door. He took his phone into the shower. Aris, who treats his electronics like Fabergé eggs, had just taken his phone into a steam-filled room. I felt a sudden, bitter laugh rise in my throat. This was pathetic. I went back to the bedroom. I was scrolling through Instagram, waiting for sleep, when a post made me stop. It was from a postdoc in Aris’s lab, a guy named Chen I’d met a few times. He’d been at the “tenure dinner.” It was a group photo of seven people, captioned: [So honored to be at this symposium with such brilliant minds!] My finger slowly scrolled down. In the comments, Chen had added: [And great to finally meet the legendary Dr. Eva Cole! Congrats on the new post!] My heart stopped. I zoomed in on the photo. Aris was in the center. To his left was Eva. The woman from the restaurant. She had short, ash-brown hair and a brilliant smile. Her hand was resting, casually and confidently, on Aris’s shoulder. I looked at the “likes” on the post. Aris’s name was at the top. I pressed the heart icon, my thumbprint landing right next to his. I turned off the phone and lay in the dark. Eva Cole. I knew that name. 4 I first saw her name last year, on Aris’s birthday. I was using his phone to take a picture of him with his cake when a notification popped up. Eva Cole: [Happy birthday. Sorry to bother you.] We’d only been together a couple of months. I was in that giddy, teasing phase. “Eva Cole,” I’d said, “sounds beautiful. She remembers your birthday, but she’s so formal. Is she an ex-girlfriend?” I was joking. But Aris didn’t laugh. He was silent for a long moment. “Yes,” he said. My smile vanished. I didn’t want to be that girlfriend, the jealous, insecure one. But I couldn’t stop the tears from welling up. He’d been horrified. He’d unlocked his phone, handed it to me, and told me everything, right there in the private dining room. They were college sweethearts at Harvard. They’d dated through their PhDs. But after graduation, she’d taken a post in California. The long-distance hadn’t worked. She needed more emotional validation than he could give over the phone, and she’d ended it. He said he’d been heartbroken, but he got over it when he heard she was dating someone new. I scrolled through their messages. The last one was from two years prior. Just as he said. A clean break. “If it’s over, why is she still in your contacts?” I’d asked. He’d given me a very Aris-like answer. “Every experience, even a failed relationship, is just data that shapes who we are. Without that data, I wouldn’t be the man you fell in love with.” He saw my tear-streaked face and softened. “If you want, I’ll delete her right now. You’re the only person I care about.” He was always so rational, so academic, that it made my emotional reactions feel stupid. So I’d backed down. I told him not to delete her. I was afraid of making her a martyr. After all, you can’t compete with a ghost. …Lying in bed now, I laughed at my own naiveté. Maybe the moment I’d failed to say “Yes, delete her,” our ending was already written.

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For three years, the mission was my life. Then I got pregnant. And that’s when the System told me it had the wrong girl. I was so grateful I could have wept. I was packed and gone in an hour. Ten minutes later, my husband, who was supposed to be in London on business, materialized in our bedroom. His eyes were wounded, his lips pressed into a thin line. “On the divorce papers, under ‘reason,’ you wrote that I’m…too rough. We can work on that. I can be gentler, Audrey. Can’t I?” I saw the flicker of something inhuman in the color of his eyes, and a sob tore from my throat. “I’ve always been afraid of snakes.” 1 On the third anniversary of my marriage to Damian, the System, long silent, suddenly reappeared. I’m so sorry, Host! I’ve just realized you’re not the protagonist! I was dabbing concealer onto my collarbones, trying to hide the faint, rosy marks he’d left, getting ready for the lecture I had to give. Hearing its voice, I shot straight up. “Are you serious?” Its tone was steeped in apology. Yes. It was a clerical error on my part. A mix-up. You’re just a… a very beautiful bystander. Damian has already met the true protagonist. I dropped to my knees on the cold marble floor and bowed my head ten times in silent, profound thanks. The System burst into digital tears. Oh no, this is a disaster! The Host has had a complete mental breakdown! “Quiet,” I told it, scrambling to the walk-in closet and digging under a stack of cashmere for the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago. Holy hell. I knew it. I always knew it. My family has been in the funeral business for generations—we craft exquisite, custom caskets. What were the odds that I’d end up married to a titan of the New York financial world? I was in a daze on my wedding day, completely bewildered. But he’d looked at me with such a convincing, deep affection in his eyes, a perfect mask of devotion. It was only recently that I learned he wasn’t human at all. He was raising livestock. And I was the prize pig. 2 The System first contacted me during my sophomore year of college. It told me I was the protagonist. I told it I was the Queen of England. It directed my attention to the man who had just dropped onto campus to give a guest lecture on market volatility: Damian Blackwood. He’s the male lead, it said. Give it some thought. He was magnetic, with a sharp intelligence that seemed to radiate from him. Men and women alike swarmed him, phones held high to snap pictures. The lecture hall was packed to the rafters. I swallowed hard. “I suppose I could make an effort.” Inside, my heart was exploding. My ancestors must have done something right to land me a catch like this. Back then, I thought I had some kind of protagonist’s halo. Winning over Damian was so suspiciously easy, it felt like one of those elaborate scams you read about online. But he was incredibly generous, and his affection never felt fake. We got married without a hitch. Aside from a certain coolness and a possessive streak, he was practically perfect. He was healthy, and he indulged my every whim. I thought it was love. It wasn’t until a year ago that I discovered I was his prey. He was feeding on me. Literally. 