1 When the fire broke out, Mom grabbed my little sister, and Dad hoisted my older brother onto his back. They ran. They left me behind in the flames. My face was burned. And just like that, the demanding, attention-seeking child I once was… disappeared. I was dying anyway. Let them have the scraps of love I no longer wanted. But then they regretted it. They held my thin, scarred hand and begged, “Please, just throw one more tantrum for us. Please?” Mom held my sister, Maya, close. Dad carried my brother, Leo, on his back. They burst out of the burning house and clung to each other, sobbing with relief. “Is there anyone else inside?” a firefighter yelled, rushing toward them. Mom spun around, her eyes frantically scanning her children. She pointed to my brother and sister. “Leo and Maya. Both of them are here. They’re all here!” “Are you sure?” the firefighter pressed. But Mom’s world had shrunk to just the two of them. She didn’t answer, just kept murmuring, “They’re safe, they’re safe,” pulling them into an even tighter hug. That’s when I stumbled out of the house, my hand over my mouth, coughing. Her words made me feel like a pathetic joke. My body was covered in soot, my clothes in tatters. They, having escaped early, were practically untouched. The strength that had gotten me out of the house evaporated. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the ground. A searing pain shot through my back. My name is Clara. But I’ve always been the extra one. 2 “Leo, stop tickling me!” Once the initial shock wore off, Maya and Leo started playing, their laughter a small comfort to my distraught parents. But then Maya tripped, and her hand landed directly on the raw, open burn on my back. “Ah!” I screamed. I could feel the freshly dressed wound tear open, blood seeping through the bandages. Maya scrambled to her feet, hiding behind Leo, her dark eyes wide with fear. “Clara!” Mom’s voice was sharp with reprimand. “Stop throwing a fit! Why did you yell at your sister?” Her gaze landed on my face, and she flinched, a look of disgust flashing in her eyes. It was the burns, I knew. And she thought I was faking because her attention had been so focused on the other two that she hadn’t even seen the firefighters tending to my back. She never saw me. I couldn’t hold it in anymore. I ran to the edge of the lawn and sobbed, my cries echoing in the night. They all fell silent. When I finally quieted down, Mom came over, holding Maya’s hand. She reached for mine. I flinched away. Her hand froze in mid-air. “Clara, please try to understand,” she said, her voice weary. “It’s not that we don’t love you. It’s just… Leo is in the middle of a big promotion at work, and Maya is so young…” I looked at her through my tears. “Can’t you just be the sensible one, for once?” I had to laugh. It was so absurd. The sensible one. The one who was always expected to make do with the leftovers. Seeing me laugh, Mom must have thought I was over it. She grabbed my hand and placed it on top of Maya’s. “There, that’s better. Now, say you’re sorry to your sister, and we can all move on. We’re a family, after all.” Her voice was gentle, but her eyes were fixed on Maya, cooing and comforting her. I snatched my hand back. Mom’s face hardened. “I have three children,” she said, her words like daggers, “and you’re the only one who turned out so spoiled.” She scooped Maya into her arms and walked away. Spoiled. Demanding. That’s what they called me. I used to fight for their attention, for every scrap of affection. I knew if I didn’t, I would get nothing at all. But now… I was dying. I had an illness they didn’t know about. I was done fighting. 3 Our house was gone. We needed a new place to live. “Finding a place for a family of five is going to be tough,” Dad said. “We’ll have to split up for a while. We can take two of the kids, but we’ll have to send one to stay with relatives.” All eyes turned to me. I just smiled a bitter smile. The old me would have thrown a massive tantrum, would have cried and screamed until they gave in. But Leo and Maya never had to scream to get what they wanted. This time, I didn’t make a scene. I just nodded and took a step back. “I’ll go,” I said, my voice hoarse. They all looked surprised, but no one argued. So I was sent to live with my uncle. Life there was a tightrope walk. At first, they were kind. But soon, the smiles faded, replaced by cold, hard stares. It didn’t matter that I woke up early to do all the chores, or that I collected cans to earn a little money to give to them. Nothing I did was ever enough. One afternoon, I overheard them talking. “When is she leaving?” my aunt asked. “Just a few more days,” my uncle sighed. “I can’t stand it. She… she smells. Every time I talk to her, I feel like I need to take a shower. And another mouth to feed… it’s a lot of pressure.” I looked down at my clothes. They wouldn’t let me use the shower, afraid I’d use too much hot water. That night, at dinner, I forced a smile. “Uncle, I think I’d be more comfortable in the basement. And I can just make my own meals from now on.” They looked at each other, and for the first time in weeks, the tension in their faces eased. “Here, Clara,” my aunt said, placing a piece of chicken on my plate. “You’re too thin. You need to eat.” 4 The basement was freezing. The wind whistled through the cracks in the door, a thousand tiny needles pricking at my burns. I wrapped myself in a threadbare blanket, my body shaking. I hadn’t had anything to drink all day. The thirst was unbearable. I crept upstairs. A stray cat was lapping at a puddle of dirty water on the floor. I hesitated, then knelt beside it. When you’re dying of thirst, dignity doesn’t seem so important. The water was cold and sweet. When I stood up, I saw my brother, Leo, standing there, his face a mask of cold fury. He had been watching me. He was the last person I expected to see. I tried to run, to hide, but he grabbed my arm. “We’re going home. It’s New Year’s Eve.” I shrank away, terrified he would smell the stench of the basement on me. But he just tightened his grip. “Let’s go.” I found myself in front of their new home, a charming two-story house with a small yard. They weren’t struggling financially. So why couldn’t they have taken me with them? I hesitated at the door. Inside, I could hear them laughing, my parents calling Maya their “sweet baby girl.” I didn’t belong here. “Where’s Clara?” Maya asked suddenly. The laughter stopped. “She burned our house down,” my mother’s voice was like ice. “She’s lucky we’re even letting her come for dinner. When she gets here, we’re going to give her a piece of our minds.” I looked at Leo in disbelief. “You were there. You know it was Maya who started the fire…” “Shut up!” he hissed, his voice low and threatening. I flinched, my body tensing. I had become so sensitive to anger, to any hint of disapproval. “I’m sorry,” I whispered. “Maya is fragile,” he said, his voice a little softer. “Don’t make a scene. Does it really matter who started it?” It mattered to me. But I just nodded. “I won’t say anything.” He seemed to relax. “Come on, let’s go eat.” I shook my head. “Can you give me some money? I need to buy medicine.” His face hardened again. “Is that all you ever think about? You finally come home, and the first thing you do is ask for money?” He pulled a few bills from his wallet and threw them at me. I knelt to pick them up, my face impassive. “Is that it?” he sneered. “I humiliate you like that, and you don’t even fight back?” The old me would have. But I was tired. I just wanted to leave. Suddenly, a sharp pain shot through my abdomen. My period had started, and I had just drunk dirty, cold water. “Can I have a glass of hot water?” I begged, my voice trembling. “Please?” Seeing me so weak, a smirk played on his lips. He said nothing, just turned and went inside, slamming the door behind him. “She’s not coming,” I heard him announce. The pain was overwhelming. I collapsed onto the cold steps, and the world went black. Vaguely, through the haze, I thought I saw their horrified faces. 5 I woke up to the smell of antiseptic and the sight of a white ceiling. A nurse smiled at me. “You’re awake.” “Who brought me here?” I asked. “Your family,” she said. My heart twisted. They had brought me to the hospital. The nurse hesitated, then patted my hand and left. I lay there, tears streaming down my face, until I fell back asleep. Later, I heard the nurse whispering to a colleague. “It’s so sad. Their other kid wanted to go out to eat, so they just left her here. Who does that?” The pain in my chest was worse than the pain in my back. I thought I didn’t care anymore. Why did it still hurt so much? 6 That night, they brought me leftovers from the restaurant. “Clara, we brought you food!” Maya chirped, running toward my bed. I quickly lifted my arm, moving the IV out of her way. They all froze. I knew what they were thinking. There she goes again, being difficult. I forced a smile and took the food. “Thank you. I’m starving.” The food was cold, but it tasted like heaven. When I was done, I huddled under the blanket. “Thank you for bringing me to the hospital,” I said, trying to sound as cheerful and grateful as I could. They exchanged glances and left without a word. “It’s like she’s trying to make us feel guilty,” I heard Leo mutter as he slammed the door. I flinched and pulled the blanket over my head.

