1 The moment Gavin brought his new mistress home, I started screaming and crying, throwing yet another hysterical tantrum. As usual, Gavin looked at me with pure disgust, shielding the girl behind his back and telling me to stop being insane. My rage was boiling over. Just as I was about to raise my hand to strike, a familiar, long-forgotten mechanical voice chimed inside my mind. “Dear Host, your five-year submissive trophy-wife mission has officially ended. Emotional manipulation has been deactivated.” “Please claim your one-billion-dollar cash prize and your divorce certificate. Wishing you a wonderful life!” My high-raised hand paused mid-air. I let it drop gently, smoothing the wrinkles on Gavin’s collar. Then, I reached past him and softly stroked the mistress’s hair, marveling at how smooth and perfect it was. It was definitely a head of hair worthy of marrying into wealth. I let out a sudden, ecstatic laugh, turned on my heel, and bolted out the door. … Gavin’s grip was brutal, clamping down hard around my wrist. He towered over me, his gaze dripping with cold contempt. “Are you done making a scene? Aren’t you embarrassed, acting like this in front of guests?” Behind his broad shoulders, his mistress shrank back, throwing me a smug, mocking smirk. I stared at Gavin’s face, the face I had been desperately, pathologically obsessed with for five long years. I felt a sudden wave of detachment. Just seconds ago, that mechanical voice had vanished. And with it, the submissive, pathetic personality I had been forced to play was finally gone. Five seconds passed. I stopped fighting. The wild obsession and desperate love in my eyes receded like a pulling tide, leaving behind nothing but pure, blissful relief. Gavin froze, caught off guard. Taking advantage of his confusion, I yanked my arm back with a sharp, forceful twist. As if his touch had left a layer of filth on my skin, I rubbed my wrist vigorously against my jeans. Then, I walked over to the coffee table in the living room. Lying right there was the divorce agreement Gavin had thrown in my face the night before. At the time, I had wept hysterically, kneeling on the floor and begging him not to abandon me. But now, a massive grin spread across my face. My steps toward the pen were light, almost bouncy with anticipation. I signed my name and pressed my thumbprint onto the paper in one fluid motion. Gavin stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. “What are you doing? Do you honestly think this reverse psychology is going to…” I slammed the papers hard against his chest. The force of the impact actually made him stumble back half a step. “I signed it. I’ll see you at city hall tomorrow.” I looked him dead in the eye, my voice crisp, clear, and ringing with absolute certainty. “If you back out of this, you’re a dog.” With that, without giving his dumbfounded mistress a single glance, I threw my pre-packed bags over my shoulder and walked out of the villa, never looking back. Once I was safely in the back of a taxi, my hands began to shake as I pulled out my phone. I opened my banking app. Logged in. Checked the balance. Hundreds, thousands, millions, tens of millions, hundreds of millions… One billion. One billion dollars, sitting in cold, hard cash. I took a deep, shaky breath, my heart hammering against my ribs. Five years ago, a bizarre system had bound itself to me. It forced me into a marriage with Gavin, requiring me to play the part of a miserable, submissive wife. The rules were strict: never strike back, never argue, and always show him unwavering, desperate devotion, no matter how much he humiliated or neglected me. Worse still, to make the act convincing, the system had manipulated my hormone levels. It made me genuinely, painfully love him. For five years, I served him like a maid and trailed after him like a dog. Whenever he stayed out all night, I suffered from excruciating insomnia. Whenever he brought women home, my heart shattered, yet I could only beg him to spare me a single glance. Thinking about it now, a familiar, sharp pang echoed in my chest. I instinctively pressed a hand to my heart. It was a residual, biological reflex, a lingering echo of the desperate attachment that had been hardwired into me for half a decade. Was I seriously still feeling sad over that piece of trash? I looked back down at my phone screen. I counted the zeros again. Still one billion dollars. The suffocating tightness in my chest vanished instantly. Gavin was wealthy, sure, but his company’s net worth was tied up in fixed assets and heavy liabilities. If you asked him to produce one billion dollars in liquid cash right this second, he couldn’t do it even if he sold himself. I patted my chest, feeling the steady, strong beat of my heart, and let out a laugh. Loving Gavin brought nothing but heartbreak. But one billion dollars? Money would never betray me. 2 When you have a billion dollars, life becomes incredibly simple. Moving used to feel like losing a layer of skin, but now, it was just a matter of swiping a card. With enough money, a luxury penthouse overlooking the river downtown would gladly open its doors to you at a moment’s notice. Within three hours, I went from viewing the property to fully moving in. I didn’t have to lift a single finger; the building’s gold-star concierge handled every detail. As I lay stretched out on my new custom mattress, Gavin’s assistant, Ryan, called. His tone was polite, but the message was insulting. “Ma’am, Mr. Vance wanted me to convey that the villa is pre-marital property, so you have no right to its value. As for the car…” I put the call on speaker, inspecting my freshly manicured nails as I cut him off. “Tell Gavin I don’t want the house, and I find his car disgusting.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “I have only one condition for the asset division,” I added. “I’m happy to walk away with absolutely nothing. Just make it fast.” “The faster, the better.” “Whoever drags this out is a coward.” The assistant had clearly never dealt with a wealthy divorcee so eager to be cast out with nothing. He stammered, unable to find his words. Through the speaker, I heard a faint, arrogant scoff. It was a familiar sound, dripping with that insufferable, high-and-mighty superiority. Gavin. “I told you she was just playing hard to get,” his voice drifted over the line. “Ignore her. Let her stew for two days, and she’ll crawl back on her own.” If this had happened before, I would have broken down, crying and begging him to listen. But now, I just rolled my eyes. The sheer delusion of this man was astounding. I hung up without another word. Arguing with an idiot was only going to slow down my spending. The next morning, I drove straight to Rodeo Drive. Standing outside the Hermes boutique, I pulled a dusty black card from my wallet. It was the allowance card Gavin had given me during our first year of marriage. To maintain my pious, “I only love you for who you are, not your money” persona, I hadn’t even memorized the card number over the last five years, let alone used it. I had even clipped coupons and hunted for discounts just to save him a few bucks. Looking back, my brain hadn’t just been full of water; it had been full of Gavin’s dirty bathwater. I snapped the black card in half and tossed it into a nearby trash can. Then, I pulled out my own personal card and walked into the store. “This, this, and that entire rack,” I said, pointing casually. “Except for those three colors, I’ll take everything.” The sales associate’s smile practically split her face. “Of course, ma’am! We’ll pack everything up for you immediately!” Card swiped. Pin entered. Transaction approved. Watching the long string of numbers print out on the receipt, I didn’t feel a single pang of regret. Instead, a wave of profound, liberating satisfaction washed over me. Spending money was fantastic. Just as I was instructing the staff to deliver the bags to my new penthouse, a sweet, fragile voice echoed from behind me. “Naomi?” I turned around. It was a small world indeed. Isla was standing at the entrance, clinging tightly to Gavin’s arm. She was holding an out-of-season bag that I had passed on, her face a mask of delicate, slightly provocative surprise. “What a coincidence, Naomi. Are you out shopping too?” As she spoke, she shrunk back slightly behind Gavin, as if she expected me to fly across the room and claw her face. “Gavin… is Naomi still mad at me? Maybe we should go somewhere else…” Gavin’s face darkened instantly. Dressed in a sharp, bespoke suit, he stared at me, his eyes filled with absolute irritation. “Naomi,” he sneered, his voice dropping an octave. “You really went to extreme lengths to track my schedule, didn’t you?” I blinked. “What?” He took a step forward, looking down at the shopping bags in my hands with a dismissive glare. “I finalized my schedule for the day only a few hours ago, and here you are.” “You even managed to bribe my secretary for my itinerary.” “What’s the plan? Are you trying to tell me you’ve changed your mind about the divorce?” The nearby shoppers and sales staff began to murmur, casting curious glances our way. Gavin pinched the bridge of his nose, looking thoroughly exhausted by my presence. “Stop wasting your time.” “Your pathetic display yesterday only made me realize how much you disgust me.” 3 Gavin stood there, radiating absolute confidence. He looked as though he expected me to drop to my knees and beg for his mercy at any second. I opened my mouth, ready to tell him he was out of his mind. But the words died on my tongue. Looking at his smug, self-satisfied expression, I suddenly smiled. “You’re right,” I said, nodding cheerfully as I met his gaze. “I tracked you down.” Gavin blinked, clearly not expecting me to admit it so easily. Beside him, Isla’s eyes flashed with a triumphant gleam she couldn’t quite hide. She gently tugged at Gavin’s sleeve, her voice dripping with artificial sweetness. “Gavin, see? I told you she still cares about you…” She turned to me, her brow furrowing into a look of deep, self-sacrificing sorrow. “Naomi, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have let myself get caught between you two. If I’m the reason you’re fighting, I’ll just leave…” She said she would leave, but her feet remained glued to the floor. In fact, she pressed herself even closer to Gavin’s chest. The wealthy women browsing the boutique stopped what they were doing, their eyes darting between the three of us. I crossed my arms, watching Isla’s little performance like I was watching a cheap comedy. “You’re right, you shouldn’t have gotten between us,” I chuckled, my voice quiet but clear enough for everyone nearby to hear. “Do you actually feel proud of being a mistress? Coming out in public and shouting about it, are you that desperate for everyone to know you’re a homewrecker?” “Is the barrier to entry for your profession really this low now? No license required, just a thick face?” Isla’s face turned white. Her triumphant smirk froze, and the tears she was trying to force out dried up instantly. The whispers around us grew louder. “So she really is a homewrecker…” “She looks decent enough, but she’s doing that?” “Girls these days…” The critical glares pricked Isla like needles. Panicked and humiliated, she looked up at Gavin, her eyes pooling with real tears this time. “Gavin… I didn’t…” Gavin’s face turned livid. He pulled Isla behind him, turning a furious glare on me. “Naomi! Have you lost your mind?” He gritted his teeth, a vein throbbing at his temple. “Who gave you the right to humiliate Isla? You’re resorting to cheap, trashy insults just to force me back to you? How pathetic can you be?” I rolled my eyes. Honestly, how pathetic could he be? “Who has the time to play games with you?” I pulled my phone out of my bag and tapped on the calendar, thrusting the screen directly in front of his face. “I didn’t come here to watch you two put on a circus. It’s hurting my eyes.” My smile faded, replaced by a cold, sharp look. “I’m here to ask you: what time are we meeting at the registry office tomorrow to finalize the paperwork?” Gavin choked on his words. His theory of my “reverse psychology” was still fighting for dominance in his brain. He sneered. “Filing the papers? Do you honestly think threatening me with divorce is going to make me back down? Don’t play with fire, Naomi.” This man literally could not comprehend plain English. I took a step closer. “I don’t want the house. I don’t want the car. I will sign a clean-break agreement with zero claims. I’ll ask you one more time: what time are we signing?” I raised my voice slightly, my expression dripping with mockery. “You keep dodging the question, Gavin. Don’t tell me… you’re the one who can’t let go?” “Or are you just acting tough while trying to drag this out because you don’t want to lose me?” Sometimes, you have to fight fire with fire. The moment those words left my mouth, Isla was the first to panic. She clutched Gavin’s sleeve, her knuckles turning white as she looked up at him with desperation. “Gavin… does she really want to divorce? You’re going to agree to it, right?” If Gavin backed out now, his proud image in front of his new mistress would shatter. If he agreed, I would get exactly what I wanted. I had backed him into a corner. Staring into my eyes, which held absolutely no lingering affection, only pure annoyance, the first cracks began to appear in his blind arrogance. His fragile male ego could not handle being dismissed so casually. “Fine. Great.” Gavin let out a harsh, angry laugh, the words forced through his teeth. “You want a divorce? I’ll give you one.” He took a deep breath, raising his voice to salvage his pride in front of Isla. “Tomorrow morning, nine o’clock, right outside city hall!” Finally, some common sense. The weight lifted from my chest, and a bright smile spread across my face. “It’s a date.” I picked up my luxury purchases from the counter and turned to leave. At the door, I paused, turning back to throw a wink at Gavin, whose face was now darker than a storm cloud. “Don’t forget the time, Gavin.” “If you don’t show up, you’re a dog.” I walked out of the boutique without looking back, leaving Gavin standing there looking like he had swallowed a fly, while the onlookers tried to stifle their laughter. The next morning, I did a full face of makeup, choosing a bold, crimson lipstick. At exactly nine o’clock, I stood outside the registry office at city hall. The system had promised me that Gavin would show up. But by nine-thirty, the entrance was crowded with couples waiting to file their divorces, and I was still standing there entirely alone. Unbelievable. I pulled out my phone and sent Gavin a message. Blocked. I called his number. It rang for a long time before he finally answered. The sound of rustling papers came through the line, accompanied by his insufferable, smug tone. “What do you want?” I let out a sharp laugh. “Gavin, we agreed in front of a dozen people yesterday that whoever backed out was a dog. Are you planning a sudden species change?” Gavin sneered. “Naomi, this reverse psychology works once. Keep doing it and it just becomes pathetic.” “I didn’t show up for your own good. You have no job, and you’ve been out of the workforce for five years. Without me, you wouldn’t even know where your next meal is coming from.” “I’m pitying you, understand? Stop throwing tantrums and let me get back to work.” The line went dead. I stared at the screen, taking a deep, slow breath. Fine. You pity me? You think I’m helpless? You clearly haven’t seen a rabid dog bite. I stared at the road, my expression colder than a fishmonger’s.