3 Last New Year’s Eve, he had a last-minute business trip, so I flew home to my parents. They complained I was interrupting their quiet life and sent me packing back to Damian after only two days. As I was leaving, my mother pressed a container of her homemade lasagna into my hands. “Make sure Damian eats plenty. There’s more in the freezer.” I stood on the porch, hands on my hips. “Mom, what about me?” My father chimed in. “Don’t be selfish, Audrey. Damian always lets you have the first bite of everything. You’ve put on a little weight, you know. It’s time you let him have his turn.” I pouted, dragging my suitcase back to the city in a huff. I remembered the moon was a slim crescent when I left the airport that night. By the time I walked up the long drive to our house, it was a full, luminous orb. The air was heavy and still, thick with a strange tension. And I could hear a woman’s voice from inside. I slipped in through the back garden gate. There, under the wisteria-covered trellis, stood Damian and a woman whose face was turned away from me. Her first words hit me like a physical blow. “You take so little each time,” the woman said, her voice a low purr. “Are you trying to be a hummingbird sipping nectar?” “Any more and she’d get suspicious,” Damian replied. Hearing that, a phantom ache bloomed in my wrist. I lifted my hand to the moonlight, and the two tiny red dots on my skin seemed to glow. There were identical marks on my neck. I thought back to the nights when, lost in passion, he would bite me in those tender places. I’d always thought it was just his little quirk, a secret intimacy between us. The woman laughed. “I prefer to drain my prey completely, then swallow them whole. It’s no fun relying on just one. Next time, I’ll bring you a few new toys to play with.” Huddled in the shadows, I squinted, and I could have sworn the woman’s long, dark hair was writhing. As I focused, I realized it wasn’t hair at all. It was a nest of thin, black snakes. She plucked one from her scalp and let it coil around her fingers. “Don’t forget to maintain your form, Damian,” she cooed, her hand slithering up his chest to straighten his tie. “We wouldn’t want her to find out, would we?” I dug my nails into my palms, forcing back tears, my heart hammering against my ribs. Because in the next instant, the woman’s form dissolved, melting into a colossal white python that slithered away into the darkness of the woods. 4 I kicked off my shoes and backed away on silent feet, then ran to the nearest hotel to hide and try to quiet my shaking hands. The System had once told me its mission was complete, that the protagonist and male lead would be together forever. I’d assumed it was a metaphor. That night, I realized being devoured was also a form of eternal union. A very physical one. Damian, unaware he’d been exposed, continued to play the part of the devoted husband. Thinking my appetite was off, he tried tempting me with all my favorite foods. My God, are all you monsters so considerate to your food? I refused to eat, telling him I was on a diet. He just looked at me with that soulful, adoring gaze. “Darling, you’re beautiful no matter what.” It was in those moments that I noticed it: his pupils were deeper, wider than a normal person’s. When he stared at me, his eyes held a glint of pure, ravenous hunger. I had to secretly wipe away tears. Monsters were master actors, far better than human men. After all, they were willing to put in the effort to keep their prey happy. Not like most men I knew, who were all sweet talk and empty promises, ready to run at the first sign of trouble. Damian’s performance was flawless. The kisses, the cuddles, the impeccable attention to my needs. But the more he did it, the more I thought of a cat playing with a mouse. The cat never eats it right away. It has to have its fun first. Damian was playing with me. When he noticed me pulling away, he started drugging me. My guess is that going too long without feeding caused his animal traits to surface. Twice, when I fought to stay conscious, I saw the faint shimmer of scales on his forearms in the dim light, and a wave of goosebumps washed over my skin. Under the influence of whatever he was giving me, just the sight of his face made my heart race, my blood hum, my body flush with heat. It was a path straight to ecstasy. When he bit me, I no longer felt even the slightest prick of pain, lost in a consuming, hypnotic pleasure. In the haze, I could hear his satisfied whispers. “My love, you’re so sweet.” “My love, I could just eat you all up.” I think I died a little inside each time. It’s not that I wanted to cooperate. But he had me tagged like a wild animal; no matter where I went, he always seemed to know. He was never worried I’d run. It’s just the romantic bond between a protagonist and the male lead, the System had chirped. Romantic, my ass. I was a mouse in the cat’s jaws. How could I not be terrified? 5 A year passed like that. Then the System showed up again, telling me I wasn’t the one. I knew my daily prayers to every deity I could think of had to count for something. The only complication was the unidentified species currently taking up residence in my womb. But my family had connections, people who dealt with… unusual situations. As I left, dragging my suitcase behind me, I asked the System one last time. “Once the real story starts, Damian will really forget about me? Are you sure?” Positive. One hundred percent. A sigh of relief escaped me. Once this was over, I was going to build a shrine. I was going to volunteer in the Peace Corps. I was going to go dig wells in Africa. Conveniently, Damian was in London closing a deal. He wouldn’t be back for a while. I packed a go-bag with essentials and booked the first flight to Iceland. Snakes hate the cold. Damian especially hated the cold. I hoped he’d take the hint. Just as I was about to shout “I’m finally free!” my phone rang. It was Damian. “Why is there a draft for divorce papers in your email? Did you find someone else? Who is he? I’ll kill him.” His voice grew deeper, colder with each word. I used to think he had separation anxiety, that he’d get clingy if I was away too long. Now I knew it was prey separation anxiety. He panicked if his favorite snack wasn’t within reach. He seemed to realize his mistake. “Audrey, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His voice was thick with what sounded like tears. “I was impulsive. We can talk about this. Please.” I was just wondering how he knew about the papers. I’d only sent them to Riley and my lawyer. I shot them both a quick text. A moment later, a message came back from my lawyer, Mr. Chen. My apologies, Mrs. Blackwood. I’m actually on your husband’s payroll. The retainer he offered was… substantial. I could have screamed. I decided to be cruel, to make up a reason so insulting he’d have to let me go. “You’re like a machine, all force and no finesse. Life is too short. I’m going to find some actual pleasure.” His voice was small, wounded. “I was trying to be careful. I was gentle. I even took courses… I thought you liked it.” My face burned. “I don’t want to hear it,” I snapped. “We’re done. Goodbye. I hope you find your true love.” And leave a poor human girl alone. I hung up before he could respond. Passing through the living room, I glanced at the TV, which was tuned to a nature documentary. I was suddenly reminded of the one time I’d seen Damian’s other form. His semi-transformed state. It was a full moon. I had come home unexpectedly to grab a file, and he, hearing me, had quickly locked the bedroom door. But I was fast enough to see the motion. He hadn’t used his hand. He’d hooked the door shut with his tail. A long, black tail. The memory made me sick with fear. I don’t know why I’m so terrified of snakes. It’s been with me since childhood, a primal fear that goes deeper than simple instinct. The System assured me that Damian and the real protagonist were meeting in London right now. Their romance was about to blossom. I shut off the TV and splashed some cold water on my face. Freedom. Freedom, here I come. I had just walked into the bedroom to get my passport when I heard a sound behind me. Damian, who was supposed to be an ocean away, was standing in the room. My God, I didn’t know teleportation was one of his skills. I spun around, and my eyes met his. I saw the unnatural glow in their depths, the one that only appeared when he was aroused or enraged. “I can be gentler,” he repeated, his voice a low plea. A sob escaped me as I backed away. “I’ve always been afraid of snakes.” 