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1 The day after our engagement party, my mom was diagnosed with cancer. Panicked, I grabbed my debit card, ready to transfer the twenty thousand dollars in engagement money my fiancé’s family had just given me. As I was about to enter the last digit of my PIN, my fiancé, Ethan, snatched the phone out of my hand. “Babe, look closely at the doctor’s report,” he said gently. “The name is photoshopped.” Suddenly, I remembered a dinner conversation from a few weeks ago. My younger brother, Mike, was talking about a car he wanted. It was twenty grand, but the down payment was only five. My mom had taken a sip of her soup. “Don’t rush into a loan,” she’d said. “We’ll buy it for you outright in a few days.” I stared at the transfer screen on my phone, then slowly, I closed the app. When Ethan took my phone, I saw red. “What do you think you’re doing?” I shrieked. “You’re the one who promised me that even though I was moving across the country for you, I wouldn’t regret it. You’re the one who told my parents they weren’t losing a daughter, but gaining a son. Now my mom has liver cancer, and you’re trying to stop me from helping her?” Our engagement party had been at my parents’ house, a tradition in my hometown. It was where the groom’s family formally presented their gifts and both families discussed the wedding plans. Ethan and I had met at work. He was from a well-off family in Seattle, smart, handsome, and incredibly good to me. I had hesitated to get serious with him. When I’d left for college in Seattle, my mom had complained that her little girl was flying too far from the nest. I’d promised her that after graduation, I’d come back home. I wouldn’t risk a long-distance relationship. But then I met Ethan. And my mom kept trying to set me up with guys from back home, all of whom were… less than impressive. Ethan was a breath of fresh air. We fell in love. He proposed. The night I told my parents I was staying in Seattle, my dad smoked a whole pack of cigarettes on the porch. My mom cried, saying that if I ever got into trouble, I’d have no family there to help me. For the past six months, their anxiety had been a constant theme in our family group chat. That’s why, even though Ethan and his parents had shown up with a car full of extravagant gifts and had booked the entire top floor of the fanciest restaurant in town for the party, my mom had looked so sad. The thought of her suffering while I was a thousand miles away was like a knife in my gut. I jumped up, trying to grab my phone back. Normally, Ethan would have given in immediately, but this time, he held it high above my head. “Babe, just think for a second,” he said. “Your mom was fine until I put that twenty thousand dollars in your purse. That’s when her face changed.” 2 “That’s impossible!” I yelled. “We agreed! My parents aren’t keeping the money. They’re adding to it for my dowry.” Ethan’s family was buying us a fully furnished house and a new car. To show their commitment, Ethan had insisted on putting my name on the deed. My parents had said that since the groom’s family was being so generous, the engagement money was just a formality. They couldn’t afford to buy us a house, but they would never take my money and leave me dependent on my in-laws. So, the twenty thousand in cash had been presented in a fancy red box at the party, and then Ethan had slipped it into my bag. I’d deposited it at an ATM right after. “I can’t believe you would think something so horrible about my parents,” I said, my voice cold. “Give me back my phone. I’ll use my own money to help my mom. You can’t control that. And you can have your twenty thousand back. The wedding’s off.” He looked so panicked that I managed to snatch the phone back. I opened a different banking app. This was my own savings account, with twelve thousand dollars in it. My money. I quickly entered my mom’s account number, hit ‘transfer all,’ and got to the password screen. But Ethan stopped me again. “Babe, look! There’s something wrong with this report!” “You’re the one who’s wrong, Ethan,” I sneered. “You’re so desperate to keep me from helping my family that you’re making up these pathetic excuses. Are you really saying my parents would fake a cancer diagnosis for twenty thousand dollars? I was wrong about you. We’re done. Go protect your precious money from a gold-digger like me.” “Babe, I know you’re upset,” he said, sweat beading on his forehead. “But just look. The name is photoshopped.” He took my mom’s picture from the group chat and zoomed in on the name. Ethan and I were both graphic designers. He specialized in photo editing, while I was in video. He was better at spotting fakes than I was. Reluctantly, I glanced at his screen. And I froze. 3 The forgery was obvious. The font of the name didn’t match the rest of the text. Even the date and the hospital’s name looked like they’d been pasted on. Normally, I would have spotted it in a second. But my mom’s tearful voice message, sent along with the picture, had sent me into such a panic that I hadn’t even thought to question it. Ethan handed me a glass of water. “I know this is a shock. I wasn’t trying to stop you from sending money. It just seemed… off. A diagnosis like that usually requires a biopsy. The results take at least a week. Your mom seemed perfectly fine the whole time I was there. How could she suddenly have a confirmed diagnosis?” His calm voice steadied me. And then I remembered the dinner with my brother. “Mom, Ashley heard my sister’s getting a new house and car for her wedding,” he’d whined. “She says we need the same. There’s this car I like. It’s twenty grand, but the down payment is only five.” My mom had just calmly finished her soup. “Don’t rush into a loan,” she’d said. “We’ll buy it for you outright in a few days.” At the time, I’d felt a pang of jealousy, but then I’d figured that since I was moving away, Mike would be the one to stay and take care of them. Now, I realized the money for that car was supposed to be my engagement money. I took a sip of water and closed the banking app. I scrolled up in the group chat. Dad: [The doctor says the surgery is fifteen grand. If we want the top surgeon from the state to do it, that’s another five grand for his fee.] Dad: [We used most of our savings for Mike’s down payment on his condo. We don’t have that kind of money right now.] Mom (voice message): [Just my luck, to get sick right after Sarah’s engagement. Sarah, honey, don’t you worry about me. I won’t be a burden to you or your brother. The doctor said if we can’t afford the surgery, I can just do chemo. I’ll still have a year or so. I just want to see you in your wedding dress.] Even knowing it was a lie, hearing my mom talk about dying made my stomach clench. I had to be sure. Me: [Mom, don’t panic. Are you at the city hospital? My friend from college is doing her residency there. I’ll call her and have her send me your test results. I can get a second opinion from a specialist here in Seattle.] 