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1 I was born with dyslexia. To me, letters were a chaotic swarm of bugs; reading felt impossible. Since elementary school, I ranked at the very bottom. Kids called me “stupid,” “retard.” Rowan always defended me—shoving them away, sitting me down, promising, “Serena, I’ll be your translator. I’ll help you read every word in the world.”With his help, I reached high school and found my true gift: art. After winning gold at the International Youth Art Biennale twice, I earned early admission to Ashton University, the nation’s top art school. I ran to tell Rowan first. Instead of congratulating me, he handed me a form. “Sign this donation consent. We’ll give your old textbooks to charity.” As always, the words blurred into nonsense. But I trusted him—so I signed. Days later, our teacher announced, “Congratulations to Lily for taking Ashton’s early admission slot—our school only had one.” I frowned. “Mr. Davis, wasn’t that mine?” He stared. “Serena… didn’t you sign the waiver giving it up?” My heart stopped. Then my mind went completely blank. The whispers of my classmates faded into static. A high pitched ringing pierced my ears. Slowly, agonizingly, I turned my stiff neck to look at Rowan, who sat by the window. He was busy swatting a bug away from his desk mate, Lily. His smile was as bright and carefree as ever. It was as if he hadn’t heard a single word of my exchange with the teacher. I have no idea how I survived the next forty five minutes. The second the bell rang, I forced my trembling legs to stand and walked over to his desk. “Rowan, why did you do that?” My voice shook violently. I was clenching my fists so hard my knuckles were bone white. He looked up from his textbook. He noticed my pale face, looking momentarily stunned, but quickly regained his casual composure. He spoke in a tone you’d use to discuss the weather. “Serena, getting into Ashton is Lily’s ultimate dream. You know how expensive art is. Her family is struggling financially. You have absolutely no idea how much blood, sweat, and tears she put in just to get this far.” He shrugged. “You get first place in every competition anyway. There’s another international contest in a month. Just win gold again and you’ll get your spot back. What’s the big deal about letting Lily have this one?” He made it sound so incredibly easy. As if winning a global art competition was as simple as breathing. I ground my teeth together, feeling an invisible hand reaching into my chest and ripping my heart in two. He knew all about Lily’s hardships, but he conveniently forgot the absolute hell I had crawled through to get here. The years of being called an idiot. A waste of space. The years where I didn’t even have the courage to step out of my front door. Every time I opened a book, normal letters turned into hostile, crawling ants. Everyone told me I was useless, destined to be a nobody for the rest of my life. Until that one afternoon. Rowan pointed at the chaotic scribbles in my notebook. “Whoa, Serena, this is actually amazing. You might be a genius at this.” That single sentence pushed me to pick up a paintbrush. At first, the whispers around me were dripping with venom and pity. “Only the dumb kids do art. It’s because she has no other options.” “Does she actually think she has talent? People are just pitying her.” I wanted to prove them wrong. But more than anything, I didn’t want to disappoint Rowan. I painted day and night. My used brushes piled up like mountains. Blisters burst on my fingertips, bleeding into the canvas. My clothes were permanently stained with acrylic and oil. When everyone else was partying, dating, or sleeping, I didn’t dare stop for a single second. And finally, I made something of myself. I thought he would be proud of me. We had promised to go to Ashton together. Instead, he took the results of my bleeding fingers and handed it to someone else. Anger, betrayal, and a suffocating wave of disappointment clogged my throat. My eyes burned, pooling with tears. Rowan froze. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Hey, don’t cry.” He stood up, reaching out to grab my arm. But Lily, sitting right next to him, suddenly let out a choked sob. “I’m so sorry! I knew I shouldn’t have taken it. Serena, I’ll go tell Mr. Davis right now that I’m giving the spot back!” 2 She barely stood up before Rowan grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down. “Give it back? Are you crazy? You earned this with your own hard work!” He turned his glare on me, his tone laced with heavy resentment. “If it weren’t for Serena, you would have gotten the gold medal anyway.” In every competition, my scores were always a few points higher than Lily’s. Rowan was right. Without me, Lily would be number one. But I never expected him to paint me as the villain who stole her glory. A million tiny needles pierced my chest, the pain radiating outward. The boy who once swore to protect me from the world had quietly, seamlessly, crossed over to the enemy lines. It wasn’t just him. The guys hanging around our desks chimed in, eager to play the hero for the crying girl. “Yeah, Serena, you can win awards in your sleep. It’s just one admission spot. Don’t be a bully.” “Do you know how stressful it would be for Lily to repeat a whole year? Have some empathy for once.” Lily kept up her soft, pathetic whimpering, playing the perfect victim. Rowan pulled a tissue from the box on his desk and gently wiped her tears, shooting me a look of deep dissatisfaction. As if I was completely out of line for questioning why he forged my signature. Silence hung heavy in the air. I took a slow, jagged breath and finally found my voice. “Keep it. If you want it that badly, it’s yours.” Lily blinked, stunned. Rowan’s face lit up with absolute relief. “Serena, you finally get it?” “I knew you’d understand where I was coming from!” he beamed. “I’ll be cheering for you at the competition next month. You’re going to crush it, get the gold, and we’ll all go to Ashton together!” Lily broke into a fragile, watery smile. “Good luck, Serena. I know you can do it.” I didn’t say a single word. I just turned around and walked away. My expression was ice cold. I would win that competition. But I was absolutely done with Ashton University. For the next few weeks, I practically lived in the art studio. The blisters on my fingers burst, bled, and hardened into thick calluses until I couldn’t feel the pain anymore. Rowan dropped by occasionally. He proudly announced that his early admission letter had arrived. Ashton, of course. He was a STEM prodigy, sweeping national math and physics olympiads since middle school. His admission was a given. “Serena, we promised to go to Ashton together. I haven’t forgotten,” he said, leaning against the doorframe. “Don’t hold a grudge about that paperwork thing. Lily’s situation is just complicated. She’s the oldest of three. Her parents basically told her if she didn’t get a full ride to Ashton, they’d cut off her tuition. They wouldn’t let her do a gap year.” I put my brush down and stared at him, truly baffled by his logic. “And why exactly am I expected to foot the bill for her life?” Rowan looked genuinely confused. “I thought… you’d get it. You both had it rough.” I let out a harsh laugh, picked up my brush, and went back to my canvas, ignoring his existence entirely. Watching my freezing response, a weird spike of panic hit Rowan’s chest. “Serena, look, I…” He stepped forward, desperate to say something, but was cut off by Lily prancing into the studio. “Serena! I brought you food!” She held up a plastic takeout bag from the cafeteria. I told her I wasn’t hungry. She ignored me, pulling out the containers one by one and setting them right on top of my cramped desk, completely ignoring the expensive supplies scattered everywhere. As she lifted a bowl of hot soup, her hand conveniently twitched. The greasy broth splashed right onto my brand new, premium watercolor paper. She did it on purpose. It was painfully obvious. My patience snapped. “I said I don’t want it!” My shout made her jump. Hot soup splashed onto her own hand, and she let out a dramatic shriek. She let go of the bowl completely. It tipped over, flooding my desk. My brushes, my imported paints, my sketches. All soaking in greasy, steaming liquid. Panicking, I reached out to salvage my work. The boiling broth scalded my raw fingertips, sending sharp jolts of pain up my arm. “Serena, it’s just a bunch of cheap paper! Are you insane?” Two hands shoved my shoulders hard. I stumbled backward, my heel catching on the heavy metal bucket I used to wash my brushes. I crashed to the filthy floor. The murky, black wastewater spilled over, instantly soaking into my jeans and shirt. 3 The moment my back hit the floor, a montage of memories flashed through my mind. Fifth grade. The first time I seriously took up art. The bullies from my class would sneak into the studio just to mock me. “Look at the retard trying to paint!” “A retard is a retard. Thinks she can draw just because she can’t read. Hilarious.” “Let’s rip her stuff up!” A group of boys had rushed in, ready to tear my canvas to shreds. Suddenly, Rowan flew out from behind a shelf, tackling the ringleader to the ground. It turned into a massive brawl. Later, sporting a black eye and a busted lip, Rowan gave me his solemn promise. “You just keep painting, Serena. I swear I’ll protect your stuff with my life.” From that day on, he treated my art supplies better than I did. He would carefully wash out my brushes until the water ran clear. He would neatly arrange my paint tubes. He would gently blow the eraser shavings off my sketches. As for my hands, he practically kept them under twenty four hour surveillance. He refused to let me do anything that might risk cutting or burning my fingers. He always said he was guarding the hands of a future Picasso. The sharp, stinging pain in my palm violently yanked me back to the present. I lifted my right hand. A jagged piece of gravel on the studio floor had sliced a deep gash straight across my palm. Crimson blood was bubbling out, dripping onto the floor tiles. But Rowan’s eyes were entirely glued to Lily. He was cradling her hand, frantically asking if the splash of soup had burned her. Then, he shot me a look of pure disgust. “Serena, she went out of her way to bring you food. If you don’t want it, fine, but did you have to scream at her?” “Do you have any idea how precious her hands are for her art?” I slowly picked myself up from the dirty floor. My clothes were heavy with toxic black paint water, clinging uncomfortably to my skin. My right hand hung by my side, blood steadily dripping from my fingertips. He didn’t notice at all. His eyes held nothing but disappointment. It was in this exact moment that the truth finally settled into my bones. The fiercely loyal boy who once swore to protect me against the world was dead. He had been gone for a long time. My chest felt entirely hollow. Using my bleeding hand, I silently bent down to pick up my ruined brushes from the puddle of soup and dirty water. Rowan finally caught a glimpse of the red. He froze. The icy anger in his eyes melted into sudden dread. “Your hand…” “Rowan, my hand burns so badly. Do you think it’s going to scar?” Lily’s voice was thick with tears. She sounded soft, helpless, like a wounded puppy. She was a master at using fragility to monopolize attention. Rowan had been my desk mate since elementary school. Because of my severe dyslexia, he would read the textbooks aloud to me, translating the chaotic letters into a language I could understand. He always said he didn’t trust anyone else to sit next to me. But in our junior year, Lily murmured something about struggling with math and hoping Rowan could tutor her. Rowan immediately asked the teacher for a seat change. His excuse to me was that Lily needed his help more than I did. Just like right now. The second she whined about her pain, Rowan’s attention snapped away from my bleeding palm. He grabbed Lily’s uninjured wrist and hurried toward the door. “Come on, let’s get you to the nurse.” He didn’t hesitate. His strides were long and purposeful, looking exactly like the boy who used to carry me on his back to the emergency room. Only this time, the person he was carrying in his heart wasn’t me. A cold breeze blew through the studio window, passing right through my chest, carrying away whatever lingering affection I had left for him. I walked to the hospital alone to get my hand stitched up. Walking out of the clinic, I scrolled through my phone and saw Lily’s latest post. [Our Future.] The photo was a side by side shot of two Ashton University early admission letters. Their names were placed closely together. It felt like a needle stabbing directly into my retinas. The comments were blowing up. [Damn, power couple alert!] [Have mercy on us mortals! We’re still grinding for finals, keep your PDA out of the classroom please!] There were a few snarky ones too. [Flexing a stolen spot? Classy.] Within seconds, Rowan replied to that specific comment. [She earned every bit of it.] I let out a dry chuckle. Earned it. Right. So I totally deserved to have my spot stolen. Got it. I locked my phone. I went home and picked up my brush again. The doctor had strictly forbidden me from using my right hand for at least a week. But I couldn’t sit still. If I stopped moving, the suffocating noise in my head would drown me. So I painted. I painted until the stitches tore, until fresh blood seeped through the bandages. The dark red smeared across the pristine white canvas. It was a shocking, violent contrast. I finally stopped. Looking at the finished piece, the corner of my mouth tipped up. A month later, my painting Awakening absolutely obliterated the competition. I took home the undisputed, unanimous Gold Medal. 4 I stood on the podium, deafened by the applause. The camera flashes blurred into a sea of stars before my eyes. This year’s competition was unprecedented. Scouts and professors from top tier international art institutions had flown in to judge. An older professor with sharp blue eyes walked up to me, smiling warmly. “Miss Serena, it would be my absolute honor to see you walking the halls of The Royal Academy in London this fall.” I smiled back. “The honor would be mine.” All the agonizing nights, the bleeding fingers, the shattered trust. It had all amounted to this. The tight coil of anxiety in my chest finally unspooled. I felt lighter than air. Walking out of the exhibition hall, a familiar figure was waiting by the entrance. Rowan was leaning against a concrete pillar, aimlessly twisting a Rubik’s cube. He caught sight of me and pushed off the wall, a massive grin spreading across his face. “Serena. Congrats on the gold.” “Told you. I knew you could pull it off.” “Now we can finally go to Ashton together.” I looked at him, my expression perfectly serene. “Yeah.” Hearing my response, a visible wave of relief washed over him, and his smile grew even wider. A few days later, the official acceptance letter from The Royal Academy of Arts arrived in my mailbox. I asked Mr. Davis to keep it entirely off the record. When I walked into the classroom, my classmates swarmed me, cheering for the “genius painter.” I caught the ugly flash of pure jealousy in Lily’s eyes before she looked down. Someone chimed in, “Serena, I heard all the fancy European schools were practically begging you to enroll. You’re not going abroad, are you?” Rowan’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second before he confidently interrupted. “Serena’s only ever wanted to go to Ashton. It doesn’t matter how good those foreign schools are. She’s super picky with her food, she’d starve over there.” He turned to me, his tone suddenly incredibly soft. “Right, Rena?” My mind drifted for a second. How long had it been since he called me Rena? Probably since junior year, when Lily first transferred. His voice carried a hint of desperate pleading, a cautious test of the waters. I couldn’t be bothered to start drama, so I just gave a noncommittal “Mm.” Rowan instantly reverted to his goofy, relieved smile. Lily kept her head down, her face dark and stormy. Shortly after, nasty rumors started spreading like wildfire through the school. Everyone was whispering about how Lily had manipulated her way into stealing my admission spot. Because of the recent gold medal, I was practically a local celebrity. Naturally, public opinion heavily favored me. Whenever Lily walked down the hallway, she was met with side eyes and blatant disgust. The toxic whispers followed her everywhere. She looked more miserable with every passing day. I, on the other hand, was practically living in the studio, entirely oblivious to the high school drama. Until one morning. The second I stepped into the classroom, Rowan marched toward me, his face a mask of furious thunder. “Serena, you actually disgust me.” The words hit me like a physical blow. I stopped in my tracks. I stared at him, genuinely lost. “Excuse me?” “I was the one who tricked you into signing that form. If you’re pissed, take it out on me. Why the hell are you organizing a witch hunt against Lily? Do you get off on stabbing people in the back?” A friend quickly rushed over and whispered the context in my ear. It clicked. Rowan assumed I was the mastermind behind the bullying campaign. Looking at his hateful glare, and then at Lily cowering pathetically behind his broad shoulders, a laugh bubbled up in my throat. I didn’t even want to defend myself. I just looked at him with absolute indifference. “Whether I started it or not, are they lying?” Rowan glared at me, his jaw tight. “So what if you have talent, Serena? With a heart as toxic and dark as yours, you will never be half the person Lily is!” He shouldered past me aggressively, grabbing Lily’s hand and pulling her out of the room. I stood there in the middle of the aisle. My heart was terrifyingly calm. From that day until graduation, we didn’t exchange a single word. In August, holding my acceptance letter from The Royal Academy, I boarded a one way flight to London. A few days later, Rowan rang the doorbell of my house. My mom opened the door to find him standing awkwardly on the porch. “Hi, Mrs. Davis. Is Rena home? I… I really need to apologize to her.” My mom looked at him, completely baffled. “Rena didn’t tell you? She left for campus a few days ago.” Rowan blinked. “She’s already moved into Ashton?” My mom let out a confused laugh. “Ashton? What are you talking about? She’s in London. At The Royal Academy.” Rowan froze.

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1 On the first day of our honeymoon, my husband, Silas, and I were driving down the scenic route toward Napa Valley. We hadn’t been on the road for thirty minutes when an elderly woman suddenly collapsed onto the asphalt just a few yards ahead of our bumper. Silas slammed on the brakes, the tires letting out a violent screech. “Please, kind souls,” the woman groaned, her voice trembling as she huddled on the tarmac. “Help me up. I can’t stand.” She looked incredibly frail, lying there in the middle of the road. If someone didn’t help her, she could easily be hit by another car. Silas immediately reached for his seatbelt, ready to get out. I grabbed his arm, my grip tight and unyielding. “If you dare step out of this car to help her, we are getting a divorce.” Silas froze, his hand hovering over the door handle. He turned to look at me, his eyes wide with utter confusion. “Vivian, since when did you become so heartless? That is a human life!” I knew exactly what it was, but I didn’t feel a single shred of pity. “My point stands. Step out of this car, and we are done.” … “Vivian, I know you’re worried about scammers, but we can’t just leave a helpless old woman in the middle of the road!” Silas’s voice was soft, trying to soothe me. Seeing that we weren’t getting out, the woman on the ground let out an even louder, more agonizing wail. “Please, dear Lord, someone help me! My leg, it hurts so much!” Silas was growing increasingly anxious, his tone softening into a plea. “Vivian, I understand you’re afraid of being sued. But what if she’s actually hurt? How are we supposed to live with ourselves if we just drive away?” He reached over, gently placing his hand over mine. I shook his hand off coldly. “If you want to play the hero, go ahead. Just sign the divorce papers first.” Silas stared at me, looking as if he were staring at a complete stranger. The old woman continued to groan on the asphalt. Realizing we weren’t budging, her cries became louder and more dramatic. A few passing drivers began to pull over, rolling down their windows to peer at us. A few even pulled out their phones, aiming their cameras at our car. “Oh, the pain! It’s unbearable!” the woman cried, her voice cracking. “Young people these days have no heart!” A girl in a pink cardigan rolled down her window from the lane next to us. “Hey! What’s your problem? The poor lady is hurt, go give her a hand!” Silas’s face flushed deep red. He opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. Seeing his hesitation, the girl’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “Seriously? She fell right in front of your car. The least you can do is get out and check on her!” Before she could finish, a battered van pulled up behind her. A burly, bald man stepped out, his voice booming over the sound of the idling engines. “Hey! What’s the holdup? You’re blocking the road!” But the moment the bald man walked over and saw the old woman groaning on the ground, his expression shifted. He didn’t say a word, quietly turning around and walking straight back to his van. More cars began to pile up, and the backroad quickly became congested. The onlookers started whispering among themselves. “How can people be so cold-hearted?” “Record them! Put them on the internet!” “Driving such a luxury car, yet they have garbage for hearts!” With the growing crowd, the old woman’s groans reached a theatrical crescendo, her voice trembling with artificial tears. “My leg is completely numb! Please, someone show some mercy!” Silas was sitting on pins and needles. He reached for the door handle again. “Think carefully, Silas,” I warned him. His hand froze, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the handle. “Vivian, what is wrong with you today? You’ve never been like this! You’d stop the car to rescue a stray dog or cat, but you won’t even help a human being? Besides, with our financial standing, even if she tries to sue us, we can easily handle it.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with near-desperation. But I remained entirely unmoved. “If you want to help, do it on your own. It has nothing to do with me.” The old woman on the ground continued to howl, her voice surprisingly strong for someone supposedly on the verge of death. Silas’s frustration finally boiled over. He threw the car door open and stormed out, marching directly toward the old woman. I immediately got out of the car, grabbing his arm before he could reach her. “Vivian, can’t you see she needs a hospital? Let go of me!” Silas yelled, his eyes red as he tried to shake me off. I held on tighter, my nails digging into his sleeve. “Wait.” I quickly pulled out my phone and started recording. Aiming the camera at Silas, myself, and the old woman on the ground, I spoke clearly and calmly. “Let the record show that I strongly object to Silas’s decision to help this woman. This is his personal choice, entirely independent of me. Any legal, financial, or civil liabilities resulting from his actions are his sole responsibility. I assume zero liability.” “Vivian… you…” He was so furious his voice shook. “And since you’re so determined to do this,” I added, locking eyes with him, “we’re filing for divorce as soon as we get back.” 2 The old woman suddenly stopped crying. Instead, she offered a sweet, fragile smile, speaking in a gentle tone. “Young man, don’t worry about me. Don’t let a poor old lady ruin your marriage. Just leave me here to rot.” This sudden act of selflessness from the victim instantly turned the crowd’s hostility toward me up to eleven. “My god, she’s actually recording a video to protect herself? What a toxic woman!” “Bro, how can you stand her? Divorce her! You have to divorce her!” “Unbelievable. To be this selfish is a disease!” Standing amidst the shouting crowd, Silas’s face flushed a deep, embarrassed red. He looked at me, pleading one last time. “Do you really have to do this? Are you seriously throwing away your conscience and your dignity just to avoid a little trouble?” I looked at the righteous crowd surrounding us. “If any of you want to help her, be my guest. But if anything goes wrong, you take full responsibility.” The moment I said that, the girl in the pink cardigan scoffed loudly. “Listen to her! What an absolute piece of garbage!” I ignored her, turning back toward our car. Silas grabbed my hand. “Vivian! I know you’re not a bad person. This is just anger talking, right? Let’s stop fighting.” “Fighting?” I yanked my hand back. “Silas, let me ask you: before we left, you insisted on taking this backroad, didn’t you? You said it would save us an hour.” Silas blinked, confused. “Yes… I thought there would be less traffic. Are you really throwing a tantrum over a route?” Less traffic meant fewer witnesses. And more blind spots for surveillance cameras. I let out a cold laugh. I had a strong feeling that if I checked our dashcam right now, it would be conveniently broken. “Vivian,” Silas said, lowering his voice. “It’s my fault. I shouldn’t have chosen this road without asking you.” He reached out to touch my arm, but I stepped back, easily dodging his hand. “I know you’re angry, and it’s all my fault. From now on, I’ll listen to you. For the rest of the honeymoon, we’ll take whatever road you want, stay wherever you want. I promise I won’t make any decisions without you, okay?” If this had been before, his gentle apology might have softened my heart. “You don’t need to apologize to me. Do whatever you want. We’re getting a divorce anyway.” My tone was entirely flat, but Silas looked panicked. The old woman on the ground spoke up again. “Forget it, young man. I don’t need your help. I’ll just crawl to the side of the road myself. I’d feel terrible if I caused a divorce. Thank you for your kindness, truly.” “Ma’am, please don’t move,” Silas said quickly. “Let me talk to my wife.” The old woman’s movements stiffened slightly. “You fell so hard you couldn’t move your leg,” I chimed in, staring at her. “Moving now might cause secondary injuries. We certainly can’t afford to take responsibility for that.” I tapped on my phone screen. “I’ve already called emergency services. An ambulance is on its way, and I’ve filed a report with the police. They will investigate the cause of your fall. Even though this road is quiet, there should be a traffic camera at the intersection back there. Once the police and medics arrive, they will perform a full inspection. If we are at fault, we will pay. If not, the law will decide.” Hearing my words, Silas looked like he was about to explode with rage. “Vivian, since when did you become so cynical? How can you suspect a poor old lady of lying? I’m telling you, I’m helping her up right now. Can’t you see how much pain she’s in? Stop being so heartless!” Right then, my phone began to ring. It was my mother. 3 “Hello, Mom.” “Vivian! I just saw a video trending online. People are claiming you and Silas left an old woman to die on the road! The video is blurry, but the license plate looks exactly like yours! The comments are absolutely brutal!” I kept my breathing steady. “Mom, don’t worry. She fell on her own. It has nothing to do with us. Silas wanted to help, but I stopped him.” “What? Why would you stop him?” my mother asked, her voice tight with anxiety. “This is terrible for your public image! Besides, we aren’t short on money. Even if she’s a scammer, we can just pay her off!” “Mom, don’t worry about it. Oh, and by the way, I’m divorcing Silas.” There was a sudden, stunned silence on the other end of the line. “Vivian! What nonsense are you talking about? A divorce over a little road dispute? Have you lost your mind?” “I’ll explain when I get back, Mom. I have to go.” I hung up and tucked my phone away. Silas glared at me, his voice hoarse with fury. “Vivian! You…” But seeing the absolute seriousness in my eyes, he didn’t dare move. The silence lasted for a moment before the girl in the pink cardigan stepped out of her car. “Seriously, what is wrong with you two?” she snapped, her tone dripping with self-righteous anger. “Are you done arguing? The poor lady is still on the ground! If you’re not going to help, get out of the way! The rest of us have places to be!” The old woman immediately let out a weak groan, attempting to push herself up only to collapse back onto the road with a fragile sigh. “Miss, thank you for your concern,” I said, looking at the girl. “But we’ve already called the police and an ambulance. Until the professionals arrive, we shouldn’t move her, both to preserve the scene and to avoid any unnecessary medical complications. It’s the responsible thing to do for her, and for us.” The girl blinked, momentarily caught off guard. “How long is that going to take? We’re in the middle of nowhere! You’re just trying to find an excuse to be heartless!” “Precisely because we’re in the middle of nowhere, we need professional help,” I replied, my voice hardening. “If you move her and cause a spinal injury, are you going to take responsibility? If there’s a dispute over her injuries later, who is going to settle it?” The old woman’s groans paused for a fraction of a second. The girl in pink was momentarily silenced, her face flushing with embarrassment, but she remained stubborn. “You’re just cowards. Heartless cowards!” “Yes, I am. So let’s all wait patiently for the deputies to arrive.” Hearing this, the girl grew visibly anxious. “Fine! If you won’t help, I will!” With that, she marched directly toward the old woman. Silas quickly stepped forward, catching her arm. “Miss, please, let us handle it. It wouldn’t be right to let you take the risk.” He turned back to look at me, his eyes filled with a dramatic mix of guilt and heroism. “Vivian, this happened in front of our car. We can’t let a stranger bear the risk. If anyone is going to help her, it should be me. If anything goes wrong, I will take full responsibility!” He spoke with grand, heroic resolve. The surrounding crowd began to whisper in approval. “At least the guy has some decency. His wife, though…” Silas seemed to stand a little straighter, his chest swelling with self-righteous pride. “Silas, you must be joking,” I laughed. “We’ve already made things clear. If you touch her, it has absolutely nothing to do with me. You’re on your own.” “You…” Silas gritted his teeth, unable to vent his fury. He knew his place. He was nothing but a dependent husband who had married into our family, signing a strict prenuptial agreement because he didn’t bring a single cent of his own to this marriage. My family was one of the most prominent dynasties in the city. Marrying me was the jackpot of his life. Yet here he was, publicly defying me. He thought he could play the hero, but without my money, he couldn’t even afford to pay for her band-aids. “Oh, right,” I added, my voice dripping with cold amusement. “Lest you forget, you’re just a dependent who married in. I’m simply throwing you out now.” “Vivian, do you really have to do this?” his voice was dry. “I’m just stating facts.” 4 “You two are unbelievable. Arguing back and forth while this poor lady is left to suffer!” The girl in the pink cardigan scoffed, bending down to grab the old woman’s arm. “Ma’am, let me help you! We don’t need these heartless snobs!” I watched her hand stretch toward the old woman’s sleeve. “Wait.” I spoke up again. The girl froze, glaring at me with irritation. “What cold-hearted comment do you have to make now?” “Nothing. I just haven’t started recording yet. I need clear evidence that you were the one who moved her, just in case there’s a dispute later.” I slowly lifted my phone, aiming the camera at her and the old woman. “Why are you recording this?” Her tone was no longer as aggressive, a hint of nervousness slipping into her voice. “Just keeping a record.” I adjusted the angle, ensuring a crystal-clear view. I paused, tilting the camera slightly toward the old woman. “Ma’am, you understand, right? This kind girl is trying to help you, so we should make sure she feels safe doing it. If you’re really in that much pain, waiting for the paramedics is the best option anyway, don’t you think?” Suddenly, Silas stepped in front of the lens. He blocked my view of the girl and the old woman completely. “Enough, Vivian.” He lunged forward, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. During the struggle, he pushed me back. My patience vanished. Slap! The sharp sound of the slap echoed through the quiet road, leaving Silas’s cheek burning red. “Get out of my way, Silas.” I pushed past him before he could react. But I was too late. Taking advantage of our distraction, the girl in pink had already pulled the old woman to her feet. The old woman stood perfectly straight. Though her back was slightly hunched, both of her feet were planted firmly on the asphalt. “Ma’am, how do you feel? Can you stand?” the girl asked quietly. “Oh… much better. Thank you, dear. You’re a savior.” Silas clutched his cheek, glaring at me with utter humiliation. “Look at that! She’s perfectly fine! Did you really have to make such a disgusting, embarrassing scene over nothing?” He tried to apologize to the old woman and the girl, before grabbing my arm to drag me back to the car. “Are you done making a fool of yourself? I didn’t even touch her, and you still managed to ruin everything!” I violently shook his hand off, my expression ice-cold. “I told you, we are getting a divorce.” My voice was loud, echoing across the quiet road. Silas froze, his arm still suspended in the air. He stared at me as if he couldn’t comprehend my words. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “What… what did you say?” “I said,” I met his stunned gaze, “we are getting a divorce, Silas. Right now. We’re going straight to the lawyers as soon as we get back.” The remaining onlookers began to whisper among themselves. “She’s divorcing him just because he wanted to do a good deed?” “Yeah, this woman is ruthless.” “Look at how pale the poor guy is.” With the crowd’s support, Silas seemed to regain his courage, standing a little straighter. “Vivian, listen to them! Everyone can see the truth! I only wanted to help someone today. Was I wrong? Even if my methods weren’t perfect, did you really have to humiliate me in public and throw around the word ‘divorce’?” He grew more confident, his voice rising. “We’re married! If there’s an issue, can’t we discuss it behind closed doors? You had to slap me, scream at me, and demand a divorce in front of all these strangers… What do you think of me? What do you think of our marriage? Is it just a joke to you?” Silas’s accusations, coupled with the murmurs of the crowd, made me look like a hysterical, toxic villain who was single-handedly destroying her own marriage. A few people in the crowd even started live-streaming the scene on their phones. “Look at this, guys! The couple involved in the roadside incident is fighting! The wife just slapped the husband, and now she’s demanding a divorce!” “The poor guy just wanted to help an old lady, and his wife is treating him like trash…” “She looks so arrogant. She’s probably used to getting her way.” The whispers and the annoying electronic chimes from the live broadcasts were incredibly grating.