6 The words had barely left my lips when a small, bright green snake poked its head out from the collar of his shirt, its beady eyes fixed on me. Hearing my confession, it seemed to understand, and it quickly slithered down Damian’s arm and out of the room. The sight of its slick skin and sinuous movement sent a shriek tearing from my throat. Damian immediately slammed the door shut and, just as he always did, pulled me into his arms to comfort me. The irony was suffocating. He was the greatest threat of all. I struggled out of his embrace and retreated to the window. “Get out!” I screamed. “Both of you, get out!” The little green snake poked its head back through the crack in the door, a few blades of catnip dangling from its mouth. It chewed thoughtfully, looking utterly clueless. As the commotion in the bedroom grew, it just stared at me with wide, innocent eyes. Tears streamed down my face like a broken pearl necklace. It was terrifying enough on its own. The fact that it could understand English made it a thousand times worse. Damian, flustered, turned and hissed at the little snake, shooing it away. He still didn’t realize that my terror of him was absolute. He took a step towards me, wanting to hold me. I scrambled onto the bed and scurried to the other side of the room. He thought I was just angry about the snake. “It must have snuck in,” he explained, his voice laced with that same wounded tone. “We have catnip in the garden. I have no idea why it likes to eat that.” He closed the distance in a single stride, scooped me up, and placed me gently on the bed. Then he knelt on the floor beside it, looking up at me. I noticed his pupils flickering with the intensity of his emotions. When the sunlight hit them, they seemed to explode into a galaxy of gold. They were just like the eyes of the snakes I’d seen in documentaries. His expression softened, and he reached out to touch my face. My mind flashed with images of black scales, and a wave of revulsion washed over me. I slapped his hand away, hard. Damian’s lips trembled almost imperceptibly before he forced a placid smile. “If you don’t like it, I’ll get rid of it right now.” Fighting my fear, I shrank back on the bed, my voice hot and sharp. “It’s not that I don’t like it. I hate snakes. I despise them.” When I was little, my teacher showed our class a nature film. A snake swallowed a live mouse, its belly twitching as the mouse struggled inside. The sight made me physically sick. I had nightmares for a month. Even now, the memory makes me want to vomit. At my words, he froze. His long lashes fluttered as his gaze fell to my ankle, his face clouded with an indescribable sadness. 7 I’d twisted my ankle yesterday, and it was still slightly swollen. As he moved to touch it, I snapped, “Don’t touch me.” “Oh. Okay.” He looked lost for a moment, then stood. “I’ll go deal with the snake.” The moment he left the bedroom, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and reached for my phone to call my uncle, the one who dabbled in the occult. Then I remembered: my purse, my phone, everything was in the living room. A cold dread washed over me. I had arranged for a colleague to pick me up for a trip we were taking. A male colleague. From my office. We were friends. Damian was a jealous man. No, that wasn’t right. He used to be a jealous husband. Now he was a predator guarding his kill. He would assume someone was trying to steal his food. Just as I was about to get off the bed to retrieve my phone, Damian stormed back in, his entire aura radiating an icy fury. I used to love him. When this was all a “mission,” I even wrote a little handbook on how to please him. I knew that when he was truly angry, he never showed it. Instead, his face would relax into a calm mask, a hint of a smile playing on his lips as he subtly clenched his jaw. That was when he was at his most dangerous. And then he would punish me, day or night, with a desperate, frantic passion, marking my skin with his scent and his teeth. “Want to listen?” He held up my phone. I was confused. “Listen to what?” He smiled faintly and put it on speaker. “Audrey, I’m just about to leave for your place.” It was Alistair Finch, a professor from my department. Damian walked silently towards me and sat on the edge of the bed. Alistair’s voice continued, oblivious. “So, you really went through with the divorce? It’s all so sudden. I thought you and your husband were so happy together.” I opened my mouth to answer. Damian tapped his own lips, his eyes fixed on mine. It was a terrible curse, to know your predator so intimately. His meaning was clear: if I said a word, he would kiss me into silence. I shot him a glare and stayed quiet. Alistair rambled on, expressing his sympathy, saying how a wonderful person like me deserved better. I whispered to Damian, “What’s the problem? He’s just a colleague being supportive.” He mouthed one word back: “Vulture.” Heh. For a monster, he was surprisingly well-versed in human social dynamics. The man was being perfectly normal. I finally spoke up. “Thank you for your concern, Professor Finch. I’m fine. I’m not one to dwell on things—” Before I could finish, Alistair cut in. “In that case… would it be alright if I pursued you?” Damian raised an eyebrow. I froze. “Audrey, you’re an extraordinary woman. It was inevitable that I’d be drawn to you. Please, don’t feel pressured. I just wanted you to know that there’s someone else in the world who secretly admires you.” My face was a rigid mask. Alistair sighed with relief. “You and your husband were so close before. I thought I’d never have the chance to say this. I’m glad—” Damian’s calm gaze never left mine, but across the room, an antique vase on the bookshelf suddenly exploded. I knew it was him. But he just looked at it with wide, innocent eyes and said, “Must be old.” Then, turning his attention back to the phone, he spoke directly to Alistair. “We’re still very happy together.” Hearing the crash, the professor grew concerned. “Audrey? I’m coming over.” A look of grim satisfaction crossed Damian’s face. He glanced at me, a smirk playing on his lips. “Please do.”