4 The group chat went silent. A moment later, Ethan also sent a message. Ethan: [That’s right, Mom and Dad. A serious diagnosis like this needs to be confirmed. My dad knows the head of oncology at the university hospital. I can drive down tomorrow and bring you both back to Seattle for a full workup.] After a long pause, my dad replied, tagging Ethan. Dad: [@Ethan, I appreciate the offer, son, but this is a family matter. We don’t want to trouble you.] Then, my phone rang. It was my dad. I put him on speaker. “Sarah, we have connections at the hospital here. We got the results rushed. I know you mean well, but the doctor said this type of cancer can spread quickly. We need to do the surgery as soon as possible. And all our money is tied up in your brother’s condo. The deed hasn’t even been finalized yet, so we can’t even get a loan.” He sighed heavily. “Your mother is a mess. She keeps saying she doesn’t want to be a burden. You need to call her, reassure her. Tell her you’ll help. You’re her daughter, you can’t just stand by and watch her die, right?” He was laying it on thick. He said he knew I’d just used my vacation time for the engagement and that he wouldn’t have bothered me if the hospital wasn’t demanding payment upfront. His words tugged at my heartstrings. I was about to tell him I’d send the money right away, but the image of that fake report stopped me. “Dad,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, “which hospital is it? And how did this happen so suddenly? Could it be a misdiagnosis?” His voice rose. “What are you saying? That your mother is faking cancer to trick you?” He sounded… guilty. I decided to play along. Ethan gave me a subtle nod. “No, Dad, that’s not what I mean,” I said. “I’m just worried. The problem is, I already deposited the money. And my account has a daily online transfer limit of a thousand dollars. The banks are closed now. I’ll have to go in person tomorrow to make the transfer.” My dad’s voice immediately softened. “Don’t worry, we’ll just tell everyone we’re borrowing the money from you. We’ll pay you back. It’ll look better that way.” As soon as I hung up, I saw Ethan standing by the door, car keys in hand. 5 We drove through the night, a nine-hour trip back to my hometown. I felt a wave of guilt. “I’m sorry,” I said. “You were right. I shouldn’t have snapped at you.” Ethan smiled and squeezed my hand. “It’s okay. You were scared.” He was quiet for a moment, then said, “Babe, there’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a while. I don’t think your parents… I don’t think they love you as much as you think they do.” “What are you talking about?” I said, confused. “They put me through grad school. My brother only has an associate’s degree. They invested in my education. That’s love.” “Do you remember how we met?” he asked gently. I flushed. It was right after I started my internship. I had two hundred dollars to my name after paying my rent deposit. I had called my mom, asking for a little help to get me through to my first paycheck. “Your brother can’t find a job,” she’d said. “We’re thinking of buying the convenience store down the street for him to run. We need a cashier. You should just come home.” We’d argued. I’d told her I didn’t get a master’s degree to be a cashier. She’d told me that if I was so independent, I could figure it out myself. I’d lived on instant noodles for a month and ended up fainting at my desk from malnutrition. Ethan was the one who took me to the hospital. “Love is where the money is, babe,” Ethan said softly. “That’s true for couples, and it’s true for families.” I thought back. My parents had always praised me for being the smart, responsible one. They’d always said I was the one they could rely on in their old age. I’d been so proud. I’d taken out student loans, worked part-time jobs, and never asked them for a thing. “But… my mom has been buying me gold jewelry for my birthday since I was twelve,” I said, clutching the pendant around my neck. “That has to be worth something.” Ethan gave me a sad smile. “Let’s make a bet. I bet your parents faked the diagnosis for the money. And I bet that jewelry is fake too.” I stared at him, my heart sinking. “And if I lose?” “Then we get married as soon as we get back to Seattle.” I squeezed the pendant in my hand. It felt cold and cheap. “Deal.”

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1 On my 20th birthday, I did everything my cousin Elara did. Elara had a lavish wedding at a luxury hotel downtown. I found a dark alley and let a stranger defile me. My parents said it was the only way he would mistake Elara for me and take her away. I asked them who he was. They said he was the demon that had haunted our family for generations. The moment I stumbled out of that alley, I could hear the man’s mocking laughter behind me. “Girls these days, huh? Hahaha.” I didn’t turn back. I pretended I didn’t hear. When I was a baby, my parents adopted a girl from an orphanage. She was born in the same city, on the same day, in the same year as me. Our birth certificates were only an hour apart. They named her Elara. My parents said her astrological charts were identical to mine. We grew up as sisters, our lives mirroring each other’s. We were both top students, both talented artists. The only difference was our faces. Earlier this year, Elara came down with a mysterious illness. Doctors couldn’t find a cause. My parents consulted a seer, a woman well-known in certain circles, who told them Elara needed a “warding wedding” to protect her. The date was set for Elara’s 20th birthday. The groom was the son of a distant, poor relative from the countryside. When they heard their son would be marrying into our wealthy family, they agreed immediately. Today was Elara’s wedding. An hour before we were supposed to leave for the hotel, my mother pulled me into the basement. She told me about the curse that had plagued our family for a century, a curse that targeted only the women. Long ago, a man fell madly in love with one of our ancestors. She used him, framed him for a crime he didn’t commit, and led him to a gruesome, unjust death. As he died, his spirit became a demon, an immortal being fueled by vengeance. He cursed our bloodline: every daughter born into our family would be tormented and killed by him. “Your great-aunt, your aunt… they were all his victims,” my mother whispered, her face pale. “That’s why, after you were born, we adopted Elara. Her birth chart is identical to yours. She was meant to be your substitute.” “Today, Elara is having her ritual wedding. You must do exactly the same as she does.” She didn’t have to finish. I understood. “And then what happens?” It sounded insane, but I knew my mother wasn’t lying. “Then the demon will mistake Elara for you. He will take her, and you will finally be safe.” 2 There was no moon tonight. The narrow alley was pitch black. I’d lost my contacts at the club I’d gone to, and my near-sightedness made every step a stumbling guess. I kept bumping into overflowing trash cans. When I got home, my parents were sitting in the living room. Elara and her new husband were not there. They were upstairs, in the newly decorated bridal suite on the third floor. My mother pulled me back into the basement. “Did you do it?” “Yes.” She nodded. “Good. That’s good.” A wave of guilt washed over me. “Will she… will Elara die?” “She is taking your place. You must be grateful for her sacrifice.” Her answer wasn’t direct, but the meaning was clear. Elara’s death was a certainty. “Go take a shower, Cora. Get some rest.” I went to my room. Our house was large; every bedroom had its own bathroom. I turned on the hot water and finally allowed myself to break down, sobbing under the spray. To save my own life, I had just let a stranger… I felt spineless. I scrubbed my skin for almost two hours before I finally got out. My mother knocked on the door with a bowl of soup. “I’m not hungry. I’m going to sleep,” I said, turning off the light. I lay in bed, thinking about Elara. Two years ago, I was in a car accident and needed a transfusion. Elara, despite being anemic herself, insisted on donating blood for me. She wasn’t my biological sister, but she had always treated me like one. She had always protected me. I didn’t want to die, but I couldn’t bear the thought of her dying for me. I had to do something. Her