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1 My mom came back from her trip. She was suddenly incredibly sweet, cooking for me every single day. But in the dead of night, she would always hide in her room, frantically slathering cheap concealer all over her body. Her movements were unnervingly stiff, and stubborn, dark purple splotches kept blooming across her skin, refusing to wash away. She wept as she apologized to me, sobbing that she had caught some bizarre disease that made her hideous, terrified that I would start to hate her. I didn’t pull away. I was the chief orthopedic surgeon at the county hospital. I calmly took her ice-cold hand and injected a full vial of formaldehyde straight into her veins. Tears of deep gratitude welled in her eyes, and she swore she would protect me for the rest of her life. But I didn’t feel a thing. Because she had no idea that just yesterday, the police had called me to the morgue to identify a dismembered body. And on the shattered knee of that corpse was a custom titanium joint I had personally implanted in my mother. … The fluorescent lights in the autopsy room flickered, buzzing with a faint, low hum. I stood before the cold, stainless steel table, staring at the pile of remains. They had been cleaned, but they were still a jigsaw puzzle missing half its pieces. The blood in my veins felt like it had instantly turned to ice, leaving my hands and feet completely numb. Detective Carter stood beside me, holding a freshly printed report. He looked at me with a heavy, sympathetic gaze. “Dr. Brooks, do you need to take a closer look?” There was no need. My eyes were locked onto a fractured section of the femur. Embedded in the bone was a titanium artificial joint, gleaming with a cold, metallic luster under the sterile lights. Etched into the metal was a unique medical serial number: A-7734. I had flown to Switzerland myself last year to beg my former doctoral advisor to expedite its custom fabrication. My mom was dead. She had died on a winding mountain road in the Appalachians, caught in what was described as a horrific multi-car pileup. I signed the release forms, but I couldn’t even remember how I walked out of the station, let alone how I drove myself home. My mind was a chaotic blur of my mother at the airport terminal, holding my hands and fussing over me before she boarded. “Gwenny, sweetie, Mom’s only going to be gone for a few days. I left three hundred homemade chicken pot pies in the chest freezer.” “Just bake some when you get off work. Stop ordering that greasy takeout…” The deadbolt clicked. I pushed the front door open, and the warm light of the entryway greeted me. My entire body froze, the air caught in my throat. The kitchen exhaust fan was humming, carrying the rich, savory aroma of a beef and potato stew. “Gwenny, is that you? Go wash your hands, dinner’s almost ready.” A voice, so familiar it made my chest ache, drifted out from the kitchen. I pinched my thigh as hard as I could, letting the sharp pain force me into a cold state of focus. I tossed my bag onto the entryway bench and pumped a generous glob of hand sanitizer, scrubbing my hands fiercely. I washed them three times until the pungent, chemical sting of the morgue’s formaldehyde was completely gone. Only then did I step into my slippers and slowly, stiffly, force myself toward the dining room. The table was laden with a comforting feast. Glazed pork chops, garlic butter shrimp, roasted green beans, and sautéed spinach. Every single one of my favorites. “You look like you’ve starved yourself since I’ve been gone,” she said. She walked out of the kitchen carrying a heavy, bubbling cast-iron pot, her face lit with a warm, maternal smile. The fine lines around her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips, even the slight tilt of her head when she spoke, they were all carbon copies of my mother. She was wearing the floral lounge dress I bought her last Christmas, down to the slightly frayed collar. But my eyes instantly locked onto her hands. The stew had just been pulled off the raging stove. Steam rose in thick, white plumes, and the liquid inside was still boiling violently. She wasn’t using a towel. She wasn’t wearing oven mitts. She was carrying the blistering metal pot with her bare hands. The scorching iron was pressed directly against her palms. A normal person’s pain receptors would have screamed in agony within a fraction of a second, resulting in severe, blistering burns. Yet her face didn’t twitch. She simply kept smiling warmly at me, setting the pot down gently onto the wooden trivet. “Eat up. Mom let this simmer for three whole hours.” She let go and casually wiped her hands on her apron. I stared intensely at her palms. There was no redness, no blisters, no damage at all. Her skin just looked incredibly pale, like old, fragile paper that hadn’t seen the sun in decades. As the steam from the stew filled the room, another scent began to seep through the rich aroma. It was a very faint, sickeningly sweet smell. I knew that smell all too well. It was the scent of organic matter losing its spark of life. The smell of decay. “Mom, isn’t that too hot?” My voice sounded hollow, scraping against my throat. She blinked, following my gaze down to her hands. In an instant, she yanked her hands behind her back, and her eyes welled with tears. “N-no… I’m just getting old, sweetie. My hands are getting numb. I can’t really feel much of anything anymore.” Her voice trembled with a heavy sob, and her eyes filled with a desperate, pleading urge to please me. Her frame shook slightly. “Gwenny, did I ruin the table? I’ll clean it up right away…” If I hadn’t seen that custom titanium plate with my own eyes in the morgue, I would have believed her. “It’s fine,” I said, pulling out a chair and sitting down. I picked up my spoon and stirred the hot stew. “Mom, did you have fun on your trip?” I kept my head down, not daring to look her in the eyes. “I did. But I missed you terribly.” Seeing that I wasn’t upset, her face instantly brightened through her tears. She reached out, wanting to stroke my hair, but she hesitated midway, awkwardly pulling her hand back and nervously twisting her apron. “The world is beautiful, but nothing beats being home.” “I’m not going anywhere else. I’ll stay right here and cook for you every day.” “How is the stew?” Her eyes shone with hopeful anticipation. I took a bite. The flavor was exceptionally light, the vegetables perfectly tender, the seasoning incredibly subtle. But my mother was from the Midwest. She loved heavy, salty seasonings. She had mild hypertension, and every time I begged her to cut back on the salt, she couldn’t help herself. We used to bicker about it constantly. But today, this stew was seasoned exactly to my strict medical standards. “It’s perfect,” I said, forcing a tight, rigid smile. “Stay as long as you want, Mom. I’ll make sure to keep you company.” 2 It was two in the morning. The walls in this cramped, old apartment were paper-thin, and a soft, rustling sound was drifting from the bedroom next door. I lay awake in the dark, my mind spinning. On one hand, I saw the serial number A-7734 on the cold metal plate. On the other, I saw the woman who had so carefully carried the hot pot to the table. “Ugh…” A heavily muffled gasp of pain echoed from her room, followed by the soft thud of something hitting the wooden floor. I pulled back my blanket, ignored my slippers, and walked barefoot to her door. I gently pressed down on the handle. The door wasn’t latched, leaving a small crack. Under the pale, cold moonlight streaming through the window, I saw her. She wasn’t in bed. She was sitting on the floor in front of her vanity, clutching a bottle of cheap, heavy concealer I had abandoned long ago. She was clumsily dabbing the thick makeup onto her neck and arms. Her movements were awkward, her shoulder joints creaking with a terrible stiffness. Every lift of her arm seemed to require an immense amount of physical effort. The spots she was trying so desperately to hide were dark, purplish-blue patches of postmortem lividity. As the door gave a tiny squeak, her hand jerked. The glass bottle slipped from her fingers and landed with a soft thud on the rug. She spun around, her eyes wide with sheer panic and vulnerability. “Gwenny… don’t look! Please, go back to bed!” She scrambled to grab a nearby throw blanket, wrapping it tightly around herself as she tried to retreat into the shadows beneath the vanity. Large, heavy tears rolled down her cheeks, her voice shaking violently. “Mom caught some weird skin disease… there are ugly spots all over me…” “I look horrible. I don’t want to scare you. Please don’t look at me like this, Gwenny. Go on, get out!” She was trembling, clutching the edges of the blanket for dear life. I took a deep breath, keeping my face entirely blank, and flipped on the overhead light. Under the harsh, white glare of the bulb, she huddled in the corner, shaking. I pulled a pair of sterile medical gloves from my pajama pocket, slipped them on, and knelt down in front of her. “I’m a surgeon, Mom.” “If you’re sick, why didn’t you tell me?” I reached for the blanket. She held onto it with a death grip, weeping. “Gwenny, it’s so ugly… you’ll hate me…” “I’m your daughter. I could never hate you.” My voice was soft, but it carried a quiet, unyielding authority. I gently pried her fingers loose and pulled the blanket down. Up close, the purple patches were clearly not a skin disease. They were the classic signs of pooling blood after circulation had stopped. Her body temperature was incredibly low. Even in the sticky heat of this summer night, her skin felt like solid ice. “Bear with me,” I said. I reached into the small medical kit I had brought from my room and pulled out a syringe. The cylinder was filled with a concentrated embalming fluid I had quietly taken from the pathology lab. “It’s just fatigue from the trip, Mom.” “The mountain air was damp, which triggered some acute arthritis and poor circulation. I’m going to give you a special injection. You’ll feel much better tomorrow.” Her tear-filled eyes looked at me with a pure, almost childlike trust. “Really? After the shot, you won’t think I’m gross?” “Really.” I pushed up her sleeve, wiping her shoulder with an alcohol swab. There was no bounce or elasticity to her muscle. When the needle pierced her skin, it felt like pushing into a cold, dense piece of raw meat. Not a single drop of blood emerged. My expression didn’t change as I slowly pushed the plunger down, injecting the entire dose of preservative. When I pulled the needle out, I held an alcohol pad over the puncture site for a long moment. “All done. Go get some sleep.” I helped her stiff arms up, guiding her toward the bed. She complied like a obedient doll, letting me tuck her in. Her lips parted, as if she wanted to say something, but only a faint whisper escaped. “Gwenny… Mom will protect you. No one is ever going to hurt you again…” I turned off the light and stepped out, leaning my back against the hallway wall. I covered my mouth, tears finally spilling over. 3 The next morning, the autumn sun filtered through the living room blinds. A gentle clinking of pans came from the kitchen. When I finished washing up and walked into the dining room, a fresh breakfast was already waiting on the table. Fluffy biscuits, warm oatmeal, and a small dish of fresh berries. She stood there in her apron, placing a mug of coffee on the table. Today, she had changed into a high-collared silk blouse with the cuffs buttoned tightly around her wrists. She had also sprayed a heavy amount of lavender perfume, trying desperately to mask that subtle, sweet smell of decay. “Morning, Gwenny. Sit down and eat while it’s hot.” She smiled warmly at me, her panic and shame from the night before carefully hidden away. Yet her movements were still painfully mechanical. When she poured some milk, her wrist jerked like a rusty gear, nearly knocking the glass over. “Mom, sit down and eat with me,” I said, pulling out a chair. “I already ate, sweetheart. Your job at the hospital takes a lot out of you, so make sure you finish it all.” She sat down beside me, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her eyes never leaving me for a second. Suddenly, my phone on the table began to vibrate violently. The screen flashed with the name Detective Carter. My heart dropped. I instinctively shot a glance at the woman sitting across from me. Her smile faltered for a fraction of a second, a fleeting look of panic crossing her features before she quickly masked it. I answered and put it on speakerphone. “Dr. Brooks, I’m sorry to call you so early,” Carter’s voice echoed clearly in the quiet room. “But we have some strange developments regarding your mother’s case.” My hand holding the fork froze. “Go ahead.” “The forensics team worked through the night to piece together the remains,” Carter said, his tone turning incredibly grim. “We found out that the crash wasn’t an accident.” “Before the tour bus went over the cliff, there were clear signs of a deliberate ramming and a violent struggle on the road.” “We recovered a discarded backpack in the brush halfway down the mountain. It contained your mother’s ID and a small journal. The last few entries… they’re very disturbing.” I raised my eyes to look at my mother. Her hands had clenched into tight fists, her knuckles a pale, lifeless gray from the sheer pressure. “What did the journal say?” I asked. “It said, ‘That man isn’t dead. The fire ten years ago didn’t kill him. He found us. He saw Gwenny’s social media check-in, and he’s coming for her. I can’t let him ruin her life. I have to stop him.’” Carter’s words felt like a physical blow to my chest. That man. Ten years ago, the abusive, alcoholic monster who had haunted our lives was declared dead, supposedly burned to ash in a warehouse fire. “Dr. Brooks, the man mentioned in the journal might still be alive,” Carter warned. “We suspect he engineered the crash. He is highly dangerous, so please lock your doors and stay vigilant. If you see anyone suspicious, call us immediately.” “I understand. Thank you, Detective.” I hung up. The apartment fell into a heavy, suffocating silence. I looked at my mother. She had her head bowed, her entire body shaking uncontrollably. Tears dripped onto the wooden table, leaving small, dark spots. “Gwenny…” She slowly looked up, her familiar face a mask of desperation and absolute terror. “Don’t be scared. Mom is here.” “Even if I have to tear myself apart, I won’t let him touch a single hair on your head.” 4 Over the next three days, the air in the apartment grew so thick it was hard to breathe. I took a temporary leave of absence from the hospital, staying home to watch over her. My mother’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. The high-collared blouse could no longer hide the dark lividity spreading up her neck. The lavender perfume she sprayed was losing the battle against the heavy, sweet scent of rot. Her movements grew slower with each passing hour. Sometimes when she was chopping vegetables, her knife would sink into the cutting board, and she would freeze for several seconds before she could pull it back out. Yet she stubbornly insisted on doing all the chores. Every single night, she would drag a small wooden stool over and sit directly behind the front door, acting as a silent, unyielding sentry until dawn. I never called her out on it. Instead, I bought several tubes of heavy-duty pain creams and anti-inflammatory ointments. Every night, under the pretense of treating her arthritis, I would gently rub them into her rigid, unfeeling joints. When my fingers touched her cold, stiff skin, neither of us said a word. Only her shallow, dry breathing filled the quiet room. On the evening of the third day, a massive storm rolled in. Thunder rumbled deep within the black clouds, and with the lights off, the living room felt as dark as midnight. My mother was in the kitchen, preparing dinner. I sat on the couch, staring anxiously out at the sheets of rain. Crash! A loud shatter echoed from the kitchen. My heart leaped into my throat, and I ran inside. My mother was standing helplessly by the sink, a shattered glass jar of spices scattered around her feet. Her right hand was frozen in midair, a deep, jagged cut running from the center of her palm all the way down her wrist. “Mom! Don’t move!” I rushed over, grabbing her hand. The gash was deep, the flesh gaping wide. But to my horror, not a single drop of blood leaked out. Deep inside the wound, I could only see pale, bloodless connective tissue and dull, graying muscle fibers. Terrified, she snatched her hand back, frantically shoving it down her sleeve. “I-I’m fine… the glass was just slippery. I didn’t hold it right.” “It doesn’t hurt. Really, it doesn’t hurt at all…” She rambled, her eyes darting away as tears began to fall again. “I told you to rest!” I yelled, my emotions finally snapping. She flinched at my tone, her eyes wide with fear as she shrank into the corner of the kitchen. Just then, my phone on the living room coffee table rang. The loud, shrill sound cut through the noise of the thunderstorm like a knife. I took a deep breath, walked back to the living room, and picked it up. It was Detective Carter. “Dr. Brooks,” Carter’s voice was tight, nearly drowned out by the sound of sirens and heavy rain on his end. “We just reviewed the highway traffic cameras from the night of the crash, and we found something that defies all logic.” “What is it?” “The crash occurred on a remote stretch of road with no witnesses, but we expanded our search radius. On a state route camera a few miles away, we spotted a man walking.” Carter paused, taking a shaky breath. “Dr. Brooks, the man on the camera… his body is covered in severe, full-body burn scars. He looks like a walking charred corpse.” My chest tightened so hard I could barely breathe. “But that’s not the worst of it,” Carter whispered, his voice trembling with sheer terror. “On the footage, the man is walking directly toward your city. And about twenty yards behind him… a woman is following him. Her gait is completely stiff, and her clothes are soaked in blood from the crash.” “We just pulled the security footage from your apartment building from three nights ago…” Carter let out a sharp gasp. “The camera shows that same woman walking into your building. Dr. Brooks… are you absolutely sure you’re alone in that apartment right now?!” Boom! A blinding flash of lightning lit up the living room, followed instantly by a deafening crack of thunder. My phone slipped from my fingers, landing softly on the carpet. I slowly turned around. The woman I called Mom was standing by the kitchen door. She was completely backlit, her face masked in deep, impenetrable shadow. And then, a violent, earth-shattering blow struck our heavy front door. Bam! Bam! Bam! The entire frame rattled. From the other side came a raw, raspy voice that sounded like wind scraping through a burnt, hollow pipe: “Open the door! I know you’re in there! Open the damn door!” The monster was standing right outside.