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After my secret crush, Harrison, was forced to marry me. Anytime I was the slightest bit unhappy, I took it out on him. “Every time your little goddess pisses me off, I’m going to take it out on you. Do we have an understanding?” Harrison gritted his teeth, glaring at me, his voice a raw rasp. “Josephine, you’re going to regret this.” I didn’t take him seriously. But later, his goddess started provoking me so often that I was getting a little… worn out in the bedroom. I started avoiding him. That’s when I accidentally overheard Harrison talking to her. “My wife has been a little distant lately. Could you maybe go and make an appearance in front of her again?” His heartbroken goddess: ? The streaming comments, which had been championing him: [Bro, what???] 1 On the eve of my engagement party, my fiancé received a sonogram. It was from the substitute he’d been keeping on the side, a girl who looked about sixty percent like me. He panicked and caught a red-eye flight, launching into the groveling, win-her-back tour he was apparently destined for. And me? Because of my missing groom, I became the laughingstock of the party, a complete joke. All of this was fed to me by a stream of comments that had suddenly appeared in my vision, like captions to my own life. I didn’t believe it. I called him, several times. All I got in return was a terse text message informing me the engagement party was “postponed.” I was stunned. The text floating in front of my eyes kept scrolling: [Why doesn’t the male lead just cancel the engagement and go win back the female lead already!] [Because he can’t let go of his ‘one that got away.’ He’ll string them both along until he loses the female lead to the second male lead and regrets it for the rest of his life.] [Please, the second male lead, Harrison, is a hundred times better than that scumbag! You can’t beat the ‘saved me when I was at my lowest’ trope!] Seeing the second male lead’s name, my eyes went wide. Are you telling me the man I couldn’t get to give me the time of day is in love with my doppelgänger? The absolute nerve. The man the comments were calling the “second male lead” was the same man I had chased for months in London, and failed to conquer. My dating history was a curated collection: the stoic types, the ice kings, the refined intellectuals, the sunshine boys, the loyal puppies. But Harrison… he seemed to be all of those things at once, and it somehow worked. When he rejected me, he was polite but distant. When he fed a stray cat, bathed in the soft glow of sunset, the corner of his mouth would curl into a faint, gentle smile. He was like a fog, luring travelers in, daring them to find their way through. And not just his personality. So when the comments said he was in love with my replacement, I completely lost it. I called him on the spot. He picked up on the first ring. I didn’t waste any time. “What, exactly, is your relationship with Leah?” [Uh? What kind of plot twist is this?] [How does the ‘one that got away’ already know about the female lead!!!] [Oh, it’s over. She’s definitely going to make trouble.] You got that right, sweetie. Just you wait. Harrison was silent for a moment before his cool, pleasant voice came through the phone. “She saved me once.” Oh, please. So you fall for anyone who saves you? A doctor cures you of a disease; why don’t you fall in love with him? I scoffed internally, then cleared my throat, my tone dripping with condescension. “My fiancé is having an affair with your savior. In fact, he just ditched me to go running after her. What do you think we should do about that?” The comment stream blanked for two seconds, then exploded. [Ahhh, she knows! The idealized ‘one that got away’ knows! She’s going to ruin the female lead!] [It’s fine, it’s fine. Both the main guy and the second lead will protect her.] [What kind of ‘one that got away’ is she? She’s so harsh and arrogant. Can she just get written out of the story already?] [I mean… from her perspective, isn’t she the victim here???] [I’m with you. So far, the ‘one that got away’ has done exactly 0 things wrong.] After another stretch of silence, I heard Harrison ask, “What do you want to do?” A slow smile spread across my face. “My fiancé is gone. You’re going to have to replace him. The consequences of me being publicly humiliated could be very… severe.” [Wait, since when do you two even know each other?] [This girl is hilarious. He’s the female lead’s soulmate. As if you’d even have a chance.] [She’s just shamelessly using the female lead to threaten him. How pathetic!] [If he actually agrees, I’ll stream myself eating a shoe.] A second later, he replied, “Okay.” … [I’m afraid to open my eyes. Please let this be a hallucination…] [Haha, where’s that guy who was gonna eat a shoe?] [Probably prepping his footwear. I’ve already got my screen recorder ready.] 2 To avoid any complications, I took Harrison straight to City Hall and we got married before anyone could object. Fortunately, the Sinclairs were an old-money family that Harrison had successfully modernized after taking the helm, reversing their decline and sparking rapid growth. Business is business. Our families looked at the bottom line, saw no loss, and accepted the new reality. In fact, they used it as leverage against Landon’s family, the Pierces, determined to at least carve out a pound of flesh for the insult. How the tables turn. On my and Harrison’s wedding night, Landon called me dozens of times. I could feel his rage through the screen. The second I answered, his voice came through, tight with fury. “Josephine, I never said we were calling it off. What gives you the right to make a decision like that!” I was genuinely puzzled. “You ran off to chase your little girlfriend the night before our engagement party. I assumed you were madly in love and couldn’t live without her. Am I wrong for helping you two get your happy ending?” He stammered, his tone finally softening. “She’s just a stand-in for you, Josie. She could never replace you. Why are you being so petty?” “I’ll be back, and I’ll explain everything. Just stop this nonsense. The merger between our families isn’t a game. Be good.” I raised an eyebrow. He clearly hadn’t grasped the new