room was on the floor above mine. The entire third floor had been renovated for her and her new husband. I crept upstairs, planning to warn her, to tell her to be careful, to not leave the house. But as I reached her door, I could hear them talking inside. I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. The conversation sounded like it would go on for a while. Defeated, I went back to my room. I tossed and turned until after 3 AM. When I finally woke up, it was almost ten in the morning. I went downstairs. My mother’s voice was a low, somber whisper. “Elara is gone.” She had gone to wake them for breakfast and found the room empty. Elara’s phone and wallet were still on the nightstand. Her new husband was snoring in bed, completely oblivious. When my mother woke him, he claimed to know nothing. “It must have been the demon,” my mother choked out. “He took her.” “What about her husband?” I asked. “He’s out looking for her.” It was my fault. If I had just warned her last night, maybe this wouldn’t have happened. I had to fix this. I decided to find a paranormal expert, someone who could fight a demon. I ran back to my room and started tearing it apart, looking for anything valuable I could sell to pay for help. Tucked inside my jewelry box, I found a small, folded piece of paper. It was Elara’s handwriting. “Cora, you are not our parents’ biological daughter. You are the one who was adopted. You are my substitute. On our 20th birthday, our fates were meant to be switched. The demon was supposed to mistake you for me, and take you away.” I stared at the note, the world tilting on its axis. It wasn’t possible. I was their daughter. Elara was the orphan. Why would she lie? 3 My mind went blank. I don’t know how long I stood there before I stumbled to the mirror. I looked at my face. I had my father’s eyes, his jawline. I was his daughter. Elara looked nothing like them. So who was lying? My parents, or Elara? I went downstairs. My parents were still sitting on the couch, staring into space. “Mom, have you called the police? We have to report her missing.” “Your blood type is A, your father’s is O,” she said, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Why are you asking?” “No reason.” My blood type is A, Elara’s is O. Genetically, either of us could be their child. But Elara’s note had planted a seed of doubt, a strange sense of distance between me and the people I’d called my parents my whole life. “I’m going to go look for her,” I said, needing to escape the house. How could she have just vanished? And how could her husband have slept through it? Was he lying? I decided my first stop would be a psychic. I’d heard about a powerful seer in the West End who could communicate with the other side. It took asking a dozen people before I found her address, tucked away in a grimy, forgotten alley. The alley stank of sewage; a broken pipe was leaking foul water onto the cobblestones. I held my breath and hopped over the puddles. At the end of the alley, an old woman was dozing in a rocking chair, basking in a sliver of sunlight. “Excuse me, are you Madame Morwen?” She didn’t move. I asked again, louder. Nothing. I reached out and tapped her shoulder. Her head lolled to the side at an unnatural angle. I gasped and checked for a pulse. There was none. She was dead. “Help!” I screamed. “Someone’s died!” Suddenly, her hand shot out and gripped my wrist. It was like being clamped in a vise. Something sharp pricked my skin. I looked down. The dead woman was staring at me, her long, sharp fingernails digging into my flesh. “A zombie!” I shrieked. “Hush, child,” the old woman hissed, her eyes snapping open. They were long and narrow, like a snake’s. “I’m not dead.” An old wives’ tale surfaced in my mind: people with snake-like eyes are not to be trusted. “I have a sister… well, a cousin. She’s missing. I was hoping you could help me find her.” “Give me her birth details,” she rasped. I told her Elara’s date, time, and place of birth. “Is that correct?” she asked. “Yes. We were born less than an hour apart. Our charts are identical.” Madame Morwen asked for more details, then closed her eyes. I waited. After about ten minutes, she opened them, her brow furrowed. “Strange. In all my years, I have never seen a chart like this. It is a death chart. The person born under it should not have survived. But the strangest part is that you, with the same chart, are alive.” She asked for my details. This time, she traced patterns on the fabric of her dress. Her head snapped up, her eyes boring into me. “One of you was brought in to alter the other’s fate,” she said. “Your parents must have consulted a powerful practitioner.” “Which one of us?” I asked, my voice trembling. “Which one is the substitute?”

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1 My fiancé and I had been planning a trip to Charleston for months. It was where we’d met, where we’d fallen in love. It was where he was going to propose. I spent all morning getting ready, feeling a sweet, giddy anticipation. I never expected to be stopped halfway to our meeting spot by a girl with a phone shoved in my face. She gave me a sugary smile. “Hi there! So sorry to bother you. Could I take a few pictures of you?” Her phone was held high, angled down at a steep forty-five degrees, aimed directly at my chest. Knowing what the day held, I’d chosen a V-neck sundress. From that angle, I was definitely exposed. I instinctively covered my chest and took a step back, frowning. “Sorry, my friend is waiting for me.” Her smile faltered, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. She didn’t lower the phone. Instead, she moved closer. “It’ll only take a minute. I have a pretty big following on TikTok. You can check out my page if you want.” She puffed out her chest, her tone dripping with condescension. “Opportunities like this don’t come around every day for regular people. I’ll even tag your account in the comments. With my view count, I could probably get you a few sugar daddies, no problem.” She pulled out a second phone and shoved it in my face. 2.1 million followers. The username looked vaguely familiar, but I didn’t spend much time on that side of TikTok. The video thumbnails were all the same: cleavage shots, borderline content pushing the platform’s guidelines. Her attitude was grating, as if she were bestowing some great honor upon me. I was annoyed, but I didn’t want a confrontation. “I’m sorry, I really don’t have time,” I said, my voice firm but polite. “And I’m not interested in being famous. But thank you.” Being rejected again clearly irritated her. Her face soured, but at least she finally backed off. I let out a breath and hurried away. I could feel her glaring at my back. After a moment, I realized she was following me, pretending to film the scenery. I tried to ignore her. Maybe I’d seen her on my ‘For You’ page once. This was a popular tourist spot; I couldn’t exactly tell her to leave. She wouldn’t dare try to force me to take pictures in public, right? I pushed the unsettling encounter from my mind. 2 As I neared our spot, I saw it: a sea of flowers. Pink tulips, my favorite. It was near the college campus where we’d met. He’d remembered. I saw him standing in the middle of it all, and my heart swelled. He smiled, that gentle smile I loved so much, and got down on one knee. I was about to walk toward him, my answer ready on my lips, when a figure shoved past me, knocking me off balance. “I do!” a cheerful voice cried out. To keep from falling, my fiancé, Alex, had to catch the girl, spinning her around in a dizzying circle. By the time I regained my footing, the ring that was meant for me was on this stranger’s finger. It was