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1 A midnight emergency call came in, and as a firefighter, I was among the first to arrive on the scene. It turned out to be a couple playing bedroom games. The man was locked in a pair of steel handcuffs, and they had lost the key. Following standard protocol, I asked the young woman if there were any other hazards in the room. She shook her head with a playful, amused smirk. I felt a sudden unease. When I looked down at the bed, the man had his face completely covered with a dark towel. But the inner side of his exposed thigh bore a very distinct tattoo: a black-and-gold butterfly, identical to the one on my husband, a rising actor who was supposedly away on a shoot. I froze. The woman arched an eyebrow, her tone dripping with mock sweetness. “Is something wrong? I’m so sorry to drag you out in the middle of the night. My guy just couldn’t wait. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, you know? We got a little carried away.” I tightened my grip on the hydraulic rescue cutters and sheared through the metal links. So, his coldness was reserved only for me. If that was the case, I was more than happy to set him free. The handcuffs snapped with a sharp metallic crack. I forced my voice to remain entirely professional. “All set. Sir, try to move your wrists and let me know if you feel any discomfort.” The man on the bed gave a muffled, low response. “No.” My heart plummeted into a bottomless pit. Even with a single, garbled word, I recognized that voice instantly. It was Austin, my husband. The woman, Giselle, suddenly stepped between me and the bed, blocking my view. “I’m so sorry, but my husband is a bit of a public figure. He needs his privacy, so no faces. I’m sure you understand.” I turned toward the door. “Understood. The call is resolved. I’ll be leaving now.” Giselle blocked my path, pressing a paper cup into my hand. “It’s freezing outside. Have a cup of water before you go. It’s the least we can do.” “No, thank you.” I looked down to decline, but my eyes caught the diamond ring on her left ring finger. My brain went entirely numb. I knew that ring. I had saved my salary for two years to have it custom-made for our wedding, a completely unique design. A year ago, the famous designer who crafted it passed away, turning that ring into a rare masterpiece worth a fortune, often called the Ring of True Love. Right around that time, my own ring had gone missing. I thought I had lost it during a fire rescue and had been desperate to search the station or call the police. Austin had been unusually gentle that night, telling me it didn’t matter. He said as long as he kept wearing his, our love was proven. His rare warmth had made me believe that despite his cold demeanor, he truly loved me. Now, I realized the sickening truth: he had simply stolen it to give to another woman. While I stood there in shock, Giselle shoved the cup against my lips. “Oh, don’t be polite. Just drink it.” Caught off guard, I swallowed a mouthful. Almost immediately, I realized something was horribly wrong. My vision blurred, my limbs grew heavy, and I collapsed sideways onto their living room sofa, completely blacking out. When I drifted back into a hazy consciousness, the faint sound of rustling sheets and soft whispers echoed from the bedroom. Giselle was giggling. “She’s sleeping right out there on the couch. Isn’t this incredibly thrilling?” Then came Austin’s voice, laced with mild annoyance but heavy with arousal. “Why did you drug her?” “What, you don’t like it?” Giselle purred. “Then why is your heart racing so fast?” My chest tightened painfully. I forced my eyelids open a crack, looking through the gap in the doorway. Austin was pressing Giselle down onto the bed, his face flushed, his eyes half-closed with a passion I had never once seen him show me. “I love it,” Austin groaned. “You’re the only one who can give me what I really want. If Amber hadn’t been decorated for bravery during that major fire when my career was in the gutter, I would never have married her just to salvage my public image.” I began to tremble, fighting the residual fog of the drug with sheer willpower. “But she really is a gullible idiot,” Austin chuckled, a smug arrogance in his voice. “As long as I say I’m too depressed and heartbroken over her miscarriage, she doesn’t dare touch me.” Giselle moved against him, and Austin gasped. “Jealous? Come on, I’ve barely touched her. I can count on one hand the number of times we’ve actually slept together.” A invisible blade seemed to pierce my chest. Our baby. The child I thought I had lost to a tragic, unavoidable miscarriage. Had his own father played a role in ending his life? How could he be so monstrous? A sharp gasp caught in my throat, and I let out a violent cough. The sounds in the bedroom stopped instantly. “Don’t worry, she probably just woke up,” Giselle whispered. Wrapped in a bedsheet, Giselle strolled out of the bedroom, looking down at me with an innocent smile. “You slept like a rock, sweetie. I couldn’t even shake you awake. You must be completely exhausted from your job.” I struggled to my feet, my fists clenching with an overwhelming rage. But before I could swing at her face, my emergency pager began to blare a high-pitched alarm. Without a word, I pushed past her and bolted out of the apartment. Outside, the morning sun was already high in the sky. They had used me as a spectator for their twisted games all night. Biting through the excruciating pain in my chest, I rushed to the scene of the fire. By the time our shift ended and the last flames were extinguished, a text message from Austin popped up on my screen. It was characteristically cold and brief: I’ll be home tonight. Have a hot bath ready for me. I took a deep breath, forcing my hands to stop shaking as I typed back: We need to talk. Sitting in the back of the fire truck, I stared at my phone. The air was warm, but my body felt ice-cold. Our chat background was the only photo we had ever taken together. Scrolling up, his messages were always single words or brief commands, while mine were long paragraphs of worry and care, usually left on read. A younger firefighter patted my shoulder with a grin. “Writing another novel to your mysterious husband, Captain?” In the past, I would have made excuses for him, saying he was just a private, quiet person. But today, the words tasted like ash. He wasn’t quiet. He possessed a wild, burning passion, he had just chosen to give it all to someone else. The young firefighter chuckled. “Just teasing. We all know your guy is just shy. I actually saw him on social media yesterday. He was buying a bunch of luxury men’s items, like high-end massagers and designer leather belts. It’s so sweet that he still spoils you after all these years of marriage.” He showed me his screen, playing a short video of Austin’s shopping vlog. My chest thudded painfully. Those exact luxury items, along with their expensive packaging, had been scattered all over Giselle’s living room floor last night. The truck came to a halt. I leaped down, ignoring the calls of my crew behind me, and walked into my apartment. Standing in the entryway, I stared at the wall for a long time. Directly ahead hung our massive wedding portrait. That was the only thing in this apartment I had chosen. Every other piece of furniture, the cold gray walls, the minimalist decor, had been selected by Austin. It made the space feel like a sterile hotel room. I used to think he just preferred a modern aesthetic. Now, I realized he simply never viewed this place as a home. I sat in the silence for hours until the lock clicked. Austin walked in, ignoring me as usual. He headed straight to the bathroom, poking his head out a moment later. “I thought I told you to have a bath ready.” In the past, even if I had just pulled a seventy-two-hour shift, I would have had his bath drawn, the fridge stocked with his favorite foods, and his clothes laid out neatly. Now, I simply rubbed my temples. “I forgot.” Austin paused, glancing at my dusty uniform. “Fine. I’ll let it slide this time.” A moment later, he walked out of the bathroom, tossing a cheap plastic keychain onto the counter. “Brought you a souvenir from my trip.” I let out a soft, humorless laugh. “Just the one?” Austin blinked, a look of smug satisfaction crossing his face. “Did you watch my vlog again?” “The other stuff was for my staff. My new show is airing soon, and I have to keep my team happy.” He sat down beside me, and after a brief hesitation, he leaned in and pressed a dry kiss against the corner of my mouth. I stiffened. In public, Austin would occasionally put an arm around my shoulder for the cameras. But in private, he detested even holding my hand. The last time he had kissed me was months ago. “A new reality show wants us as guests,” he said casually, though my heart only sank lower. “The producers want to capture our daily life. Especially your work as a decorated firefighter.” Of course. He only touched me when he needed something. I tried to pull away from him, but he kept leaning closer, trying to play the doting husband. I took a deep breath, firmly pushing him back, and turned my face away. “I can’t do the show. Austin, I want a div…” Before I could finish the word, Austin stood up abruptly, his face darkening. “Another shift call? I swear, rescuing stray cats and putting out grease fires is always more important to you than your own husband.” He grabbed his jacket and marched toward the door. “Don’t bother looking for me tonight. You won’t be touching me anytime soon.” The door slammed shut, shaking the walls, leaving the apartment entirely silent. In the past, I would have chased after him, begging for his forgiveness until he finally decided to stop punishing me. But today, I simply sat in the dark. I pulled out my phone, found his agent’s contact, and sent a message: These are the divorce papers. Have him sign them. Austin had long since muted my notifications, but his agent always replied instantly. I walked through the apartment, realizing I had almost nothing of my own to pack. Finally, I stepped into the small room we had set aside as a nursery. It was the only room in the house that had any warmth, decorated during my brief pregnancy. After sitting there for a while, I grabbed my gear, threw our wedding portrait into the trash chute, and moved into the fire station barracks. Two days later, my Chief called me into his office and pushed a transfer file across the desk. “The position in the capital we talked about. I want you to seriously consider it.” Shortly after I left his office, Austin’s agent called me, his voice frantic. “Amber, please. You know how Austin is. He doesn’t say much, but he cares about you. He actually has a private social media account where he documents your entire relationship. Just look at it, please.” Curious, I hung up and opened the link he had sent. The moment the page loaded, my hands began to shake. The very first photo was taken on our bed. A woman was lying there, wearing my spare firefighter uniform. It wasn’t me. I remembered when that uniform had gone missing. I had searched everywhere, eventually receiving a disciplinary write-up and a six-month reassignment to a remote station as punishment. With trembling fingers, I scrolled down. Every post was a beautiful landscape, accompanied by sweet, loving captions. In our seven years of marriage, we had never taken a single vacation together. I kept scrolling, each image a fresh knife to my chest. On our second anniversary, he was at a beach resort with Giselle. He had told me he was on set, claiming he didn’t even have a signal to take my calls. On my last birthday, he was at a mountain cabin bonfire with Giselle. He had texted me that the mountains had no reception, failing to send even a simple birthday wish. And then there was New Year’s Eve, the day after my miscarriage. I had sat alone in our empty apartment, finally letting myself scream and cry. I had forced myself to stay strong at the hospital because I thought he was grieving just as deeply as I was. But the photo on his private account showed him and Giselle in a luxury hotel room that very night, clinking champagne glasses. I leaned against the wall, sliding down to the cold floor of the barracks, my entire body shaking with violent, silent sobs. Every single photograph was a venomous mockery of my grief. I called his agent back. “You’ve changed your mind, right?” the agent asked, sounding relieved. “I haven’t shown him the papers yet.” “Put him on the phone,” I said, my voice hoarse and raw. After a brief hesitation, Austin’s voice came through the line. “I knew you’d come to your senses. This reality show is going to be great for your career too…” “Sign the papers, Austin,” I cut him off, speaking slowly and deliberately. “I am completely done with you.” “What are you—” I hung up, refusing to listen to another word of his voice. An instant later, the station alarm blared. “We have a structure fire! Move, move, move!” I bolted to my feet, throwing on my turnout gear. The fire engine sped through the streets, sirens wailing. When we arrived, my heart stopped. It was Giselle’s apartment building. I took a deep breath, tightening my grip on my halogen tool. “Let’s go,” I barked to my crew. The smoke was thick and black. We navigated the burning hallway, eventually finding Giselle collapsed near a bedroom doorway. I hoisted her onto my shoulders and carried her down the smoke-filled stairwell, bursting out into the fresh air. While the crew worked to contain the flames, the safety officer reported the cause of the fire. “It started in the bedroom. A basket of adult toys left on cheap chargers overheated and ignited the mattress.” I closed my eyes. Suddenly, Giselle began to scream hysterically, holding onto a paramedic. “My baby! My baby is still in there!” The crowd gasped. A sleek sports car suddenly blew past the police barricade, screeching to a halt. Austin scrambled out of the driver’s seat, completely frantic. He threw himself by Giselle’s side, weeping and clutching her hand with a raw agony he had never shown on any stage. I pulled my heavy visor down, blocking out the sight. My teammate turned to me. “Captain, did she say there’s a child inside? The fire is spreading fast.” “If there’s even a slight chance, we don’t leave them behind,” I said. “Let’s move.” We charged back into the burning building. The heat was immense, searing my skin even through my heavy gear, but we searched every room. My radio crackled with the incident commander’s voice: “Amber, the victim says the child is trapped under the coffee table.” The coffee table? I crawled through the thick smoke to the living room, reaching under the table. My hand wrapped around something soft. It was a plush stuffed bear. “I have the target. It’s just a stuffed animal,” I reported into my radio. Giselle’s voice shrieked through the channel: “That is our baby!” My teammate swore over the comms. “Are you kidding me?!” Before we could retreat, a massive backdraft tore through the apartment. A deafening explosion ripped through the walls, the force of the blast throwing us straight through the third-story window. I slammed onto the safety cushion below, my vision fading fast. Through my cracked visor, I saw Austin running toward me. But he didn’t look at my face. He reached down, violently prying the scorched stuffed bear from my burned, blistered fingers, and ran back to comfort a weeping Giselle. “It’s okay, sweetie! I have our baby!” I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me. When I finally woke up in the hospital, the muffled voice of a police officer drifted from the hallway. “Because of your false emergency report, a firefighter is currently in critical condition. You are both under investigation.” Giselle’s voice was defiant. “After my miscarriage, my husband and I treated that bear as our child. Is it a crime to love our baby?” Then came Austin’s voice. “We were legally married abroad. She signed my medical consent forms as my wife. It was a stressful situation, officer.” My mind reeled. Seven years ago, on the day we were supposed to get our marriage license, an emergency call had pulled me away. Austin had gone alone, bringing back two marriage certificates that he kept locked in his desk, claiming they were safe. Our marriage was a lie. It had been fake from the very beginning. I drifted back into unconsciousness. When I opened my eyes again, Austin was sitting by my bed, his brow furrowed. “You’re finally awake. You’ve been out for three days.” An elderly patient in the neighboring bed smiled. “Your husband is so sweet, dear. He’s been here every day, watching over you.” Austin didn’t correct her, reaching out to adjust my pillows. I turned my head away, avoiding his touch. His hand froze in midair. The doctor walked in, checking my vitals and asking how I felt. “How is my teammate?” I managed to ask, my throat burning. “He’s stable,” the doctor said, “but he has a long road of physical therapy ahead.” Austin frowned, his tone annoyed. “You should worry about yourself first, Amber. Stop focusing on people who don’t matter.” “You’re right,” I whispered, my voice flat. “Because of people who don’t matter, my friend almost lost his life.” Austin stared at me, speechless. Over the next few days, he came to the hospital every afternoon. But no matter what he said, I simply closed my eyes and ignored him. On the day of my release, I snatched my bag from his hand. He finally snapped, his frustration boiling over. “I made one thoughtless comment, and you’ve been giving me the cold shoulder for days? And what is this nonsense about divorce papers? Just because of some stupid argument?” “You’ve got it wrong,” I said coldly. Before he could respond, his phone rang. He glanced at the screen, then looked back at me, trying to appear charming. “Go home and wait for me, okay? I’ll make it up to you tonight. I promise.” He gave me a wink and rushed out to answer his call. I carried my bag down to the lobby and got into my Chief’s waiting car. “Have you sorted things out with your family about the promotion to the capital?” the Chief asked gently. I pulled out an envelope containing my savings card and handed it to him. “I don’t have a family anymore.” “Please give this to my teammate’s wife to help cover his physical therapy.” I pulled out my phone and opened a chat with a investigative journalist who had been trying to interview me for months. I attached a compressed folder. Inside was a screen recording of Austin’s private account, the station’s call logs, and the complete, unedited footage from my helmet camera on the night of the lock assist. Firefighters’ body cams record everything. It captured the entire sequence: Giselle drugging me, their conversations in the bedroom, and their confessions in the hospital corridor. As the car pulled into the airport terminal, my finger pressed send. By the time my flight took off, the internet was already beginning to burn.