situation. “Landon, who the hell do you think you are to tell me to ‘be good’?” “You were just the convenient choice for a family merger. You didn’t actually think I was so desperately in love with you that I’d beg to be your long-suffering wife, did you?” “If you’ve got a savior complex, see a therapist.” He was furious. “Josephine!” I hung up. [Okay, not gonna lie, watching her rip into him was satisfying!] [He wants to have his cake and eat it too. What a piece of work.] [Am I the only one who thinks that lace slip she’s wearing is insanely hot? Wait, how did this collar get around my neck!] [Hold on, so we’re just supposed to forget she’s the villain? You’re all just going to ignore how she tortures the female lead later?] [Dude, so far she hasn’t done anything. From her point of view, some random girl who looks like her just popped up and stole her fiancé. Who wouldn’t go a little crazy?] If it weren’t for the comments, I never would have known I was his unrequited love, the “one that got away” he’d been obsessed with for years. During my years studying abroad, he found an underground lover who bore a resemblance to me. But what he saw as a simple way to pass the time ended up stirring real feelings. And so began his dramatic, messy, will-they-won’t-they saga of winning her back. So I was just a prop in their little psychodrama? I’d been blessed with good looks and a multitude of talents since I was a child. Suitors were like weeds in a garden; I could harvest a new batch every week. I barely even remembered Landon. He was chosen as my fiancé simply because our family fortunes were compatible. Did he really think he was irreplaceable? I looked up. Harrison had already entered the bedroom. He’d just showered and was wearing a deep charcoal silk robe, the tie cinching his firm waist. His features were exquisitely sculpted. Every movement he made carried an air of casual, aristocratic grace. I knew how to pick them. Damn. But Harrison didn’t even seem to bother glancing my way. “Get some rest. I’ll sleep in the guest room.” Me: ??? I’m about to take my dress off and you say that to me? I called his name just as his phone started ringing. Unsurprisingly, it was Leah. The comments went into a frenzy. [So what if she forced him to marry her? He’ll still stay faithful to the female lead!] [Are you sure? He looks a little… excited to me.] [Damn, that’s… very noticeable. That girl is eating well!] [Okay, let’s get a little spicy.] [Josephine, I never said a bad word about you, I swear. Please, I’m begging you, just force him. Do it for all of us chickens… bok bok bok…] I… was speechless.

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Of all the women Ethan Hayes ever dated, I was the good one. But in bed, I was the wild one. He hated condoms, so I never kept them in my nightstand. He complained I was too reserved, so I learned every trick in the book. His friends would talk, their voices a low murmur of expensive whiskey and disbelief. “I don’t get it. Audrey seems so… vanilla. And you’re saying behind closed doors she’s a total freak?” “Ethan, my man, going raw is one hell of a rush, but what if she gets pregnant? She’ll lock you down with a kid before you can even call your lawyer.” Ethan would just take a slow drag from his cigarette, a smirk playing on his lips. “She wouldn’t dare.” He’d exhale a plume of smoke. “Her family’s old-school conservative. And the Hayes family would never, ever accept a child born out of wedlock.” And he was right. A good girl would never do something as disgraceful as getting pregnant before marriage. Which is why, before we ever touched, I always made sure Ethan took his pill. 1 I’ll admit, male birth control isn’t exactly easy to get your hands on. I had to pull a few strings, calling in a major favor from my best friend. Zoe told me the drug was incredibly effective. But she also warned me that long-term use could cause irreversible damage to a man’s sexual function. She shot me a worried look over her wine glass. “Audrey, if you’re really that concerned about your man’s… equipment… my firm is developing a new version with fewer side effects. It’s just not out of trials yet.” I offered her a tight smile and promised I’d wait. “Okay.” What I was really thinking was: What the hell do I care about Ethan Hayes’s equipment? The alternative was me, alone in a sterile clinic, waiting for an abortion. The thought of it was too bleak to bear. And since Zoe’s miracle drug was stuck in development, I kept using the one I had. For six months. Every time, just before things got heated, I’d tell Ethan it was a vitamin, watching him swallow it with a glass of water before I’d let him unbutton my shirt. I’ll give him this: he was right about one thing. Without that thin layer of latex, the feeling was infinitely better. He got his pleasure. And I, bearing none of the risk, got even more. Ethan was, in his own way, a fool. He genuinely believed I was so hopelessly in love with him that I’d do anything he asked. As a reward for my devotion, he’d shower me with lavish gifts afterward. A Patek Philippe watch one week. A Cartier diamond necklace the next, followed by a brand-new Porsche. Anything I could sell, I sold the very next day, funneling the money into a diversified investment portfolio. Of course, to keep up appearances, I bought flawless replicas to store in my closet. He never paid attention to the details. He never noticed a thing. Back in the VIP lounge, the conversation was still flowing. “Seriously, man. You’ve had her on a string for years. Aren’t you ever going to make it official?” “Come on, you know the deal. Audrey’s got a clean background, but she’s not exactly in the same league as the Hayes family.” Then one of his drunker, more obnoxious friends piped up, his words slurring. “Hey, Ethan, when you get tired of her… you mind if I take a turn?” He leered. “Audrey’s got that innocent look but a killer body. I’d kill to get a piece of that. Bet she’s absolutely filthy in bed.” A sudden, sharp silence fell over the table. The air crackled. The guy who’d just spoken seemed to sober up instantly, his face paling. He started stammering, practically slapping himself. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I was just talking shit. Don’t take it seriously.” Ethan let out a low, ambiguous chuckle. He took a sip of his Macallan, and his reply caught everyone off guard. “Sure, you can have her. But Audrey only has eyes for me. I doubt she’d even look your way.” The tension shattered. The lounge filled with laughter and back-slapping again. His friends fell over themselves complimenting him—Ethan Hayes, the powerful, handsome genius that women would kill to be with. It was only natural that I was madly in love with him. Standing just outside the velvet rope, I ran a hand through my hair. Then, my heels clicking on the marble floor, I pushed through the entrance. The motion caught their attention. Every head turned. When they saw it was me, the chatter died instantly. I pretended not to notice, a bright smile fixed on my face as I walked toward their table. “What are we all talking about?” One of them recovered first, shifting awkwardly. “Audrey. Hey. How long have you been here?” I slid into the plush leather booth next to Ethan, wrapping my arm around his. My smile was pure poison. “Oh, about five minutes. Was just touching up my lipstick by the door.” The color drained from their faces. No one dared to speak. I pulled my long hair back into a ponytail. Without a word, I reached across the table, grabbed a bottle of champagne, and calmly began to pour it over the heads of the two men who had been the most vocal. They were too afraid of Ethan to even flinch. When the bottle was empty, no one said a thing. One by one, they mumbled excuses about early meetings and unfinished work, scattering from the lounge like cockroaches. Ethan leaned back against the leather, his expression unreadable. His voice was flat. “Are you done?” 2 He thought I was just throwing a tantrum. I suppose that made sense. In Ethan’s world, I was a pet. A perfectly trained, beautiful creature that came when called and purred on command. A pet that, without its owner, would be lost and starving on the streets. I found a seat across from him and said nothing. A second later, his phone buzzed. I couldn’t hear the voice on the other end, but I saw the change in his posture. Ethan stood up abruptly, his voice softening as he headed for the exit. “Stay right there. I’m on my way.” The tone was gentle, soothing. After he hung up, he was already at the door when he seemed to remember I was still there. He glanced back, his face a blank mask. “You’ve been taking your pills, right?” Ah. So that was it. He was still worried I might try to trap him. What Ethan Hayes would never know was that while I was willing to play with a man like him, I would never, ever be foolish enough to carry his child. So I smiled and nodded, giving him the answer he wanted. “Of course.” He left without another word. I let out a long, slow breath. A moment later, my own phone rang. It was Zoe. “Audrey, something came up at work. I can’t get away. Can you swing by the clinic and pick up your prescription yourself?” I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Yeah, no problem.” Just before I hung up, a thought occurred to me. “Zoe? You don’t have to get these for me anymore.” There was a pause on the other end, then her voice, laced with frustration. “Don’t tell me you’re actually thinking of having a baby with him. Audrey, for God’s sake, get a grip.” A real smile touched my lips this time. “No. It’s not that.” Two days ago, my acceptance letter from NYU’s graduate program had arrived. It was time for me to go back and finish my education. Besides, after two years of playing the part, I had skimmed over thirty million dollars from Ethan Hayes. It was time to cash out and walk away. I’d just picked up the pills from the pharmacy inside the hospital when I turned a corner and ran straight into him. A delicate, beautiful girl was leaning against his chest. When Ethan stopped short, she looked up at him, her voice a sweet, childish pout. “Baby, what’s wrong?” He didn’t answer her. His eyes scanned over me, then landed on the small paper bag in my hand. From his angle, he could clearly read the prescription label: Contraceptive. A flicker of something—maybe guilt—crossed his face. Ethan’s brow furrowed. In a rare moment of concern, he actually said, “You should take less of that stuff. It’s not good for you.” I offered him a bland, pleasant smile. “Okay.” I didn’t let on that I knew him, and the girl in his arms was clearly clueless. But Ethan’s brief moment of attention had set off her alarms. The girl stepped forward possessively, extending a manicured hand toward me. Her smile was sharp. “Hi, I’m Amelia. Ethan’s girlfriend.” I let those last three words sink in. Girlfriend? Then what was I? But Ethan gave me a subtle, warning look. I took the hint and shook her hand. “Audrey. I’ve met Mr. Hayes a few times.” Amelia visibly relaxed, her smile becoming genuine. She laughed, a light, tinkling sound. “This one here has been running me ragged,” she said, playfully swatting his arm. “My period is late, so we just wanted to come in and get it checked out.” She looked at me expectantly. “What about you, Audrey? What brings you here?” I was about to invent a story when she cut me off, her eyes widening in realization. “Oh, you’re here for birth control, aren’t you? God, your boyfriend is such an ass. Why doesn’t he just wear a condom? Those pills are so bad for your body.” She shook her head, full of sympathy. “Listen, Audrey, if you can’t get him to listen, you let me know. I’ll have a word with him for you. A man who really loves you would never, ever want to see you get hurt.” 3 My eyelashes fluttered. I opened my mouth, intending to say, “Okay.” But no sound came out. By the time I came back to myself, Ethan had his arm around Amelia’s shoulders, leading her down the opposite end of the hall. She waved back at me over her shoulder. “Bye, Audrey! It was nice meeting you!” I stood there for another minute before turning and heading toward the underground parking garage. The light inside the car was dim. My hands rested on the smooth leather of the Porsche’s steering wheel, but I didn’t start the engine. Maybe I wasn’t as calm as I was pretending to be. And maybe, just maybe, I wasn’t completely devoid of feelings for Ethan. After all, he was the one who had saved me during the darkest, most