the influencer from before. And the smug little smirk on her face told me this was no accident. This was revenge. My blood boiled. I was about to rip her off him when applause erupted from behind me. A crowd had gathered, cheering them on. “Kiss her! Kiss her!” they chanted. An older woman grabbed my arm, pulling me back. “What are you, some kind of attention-seeker?” she grumbled, giving me a dirty look. “Let the girl have her moment.” She held onto me, and I couldn’t break free. The noise of the crowd drowned out my attempts to explain. I could only watch, helpless, as Alex stood there, red-faced and trapped. He was a shy guy; this was his worst nightmare. I finally managed to shout his name, my voice cracking. He heard me and tried to push the girl away, but she was quicker. She stepped back, a perfect smile on her face, and addressed the crowd. “Everyone, calm down! You’ve got it all wrong!” The crowd quieted, confused. She pulled me forward and, with a flourish, took the ring off her finger and pressed it into my hand. “So sorry,” she said, her voice dripping with fake sincerity. “Just had to borrow your boyfriend for some content. Don’t worry, I’ll tag you!” Her grip was surprisingly strong, her smile a mask for the malice underneath. In that moment, I knew for sure. This was all deliberate. “I know you!” someone in the crowd exclaimed. “You’re Chloe Vance, the influencer!” “Did you get me in the shot? When are you posting it? I’ll give it a like!” Chloe let go of me and beamed at her fan. “Of course! Thanks for the support!” Suddenly, I was invisible. The crowd swarmed her, everyone wanting a selfie, an autograph. No one cared about our ruined proposal. They were just thrilled to be in the presence of a minor celebrity. A tourist on the edge of the crowd gave me an envious look. “You’re so lucky.” 3 “Lucky?” I repeated, bewildered. “How is any of this lucky?” My proposal was ruined, my ring felt tainted, and the person responsible was being treated like a hero. I couldn’t even get close enough to confront her. “Babe, let’s just go,” Alex said, finally pushing his way through the crowd to my side. “She’s not worth our time.” He was probably right. It wasn’t worth the fight. We were on vacation. But then I noticed something on the hem of his shirt. A small, neat signature in black marker: Chloe Vance. The vague sense of familiarity I’d felt earlier clicked into place. A year ago, Alex had gone through a phase of being obsessed with a TikToker who posted thirst traps. He was always in her comments, trying to be the first to post. We’d had a huge fight about it. I’d called it an emotional affair; he’d said it was just harmless fun. I’d cut off his allowance—I was the breadwinner in our relationship—and after a week of the cold shoulder, he’d finally apologized and promised to stop. The memory had faded. But now, seeing that signature, it all came rushing back. My heart went cold. “Are you watching those videos again?” I asked, my voice flat. “Is this your new favorite?” He looked flustered. “No! Of course not! I know you hate that stuff. It was the crowd. They were just shoving things at her to sign.” I half-believed him. “Then why didn’t you move?” “It happened so fast,” he said, looking genuinely sheepish. “And I didn’t want to make a scene. Besides,” he added with a playful grin, “maybe this autograph will be worth something someday.” His explanation was plausible, if a little naive. Alex had always been frugal, despite my assurances that he didn’t need to be. The idea of a collectible made sense for him. I decided to let it go, to trust him. He saw my expression soften and immediately pulled up a reservation on his phone. “Come on, let’s go get some amazing food. My treat… well, with a little help from my lovely fiancée.” His goofy smile made me laugh. I rolled my eyes and transferred him the money for dinner. 4 The restaurant was packed. We finally got a table, but the server was clearly overwhelmed. She slapped the menus down and grumbled, “Know what you want? I’m busy.” We ordered quickly, but our food never came. My stomach started to hurt. “Babe, I’m going to see if I can find a snack or something outside,” Alex said, looking worried. He rushed out. A few minutes later, a server emerged from the kitchen with two plates. I flagged her down, but she walked right past me to the table next to ours. The woman at that table had arrived a good twenty minutes after us. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice tight with irritation. “We were here first. And those are the dishes we ordered.” “Oh, sorry,” the server said without turning around. “We’re out of the ingredients for your order. You can try another restaurant.” But I could see the woman’s plate. She had the exact same two dishes I’d ordered. “You’re not out of ingredients,” I said, pointing. “You just served her my food.” The server finally turned to me, her expression a mixture of annoyance and pity. “Do you have two million followers?” she asked. “She does. She gets priority. It brings in business. Do you?” Before I could respond, the woman at the next table turned around. It was Chloe Vance. “Oh, my gosh, what a coincidence!” she said, her voice dripping with fake surprise. “Fancy seeing you here!” Her table was overflowing with food. Ours was empty. The server’s question echoed in my head. Do you have two million followers? When had that become the measure of a person’s worth? “This isn’t a coincidence,” I said, my voice shaking with anger. “You’re doing this on purpose. You ruined my proposal, and now you’re following us. Just leave us alone.” She just looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Do you own this restaurant? I’m just here to eat. You can’t blame me for that. And I’m sorry if my ‘influencer perks’ bother you, but that’s the reward for all my hard work.” The server chimed in. “Chloe is a huge asset to this town. She made a reservation an hour ago. And even if she didn’t, she gets VIP service everywhere she goes. Who are you to question that?” Just as I was about to explode, Chloe held up her phone and started filming. “Hey guys! I’m at this amazing restaurant in Charleston. The food is incredible, and the service is even better!” She gave the server a dazzling smile, then shot me a triumphant look. 5 I felt a wave of helplessness. I couldn’t win this fight. My vacation was ruined. All I wanted to do was go home. This city, once so full of happy memories, now felt tainted. I stood up and walked out. Just as I stepped outside, I ran into Alex, who was holding a slice of pizza. He saw my face and immediately knew something was wrong. But before I could tell him what had happened, he pulled me aside, his own face alight with excitement. “You won’t believe this!” he said, shoving a contract into my hand. “I just ran into the head of tourism for the city. They want us to be in a promotional video! They’re paying us, and we get to keep all the footage for free!” It seemed too good to be true. I took a bite of the pizza. “Why would they want you?” I asked. It had taken him half an hour to get a slice of pizza from a street vendor right outside the restaurant. “I guess he liked my look,” Alex said, a little defensively. “And he’s right behind me. It’s legit.” I turned and saw a man in a baseball cap nodding at us. He had an official-looking ID badge. I was too tired and hungry to argue. Alex was so excited. He’d been feeling down about not having a job, and this was the first time in a while I’d seen him so happy. I didn’t have the heart to crush his enthusiasm. And free professional photos from our trip would be a nice souvenir, a bright spot in an otherwise terrible day. I signed the contract.