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After receiving the seventy-eighth explicit photo from my husband’s mistress, I finally snapped. I uploaded every single picture to my social media accounts. His little lover cried her eyes out, screaming to anyone who would listen that her life was ruined. Less than a minute later, Vincent called me. His tone was absolute ice. “Delete them.” I refused. Ten minutes later, I was forcibly logged out of all my accounts. The posts were deleted, my profiles were deactivated, and the trending hashtags were wiped clean. It took Vincent Cross less than ten minutes to erase the entire scandal. Three days later, he stood in front of me with divorce papers in hand. His voice was soft, carrying a veiled threat. “It is just a PR stunt to coax the girl. Be a good wife, Diana. Play along.” I nodded and signed my name. As soon as he left, I called the clinic. I changed my upcoming prenatal checkup to a clinical abortion. He probably never believed that I could actually walk away from being Mrs. Cross. 1 Half an hour after signing the divorce papers, I was lying on an operating table. My phone rang shrilly just as the procedure finished. The anesthesia was wearing off. A cold, dense layer of sweat broke out across my forehead from the sharp cramps. I bit my lip against the pain and answered the call. Vincent’s voice came through, completely devoid of warmth. “Diana, pack up all your things and get out.” “Okay.” I agreed without a second thought. We had been married for five years. The girls he kept on the side rotated like a revolving door. To ensure I did not interfere with his latest romance, he had his assistant rent a house for me out in the Chicago suburbs. He had laid down the ground rules on day one. “If I want to see you, I will call you. My assistant will wire your living expenses. Unless I give you permission, you are not allowed to show your face in my presence.” Yet, a year ago, he was the one kneeling on the floor, begging me to come back. He looked at me with such raw sincerity, swearing he was done playing the field. He promised we would build a real life together. Like a fool, I cried tears of joy and believed every single word. So I moved back into our marital home. A week later, a young model tripped on her gown during a runway show. She fell right into his line of sight, looking exactly like a startled, helpless fawn. I saw the way he looked at her. My heart screamed in agonizing betrayal, but I had to admit the truth. He was captivated all over again. That very night, headlines of him walking that model into a luxury hotel plastered the internet. Once again, I became the laughingstock of our social circle. This time, the girl seemed to have a real hold on him. A whole year passed, and Vincent still had not grown tired of her. Throughout that year, I received seventy-eight provocative photos and videos, along with countless harassing texts. Every single message dripped with her desperate ambition to replace me. Then came today. Three hours ago. He placed the divorce papers on the table for the very first time. “It is just for show. Be good. Do not make me angry.” I fought back my tears, staring at him with red, swollen eyes. I did not want to sign. No matter how wild his previous affairs had gotten, he had never brought out legal documents. But this time, he slowly stroked my hair, treating me like a pet he was trying to pacify. I knew exactly what happened when Vincent got angry. Just like today, all it took was a snap of his fingers to fix every single problem for Sienna. So I signed the papers and left him with a single word. “Okay.” When I finally dragged myself back to the house, Vincent and Sienna were nowhere to be found. Martha, our housekeeper, was busy in the kitchen. She saw me and her face lit up. “Ma’am! How was the prenatal checkup?” My face was pale as a sheet. I slowly shook my head. I had originally planned to tell Vincent about the baby tonight. But plans rarely survive reality. In the span of a few days, I lost my marriage, and I lost my child. “I ended it,” I said softly. Martha stared at me in absolute shock as I continued. “If this baby was born into this house, they would never know what happiness looks like.” Before Martha could process my words, the front door swung open. Sienna walked in, her arms loaded with luxury shopping bags. Behind her, a dozen bodyguards carried even more boxes of designer clothes and jewelry. She did not look surprised to see me. She made herself comfortable on my chaise lounge, flashing a sugary, mocking smile. “Honestly, I do not get it. Vincent treats you like garbage. Why are you still clinging to this house?” “Yesterday, I told him I was craving those artisan macarons from that boutique downtown. He did not even hesitate. He walked three miles in a blizzard just to get them for me.” She tilted her head. “Has he ever done anything like that for you?” I fell completely silent. Yesterday was the anniversary of my father’s death. When I finally managed to reach Vincent through his assistant, I could hear the howling winter wind through the receiver. But I also heard him say, very clearly, that he had no time for me. It turned out he was busy fetching pastries for Sienna. A wave of helplessness washed over me. I gripped the hem of my shirt tightly. There was a time when Vincent was the person who loved me most in this entire world, second only to my parents. He was the son of my family’s chauffeur. He had no status, no wealth, and he never quite fit in with the rich kids in our neighborhood. Back then, the other children loved to bully him. But he never cared about their taunts. He used to look at me and say, “The only person whose opinion matters to me is Diana.” When I ran a high fever as a kid, he stayed awake all night, sitting on the floor right beside my bed. When a minor earthquake hit our city, he threw himself over me. Falling debris cut his head wide open, but he swallowed the pain without making a single sound. He just kept whispering that I was going to be safe. We had a massive argument in college. He bought my favorite street food, wrote a ten-page apology letter by hand, and stood outside my dorm room in the freezing snow for an entire night just to prove his loyalty. The day we graduated was the day we got married. At the wedding, my father placed my hand in his, his voice stern. “If I ever catch wind that your heart has strayed, I will take her away without a second thought. My daughter will never have to beg for love.” Vincent had clenched his hand into a fist, swearing on his life that his heart belonged only to me. He looked into my eyes and promised, “I am going to make you the happiest woman in the world. I will never let sadness touch your life.” From high school sweethearts to a married couple, we were the envy of everyone who knew us. A year into our marriage, my father passed away. Vincent took over the entire company. He worked himself to the bone, collapsing from exhaustion and ending up in the hospital multiple times. My heart broke for him. I had grown up spoiled, never stepping foot in a kitchen, but I learned how to cook just so he could come home to a warm meal. He used to bring me a bouquet of yellow roses every single day after work. He told me they were the ultimate symbol of devotion. Every night, we would sit on the patio and look at the stars. He would hold me until we both fell asleep. I just could not figure out when everything started to rot. 2 I suppose it started when he finally shed the title of “the chauffeur’s son.” Once he became the untouchable CEO, his schedule filled up with endless networking dinners and exclusive parties. He started coming home smelling of cheap, cloying perfume. When I looked at him with questioning eyes, he would just laugh it off. “It is just the scent of some client I had to entertain. Do not overthink it, honey.” I believed him. He used flimsy excuses to slowly chip away at my unconditional trust. Once his grip on the company was absolute, he stopped pretending altogether. And I was left stranded in the illusion of love he had woven around me. I was completely trapped. The first time I caught him cheating was on his birthday. I had prepared a massive surprise party on a yacht. The guests waited until they were exhausted, but the guest of honor never showed up. Desperate, I had his location tracked. The signal showed he was working overtime at the office. All the way there, I silently scolded him for pushing himself too hard. I pushed open the heavy oak doors of his executive suite, holding a cake I had baked myself. But his desk was cluttered with the remains of a candlelit dinner. Lingerie was scattered across the expensive carpet. The most ridiculous part was the two bodyguards standing right outside his private lounge door. When I kicked the door open, Vincent did not even look panicked. He gently pulled the blanket over the naked woman beneath him to protect her modesty, then casually grabbed a towel for his own waist. He looked up at me. His eyes were as cold as a glacier. “Shut the door. You might not care about your dignity, but she cares about hers.” His icy composure made me feel like an absolute clown. I completely lost my mind. I lunged forward, desperate to drag the homewrecker out of that bed. Before I could even reach her, one of Vincent’s bodyguards stepped in and slapped me across the face so hard the room spun. In the chaotic blur, I finally got a good look at the woman hiding under the sheets. It was the young nurse who used to change his IV bags when he was hospitalized for exhaustion. She was crying fake, terrified tears. “Please do not misunderstand! I just came to drop off some liver supplements for Mr. Cross. I never wanted to ruin your marriage.” “We just had a little wine, and things got out of hand…” Vincent pressed his lips into a tight line, glaring at me with dark, threatening eyes. “Diana, I am warning you. Do not lay a finger on her.” That was when I realized he had been stepping out on me for a long, long time. Those romantic bouquets of roses were nothing more than a guilty afterthought. A cheap peace offering to the wife waiting at home while he partied with other women. After that day, the floodgates opened. The women draped over his arm changed with every corporate dinner. He stopped caring about my feelings. He stopped caring about my life. It seemed like the only things that made him feel alive were ruthless business deals and the bodies of different women. I slowly grew numb to the constant humiliation. Until one day, I completely stopped waiting for him to come home. I tuned out Sienna’s arrogant taunts. I walked upstairs, packed my passport and some essential documents, and headed back down. When I reached the living room, Sienna was digging through the purse I had left on the sofa. My breath hitched. I rushed forward and snatched the bag right out of her hands. Sienna rolled her eyes and held up her empty hands. “There is nothing valuable in there anyway. What are you so nervous about?” I subtly felt the bottom lining of the bag, making sure my medical documents were still there. I let out a quiet breath of relief. Sienna stepped closer to me, a nasty, knowing smile spreading across her face. “You are pregnant, aren’t you?” “I saw the prenatal vitamins in your bag.” “You know Vincent absolutely despises children, right? If he finds out you are carrying his kid, he will drag you to a clinic himself.” “Take my advice. Get rid of it before he finds out, or else…” Right at that moment, the front door opened. Vincent walked in. He shot me a casual glance. “Did you drop something?” I forced a polite smile and tucked my passport deeper into the bag. “Nothing important.” Vincent stared at me for a long second. As I turned to leave, he pulled out two plastic cards and held them out to me. “Here is a keycard to the presidential suite at the Grand Plaza. Stay there for now.” “The other is a bank card with ten million dollars. Spend it however you like.” He cleared his throat slightly. “Yesterday… I really was busy.” Busy? Busy buying macarons for his mistress? In that exact moment, looking at the man in front of me made my stomach churn with pure disgust. I gave him a warm, gentle smile. Then, I raised my hand and slapped him directly across the face. I shook out my stinging palm, my smile never fading. “You are absolutely disgusting, Vincent.” “You were nothing but a chauffeur’s kid. A stroke of luck turned you into a billionaire, and suddenly you forget who begged my family for help when you had nothing?” I had never spoken to him with such cruel precision before. Vincent did not strike back, but his expression instantly darkened into a storm. Before he could even react, Sienna grabbed a heavy crystal ashtray from the coffee table and slammed it directly into the side of my head. Warm blood immediately spilled down my temple. A violent wave of dizziness hit me. The bright living room lights suddenly felt blinding, making the floor tilt beneath my feet. Martha gasped and rushed forward to catch me before I collapsed. She turned to Vincent in a total panic. “Sir! Stop this! You have no idea that she just…” 3 I cut Martha off before she could finish her sentence. “Martha, I am fine.” The man standing in front of me did not flinch. He just gave the housekeeper a cold, dismissive look. His voice was like shards of ice. “Martha, do not forget who signs your paychecks.” “Since she has already signed the divorce papers, she is no longer the lady of this house.” Martha looked at me with frantic, heartbroken eyes. I just shook my head slightly. There was no point in telling him anything now. He was no longer the boy who used to lean in close, smiling just to hear me speak. Vincent immediately reached out and gently took Sienna’s trembling hands. “Did you hurt your hand swinging that?” Sienna sniffled, shaking her head pitifully. “No… I just could not stand watching her disrespect you…” The harsh overhead lights caught the absolute tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her. “You are an idiot. It does not matter if she disrespects me, but I will not let you suffer any grievances.” Hearing his validation, Sienna’s posture instantly shifted into smug triumph. “She slapped you. I want to pay her back ten times over.” She waited for his permission. He remained silent. Seeing his hesitation, Sienna stood on her tiptoes, pressing her chest against his arm as she whispered sweetly in his ear. “You are the great Vincent Cross. Word gets out that your ex-wife slapped you and got away with it, you will be a laughingstock.” A satisfied smirk finally broke through Vincent’s cold exterior. He wrapped an arm tightly around her waist and kissed her lips. “Alright. Whatever you want.” I stumbled backward, staring at the two of them in absolute horror. Two bodyguards immediately stepped forward, shoved Martha out of the way, and pinned my arms behind my back. I thrashed against their grip. “Vincent! You cannot do this!” Sienna just sneered. She stepped up and delivered a brutal, stinging slap across my cheek. At the exact same time, a sharp, agonizing cramp ripped through my abdomen. My head throbbed violently. Cold sweat drenched my back. By the time the tenth slap landed, I was thrown to the floor like a broken doll. Tears slid down my swollen cheeks, disappearing into my tangled hair. I bit down on the inside of my cheek, using every ounce of my willpower to swallow my sobs. I refused to let them hear me cry. He did not look at me even once as he led Sienna up the stairs. Just before they disappeared, I heard his low, magnetic voice echoing in the hallway. “Wear that black lace set tonight.” Sienna giggled, leaning into his chest, shooting me one last victorious glare from the top of the stairs. The bedroom door clicked shut. Martha rushed over and helped me up from the floor. But the dull, aching pain in my stomach did not fade. It only grew sharper and more terrifying. I have no idea how long I was unconscious. When I finally opened my eyes, the first thing I saw was Vincent sitting by my hospital bed. His eyes were completely devoid of warmth. His voice lacked any real emotion. “Martha told me you fainted. If your body is this weak, stop causing unnecessary drama. Just behave, and I will not have to worry.” His lazy, arrogant tone was casual, yet every word felt like a knife twisting in my chest. “Diana, look at the tax bracket I am in now. What man at my level does not mess around? Expecting me to be completely monogamous for the rest of my life is just unreasonable.” “I cannot do it. Whether it is a private party or a business deal, people are constantly throwing women at me.” “I already told you, the divorce is just for show. Just be good. Give me some time. Once I get bored of playing around, I will come back to you. We will have kids, and everything will be better than before.” “But only after I have had my fill out here.” He paused, finally lifting his heavy eyelids to look at me. The moment our eyes met, my heart went entirely dead. I searched his face for a single shred of guilt. There was none. He was absolutely certain I would back down, just like I always did. “You really need to learn how to be obedient, Diana.” Obedient? The old Vincent never wanted me to be obedient. He used to love my stubborn streak. He used to say that obedient girls had no spine, no fire. I looked down at the wedding ring still sitting on my finger. My chest felt like it was being pierced by a thousand suffocating needles. After a long, suffocating silence, my voice came out hoarse and cracked. “I understand.” “The purse I left on the sofa back at the house… there is something inside that Sienna really wants. She will be thrilled when she sees it.” My apparent surrender brought a genuine, relieved smile to Vincent’s face. “Is it that pigeon-blood ruby set from the auction last month? Diana, if you had just swallowed your pride earlier, things would never have gotten this ugly.” No. It is the medical receipt for my clinical abortion and the post-op care instructions. I answered his question silently in my head. We would never have children again. Vincent took my silence as a submissive agreement. He left the hospital room looking completely satisfied. An hour later, I checked myself out of the hospital and moved into the presidential suite he had arranged for me. I spent the next two weeks meeting with brokers, liquidating every single piece of jewelry he had ever given me, and funneling the cash into an offshore trust fund. The day the final wire transfer cleared, I bought a one-way ticket out of Chicago. As I dragged my suitcase toward the door, the bodyguards stationed outside asked where I was going. I ignored the question. They asked how long I would be gone. I thought about it for a second. “A couple of days.” Those couple of days turned into weeks. I never went back. A full month passed. The first people to realize I had vanished into thin air were those two bodyguards. Trembling with fear, they dialed Vincent’s number to report that I was missing. 4 One second. Two seconds. Three seconds. The call abruptly disconnected with the sound of heavy breathing. At that exact moment, Vincent had Sienna pinned against the massive floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. He had not heard a single word the bodyguards said. His kisses rained down on her like a violent storm, his hands aggressively pushing her clothes to the floor. Just as things were about to cross the line, Sienna pushed against his burning chest. “Wait.” Vincent grabbed her chin, forcing her glossy, hazy eyes to meet his. “What is it?” Sienna’s cheeks flushed crimson. Like a magic trick, she pulled a crumpled ultrasound report from her pocket. Her voice trembled with excitement. “You cannot have me tonight, Vincent. I am pregnant.” The temperature in the room plummeted instantly. The raging fire of lust vanished as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. Vincent let go of her jaw, his face entirely blank. He slowly, methodically picked up his silk robe and tied it around his waist. He looked at the stunned woman standing in front of him. A cold sneer echoed in his mind. This woman had crossed the line. Just like every other stupid girl he had entertained, she overestimated her worth. He gave a noncommittal grunt, walked over to the leather sofa, pulled a cigarette from his case, and lit it. He did not say another word. Just a grunt? Sienna stood there, completely bewildered. This was not how the script was supposed to go. In her fantasy, Vincent was supposed to scoop her into his arms, kissing her deeply, and promising to take responsibility. Then, she would smoothly transition into becoming the new Mrs. Cross. She would have maids waiting on her hand and foot, living a life of endless, disgusting luxury. But instead, the man just gave a dismissive grunt and lit a cigarette. The brutal reality check made her lose control of her emotions. “What does that mean? Do you not want this baby? When we were in bed, you swore I was the only woman you ever wanted to have kids with!” Vincent’s voice dropped to a lethal register. Every trace of desire was gone. “You actually believe the garbage men say when they are trying to get laid?” “Sienna, I thought you were different. I thought you knew your place. But it turns out you are just as delusional as the rest of them.” Sienna stumbled backward, convinced she was having a nightmare. “What…” Vincent slowly exhaled a thick cloud of white smoke. “Go to a clinic tomorrow and get rid of it. If you do that, I will overlook your little stunt tonight.” “If you insist on having this kid, fine. I do not care.” “I will pay child support every month. But the amount is entirely up to me. Maybe it will be a million. Maybe a hundred thousand. Maybe ten thousand. Hell, maybe I will just send a hundred bucks. If you want to take me to family court, be my guest. I will hire the most ruthless legal team in the country.” “Your chances of winning are less than ten percent.” His voice was quiet, but every word systematically butchered the grand future she had mapped out in her head. After rapidly calculating her options, Sienna realized she was trapped. She lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and gave a humiliated nod. Vincent finally smiled, though the warmth never reached his eyes. Women like her were so easy to manage. No leverage, no backbone. They lived entirely on the scraps of pity and cash men threw their way, ready to compromise their entire existence for a payout. Suddenly, he remembered what Diana had said to him in the hospital room. He reached into the designer purse sitting on the side table, expecting to find the velvet box containing the pigeon-blood ruby set. He figured he could use it to pacify Sienna. His fingers did not brush against velvet. They touched a stack of folded papers. Curious, he pulled them out and unfolded them under the dim light. The bold, black letters on the medical report screamed at him, burning into his retinas. Diana Cross. Patient voluntarily terminated pregnancy. He froze. His muscles locked up. His hands began to ache from gripping the paper so tightly, but his brain completely short-circuited. Voluntarily terminated pregnancy?