desperate year of my life. My family wasn’t poor. Far from it. My parents were both well-respected high school teachers. They provided for all my material needs, giving me everything a child could want. But it came with a price. Their desire for control was a suffocating, toxic cloud that poisoned our home. The year I turned eighteen, they found out I’d been accepted to my dream school, NYU. To stop me from moving to the city, they went into my application portal and changed my commitment to the local state university. When I graduated four years later, I fought tooth and nail to land a prestigious job offer in New York. They went behind my back and declined it for me. They kept telling me it was for my own good. They spent a small fortune to get me a stable, low-paying government job in my hometown. I never showed up for the first day. It was the first time I had ever rebelled. With the ten thousand dollars I had saved up, I bought a one-way train ticket to New York. I went straight to the NYU campus and just walked around. It was on my way out that I met him. Ethan Hayes. I suppose it was because I was pretty. I caught his eye easily. He offered to help me find a job. He introduced me to a life I never could have imagined. Ethan taught me how to skydive, how to rock climb, how to scuba dive. He pushed me to try every extreme sport my parents had ever forbidden. We kissed and held hands and stayed up all night talking. We did things that felt thrilling and new. For the first time in my life, I felt a sense of unrestrained, intoxicating freedom. And I knew, with absolute certainty, that I was falling for him. I liked Ethan Hayes. But that secret, hidden love, blooming in the corners of my heart, became its own form of torture. It takes a long time to decide to stop loving someone. It takes even longer to actually leave. It took me six months. I have to admit, I’ve always been indecisive. It’s a flaw in my character. Otherwise, I never would have let my parents control me for twenty-two years. And besides that, Ethan was impossibly handsome and unbelievably rich. The crumbs he dropped from his table had already made me a wealthy woman, with enough money to live comfortably for the rest of my life. Thinking about that, a sense of calm washed over me. So I had lost a great love. But I had gained a cold, hard thirty million dollars. Ethan came home late that night. It was the weekend, so I’d given myself a break, curled up on the sofa watching some terrible reality TV show. One of the characters on screen dramatically declared: Your boyfriend has a girlfriend! I looked up just as Ethan walked in. On a whim, I asked, “So, how’s your little girlfriend?” He rubbed his temples, looking exhausted. His voice was heavy. “Audrey, you’re starting to misbehave.” I knew when to shut up. Ethan hated complications. The only reason he’d kept me around for so long was because I was easy. I was obedient. I bit my lip. “I drew a bath for you,” I said quietly. He disappeared into the master bathroom. My interest in the show had vanished. I went to the bedroom to sleep. I was drifting in that space between sleep and waking when a hot, heavy hand clamped onto my waist. The man behind me began to explore my body, his touch familiar and demanding. 4 I shifted, trying to push him away. But Ethan was patient, his voice a low murmur against my ear. “Shh, it’s okay. I’ll wear a condom.” He whispered, “You don’t have to take those pills anymore.” For a second, I was wide awake. Was this his conscience finally kicking in? But I wasn’t the one taking the pills. And him wearing a condom would only ruin the experience for me. I was just about to launch into a self-sacrificing speech, something designed to tug at his heartstrings and maybe squeeze a larger severance package out of him when we finally broke up. But then his phone rang. It was on the nightstand, so close in the silent room that I could hear every word. Amelia’s voice, a mixture of excitement and fear. “Baby, I just took a test… I think it’s positive.” A pause. “But I’m not sure. Can you… can you come over?” Ethan’s eyes reflexively darted toward me in the dark. He looked away just as quickly, his voice softening. “I’m on my way.” He hung up, and without another look at me, he was gone, leaving a curt, “I won’t be back tonight.” He didn’t even bother to close the bedroom door. I muttered a few curses under my breath, rolled over, and tried to go back to sleep. But sleep wouldn’t come. No one knew that a long time ago, I had also been pregnant with Ethan’s child. I was working on a huge project at the time, pulling all-nighters. In the chaos, I forgot to take my pill one night. I didn’t realize until my body started feeling… different. In that single moment, my world tilted. I was thrilled and terrified. After days of agonizing, I decided to tell him. We would decide what to do with the baby, together. I went to find him in his home office. The door was slightly ajar. He was on the phone, his voice laced with its usual casual indifference. “Your little bird is pregnant? Just give her some money and tell her to get rid of it. Why are you even asking me about this?” He listened for a moment. “Are you an idiot, Mark? What does it matter if you feel bad for her? Is your family going to accept an illegitimate child? Get real.” There was a longer pause. I couldn’t hear the question, but I knew what it was from Ethan’s answer. The question must have been: What if it was Audrey? What if Audrey got pregnant? Would you keep the baby? Would he? Ethan’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. Cruel. “No. Audrey is good. I’m very happy with her. But my child will not come from her belly.” “If she ever got pregnant, I’d give her a generous sum of money, she’d have an abortion, and that would be the end of it.” Love and marriage. He had always kept the two completely separate. I was beautiful, obedient, and I anticipated his every need. The perfect girlfriend. But a wife? The partner he would spend his life with? Never. I stood outside that door and cried without making a sound. And for the first time, I understood with chilling clarity. Ethan Hayes did not love me. After I’d composed myself, I called my office and told them there was a family emergency. I took a week off. I went to the clinic alone. Every part of my body ached. But I knew it was the right choice. For me, and for the life that was inside me. But Amelia was different. She had the effortless innocence of someone who had been sheltered and adored her whole life. And the baby in her belly… it was clear Ethan was already fiercely protective of it. For a fleeting moment, a wave of confusion washed over me. What had my three years meant? Drifting in and out of consciousness, I finally fell asleep. I woke up the next morning at ten. Ethan hadn’t come home. I picked up my phone, about to send him a fake, concerned text message. But a new friend request had popped up on my screen. The profile picture was an adorable kitten. The message was just three words: Amelia Sinclair. 