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1 After six months of unemployment, I finally landed a job as a front desk clerk at a hotel. The pay was great, the benefits even better. The only unusual requirement was that I had to like animals. Looking at the calico cat that had been rubbing against my leg since I arrived for the interview, and the walls covered in photos of cats and dogs, I nodded. Must be a pet-friendly hotel. My first shift was the night shift. Before the manager left, he kept looking at me like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. I just patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, I’ve got this.” At eleven o’clock, the revolving doors started to turn. A few seconds later, a soaking wet, battered tuxedo cat leaped onto the stool in front of the reception desk. “Human,” it said, its voice a gravelly hiss. “Get this cat a room. King-sized bed.” “This cat needs a room.” 2 I stared at the cat, wondering if the two sleepless nights I’d just pulled had finally made me hallucinate. A talking cat? A cat demanding a hotel room? Either one was enough to get me committed. The cat, seeing my inaction, impatiently pawed at my arm. “Are your ears broken, human? This cat said, this cat needs a room!” It was real. The cat was really talking. Just then, the hotel’s resident calico, who had been dozing at my feet, tugged on my pant leg, signaling me to step back. He then gracefully leaped onto the counter. The calico cleared his throat. “Meow. She’s new, hasn’t been trained yet,” he said to the tuxedo. “Respected feline guest, please direct your requests to me. I will see that they are met.” The tuxedo cat began licking a bloody patch of fur on its paw. “This cat’s room needs to have pine litter. This cat can’t use anything else. And a tall cat tree. And some lukewarm spring water. This cat doesn’t drink purified.” The calico sat primly, taking mental notes. The tuxedo’s voice grew more agitated as it spoke, its fur starting to stand on end. The calico quickly put a paw on its shoulder. “This cat understands your requirements. Is there anything else?” The tuxedo cat stopped, thinking. Suddenly, its whole body went rigid, fur bristling. “Meow! You have to tell this cat’s human to run! Now!” 3 “Tell me everything,” the calico said, his tone serious. The tuxedo paced the counter, frantic. “There’s a bad man in this cat’s house. He’s the human’s mate. He came over once, and now he sneaks in every day while she’s out hunting.” (Hunting, I presumed, meant working.) “This cat does not like him! He kicks this cat, pulls this cat’s tail. And he puts strange things in the house. In the living room, the bathroom, even where the human sleeps!” “This morning, after the human left, he came again! He hid a metal block and a long rope next to the pipes in the bathroom. This cat smelled a very bad, very dangerous smell on him today. This cat heard him say he was going to do something tonight.” “The human will be hurt when she comes home. This cat has to protect the human. But this cat could not win the fight. This cat was defeated.” The tuxedo’s head drooped. “The human always comes home when the moon is high. The moon is almost high now. This cat will give you all of this cat’s cans and toys. You must save the human!” My jaw dropped. This was serious. The metal block and rope sounded like a weapon. “I’ll call the police,” I said immediately. “Where do you live?” The cat gave me a jumbled set of directions. It took me a few minutes to pinpoint the location on a map. It was close to the hotel, but far from the police station. The calico stood on his hind legs and patted my shoulder. “Human, there is one more thing you must do.” At this point, I wasn’t questioning any of it. “Name it.” “You must go to the guest’s building and intercept her before she goes inside. This cat will follow and protect you.” He pointed to the name tag on my uniform. “As long as you wear that, you can understand us.” 4 I grabbed my electric scooter and sped off. The apartment building was old and run-down, with no doorman and flickering lights. I saw that the lights in the tuxedo cat’s apartment were off. The human wasn’t home yet. The calico and the tuxedo, now in some kind of transparent, ghostly form, scouted ahead. “Human, it’s clear for now,” the calico reported. “This cat kissed an orange cat in these bushes!” the tuxedo announced, rolling around in a patch of grass. “And this is where this cat fought the human! The human won. This cat was gloriously defeated.” She pranced over to a dumpster by the building’s entrance. “This is where the human found this cat!” That’s when I saw a dark figure sitting on the steps. My hair stood on end. But the tuxedo cat just trotted happily toward it. “Human, human, human! It’s my human!” She tried to rub against the figure but passed right through. The figure, a young woman, saw me and jumped up, apologizing for startling me. She was about to go inside. “Wait,” I said. “Do you have a tuxedo cat?” She spun around, her eyes wide. “Yes! Have you seen her? She has a collar with a name tag. Her name is Oreo.” She was practically vibrating with anxiety. 5 It took me a second to process. Oreo had been attacked that morning. Her owner had come home for lunch and found her missing, and had been searching ever since, which is why she wasn’t home when the attacker was there. She’d been saved by a series of lucky chances. I pulled her aside. “You can’t go into your apartment. It’s not safe.” She looked at me like I was crazy. Just then, a police car pulled up. I waved, and together, we all went upstairs. The police had the woman unlock her door. The moment she turned the key, the door was yanked open from the inside, and she was pulled in. I grabbed her, pulling her back as the officers rushed past. After a brief struggle, they emerged with two men in handcuffs. The woman gasped. “My landlord?!” Oreo, who had followed us in, arched her back and hissed. “Bad man! That’s the bad man!” After the police left, the woman was still in shock. “How did you know? And… have you seen my Oreo?” 6 Oreo’s ghost trotted over to a trash chute in the hallway and rubbed against her owner’s leg. “Human, this cat is in here.” I led the woman to the chute. Oreo circled her feet. “It stinks in here, human. You just gave this cat a bath.” The woman’s hands were trembling as she opened the metal door. “Oreo loves to explore,” she said, her voice strained. “She probably got herself stuck. She’s going to be in so much trouble when I get her out.” Then she saw the small, bloody body lying on top of the garbage bags. A gut-wrenching scream tore from her throat. She collapsed, pulling the lifeless cat into her arms. Oreo nudged her. “Okay, okay, you can give this cat one more bath. This cat will endure it. Just don’t be sad, human.” The woman was sobbing hysterically. I put my arm around her. “She’s the one who sent me to save you,” I whispered. “Was it the landlord…?” I nodded. “He’s been watching you. Oreo said he installed cameras in your apartment. If it wasn’t for her…” Oreo was jumping up and down. “Human, tell the other human to stop talking! She’s making her cry more! Tell her… tell her this cat is her bodyguard. It is this cat’s duty to protect her. This cat was defeated, but this cat died to protect the human. This cat is proud!” When I relayed the message, the woman’s sobs finally quieted. She looked at the empty space beside her, where I had pointed. She reached out and stroked the air. “Oreo,” she whispered, her voice thick with tears. “My little hero. Thank you, my baby.” 7 The woman went to stay with a friend. Oreo came back to the hotel with me and the calico. “This cat misses the human,” she said sadly from the big bed in her room. “Can this cat go see her?” The calico shook his head. “Once you check in, you must wait for the ferry.” “Heartless,” Oreo muttered, and disappeared under the bed. As we walked back to the front desk, the calico rubbed against my leg. “This cat’s name is Tiger. Aren’t you curious, human?” “Tiger,” I said, stroking his fur. “Like the animal?” He just flicked his tail and leaped into my arms. “Human, this cat observed you for a long time before offering you this job. This cat is newly in charge here and cannot yet take human form. This cat needs a human to handle the… human aspects of the hotel. This hotel does not serve living people. It is a waystation for the souls of animals. The ferry comes to take them to the other side.” He hopped onto the front desk. “But do not be afraid. This cat will be with you.” He was with me, alright. He spent the rest of the night snoring on my lap. I was exhausted when my shift ended at 8 AM. When I got home, I collapsed into bed. I woke up at 6 PM, scarfed down some ramen, and headed back to the hotel. On my way out, I almost ran into an old man who was taping a flyer to a telephone pole. It was a lost-pet poster. 8 The hotel was quiet again. Tiger had me prepare him a gourmet meal of chicken and egg yolk, then spent an hour grooming himself before our first guest arrived. It was the old man from the street. “I thought you said this hotel only served animals,” I whispered to Tiger. He rolled his eyes. “Are you blind, human? Can’t you see he’s not alive?” I ignored him and went to greet the man. He shyly handed me one of his flyers. The drawing of the cat on it was surprisingly good. “Have you seen my cat?” he asked, his voice trembling. “He’s a good boy. I found him a few years ago. We… we were a team. We collected recyclables together.” I shook my head. He asked me to keep an eye out and then shuffled away. “It’s a good thing you haven’t seen his cat,” Tiger said. “I know,” I replied. “It means he’s still alive.” 9 The first half of the night was spent trying to convince a mynah bird that it had not, in fact, been kidnapped. The second half was spent dealing with a beagle who just stood in the lobby, howling mournfully. The sound was so eerie that Tiger woke up, convinced the fire alarm was going off. When I left in the morning, the old man was still wandering the neighborhood. I bought two orders of dumplings and gave one to him. He tried to pay me, but I just asked him if he’d found his cat. He shook his head sadly. I walked him home. He lived in a shack at the local junkyard. Outside were piles of junk, but also a few cat toys and a handmade cat bed. Inside, he pointed to a single framed photo on the wall. “That’s my Smokey. I’ve had him for five years. Found him in a bag in this very junkyard. There were four kittens, but he was the only one still alive. He’s a good cat. Not picky, and a great mouser.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “It’s been three days. I can’t eat, can’t sleep. What if a bigger cat got him? What if some bad person took him?” I asked if I could borrow the photo to make better flyers.