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1 To make Julia feel secure, I developed the habit of reporting every single detail of my life to her. A random flower blooming on the sidewalk, a terrible cup of coffee, the sunset on my way home from work. Even if she just crossed my mind for a split second, I would text her. Her replies were always short and dismissive, but she always replied. So, for the past six months, I survived the grueling process of planning our wedding entirely on those cold but consistent messages. I booked the venue, picked out my tuxedo, and handled the caterers all by myself. Until five days before the wedding. I found an AI program running on her laptop. It was designed to categorize every text I sent, extract keywords, and generate the most generic, flawless, dismissive response possible. If I texted that I missed her, it replied, “Yeah.” If I vented about a bad day, it replied, “Got it.” If we argued, it replied, “Stop overreacting.” It turned out that for the past half-year, Julia was never the one responding to me. And in the chat window right next to mine, her messages with another man were densely packed. From “good morning” to “good night.” From debating what to eat for lunch, to planning a future beach trip together. I finally understood. Julia’s love was never silent. It was overwhelming and loud. It just never belonged to me. And I finally made the decision to walk away from this one-sided waiting game. … When Julia finally got home, it was past ten at night. She pushed the door open, slipping off her heels. “Why are you still up?” I sat on the living room sofa, staring at her. “I was waiting for you.” She frowned. “If you have something to say, just text me. Why do you have to wait up?” I looked at her. “Julia, do you think I talk too much?” She paused, kicking her shoes onto the rack. “Why are you asking this out of nowhere?” “Just tell me the truth.” She tossed her coat over the back of a dining chair, a flash of irritation crossing her face. “Sometimes, yes.” I nodded. “Like when?” “Like when I am at work, and you send me paragraphs of pointless garbage.” “For example?” “For example, today at noon. You texted me that a new bakery opened downstairs and asked if I wanted to go this weekend. Then in the afternoon, you said you wanted to change the wedding centerpieces to white lisianthus. And tonight, you texted me that a streetlight was broken and you were scared walking alone.” She scoffed, a mocking smile on her lips. “Nathan, have you ever noticed that you literally have to tell me every single thing that happens to you?” I stared at her. “Isn’t that what people in love do?” “But I genuinely do not have the energy for it.” She sat down across from me, her tone softening slightly, as if she were lecturing a child. “I am exhausted from work every day. When I get home, I still have to manage your emotions. Can you please just grow up?” Grow up. For the past five years, that was her favorite thing to say to me. I wanted to celebrate our anniversaries. She told me to grow up and stop caring about pointless rituals. I wanted her to come with me to try on my tuxedo. She told me to grow up because all suits look exactly the same. I wanted to vent to her about the stress at work. She told me to grow up because everyone hates their job. But today, I saw her chat history with Liam. The logs were so endlessly long that it took me all afternoon just to scroll back six months. It showed a version of Julia that was entirely foreign to me. She answered his every call. She was attentive, accommodating, and sometimes so hopelessly childish it was jarring. When Liam complained that the grapes he bought were too sour, she spent thirty minutes sending voice notes, gently coaxing him out of his bad mood. I looked at Julia, unable to hold the question back any longer. “Then why doesn’t Liam have to grow up?” Julia’s brow instantly furrowed into a harsh knot. “Nathan, did you wait up for me just to pick a fight?” Turning the blame back on me. It was her signature move. Every single time Liam’s name was brought up, the argument always ended with her interrogating me, making me feel like I was being unreasonable and immature. But this time, I did not back down. “Fine. Let’s not talk about Liam.” I locked eyes with her, enunciating every word. “If you think I talk too much, you could have just told me. Why did you use an AI program to fake your replies?” Julia’s face finally dropped. The irritation in her eyes was suddenly tainted with genuine guilt. “How do you know about that? You went through my laptop without asking?” I did not say a word. I just kept staring at her. After a long silence, she let out an exasperated sigh, as if conceding defeat. “You are always complaining that I only code custom gifts for Liam and never for you. That AI script was supposed to be your gift.” I almost laughed. Julia was a genius software engineer, widely known in the industry. For Liam’s birthday, she coded a custom website just for him. When you clicked on it, digital snow fell across the screen, fireworks exploded, and a message flashed in the center: “Liam, stay happy forever. I will always be right here with you.” When Liam had insomnia, she developed a sleep-aid app for him. It recommended white noise based on his mood and sent him a push notification to drink warm water at two in the morning. When Liam was bored at work, she designed a mini-game. The little pixel characters would follow him around cheering, “You are the best, Liam!” But when it came to me. My gift was an automated script designed to ignore my existence. 2 I could not even find the energy to argue with her anymore. I just turned around and went to the bedroom. The next morning was my day off, so I slept in a bit. Before I even opened my eyes, the loud, unfiltered sound of laughter drifting from the living room woke me up. I pushed the bedroom door open and saw Julia standing by the entryway, kicking off her sneakers. Her hair was damp with sweat, her athletic jacket was unzipped, and she was carrying two plastic takeout bags. Liam was standing right behind her. His cheeks were flushed red, and he was laughing. “I seriously thought my legs were going to give out today.” Julia looked at him, her eyes curving into a warm smile. “That is what you get for staying up late gaming again. I’ll cut a mile off your run tomorrow.” During our second year of dating, I asked if we could start taking evening walks around the neighborhood after dinner. She said she did not have time. I brought it up a few more times over the years. She always told me that work was draining enough, and she just wanted absolute silence when she got home. But for the past three years, she woke up an hour early every single morning to go jogging with Liam. Rain or shine. She never missed a day. Seeing me standing in the hallway, Julia’s smile faltered. “You are up?” I did not say anything. She held up the takeout bags. “I brought breakfast. You want some?” I did not even need to look inside to know what she bought. Shrimp dumplings and seafood congee. Liam’s absolute favorite breakfast. And the one thing that would send me into anaphylactic shock. The first time I ended up in the ER with a severe allergic reaction, Julia sat by my hospital bed and solemnly typed my seafood allergy into her phone’s notes app. But the next time she brought breakfast home, it was seafood congee and shrimp dumplings again. Because Liam loved seafood. It was a memory etched into her bones after knowing him for twenty years. A heavy, suffocating wave of exhaustion washed over me. “Julia.” She looked up. “Why can you never remember that I am allergic to seafood?” The casual smile on Julia’s face froze completely. Liam immediately stepped in, sticking his tongue out playfully as he looked at me. “Oh man, Nathan, this is totally my fault. I kept rushing Julia to buy from this specific spot, so she completely forgot to ask what you wanted.” “It won’t happen next time, right?” Julia quickly nodded, taking the out. “Yeah. I will grab you something else next time.” Always next time. But ever since they started their morning runs, there had never been a “next time” where she brought home a breakfast I could actually eat. I did not say another word. Liam was already walking toward our bathroom like he owned the place. “Julia, I am gonna go grab a shower real quick. I am sweating like a pig.” “Go ahead. I put out fresh towels. In the usual spot.” The usual spot. That meant the second shelf of the bathroom cabinet. A blue towel, citrus body wash, and a bottle of the exact lotion Liam liked. Those items sat there permanently. Julia literally never did a single chore in our apartment. If we ran out of toilet paper, three days would pass before she even noticed. But when it came to Liam’s toiletries, she restocked them with military precision. This was supposed to be my home. But standing there in the living room, I felt like an unwanted intruder intruding on their domestic life. My chest felt agonizingly tight. I went back into the bedroom, changed my clothes, grabbed my bag, and headed for the door. Julia finally looked up from the table. “Where are you going?” “I have errands.” She didn’t ask any further. She just went back to carefully arranging Liam’s chopsticks. The second I stepped outside, the cold wind hit my face, and I felt like I could finally breathe again. I had a lot to do today. I needed to return the tuxedo and cancel the venue. As soon as I pushed the door open at the bridal boutique, the consultant rushed over with a bright smile. “Mr. Hayes! Did you bring your fiancée this time?” “We have the two styles you were debating last week all prepped. We are just waiting for the bride to give the final verdict!” She suddenly stopped talking when she realized I was completely alone. Her smile faltered. I gave her a polite, indifferent smile. “It is just me today.” “I am not doing a fitting. I am here to cancel the order.” The consultant looked incredibly uncomfortable, but she did not press the issue. After all, it is not exactly normal for a groom to come in for six separate fittings without the bride showing up a single time. The first few times, she tried to smooth things over with a sympathetic laugh. “Oh, your fiancée must be incredibly busy at work!” By the sixth fitting, she stopped bringing Julia up entirely. She just quietly helped me adjust my collar and smooth out the wrinkles in the fabric. After processing the cancellation, she handed me the receipt. She looked at me, her eyes full of quiet sincerity. “Mr. Hayes, you are a very kind and handsome man. I know you will find someone who truly cherishes you.” I was stunned for a second, but I smiled and thanked her. As I walked out of the boutique, my eyes burned. Even a complete stranger who had never met Julia could clearly see that she was not right for me. Yet it took me five excruciating years to finally open my eyes. By the time I finished canceling the venue, the photographer, and the florist, the sun was already setting. My phone buzzed. It was Julia’s mother. “Nathan, honey, come over for dinner tonight.” She paused, then added with a cheerful laugh, “Julia and Liam are already here. We are just waiting for you!” 3 Julia’s mother loved hosting. She threw dinner parties multiple times a month, inviting every relative and friend she could get a hold of. And every single time, Liam was sitting at the table. As for me, I was usually only invited as a superficial afterthought at the end of the month. When I walked into their house, the dining table was already set. Liam was sitting right next to Julia, happily picking up a piece of crab meat with his chopsticks. Julia, the woman who constantly claimed to be a germaphobe, had meticulously peeled an entire bowl of shrimp for him. He saw me walk in and his eyes curved into a bright, innocent smile. “Nathan! You made it.” “Waiting for me” was nothing but a polite lie. I didn’t call them out on it. I just quietly took an empty seat at the far corner of the table. More than half the dishes on the table were seafood. I couldn’t touch any of it. I quietly ate the plain vegetables placed near the edge. Halfway through the meal, Julia’s mother suddenly smiled at me. “Nathan, how is the catering menu looking for the wedding?” “Why don’t we add a lobster dish to every table? Oh, and the baked cheese crab. That is Liam’s absolute favorite.” Liam gave a shy, embarrassed laugh. “Auntie, I was just mentioning it in passing.” “If you like it, we add it! It is a wedding, the most important thing is that everyone is happy.” The food in my mouth suddenly tasted like ash. It was supposed to be my wedding. I had accepted that Julia wanted absolutely nothing to do with the planning. But now, even the menu for my own reception had to cater to Liam’s preferences. Not that it mattered anymore. The wedding didn’t exist. There was no menu to argue about. I kept my head down and gave a soft “Mm.” The rest of the dinner was agonizing. When everyone finally put their chopsticks down, Julia’s mother ushered me toward the living room to have some fruit. She turned to Liam with a warm smile. “Liam, be a good boy and help me with the dishes.” Liam started to stand up, but Julia immediately frowned. “Mom, Liam hasn’t been feeling well lately. He shouldn’t be touching cold water. Just let Nathan do it.” My fingers tightened around my glass of water so hard they trembled. So Julia was capable of remembering things. But in the five years we were together, she never managed to remember a single detail about me. Just last month, my stomach ulcer flared up so badly my face was completely drained of color. She just glanced at me and assumed I hadn’t slept well. In a completely serious, lecturing tone, she told me: “You look terrible. You really need to stop staying up late.” Julia’s mother looked surprised, then let out an awkward laugh. “What kind of host makes the guest do the dishes? Since Liam is not feeling well, your dad and I will handle it.” Julia was shoved into the kitchen to help. Liam followed her, leaning lazily against the doorframe, watching them work and cracking jokes. I sat entirely alone in the corner of the living room, feeling like a pathetic clown peering through the window of someone else’s perfect life. A while later, Liam let out a loud yawn, acting tired. Julia noticed instantly. She stood up and naturally grabbed her car keys. “It is getting late. We should head out.” Just like always, she insisted on dropping Liam off first. Not that it was a long drive. Liam’s apartment was only two streets away from ours. Julia had personally picked that apartment out for him. The neighborhood was quiet, the landscaping was beautiful, and the security was top-notch. His favorite breakfast place was right downstairs, and his gym was just around the corner. But the most important selling point was that it was only two streets away from us. “Just in case Liam has an emergency, I can get there in three minutes,” she had justified. She had a very loose definition of an “emergency.” A leaky pipe. A power outage. A mild fever. Even if he woke up from a nightmare at 3 AM or got scared watching a horror movie, she would rush over. When Julia pulled up to his building, Liam waved at us with a bright smile. “Bye Julia! Bye Nathan! Drive safe.” Julia kept her eyes on the rearview mirror, watching until he safely entered the lobby before putting the car back in drive. The car, which had been filled with their laughter just seconds ago, instantly fell into a suffocating, heavy silence. As we neared our building, I finally broke the quiet. “Julia, do you ever think that you and Liam are a little too close?” She was clearly still in a good mood. In a rare moment of affection, she reached over and lightly stroked the back of my hand. Like she was petting an obedient dog. “Are you jealous?” “Liam and I have known each other since we were in diapers. If something was going to happen between us, it would have happened a decade ago.” “Besides, I am marrying you at the end of the day. Is that not enough?” No. Of course it wasn’t enough. But I didn’t say it out loud. I just slowly pulled my hand away and let out an exhausted sigh. “Do you have time tomorrow?” “I have something I need to talk to you about.” Julia instinctively frowned. “Why do we have to talk face to face? Can’t you just text me on—” She stopped herself mid-sentence. She probably just remembered. I already knew that the person texting me for the last six months was a string of code. After a few seconds of tense silence, she changed her tune. “Fine.” “I will clear my schedule tomorrow.” 4 After five years together. Even if I was canceling the wedding, I owed it to both of us to say it face to face. To give this pathetic, miserable relationship a clean, dignified ending. But when I woke up the next morning, Julia was already gone. My phone buzzed with a rare, unsolicited text from her. “Liam wanted to check out that new hot spring resort outside the city. I am gonna hang out with him for a bit. I will be back this afternoon.” I stared at that text for a very long time. Then I typed back. “I told you last night that I needed to talk to you today.” A reply came through instantly. “Stop overreacting.” I knew immediately. That wasn’t Julia. The AI script was running again. I didn’t bother replying. I got out of bed and started packing my things. There wasn’t much to pack anyway. After living in this apartment for five years, everything that actually belonged to me fit neatly into a single suitcase. I waited all afternoon. By nightfall, she still hadn’t come home. Around 8 PM, I opened Instagram and saw a new post from Liam. It was a photo of the resort at night, lit up beautifully. He was throwing a peace sign at the camera. The caption read: “This place is incredible. I never want to leave! So glad Julia came with me.” Someone commented below: “I heard that place is a few grand a night! Look at you living the high life.” He replied with a shy emoji: “Can’t put a price tag on my happiness! Plus, Julia is footing the bill anyway ~” Staring at the screen, it finally clicked. Julia must have told him that I wanted to sit down and talk to her today. So Liam intentionally dragged her out of the city today of all days. He probably assumed I was just going to nag her about wedding planning again. Because ever since we started preparing for the wedding, this was exactly how he operated. The day we were supposed to do the cake tasting, he claimed his stomach hurt. The day we were supposed to pick out invitations, he claimed his laptop crashed and he needed her to fix it. The day we went venue shopping, he claimed his power went out and he was scared to be alone in the dark. Eventually, Julia just stopped showing up to anything wedding-related. And yes, I did want to talk about the wedding today. But this time, it was to tell her that it was permanently canceled. The next day, Julia still didn’t come home. I texted her. “Are you coming back today?” The script replied: “Yeah.” “This is incredibly important.” “Got it.” “If you don’t come home today, you are going to regret it.” “Stop overreacting.” Three texts. Three AI-generated responses. The clock struck midnight. No new messages popped up on the screen. By all logic, right now, I should be sitting in front of a mirror, letting a stylist fix my hair. There should be a fleet of luxury cars waiting downstairs. There should be friends and family laughing loudly outside the door. But instead, the apartment was dead silent. My single suitcase was sitting by the front door. My screen lit up. Julia finally sent a real message. “I will be at the venue on time tomorrow.” “I do not have time in the morning. I promised to go jogging with Liam. Let’s just skip all the traditional door-games and keep it simple. Make sure you are not late.” She was going jogging with another man on the morning of our wedding. Only Julia was capable of something so ruthlessly insensitive. This time, I was the one who didn’t reply. I clicked on her profile, hit block, and deleted her contact without a second thought. I grabbed the handle of my suitcase, called a cab, and headed straight for the airport. Five days ago, the moment I canceled the wedding, I booked a one-way ticket out of the city. During those five days, if she had chosen me—even just once—I probably would have canceled the flight. But she didn’t. To be brutally honest, in five years, she had never chosen me. When the plane landed, I checked into a hotel and slept better than I had in years. Meanwhile, back in my hometown. Julia, Liam, and her entire extended family arrived at the luxury hotel around 10 AM. There were no floral arches at the entrance. No welcome signs. And definitely no massive wedding portrait with our names on it. Julia frowned, grabbing the arm of a passing waiter. “Which banquet hall is the wedding in today? We are the bride’s family.” The waiter froze, pulling out his tablet to check the schedule. He looked completely confused. “Ma’am, there are no weddings booked for today.” He paused, a look of realization hitting him, and slapped his forehead. “Oh, wait! There was one scheduled. But the groom canceled it five days ago.”

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I spent ten years building Vincent’s career. From his debut to his sudden rise to fame, all the way to his award-winning moments, I was the one standing behind him, blocking every hit. Then, his first love drove drunk and killed someone. Vincent told me to take the fall. He said, “Sienna’s career is just taking off. You’ve already retired from the industry.” I went to prison for seven years. The day I was released, they publicly announced their marriage. When a reporter asked him about me, he simply replied, “There’s no need to bring up people from the past.” The day I jumped off a building, they were live-streaming their wedding. When I opened my eyes again, it was the night of the accident. Vincent was shoving his car keys into my hand. “Just tell them you were the one driving.” I tapped the screen on my phone and went live. “Did everyone hear that?” 01 The fluorescent lights in the underground parking garage flickered unsteadily. A white Bentley was smashed against a concrete pillar, its front end crumpled entirely inward. There was blood on the ground. A lot of it. It was pooling out from underneath the car, crawling across the gray concrete until it reached the tip of my shoe. Sienna was hiding behind Vincent. Her hair was a mess. The hem of her white dress was stained with dirt, and a glaring red friction burn covered her right wrist. It was a burn from the airbag deploying. In my previous life, I only found that out much later. By then, it was too late. The police file read: Driver Diana, driving under the influence, struck and killed designated driver Frank Chen. I pled guilty. Vincent hired the absolute best defense attorney for me. The best attorney told me that a cooperative attitude and a massive payout would reduce my sentence. Sitting in the detention center, I had asked him, “What about the victim’s family?” The attorney didn’t even look up from his files. “Mr. Cross will handle it.” Mr. Cross handled it beautifully. The victim’s mother took the money. The victim’s teenage sister was shipped off to study abroad. I sat in a cell for seven years. The day I walked out, no one came to pick me up. The massive LED screen at the airport was broadcasting Vincent and Sienna’s official couple interview. Sienna was leaning against his shoulder, smiling so sweetly. A reporter asked, “Vincent, someone online recently mentioned Diana. They said she sacrificed a lot for you back in the day.” Vincent squeezed Sienna’s hand. “There’s no need to bring up people from the past.” He said it so flatly. As if my seven years in hell were nothing more than an outdated movie poster. The garage light flickered again. Vincent shoved his car keys into my palm. The metal was freezing. His voice was lowered to a frantic whisper. “Diana, listen to me.” “The accident already happened. The most important thing right now is damage control. We have to minimize the fallout.” I stared at him. He was wearing a black tailored suit. A drop of blood stained his cuff. It wasn’t his blood. It was Sienna’s. Or maybe the dead man’s. He didn’t look at the body on the ground. He only looked at me. “Just tell them you were the one driving.” I asked, “Why?” Vincent froze. As if the question itself was completely absurd. In my previous life, I hadn’t asked. Whatever he said, I just blindly accepted. He had said, Diana, do me this one favor. So I did. He had said, You’ve been out of the spotlight for years. The public won’t even remember you. So I nodded. He had said, Sienna can’t take this hit. She’s just starting out. So I lowered my head and signed a false confession. But this time, I asked. Vincent’s brow pulled into a deep knot. “Sienna cannot be ruined.” Sienna sobbed, grabbing his sleeve tightly. “Vincent, I swear I didn’t mean to.” “I thought it was completely empty over there.” “I was just so scared.” Vincent turned to her, his voice immediately softening. “It’s going to be okay.” Then he turned back to me. “Diana, you’ve been retired for years. The internet doesn’t even remember your name.” “Take the blame. I’ll get you the best legal team.” “I’ll pay all the civil damages.” “I won’t let you suffer too much.” I looked down at the keys in my hand. My phone’s live-stream interface was already running. The phone was hidden in my palm, the camera lens just barely peeking out from the cuff of my sleeve. The viewer count was still low. Thirty-seven. Forty-two. Sixty-eight. Vincent kept talking. “Sienna’s career is just taking off.” “She just signed on for a massive new movie, and she has streaming deals and endorsements lined up.” “You’re different.” “You’re already retired.” The viewer count spiked to three hundred. Comments started rolling in. [Diana? Wait, is this THE Diana?] [Why is she going live? What is this?] [Where is she? A parking garage?] I raised the phone slightly. The lens pointed straight at Vincent. “Say that again.” Vincent’s face changed slightly. “What?” I said, “What exactly do you want me to tell them?” His eyes darted down to my phone. His pupils violently contracted. “Diana!” The live chat exploded. [Holy shit, is that Vincent Cross?] [What did he just say?! He’s asking Diana to take the fall for a crash?!] [Is Sienna there too?!] [Is that blood on the ground?!] Vincent lunged forward to grab my phone. I stepped back, the heel of my shoe dragging through the blood on the floor. “Don’t move.” I pivoted the camera toward the wrecked Bentley. The driver’s side door was wide open. The deployed airbag had distinct streaks of blood on it. The passenger seat was completely clean. I tilted the camera down, panning over the shattered glass of liquor bottles on the ground. Then I panned to Vincent’s assistant, who was clutching a black hard drive. The assistant went pale, instinctively trying to hide the drive behind his back. I asked, “What’s that in your hand?” He didn’t answer. The viewer count hit twenty thousand. Vincent lunged at me again. “Turn that off!” I dodged his hand. “Vincent, there is a man dying on the floor.” His face was terrifyingly grim. “I already called an ambulance.” “Did you call the police?” He stayed silent. I looked at Sienna. “Did you call the police?” Sienna shook her head, sobbing hysterically. “Diana, I didn’t mean to!” “I really didn’t mean to do it!” I said, “I asked if you called the cops.” She cowered behind Vincent. “I was too scared.” The chat was moving too fast to read. [They didn’t call the cops?!] [You hit someone and your first move is PR damage control?!] [Is that the security footage hard drive in the assistant’s hand?!] [Someone call 911! Call the cops right now!] I pulled out my second phone, dialed 911, and put it on speaker. “There’s been a drunk driving accident with a casualty in the underground garage of the Star Bay Villas.” Vincent’s face turned ash gray. “Diana, think very carefully about what you’re doing.” The dispatcher’s voice came through. “Are there any injuries at the scene?” I said, “Yes. A man is lying in front of the car. He’s bleeding heavily.” Sienna let out a piercing scream. “Don’t say drunk driving!” I turned the camera directly onto her face. “You drank, didn’t you?” She slapped her hands over her mouth. Vincent grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vice. “Diana, that is enough.” I stared right back at him. “It’s not.” His voice dropped to a lethal whisper. “Don’t push me.” I raised the phone higher. “Did everyone hear that?” 02 The live stream cut off the exact second Vincent ripped the phone from my hand. Right before the screen went black, the final frame caught the assistant bolting toward the fire exit stairs, clutching the security hard drive to his chest. My phone slammed onto the concrete, the screen spiderwebbing with cracks. Vincent shoved me hard against the side of a parked car. His fingers dug into my wrist so hard I thought the bone would snap. “Are you insane?” I looked at him calmly. “I called the cops.” His chest was heaving. “Do you have any idea what you just broadcasted to the entire internet?” “Yes.” “You’re going to destroy Sienna!” I said, “The man on the ground is already destroyed.” He froze. Sienna’s sobs grew louder, more frantic. “Vincent, I swear I didn’t mean to!” “You said you were going to fix this!” “You promised me you wouldn’t let anything happen to me!” Vincent closed his eyes tightly. He let go of my wrist, turning to his manager. “Call the PR department. Draft a statement right now.” The manager looked sick. “It’s already the number one trending topic.” “Screen recordings of the live stream are everywhere.” “Diana’s old fan accounts and every major gossip blogger have already reposted it.” Vincent turned back to me. “Are you happy now?” I rubbed my bruised wrist. “Not yet.” The wail of sirens echoed from the distance. Sienna’s legs gave out, and she nearly collapsed. Vincent caught her by the waist. “Don’t panic.” I watched him. “Are you holding her up, or are you trying to hold up the crime scene?” He ground his teeth. “Diana.” I said, “You’d better remember every single word you said tonight.” He stared at me, his eyes dark. “What exactly do you want?” “I want to see both of you sitting in an interrogation room.” The police cruisers and the ambulance arrived almost simultaneously. Paramedics rushed toward the man on the ground. Police officers immediately set up crime scene tape. A young officer walked over. “Who made the 911 call?” I raised my hand. “I did.” He asked, “Who was driving the vehicle?” Sienna trembled violently, crying uncontrollably. Vincent spoke up smoothly. “Officer, we haven’t determined that yet.” I shot him a sideways glance. “You seemed pretty certain five minutes ago.” The officer frowned. “What do you mean?” I said, “He was trying to force me to take the blame.” Vincent’s voice was sharp. “Diana, watch your words.” I handed my cracked phone to the officer. “The screen recordings are all over the internet. The raw file is saved on this phone.” “He literally shoved his car keys into my hand a few minutes ago.” The officer took the phone. Vincent’s manager immediately stepped in, his hands raised defensively. “Officer, there seems to be a huge misunderstanding here. Our legal team is on the way.” The officer looked at him coldly. “There’s a man dying on the floor. You’re all coming to the station for questioning.” Sienna suddenly wailed. “I didn’t mean to!” Everyone turned to look at her. Vincent’s face drained of color. “Sienna.” She sobbed, her words spilling out in a panicked rush. “I only had a little bit to drink!” “I really thought I was fine to drive!” “He just came out of nowhere!” The officer immediately asked, “Are you admitting you were the driver?” Sienna’s crying choked off instantly. Vincent interjected, his voice low and firm. “She is in a state of extreme emotional shock. Nothing she says right now can be taken as a reliable statement.” I said, “The live stream caught everything.” Vincent snapped his head toward me. I pulled out my backup phone. “I switched devices.” His eyes darkened instantly. “You came very prepared tonight, Diana.” I stared at him with absolute zero emotion. “I died once. I learned my lesson.” He frowned. “What are you talking about?” I didn’t answer. The police escorted all of us out. Right before I got into the cruiser, Vincent stood next to me. The cold night air hit us. His voice was barely a whisper. “Diana, it’s not too late to turn this around.” I looked at him. “Turn what around?” “You can say the live stream was just an emotional breakdown.” “I’ll have my PR team coordinate a joint statement with you.” “We’ll just say you’ve been dealing with severe mental health issues.” I let out a soft laugh. His face turned instantly cold. “What’s so funny?” “It sounds familiar.” In my previous life, this was exactly what he did. First, he convinced me to plead guilty. Then, he released a statement claiming I had suffered a mental breakdown. He had held my hands and said, Diana, just wait for the storm to pass. I’ll get you out. Then I sat in a cell for seven years. He never came. Before stepping into the police car, I looked back at him. “Vincent.” He looked at me. I said, “There’s no need to bring up people from the past.” His face completely fell. 03 By that night, the internet was completely broken. #DianaLiveStreamsCrash# #VincentCrossForcesDianaToTakeTheFall# #SiennaDUI# #StarBayVillasGarage# #SecurityHardDrive# I sat in the precinct giving my statement. The detective asked, “Why did you turn on your live stream before walking up to them?” I said, “I managed Vincent’s PR crises for years.” “I knew exactly what their first move would be.” The detective looked up from his notepad. “Their first move?” I said, “His crisis management playbook.” “Hide the liquor bottles, wipe the security footage, call the spin doctors, and find a scapegoat.” The stenographer’s fingers paused for a fraction of a second over the keyboard. “How do you know the exact protocol in such detail?” I stared at the metal table. “Because I used to be the one executing it.” Outside the interrogation room, Frank arrived. He was wearing a black trench coat, carrying a thick laptop bag. He looked at me through the glass window. I gave him a single nod. Frank used to be my agent. The year I quit acting, we had a massive, explosive argument. Diana, you are an actress, not Vincent’s glorified babysitter! he had yelled. I had replied, His career is just taking off. He needs me right now. Frank had slammed the door and walked out of my life. In my previous life, after I went to prison, he tried to appeal my case. But I had already confessed, and the evidence had been scrubbed clean. When he finally came to visit me, sitting behind the thick plexiglass, his eyes were bloodshot. Who the hell are you taking the fall for, Diana? Back then, I just lowered my head. Don’t ask. This time, he got here fast. When the questioning ended, a police officer escorted me out into the hallway. Frank immediately tossed his jacket over my shoulders. “Where’s your phone?” “The police confiscated the primary device.” “What about the live stream backend?” “The account is still active.” “Give me your backup phone.” I handed it over. He opened his laptop, typing rapidly. “I screen-recorded the raw stream.” “The gossip accounts ripped it too.” “I cut three separate clips of the assistant running off with the hard drive.” I asked, “What about the victim?” Frank’s expression darkened. “He didn’t make it.” I closed my eyes tightly. From the other end of the hallway, Sienna’s sobbing echoed off the walls. “I swear I didn’t do it on purpose!” “I had no idea he was standing there!” “Vincent, you have to help me!” Vincent’s voice hissed, harsh and low. “Shut up.” Sienna cried even louder. “Are you yelling at me?!” “Didn’t you promise you were going to fix this?!” “You said Diana was going to help you!” Frank looked at me. “Did you hear that?” I said, “I heard it.” He pulled a digital voice recorder out of his pocket. “And so did this.” Vincent was quickly escorted out of an interrogation room by a slick-looking lawyer. When he saw me standing next to Frank, his face turned rigid. “Frank, you really do just smell blood in the water, don’t you?” Frank didn’t miss a beat. “Well, you reek of garbage.” Vincent ignored him and focused entirely on me. “Diana, we need to talk.” I said, “Talk here.” He glanced nervously at the police officers walking down the hall. “In private.” Frank stepped in front of me, completely blocking Vincent’s view. “She is not speaking privately with a criminal suspect.” Vincent scoffed, a dark sneer on his face. “And who the hell are you supposed to be?” I said, “He’s my legal representative.” Frank froze for a second, then turned his head to look at me in surprise. I stared dead at Vincent. “From now on, anything you have to say goes through him.” Vincent’s eyes turned instantly glacial. “You’re not even going to answer my calls?” “No.” “Ten years together, and you’re just going to burn it all down?” I let out a bitter laugh. “What exactly did those ten years give me?” He opened his mouth. I cut him off. “Don’t mention the awards.” “I was the one who earned them for you.” Vincent’s expression twisted into something ugly. He leaned in, dropping his voice. “If you blow this up into a media circus, no one wins.” I said, “The victim’s family wins.” His Adam’s apple bobbed. “I’ll pay the civil damages.” “Are you going to do the jail time?” “Diana.” “Are you going to sit in a cell for Sienna?” He glared at me. “I wasn’t the one driving.” I nodded. “Neither was I.”