5 She got straight to the point. [Audrey, I’ve had you investigated.] I took a slow sip of my coffee, my eyes fixed on the little “typing…” bubble at the top of the screen. I didn’t reply. A few seconds later, more messages came through. [I know you’ve been with Ethan for a while. You’re clever and you have your methods, I get that.] [But what you probably don’t know is that he and I are getting engaged soon. We come from the same world. If you’re smart, you’ll disappear quietly. Don’t make this ugly for yourself.] [Because if you do, I won’t be so nice.] It clicked. Amelia Sinclair. Of course. She was an heiress. No wonder Ethan was so attentive. It wasn’t just about affection; it was about her family, her connections, her status. I put down my mug and typed a reply. [Ten million.] She agreed without hesitation. She asked for my account number and promised the money would be wired within three days. The only condition was that I was to never, ever be seen by Ethan Hayes again. I gladly accepted. After all, I was already planning my exit. When Ethan finally came back, he had a gift for me. I opened the box. Inside was a scandalous red silk nightgown that was more air than fabric, and a matching ruby necklace. He seemed to be in a good mood. “Go try it on,” he urged. “I want to see if it fits.” The vibrant red made my skin look like porcelain. It barely covered the essentials, leaving most of my body exposed to the cool air. I saw a flash of hunger in Ethan’s eyes, his breath catching for a split second. I took a steadying breath, my expression serious. “Ethan,” I said softly. “We need to talk.” He seemed to regain a sliver of his composure. He nodded, a thoughtful look on his face. “I have something to tell you, too,” he said. I nodded obediently. “Okay. You first.” After a few seconds of silence, he spoke, choosing his words carefully. “Audrey, if I were to get married… what would you do?” I might have imagined it, but he looked almost… nervous. I froze. What would I do? I’d take the last of his money and run for the hills, obviously. But I couldn’t say that to his face. So I squeezed out a couple of fake tears, my voice trembling. “Are you… leaving me?” He reached out, his thumb gently brushing a tear from the corner of my eye. A look of genuine pity crossed his face. “Of course not,” he said, his voice husky. “It’s just… I’ll have to ask you to be patient for a while.” A wave of carefully orchestrated hysteria washed over me. I started to cry for real. “I don’t want to be your dirty little secret! I won’t be a mistress!” He must have thought I was being ungrateful. That night, Ethan slept in the study. He said he was giving me space to “cool down.” I couldn’t have been happier. Lying in bed, aimlessly scrolling through Instagram, I stumbled upon Amelia’s latest post. A picture of her on a pristine white sand beach. The caption read: What do you do when your boyfriend is too possessive to let you wear a bikini? Help! I clicked into her profile out of morbid curiosity. Apparently, her birthday was coming up. Her wish was for her boyfriend to take her on a vacation to the Maldives. They were leaving tomorrow. The rest of her post was a gushing tribute to their love. I guess I can’t complain. He’s only like this because he loves me so much. Besides, a sundress will look just as good in photos~ The first time Ethan and I were together, he was so gentle and sweet, so careful not to hurt me. I remember laughing and asking him what he was going to do since I was so inexperienced, especially since I’d heard he liked more assertive girls. He just smiled and said that if it was me, it didn’t matter what I did. Mom and Dad, at twenty-two, I think I’ve finally found my happily ever after. 6 Someone had commented: Jesus, get a room. The two of them were now in the middle of a nasty comment war. But I couldn’t bring myself to read any more. I thought back to the beginning, to how Ethan used to complain that I was clumsy and awkward in bed. I didn’t know how to move. I would blush beet red at the slightest hint of dirty talk. I could never keep up with him. He never seemed satisfied. Ethan didn’t care much about my comfort. He was often rough, and it would hurt. I would just bite my lip and endure it. I didn’t know any better. Growing up, the only thing my parents ever said about boys was, “If you even think about dating before college, I’ll break your legs.” And in college, I was still under their thumb. The thought of romance had never even crossed my mind. So when I was suddenly thrown into this world, all I could do was try to adapt, to awkwardly meet his needs. I learned how to talk dirty. I learned a whole encyclopedia of bizarre positions. And every time I showed improvement, he would whisper against my ear, his voice a low rumble, “Good girl.” Afterward, there would always be an expensive gift waiting for me. After a while, I made a kind of peace with it. I learned to find my own pleasure in our encounters, to create a balance that worked for me. There’s no shame in a woman embracing her own desires. It was only now that I was realizing. It was possible to be Ethan Hayes’s girlfriend without having to cater to his every whim. A rose doesn’t have to grow taller. The one who loves it will bend down. Unfortunately for me, I was not his rose. A salty tear slid from the corner of my eye, tracing a path to my temple. I suppose… I suppose I was a little sad. For myself.

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