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1 I was spending the summer watching my sister-in-law’s kid when she gave me her old, discarded laptop. Before I could even feel a flicker of excitement, I overheard her complaining to my brother. “She’s only helping with the kid because she wants something out of it.” My parents were in the living room with me. We all heard her. But no one said a word in my defense. I looked around at my so-called family and suddenly understood. There was only one outsider in this house. I picked up the laptop, walked to their bedroom door, and pushed it open. “Sarah,” I said, my voice shaking, “I can’t take advantage of you like this. Here’s your laptop back. Just pay me the standard babysitting rate.” The air went still. Sarah just glared at me. My brother, Mark, shot to his feet. “Chloe, is that any way to talk to your sister-in-law?” “How am I talking to her? You’re the ones who think I’m taking advantage of you. So I’m giving it back. Or would you rather just have a free nanny?” It was the first time I had ever talked back. My hands, clutching the laptop, were trembling. “You ungrateful brat,” my mother chimed in. “Free nanny? Do you not eat our food? Do you not sleep under our roof? You think you’re some kind of princess who doesn’t have to lift a finger?” Free room and board? Since the summer started, I hadn’t had a single day off. My nephew was three, a tornado of energy that required 24/7 supervision. As soon as Mark and Sarah got home from work, my mom would send me to help out at their barbecue joint. We’d get home around midnight, and then I’d have to put my nephew to bed. There were only three bedrooms in the house. My parents had one, Mark and Sarah had another, and the last was the nursery. So every school break, I slept in there with the kid. He was a restless sleeper, and I ended up curled on a thin mat on the window seat. He was the golden grandchild, spoiled rotten. A few days ago, he’d screamed at me, “This is my room! This is my house! Get out!” all because I was trying to get him to do some preschool prep work. They all heard him. Sarah just gently chided him, “Your auntie will get married and move out soon. Then you’ll miss her.” My parents just said he was a kid, that I shouldn’t take it seriously. But how could I not? I was the outsider here, a second-class citizen. This house was never meant for me. 2 My brother is eight years older than me. My parents always said having a son and a daughter was the perfect combination. Relatives would coo about how lucky I was to have a big brother. I don’t remember him ever being kind to me. From my earliest memories, he was always stern, always scowling. My parents just said he wasn’t good at expressing his feelings. He didn’t go to college. After drifting for a few years, he came back home. My parents drained their life savings and took out a massive loan to buy him a house in the city, a prerequisite for any decent marriage proposal. Then they went into debt again for Sarah’s dowry. They only just finished paying it all off last year. All the family’s resources were poured into him. When it was my turn to go to college, there was nothing left. The summer after I graduated high school, the atmosphere in the house was tense. I heard Sarah screaming at Mark that she never would have married him if she knew I was going to be such a “burden.” No one corrected her. I just tried to make myself invisible. That was the summer my nephew was born. My parents were busy with their own small business, and Mark had to work, so I became Sarah’s full-time postpartum nurse. I cooked, I cleaned, I took care of the baby. I did everything she asked. Maybe I did too good a job. A week before I was supposed to leave for college, Mark made a grand announcement at dinner. “My little sister worked hard to get into a good school. I’ll pay for her tuition. But you’ll have to work for your own spending money, Chloe. You know how tight things are.” I wanted to scream. The money’s tight because you spent it all on your house and your wife! But I knew if I said anything, they would all turn on me. So I stayed silent. And in my silence, my status in the family solidified. “Chloe, you have to remember what your brother has done for you,” my parents would say, over and over again. “He’s sacrificing so much to send you to school. You have to be grateful.” Sarah would just slam her chopsticks down and glare at me. I felt like I was on trial, expected to swear an oath of eternal gratitude, to declare that my brother was my savior. 3 I worked my way through college. Mark sent me a thousand dollars a month for the first two months, and then Sarah started sending me links to articles: “Best Part-Time Jobs for College Students,” “How to Apply for Financial Aid.” She’d even send me links to stories about grateful younger siblings who had paid their older siblings back tenfold. “Look how close these two are!” she’d text. “I just want you and Mark to have a good relationship.” The pressure was suffocating. I was constantly worried about money. When I came home for winter break, she would hint that I should buy toys and clothes for her son. And when I did, she’d say, “Oh, you silly girl, I was just kidding!” Then she’d brag to everyone, “Look how successful Chloe is, already buying gifts for her nephew.” My mom would just add, “Well, her brother paid for her education. It’s the least she can do.” They seemed to think college was a four-year vacation where money just magically appeared. I started to dread coming home. I could be earning money instead of being a servant. But when I told my mom I’d found a summer job, she laid a guilt trip on me. “How can you be so selfish? Your brother is paying for your tuition, and you can’t even come home to help out for a few weeks?” I caved. The first summer, it was because Mark and Sarah were threatening to divorce and someone had to watch the kid. The next, it was because they’d opened the barbecue joint and were short-staffed. And when I hesitated, my mom “accidentally” slipped and hurt her back, and I had to rush home to take care of her. “If you’d come home earlier, this wouldn’t have happened,” she’d grumbled. And now, after a month of non-stop work, my reward was a seven-year-old, hand-me-down laptop. And I was the one who was “taking advantage.” I hadn’t had my own computer since high school. For group projects, I had to beg to borrow my classmates’. I had a dozen laptops saved in my Amazon cart, but I could never bring myself to spend the money. And this is what I got for my sacrifice. Being called a freeloader. 4 My mother was still ranting. “You live here for free! You eat our food! Is it too much to ask for you to help out a little?” I clutched the old laptop, tears welling in my eyes. “Did I ask to come back? I found a job! You’re the one who begged me to come home! I’m damned if I do, damned if I don’t. What did I do to deserve this?” “You think you’re being taken advantage of?” my mom screamed. “Was it a crime to give birth to you? Was it a crime for your brother to help you? Who in this family owes you anything? If you don’t like it, you can get out!” “Did I ask you to give birth to me?!” I shrieked, smashing the laptop on the floor. “You’re the ones who are guilty! Just kill me and get it over with!” My mom slapped me across the face. “After all I’ve done for you, this is how you speak to me?” Sarah kicked over a chair and stormed out. “I can’t believe I married into this family. We pay for her school, and this is the thanks we get.” Mark ran after her, holding their son. My dad finally spoke. “Are you happy now? Is this what you wanted? Your brother is helping you, and you’re still not satisfied? You’re tearing this family apart.” I went to my room to pack. I didn’t even have a suitcase. The one they’d bought me for high school had broken years ago. I stuffed a few clothes into a backpack. My dad threw a glass against the wall. “Do you ever think about anyone but yourself? Do you have any idea the pressure your brother is under? Don’t you have any gratitude?” Gratitude. That word again. I was so sick of it. I turned to face him. “Why did he have to pay for my tuition? Do I not have parents? Where did all your money go?” “Are you blaming us now?” he roared. “We did the best we could! How was your brother supposed to get married if we didn’t buy him a house?” “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m sorry your son was too stupid to get into college. I’m sorry I was born and cost you money. I’m sorry I dared to live in your house. I’m sorry I dared to get an education. Why don’t you just kill me now? It would be easier for everyone.” He raised his hand to hit me, but I dodged. And in that moment, I finally saw them clearly. They weren’t my parents. They were his parents. They were his followers, and he was their god. And they expected me to be the sacrifice. I walked out the door, their curses following me. “Let her go! She’ll come crawling back when tuition is due!” I turned back one last time. “You’re right! It’s your bad luck that you had me! But that’s just business, isn’t it? Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. You should have had more sons to sacrifice!”