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1 My daughter clung to my leg. She was sobbing, begging for a ten-dollar plastic toy. Nolan didn’t even look up from his phone. His voice was ice. “Stop spoiling her. It’s a waste of money.” I swallowed the ache in my chest and finally managed to coax Sophie into calming down. Just as she wiped her eyes, a notification popped up on my screen. It was an Instagram update from his college sweetheart. In the photo, she was beaming. Cradled in her arms was the latest designer handbag. A sick curiosity took over. I opened a boutique website and found the exact bag. The three-thousand-dollar price tag felt like a slap to the face. Her caption read: “Thank you! Absolutely in love with my birthday gift this year!” Underneath the post, there was only one like. It belonged to my husband. I looked down at the chipped, faded doll Sophie was clutching. Slowly, I took a screenshot of the post and sent it to him with a single text. “The bag you bought her could buy our daughter three hundred toys. Is that right?” “Did you buy Jennifer’s bag?” “Three grand? Where would I get that kind of money?” Nolan didn’t stop scrolling. He didn’t even blink. “It’s a cheap knockoff. I got it from a street vendor downtown for fifty bucks.” “Jennifer just lost her job. She’s been depressed. I figured a fake bag would cheer her up. We go way back, you know.” He said it so casually, as if he were talking about the weather. It felt like a physical hand was squeezing my heart. “Cheer up an old friend?” I asked. “Nolan, last week Sophie wanted a ten-dollar doll. You said it was a rip-off. You said it was too expensive.” “And now you’re spending money to cheer up another woman?” Nolan threw his phone onto the sofa with an exasperated sigh. He glared at me. “Are you done? Sophie has a mountain of toys in her room. That’s just throwing money away. Jennifer is different. She’s a single mom struggling to get by. What’s wrong with a guy helping out a friend?” “Can you stop being so petty and paranoid all the time?” Petty. Paranoid. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I turned and walked into our bedroom. Nolan probably thought I bought his excuse. He picked his phone back up, muttering “crazy woman” under his breath. I sat on the edge of the bed. My hands and feet were freezing. That bag wasn’t a fake. The authenticity tag, the texture of the leather, the stitching. I knew it all too well. It was the exact bag I had stared at for months leading up to our anniversary, the one I ultimately couldn’t bring myself to buy because we needed the money for the house. I took a deep, shaky breath and opened the nightstand drawer. I pulled out Nolan’s old tablet. He mostly used it for gaming now, but he had forgotten something crucial. His app accounts were all synced. I tapped on his ride-share and travel apps. My heart hammered against my ribs. The most recent booking was a short domestic flight to Seattle. The date was last Saturday. That was the exact day Nolan told me he had to pull an all-nighter at the office to finish a massive project. I kept scrolling. My breathing turned shallow. On that same day, there was a transaction on his credit card. An upscale family restaurant in Seattle. The bill was over three hundred dollars. That money could have bought Sophie thirty toys. It could have covered our groceries for weeks. Tears pricked my eyes. I tilted my head back, forcing them down. I wouldn’t cry. Not yet. I found the restaurant’s number and dialed. A cheerful hostess answered almost immediately. “Hello, how can I help you today?” I forced my voice to sound light and polite. “Hi there. My husband dined at your restaurant last Saturday. He thinks he lost his lucky silver lighter. Could you check your lost and found?” “I don’t remember the exact table, but his name is Nolan. Last four digits of his phone number are xxxx.” I heard the clacking of a keyboard. A few seconds later, the hostess replied. “Hi ma’am. Yes, I see Mr. Nolan’s reservation. Unfortunately, our cleaning staff didn’t turn in a lighter from that table.” My grip on the phone tightened until my knuckles turned white. My nails dug into my palm. “I see. I must be mistaken then. Oh, by the way, was he alone? I was worried he might have drank too much with his clients.” The hostess must have sensed the ‘wifely concern’ in my voice. She sounded even warmer. “Oh, don’t worry! Your husband didn’t order any alcohol.” “He was with a lovely lady and a little boy. The little guy kept calling him Daddy. They looked absolutely adorable together. Just a picture-perfect family.” A picture-perfect family. Those words twisted like a serrated knife in my gut. I don’t even remember hanging up. My brain was echoing with the phrase. Nolan didn’t just give her money. He gave her the most valuable thing he had. His time. He poured all his patience, gentleness, and cash into that woman and her kid. And for me and Sophie? All he had left were cold shoulders, excuses, and lies. This was the man I fought my own family to marry. This was the husband I gave up my dreams for, scraping by so he could build his career. It made me want to throw up. I walked into the bathroom and turned the faucet on cold. I splashed the freezing water over my face. The shock snapped me back to reality. What good were tears? Would crying bring my money back? Would it make Nolan a decent father? No. Well then, Nolan. If you love playing Daddy to someone else’s kid so much, I’ll make sure you get your wish. 2 Sunday morning arrived. Nolan woke up early, whistling as he shaved. He even sprayed on a little cologne. “That account still has some loose ends. I need to head into the office for a few hours.” “You stay home with Sophie. Don’t wait up for dinner.” He lied with such flawless ease. He didn’t even bother coming up with a new excuse. I was braiding Sophie’s hair. I didn’t look up. “Okay.” “Actually, I was thinking of taking Sophie out today too. I heard there’s a great new indoor theme park a few towns over.” Nolan’s hand froze on his tie. A flicker of panic crossed his eyes. “Why go all the way out there? That’s a ridiculous drive. Just take her to the park down the street. Don’t waste gas money.” I smiled, clipping a pink bow into Sophie’s hair. “She’s been begging to go for weeks. Besides, I found a Groupon. It’s dirt cheap.” Nolan grabbed his briefcase and practically sprinted out the door. The moment it clicked shut, my smile vanished. I had made a reservation at that exact restaurant. Directly across from their favorite table. At eleven a.m., I walked into the upscale bistro holding Sophie’s hand. It was beautiful. Soft lighting, pastel decor, and the sound of children laughing. I spotted Nolan immediately. He was sitting by the floor-to-ceiling windows. He leaned forward, utterly engrossed. Sitting across from him was Jennifer. Next to him was a little boy, maybe five or six years old. The kid was clumsily trying to snap a complex Lego set together. Nolan had his hands over the boy’s, guiding him patiently. “Look, buddy. This piece goes here. See? Nice and sturdy.” “You are so smart. Way better at this than my clumsy little girl.” His voice was dripping with a tenderness I hadn’t heard in years. His eyes were full of pure adoration. Sophie tugged at my sleeve. Her voice was a tiny whisper. “Mommy, is that Daddy?” “Didn’t Daddy go to work? Who is that boy?” Looking down at my daughter’s confused, innocent face broke something inside me. I crouched down and smoothed her hair. “Be a good girl, sweetie. Go play in the ball pit over there for a minute. Mommy needs to talk to Daddy.” She didn’t want to leave my side, but she was always a good kid. She nodded obediently and trotted off toward the play area. I took a deep breath and marched straight toward their table. Before I even reached them, Nolan seemed to sense something. He looked up. The moment his eyes locked onto mine, the Lego piece slipped from his fingers and hit the table with a sharp clack. All the color drained from his face. “What… what are you doing here?” Jennifer jumped. She scrambled to her feet, looking like a deer in headlights. “Stella…” I ignored her completely. My eyes were fixed on my husband. “Is this the office?” “Are these the loose ends on your account?” “So your idea of overtime is building Legos with another woman’s son?” People at the neighboring tables were starting to stare. Nolan’s face went from pale to a deep, embarrassed red. He shot out of his chair, grabbed my wrist, and yanked me toward a quiet corner near the restrooms. “Are you insane? We’re in public! Stop causing a scene!” “Can you just give me an ounce of respect?” Once we were out of earshot, he dropped my wrist like it burned him. He hissed through his teeth. “Are you tracking me?” I gave him a dead-eyed smile. “If you don’t want people to know, don’t do it.” “You’re worried about respect now?” “You barely speak two words to your own daughter at home, but here you are overflowing with fatherly love?” Nolan shifted his weight. His eyes darted around as he spun his web. “Jennifer just moved back. Toby transferred to a new school and doesn’t have any friends. He’s been really withdrawn.” “I’m just helping a friend out. Being a positive male role model for the kid.” “Sophie is a social butterfly. She doesn’t need me hovering over her.” “Are you seriously jealous of a little kid? You’re being totally irrational!” His logic was a masterclass in gaslighting. Right on cue, Jennifer rushed over. Her eyes were red. She looked like a fragile, heartbroken victim. She reached out, trying to touch my arm. “Stella, please don’t be mad at Nolan. This is all my fault.” “I’m just so useless. I’ve been struggling to raise Toby alone, and I leaned on Nolan too much.” “Yell at me if you want, but please don’t let this ruin your marriage.” “I’ll leave right now. I promise I’ll never bother him again.” Fat tears rolled down her cheeks perfectly on cue. The performance was Oscar-worthy. Seeing her cry triggered Nolan’s hero complex. He immediately pulled Jennifer behind him, shielding her from me. He glared at me. “Look at what you’re doing! You’re terrifying her.” “Jennifer is so understanding. But you? You’re acting like a crazy bitch!” “Why can’t you learn to be a little more gentle? A little more forgiving?” I stared at the two of them. It was a perfectly choreographed routine. Understanding? Forgiving? A pathetic homewrecker and a cheating narcissist. What a match. I didn’t scream. I didn’t cry. I just stood there in silence. My gaze slowly drifted down to Jennifer’s neck. Resting against her collarbone was a silver necklace. The pendant was uniquely shaped, like a butterfly caught mid-flight, its wings dusted with crushed sapphires. My pupils dilated. That was my necklace. It was the most precious thing I owned. 3 My eyes were glued to the silver chain. The blood roared in my ears. It was “First Light.” The piece that won me the National Young Designer’s Award back in college. It was the peak of my design career. And the end of it. That year, I was supposed to use that award to secure a full-ride scholarship to Parsons. I was going to study in New York. But Nolan’s startup crashed. He owed a massive amount of money to the wrong people. They were banging on our door every night. To save him, I gave up the scholarship. I took my entire thirty-thousand-dollar prize money and paid off his debts. I spent the next three years working double shifts at diners and selling crafts at flea markets just to keep us afloat. That necklace was a one-of-a-kind original. It was the only monument I had left for a dream that had died. For years, I kept it locked in the deepest corner of my safe. I didn’t even dare to wear it. And now, it was resting on Jennifer’s skin. It was the ultimate insult. I took a slow step toward her. “Stop making a fool of yourself,” Nolan snapped. “Take Sophie and go home!” I ignored him. I raised my hand and pointed straight at Jennifer’s throat. “Where did you get that?” Nolan flinched. He avoided my eyes and instinctively blocked Jennifer again. “What do you mean? I bought it!” “It’s from a flea market. Cost me twenty bucks. What’s the big deal?” Another flea market. Another cheap excuse. I let out a cold, sharp laugh. I lunged forward and grabbed the necklace. Jennifer shrieked. She slapped her hands over her neck and stumbled backward. “What are you doing! You’re hurting me!” “Stella, I know you hate me, but this was a gift from Nolan…” “A gift?” I turned to Nolan. My voice shook with pure rage. “You said this was a twenty-dollar piece of junk?” “Do you even know what is engraved on the back of it?” Nolan went pale. A thin layer of sweat broke out on his forehead. Of course he knew. Years ago, when I showed it to him as a symbol of our future, I held his hand, traced the tiny etching on the back, and said: “It’s an S. For Stella.” “If your memory is failing you, Nolan, let me help you remember.” I yanked hard. The silver chain snapped. I flipped the pendant over and shoved it inches from Nolan’s face. The tiny, elegant “S” was unmistakable. “Do you see it?” “This is First Light! It’s the only trophy I have left from my past!” “How dare you?” “How dare you take my blood, sweat, and tears and use it to play sugar daddy to another woman?” A crowd was forming. People were whispering and pointing. Nolan’s pride couldn’t handle the public humiliation. His eyes turned wild. He yelled back at me. “Yeah! I took it! So what?” “What’s yours is mine! It belongs to the house!” “Jennifer said it looked pretty. She said she needed a lucky charm.” “She’s been having a hard time, so I let her borrow it! Is that a crime?” “It’s just a piece of metal! Why are you being so hysterical?” “It was just gathering dust in a drawer anyway. At least now it’s actually getting some use!” I stopped breathing. In his eyes, my dreams, my youth, the ultimate sacrifice I made for him… It was all just “metal gathering dust.” Jennifer had recovered from her shock. She rubbed her neck, letting the tears fall freely. “Stella, I had no idea it was so important to you…” “Nolan told me it was just a cheap trinket.” “If you’re that desperate for it, you could have just asked. You didn’t have to attack me like an animal.” “It’s not like I can’t afford my own jewelry…” As she sobbed, her eyes flicked to the crowd, gauging their sympathy. And it worked. Some onlookers muttered under their breath. “That wife is psycho. Just ripping it off her neck?” “It’s just a necklace. Total overreaction.” My hand trembled around the silver pendant. My chest felt hollowed out. In that moment, everything became crystal clear. Nolan didn’t just disrespect a piece of jewelry. He had completely shattered my dignity. He wiped away every piece of myself I had sacrificed to build our family. To him, I was utterly worthless. I gripped the necklace tight in my fist and turned around. “We are done, Nolan.” Panic finally pierced through his anger. He lunged forward, grabbing my arm, and actually dropped to his knees right there on the restaurant floor. “Stella! Wait! I’m sorry!” “I messed up!” “I shouldn’t have taken your stuff. I wasn’t thinking!” “You have the necklace back now! Can we just go home and act like a normal family?” He clung to my jeans, sobbing, putting on a show for the crowd. I kicked him off. I just felt sick. 4 When I got home, I locked the necklace back inside the safe. Then I locked myself in the bathroom and cried until my throat was raw. That night, Sophie woke up crying. She was burning up. The thermometer read 103 degrees. She was lethargic, her tiny body trembling, murmuring that her head hurt. I panicked. I threw a coat over her pajamas and rushed her to the emergency room. Registration. Blood tests. Waiting rooms. I ran up and down the hospital corridors alone, carrying my forty-pound daughter in my arms. In those agonizing hours, my hatred for Nolan crystallized into something cold and permanent. The doctor finally wrote up a prescription and told me to pay at the billing counter. I pulled out the blue debit card. It was our emergency fund. It was also meant to be Sophie’s college fund. I had deposited every spare dollar into it for five years. There was exactly forty thousand dollars in that account. I never expected Nolan to save a dime, so I managed it. But Nolan knew the PIN. Beep. The billing clerk frowned and slid the card back across the glass. “Insufficient funds, ma’am.” I froze. “That’s impossible. There’s forty thousand dollars in that account. Try it again.” “Is your machine down?” The clerk looked sympathetic but exhausted. “The machine is fine. The card is empty. You’ve got about forty-five bucks left. Do you have another card? There’s a line.” Forty-five bucks? The world spun. Forty. Thousand. Dollars. That was money I scraped together by denying myself everything. Skipping lunches, buying second-hand clothes, working freelance gigs late into the night. My hands shook violently as I pulled out my phone and opened the banking app. There it was. A transaction from three days ago. Transfer amount: $39,950. Recipient: Jennifer. I paid for Sophie’s meds with a high-interest credit card. Once she was hooked up to her IV and sleeping in the pediatric ward, I marched out to the hallway and called Nolan. It rang a dozen times before he picked up. His voice was hushed and guilty. “Hey babe, you’re up late. I’m still at the office…” “Where is the money?” My jaw was clenched so hard my teeth ached. “Sophie’s emergency fund. Forty thousand dollars. Where is it?” Dead silence on the line. Then, the stammering began. “Look… babe, let me explain.” “Jennifer’s mom… she got really sick. She needed emergency surgery.” “You know how American hospitals are. No insurance, no cash, no surgery.” “It was a matter of life and death. I couldn’t just let the woman die, could I?” “I just loaned it to her. She’s putting her mom’s house on the market. Once it sells, she’ll pay me back every cent…” “Loaned?” My entire body was shaking. The tears I promised not to shed streamed down my face. “Nolan, that is Sophie’s money!” “Your daughter is lying in a hospital bed right now with a 103-degree fever, and I couldn’t even pay her medical bill!” “You took your daughter’s safety net to play savior to your ex’s mother?” “Are you even human?” “Do you have a soul at all?” My voice cracked, echoing down the empty hospital hallway. A passing nurse gave me a sharp look, motioning for me to quiet down. I slapped a hand over my mouth, choking on my own sobs. The pain in my chest was unbearable. Nolan was still defending himself. “How was I supposed to know Sophie was going to get sick?” “Besides, we’re talking about a life-saving surgery versus a fever. Can you not tell the difference?” “Do you have zero empathy?” Empathy? I looked through the glass window of the ward. I looked at my daughter’s flushed face, a needle taped to her tiny hand. She was so small. So vulnerable. And her father had abandoned her for another woman. I wiped my face. I stared blankly at the wall and lowered my voice into a dead, flat calm. “You wanted to be a savior, Nolan?” “Good. That’s great.” “Since you’re so generous, I hope you’re ready to pay the price.” “I am going to make you spit out that forty grand. Every single cent.” I hung up the phone and blocked his number. If you want to play dirty, Nolan, welcome to the mud.

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“Let’s dissolve our mate bond. It’s just for show, to ease Elara’s mind.” My Alpha husband, for the sake of his fragile white moonlight, kicked me out of the master bedroom for the nineteenth time, and now he’s even demanding I sign an agreement to dissolve our Mate bond. He looks down at me with patronizing generosity, his eyes full of certainty: “Once she leaves, I promise everything will return to normal. You’ll always be my Luna.” He thinks I’ll cry and beg for his meager scraps of affection like I did for the past five years. But what he doesn’t know is that the moment I signed my name without hesitation, my wolf had completely given up on him. Aurora POV “Father, I want to dissolve my Mate bond with Julian.” I gripped the phone, keeping my voice as steady as possible. “I’ll handle the divorce procedures as soon as I can. This time I’m serious. I want to come home.” My father’s voice came through the receiver, tinged with both heartache and relief. “Aurora, you’ve finally come to your senses. You never should have endured this humiliation in the first place. I’ll arrange everything else. Within a month, you’ll be back with the pack.” I hung up and looked at my pale, haggard reflection in the mirror, expressionless. My wolf was now so exhausted she couldn’t even manage a whimper. The door was shoved open roughly. Julian stood in the doorway, a powerful Alpha pressure sweeping in with his impatient aura. “Elara’s back.” He strode into the master bedroom without so much as glancing at me, heading straight for the walk-in closet and dragging out the suitcase I’d already packed. “You know her mental state is fragile. She can’t handle any stress.” Of course I knew. Elara had once saved his life and supposedly suffered severe psychological trauma as a result, leaving her emotionally unstable. Whenever she got upset out in the world, she’d come running back to Stormborn Pack crying, seeking Julian’s protection. Julian was convinced that my identity as Stormborn Pack’s “Luna” was the greatest source of stress for Elara. In his view, as long as I still lived in this Packhouse, Elara would feel like she was the third party interfering in our Mate relationship, which would worsen her condition. So every time Elara came back, I had to disappear like a ghost, vacate our master bedroom so he could comfort her. Once Elara left, he’d bring me back. Five years. Not one more, not one less. Exactly eighteen times. And today was the nineteenth. “She’ll be staying at the Packhouse first,” he said, setting the suitcase on the carpet. “I can’t let her fall ill from guilt. I’ve already found you a place to stay.” I looked at that familiar suitcase without speaking, just silently beginning to pack my personal belongings. This unusually calm compliance seemed to surprise him more than any hysterical crying would have. He frowned, staring at me suspiciously. “Aurora, why are you being so cooperative today? What are you plotting now?” No wonder he was suspicious. After all, I hadn’t been willing to play the doormat from the start. The first time, my wolf was howling madly. I blocked his path crying, begging him not to send me away, only to be pushed aside coldly. The fifth time, I smashed everything in the master bedroom, threatening to expose everything to the entire pack if he dared make me leave. He just looked at me coldly and called the guards to forcibly “escort” me out. By the tenth time, I’d stopped resisting, just silently crying. That’s when he came over and patted my head indulgently, saying, “That’s better. Don’t worry, you’ll always be my Luna.” And the eighteenth time, just last month, I could already smile while helping him pick out clothes to wear when meeting Elara. I looked up at this Mate I’d once loved deeply and shook my head calmly. “I just think this whole thing is pretty pointless.” Just then, his phone rang. The impatience on his face instantly transformed into tension and tenderness. It was Elara. Without avoiding me, he answered directly. “Julian, the hallway here is so quiet. I’m scared alone in my room. When are you coming to get me?” Elara’s voice trembled, sounding pitiful and vulnerable. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll come over as soon as I finish up here.” Julian coaxed her gently. “I had someone send you a bouquet of your favorite moonflowers to celebrate your return. They should be in your room already.” Elara asked with delight on the other end, “You still remember?” “Of course.” My hands froze mid-fold in the air. In college, every time he came to see me, he’d bring a bouquet of moonflowers. “These moonflowers suit you so well.” I’d been so happy then. Turns out moonflowers were Elara’s favorite. Julian hung up and looked at me, his eyes full of warning. “One hour. I’m going to pick her up, and you’d better be gone by the time I get back.” Seeing no reaction from me, he reached out and touched my face with something almost like pity, his voice softening. “Be good. Elara never stays long when she comes back. I’ll bring you home again when she leaves.” With that, he turned and strode away without a trace of reluctance. I sat alone in the empty master bedroom, not moving immediately. Through the Mind-link, I contacted my personal pack lawyer. “The mate bond dissolution agreement. You can start preparing it.” I didn’t go to the place he’d arranged, but to the place my father had set up for me. That was my only true refuge. For three days, Julian didn’t contact me once. I was happy for the peace and quiet. On the fourth night, I habitually scrolled through my social media feed. A glaring photo caught my eye. Posted by Elara. In the picture, Elara wore my silk robe, sitting on the wool carpet in our master bedroom’s living room, holding a steaming cup of tea. Julian sat on the sofa behind her, looking down at documents, his profile bathed in the warm yellow light from the floor lamp, looking exceptionally gentle. The caption read: “With Julian here, all my anxiety disappears.” I stared at that photo for a long time. That robe was my favorite. The cuffs were embroidered with my initials in silver thread. I’d left it in the walk-in closet when I moved out. Elara hadn’t just taken my master bedroom and my Mate—now she could freely use my personal belongings too. In the comments below, several of Julian’s friends were leaving messages. “Is this an official announcement of a Luna replacement?” “Has Alpha Julian finally come to his senses?” Julian neither liked nor replied to any of them. But I knew his silence was a form of consent. I turned off my phone screen. The black glass reflected my expressionless face.

Aurora POV After seeing that post, I didn’t sleep all night. These five years of “hell mode” had taught me one truth: any hysterical questioning would only end up as entertainment for them and humiliation for me. The next afternoon, I went to a high-end custom clothing boutique. Since I’d decided to leave completely, I wanted to buy some decent clothes to return to my pack with a fresh appearance. I’d just stopped in front of a pure white silk gown when a familiar Alpha scent mixed with a cloying rose fragrance drifted in from the entrance. Julian walked in supporting Elara. Elara’s face was pale, looking like she might collapse even in the sunlight. When she saw me, she froze, then shrank timidly behind Julian like a frightened animal. Julian immediately shielded her in his arms, looking up at me with displeasure and wariness in his eyes. “What are you doing here?” I didn’t answer, just quietly watched them. Elara’s voice was soft and gentle. “Julian, don’t blame Aurora. I’m sure she didn’t mean to follow us.” Julian’s expression darkened further. “Aurora, I warned you not to harass Elara.” I finally spoke, my voice as calm as if I were talking to strangers. “I’m just here to buy clothes.” I turned around, signaling the clerk to wrap up the white dress. But Elara suddenly grabbed Julian’s sleeve and pointed at the dress in my hands. “Aurora, is this the one you like?” Without waiting for my answer, she took the gown from the clerk and held it up against herself. “Wow, such a beautiful dress.” Elara’s eyes lit up, then she seemed to remember something and looked at Julian, her tone slightly coquettish. “Julian, I remember you love seeing me in white dresses. Can I buy this one?” Julian looked at me, his tone brooking no argument. “Give this dress to Elara.” I looked at him without moving or showing any sign of yielding. Seeing this, Elara immediately shoved the dress back into my hands, her eyes instantly reddening. “I’m sorry, Aurora. I just love this dress so much. Julian, don’t force her. We can look at something else… It’s all my fault.” The more “considerate” she acted, the more unreasonable and petty I appeared. Julian simply pulled the dress from my hands and stuffed it back into Elara’s arms. “Take it.” After saying this to Elara, he turned to look at me coldly. “Aurora, you have plenty of dresses like this. Pick something else for yourself.” With that, he put his arm around Elara and turned to leave, giving me a resolute departing back. That evening, Julian actually came to where I was staying on his own initiative. He brought my once-favorite dessert, and his tone was unusually gentle. “Aurora, I’m sorry about what happened this afternoon.” He began that familiar, nauseating explanation. “As long as you’re still my Luna, Elara will never be able to hold her head up in front of you. She always feels like she’s the other woman, which isn’t good for her recovery.” He paused, then laid out his plan. “Let’s dissolve our mate bond. Just submit a nominal mate bond dissolution agreement, go through the motions. Next month when I send Elara away for treatment elsewhere, we’ll immediately restore our relationship. I promise you, once Elara leaves, nothing will change.” I kept my head down, looking at that exquisite dessert, saying nothing. I’d been worried about finding a suitable reason to get him to sign a dissolution agreement, and here he was, handing me the ladder himself. I was silent for a long time. So long that Julian started impatiently checking his watch. Only then did I finally lift my head to look at him, my face perfectly compliant. I said softly, “Okay.” “Whatever you say.”

Aurora POV The next morning, Julian’s personal guards were waiting downstairs right on time. The Elder Council’s “mate bond dissolution” ceremony went quickly. Thanks to the Alpha’s absolute authority, no one dared question his decision. When the head elder stamped the seal on the parchment, Julian didn’t even glance at it, casually stuffing it into his pocket. He draped his arm over my shoulders as usual, his cedarwood scent enveloping me, his tone gentle. “Next month when I send Elara away for treatment at another Pack, we’ll immediately restore our mate bond. I promise you, once Elara leaves, nothing will change.” I kept my head down and gave a soft “mm” in response. I could feel the eyes of the elders and guards around us, probably wondering why the Alpha was still so intimate with me when we’d just dissolved our mate bond. Julian was very satisfied with my “understanding nature.” We parted ways at the entrance to the pack’s council hall. I walked back to my place alone. Over the next few days, my father’s royal guards would occasionally send messages through Mind-link. 【Princess, we’ve almost finished erasing your traces at Stormborn Pack. No need to worry.】 【The route map and border passes for leaving the territory are all ready. The reception team is on standby.】 I looked at the route map on the table, calculating the final departure date. After handling these matters, I returned my Luna authority seal and resigned from my position as healer assistant at the pack hospital. I turned in my access pass, cleared out my locker, and said goodbye to a few pack doctors. The moment I walked out of the hospital entrance, I felt another connection to Stormborn Pack severed. That evening, Julian tried to contact me through Mind-link. This was the first time he’d contacted me since the mate bond dissolution agreement took effect. I didn’t respond. Julian then sent a FaceTime video request. I didn’t want to see his face while he was with another woman. He immediately expressed his displeasure. “Why aren’t you turning on video?” “Just got back from the pack hospital. I’m a bit tired.” I brushed him off casually. Julian laughed on the other end, his tone smug, clearly thinking I was still that woman who tried to maintain a perfect image in front of him. “What haven’t I seen of you?” His tone carried an uncomfortably familiar intimacy. I didn’t respond. He probably found it boring and changed the subject, asking about my resignation as healer assistant. “You quit? That’s fine. You only got in there because of my Alpha privileges anyway. You had no real future there.” My irritation reached its peak. “Don’t you need to go keep Elara company?” I interrupted him, just wanting to end the conversation quickly. Julian on the other end fell silent for a moment at my words, then let out a cold laugh. “Aurora, your temper’s getting worse and worse.” His voice was full of a superior’s arrogance and warning. “Elara’s health is poor. If you dare say anything to upset her, you know the consequences.” I didn’t even bother arguing with him anymore and hung up directly. Two days later was Julian’s birthday. In previous years on this day, no matter how many complicated Pack affairs there were, I would personally prepare a table full of his favorite foods. And he would act like the perfect Mate, canceling all patrol duties to spend the day with me alone. This had been one of the few rituals in our marriage. This year, I hadn’t prepared anything and had almost forgotten about the day. Before long, Elara posted on Instagram. In the photo, Elara held a custom cake with the air of the Packhouse’s lady, smiling sweetly and shyly. There was also a video of Elara affectionately smearing frosting on Julian’s face, with the caption: “I hope my Alpha is as happy as he is today, every day. @Julian” Below was Julian’s reply—a simple heart emoji. I exited the social media app and pulled out the dusty box from under my bed, taking out an exquisitely carved wooden case. Inside was the token Julian had personally placed on me during our mating ceremony—a wolf fang necklace. I took out my lighter. Flames ignited the leather cord strung with the fang. I watched the fire greedily devour it, burning it to ashes. I watched the remnants wash down the drain in the sink and said softly to myself, “That’s it then.” When these things finished burning, everything between Julian and me would be completely over too.

Aurora POV When Sabrina came to see me, she brought the latest gossip. “Did you hear? Julian and Elara had a huge fight at his birthday party.” She scrolled through her phone while gloating. “Apparently, the trigger was because you didn’t show up.” I was in the middle of a face mask and didn’t even lift an eyelid. “They’ll make up eventually,” my voice was muffled. “Aren’t I always just one element in their twisted love game anyway?” Sabrina thought about it and agreed, cursing them as “a pair of psychos.” After that, Julian started frantically contacting me. Mind-link messages, phone calls, texts—they came like a bombardment. At first it was questioning: “What’s your problem? Why are you blocking my Mind-link?” Then it became orders: “Respond to me immediately, or I’ll send guards to drag you back.” I completely stopped responding to his Mind-link, blocked his number, and didn’t answer any unknown calls. My life lately had been full and busy. I started packing, planning the detailed route for leaving Stormborn Pack, and organizing the supplies my father’s people had sent. Julian was completely shut out of my new life. That day, I was in my room confirming the final border defense map when I suddenly heard suppressed crying outside the door. I opened it to find Mara collapsed in the hallway, covered in injuries. She was an old servant from the main residence who specialized in taking care of my meals and daily needs. She was also the only warmth I’d felt at Stormborn Pack. “Luna…” When Mara saw me, tears streamed down her face. Her arms were covered in whip marks—signs of torture. “What happened?” I immediately helped her up, slowly channeling my healing power into her body. “Alpha Julian couldn’t find you. He was very angry…” Mara said trembling. “He locked me in the dungeon, demanding to know your whereabouts. When I wouldn’t say anything, he…” My expression instantly darkened, my heart feeling like it had been brutally cut by a dull knife. For Julian’s sake, I’d endured five years of humiliation, but that didn’t mean he could cross my bottom line. He couldn’t find me, so he resorted to these despicable methods to torture an innocent Omega! After Mara left, I walked into my room and pulled out the second gift from the cabinet—a moonstone bracelet he’d given me on our first wedding anniversary. The lighter’s flame ignited again, illuminating the night. “You don’t deserve this, and you have no right to hurt the people around me. Not in the past, not now.” I watched the woven leather cord on the bracelet gradually blacken and break under the heat, the gemstone losing its luster, my voice ice-cold. “Julian, that’s the second time.” The next day, I went to the university Julian and I had attended. We’d met in college. Now, that time had long become the past. I’d hidden my identity and returned with him to Stormborn Pack, where he immediately assumed the position of Alpha. I’d followed him too, becoming his Mate and Stormborn Pack’s Luna. Back then, I naively thought we’d lead the Pack to prosperity together. Until shortly after our wedding, when Elara appeared—that she-wolf who’d once saved him and grown up with him—everything changed. For Elara’s sake, I was driven from the Pack again and again. This time, I would finally never return.

Aurora POV The day before leaving Stormborn Pack, I was in my room doing final route confirmations. Suddenly, there was faint movement outside the door. I opened it to find Mara. She looked even weaker than yesterday, her whole body swaying. “Luna…” She kept her head down, her voice trembling, not even daring to look at me. “Alpha Julian asked me to give you a message.” I stopped what I was doing. “Tomorrow night is the full moon ceremony. He requires you to attend as Luna.” Mara swallowed and continued, “The Alpha also said… if you don’t go, he’ll use all the cruelest punishments in the dungeon on me.” My hand clenched tight, nails digging deep into my palm. Julian, just how low can you sink? Using an innocent Omega’s life to threaten me while still not forgetting to pressure me with Luna responsibilities. “I understand.” I took a deep breath, soothing her trembling. “I’ll go.” I’ll go see it with my own eyes. Consider it a final closure to these five absurd years. When Sabrina learned of this, she nearly smashed up my room in rage. “Are you crazy, Aurora?!” She grabbed my shoulders, hissing angrily. “Julian forcing you to attend the full moon ceremony at this time is definitely up to no good! Elara will definitely humiliate you in front of the entire pack!” “I know.” I pushed her hands away, my tone calm. “This is the last time I’ll stand there as Stormborn Pack’s Luna. Sabrina, I need this final time to sever all the resentment in my heart.” Sabrina looked at me and finally sighed helplessly, giving up on persuading me. After she left, I opened the drawer and took out the third gift Julian had given me. It was a wolf totem wooden carving he’d personally carved for me. Once, I’d treasured it as proof of his love. I pressed the lighter. Flames instantly consumed the dry wood. I watched coldly as the totem turned to charcoal in the firelight, then to ashes. Looking at what remained in the cabinet, there were very few gifts left. I proactively contacted Julian. “I’ll attend the full moon ceremony.” Julian’s voice on the other end clearly carried relief. He said everything was arranged, just waiting for me to come.

Aurora POV On the night of the full moon festival, a massive bonfire blazed in Stormborn Pack’s territory square. I wore the ceremonial dress symbolizing my Luna status, standing alone on one side of the platform. But my Mate, my Alpha Julian, trampled my dignity underfoot in front of everyone. Right before the entire pack, without any attempt to hide it, he held Elara protectively in his arms, shielding her from the night wind. The intimacy between them was undeniable. The whispers of the surrounding pack members drifted to my ears on the night breeze without reserve. “See that? Alpha Julian only has eyes for Elara. The Luna standing there is just a joke.” “The Luna is just someone the Alpha brought back from outside. She was lucky to get the Luna position, that’s all.” “Exactly. Elara saved Alpha Julian’s life, and they’re childhood friends. Elara is the one who should truly be the Alpha’s Luna.” Every word was like a poisoned silver blade, viciously piercing my heart. The intense pain transmitted through the Mate bond made it almost impossible to breathe. I couldn’t endure it anymore. I spun around and rushed to the restroom, retching violently over the sink. My stomach was empty. There was nothing to throw up. Tears and cold sweat covered my face. After a long while, I finally straightened up, turned on the faucet, and splashed cold water on my face again and again. The ice water was bone-chilling. I looked up at my reflection in the mirror—face deathly pale, but eyes frighteningly clear. I suddenly laughed. Laughing and laughing, tears streamed down again. “Thank you, Alpha Julian.” I said softly to my reflection in the mirror. “Thank you for using the cruelest method to help me completely kill the last bit of softness in my heart.” I dried my face and walked out of the restroom. I returned to the full moon ceremony square. The bonfire still burned. Standing in the shadows, I watched Julian and Elara’s embracing silhouettes in the firelight, my heart dead calm. “Julian, I will never, ever love you again.”

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