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The acceptance list for the grad school fast-track program dropped, and my academic advisor sent out a QR code for a group chat. “For everyone accepted through the National Collegiate Science Innovators Challenge, please scan to join the group for further instructions.” I’d just gotten out of the lab, my phone buzzing back to life. I quickly scanned the code and sent a request to join. A minute later, a rejection notification popped up: Not on the approved list. I stared at my screen, completely bewildered. I fired back a message. “There must be a mistake. My project won the Grand Prize in the competition. How can I not be on the list?” The reply came with a snarky, eye-rolling emoji. “Dream on, buddy. The only person from your dorm on that list is your RA.” Then another message, dripping with condescension. “And please, don’t spread rumors that someone else’s work is yours just because you’re jealous.” I was floored. Utterly shocked. My fingers flew across the keyboard as I drafted an email to the Dean and posted on the university’s official subreddit. Subject: A Humble Suggestion to Exclude MIT and Stanford from Future Competitions. Body: “I propose that in the future, our university no longer competes against schools like MIT or Stanford. It’s clear they can’t keep up. After all, my RA, a business major, just managed to win the Grand Prize in the National Chemistry Competition. It really says a lot about the ‘talent’ at those top-tier schools, doesn’t it?” 1 It didn’t take long after my post went viral on the university subreddit for my advisor, Mr. Davies, to call me, his voice practically shaking with rage. “What do you think you’re doing, posting things like that without talking to me? Do you have any idea how much trouble this could cause the department?” I almost laughed. “The competition’s official website announced my project as the Grand Prize winner. I have meticulous lab records for every single step of my research. Now, suddenly, the author’s name is changed, and I’m not supposed to fight for what’s mine?” Mr. Davies’s tone shifted to one of strained patience. “There might be a misunderstanding, Liam. You need to give the department time to investigate.” Before I could argue, his voice dropped, turning menacing. “You’re a college student. You should understand that the relationship between a student and his advisor is a partnership. If you make my job difficult, don’t be surprised if I make your graduation difficult.” Mr. Davies had a reputation for this. Every year, students who got on his bad side found themselves navigating a minefield. He’d “forget” to forward important emails about deadlines or “misplace” crucial paperwork, only to blame the student later. Pissing him off meant adding a mountain of obstacles to your path to graduation. Backed into a corner, I swallowed my anger and agreed to take down the Reddit post. Only then did he sound pleased. “Don’t you worry, Liam. We’ll get to the bottom of this. We’ll make sure justice is served.” 2 Hanging up, I felt a knot of anxiety in my stomach. I couldn’t just sit around and trust him. I immediately opened my laptop and started organizing my files. My project was on an artificial photosynthesis system. Basically, I’d developed a method to create a synthetic chlorophyll analog that dramatically increases carbon conversion efficiency—it could absorb greenhouse gases faster and in greater quantities. This project was my baby, the result of over a year spent living in the lab. I had documented everything. Even though Davies promised an investigation, I needed a Plan B. If the university wouldn’t give me justice… I’d package all my lab records and send them directly to the competition’s organizing committee. If this were some minor campus award, maybe I could let it go. But this was my ticket to grad school. This Grand Prize was the key to getting into Dr. Alistair Finch’s research group at MIT—the holy grail for any chemistry student. I wasn’t just going to roll over. Just then, my roommate, Alex, walked in. “Dude, I heard someone stole your Grand Prize? What the hell happened?” Alex was also a chem major. He’d seen me slaving away in the lab all year. I nodded grimly. “The official site shows my project, but the winner’s list has our RA’s name on it.” Alex looked concerned. “So what are you gonna do? Ethan’s a decent guy, and he’s been a good RA to us. Is it really worth blowing things up over this?” My eyes widened. “Are you kidding me? This is my future we’re talking about! That prize gets me into Dr. Finch’s lab!” Alex knew how big of a deal that was. He changed his tune. “Right, right. Did you talk to your advisor? What did Davies say?” “He said he’d look into it, but I don’t trust him. I’m compiling all my lab data to send to the competition organizers just in case.” Alex nodded. “Good call. With your evidence, no one can argue with you.” He saw me hunched over my laptop, looking stressed. “Hey, let me help. We can get this done faster.” I was grateful. “Okay, thanks. Can you just do a first pass and filter out anything not directly related to the final project?” “No problem,” he said with a reassuring smile. “I got your back. You can count on me.” 3 With Alex’s help, we had everything organized in a day. But in that time, I heard nothing but radio silence from Mr. Davies. I decided it was time to email the organizers. As I was about to hit send, Alex stopped me. “Whoa, hold on. You’re having Davies investigate and you’re going over his head to the national committee? You know what kind of person he is, man. Do you even want to graduate?” He had a point. It was the exact thing I was worried about. An academic advisor doesn’t have absolute power, but if they want to screw you over, they can make your life a living hell. “So I should call him and ask for an update?” Alex glanced at his phone. “It’s after five. He’s probably already home. You really want to bother him after hours? Maybe just wait and ask him tomorrow morning.” It sounded reasonable, so I agreed and put it off. In the days that followed, I would curse myself for making that decision. That night, Ethan, our RA, didn’t come back to the dorm. Probably feeling guilty and couldn’t face me. I sent him a hundred texts. He read every single one and replied to none. It was like screaming into the void. The next morning, I called Mr. Davies the second I thought he’d be in his office. He told me the department had completed its review and confirmed the project rightfully belonged to Ethan. The list was correct. I was furious. “How is that possible? He’s a business major! What does he know about synthesizing artificial chlorophyll?” Davies sounded completely unbothered. “What’s so strange about that? Some people are gifted. They have interests outside their major and can achieve great things. You shouldn’t question others just because you couldn’t do it yourself.” “I don’t accept this!” I stated flatly. “This competition is a huge deal, and it’s my ticket to grad school. I will not let someone steal my work.” “I told you, it’s his work. You need to stop throwing around baseless accusations of theft.” I was about to retort, but he cut me off, his voice final. “The decision has been made. If you still have a problem with it, you can come to my office to discuss it in person. I have a meeting now, goodbye.” The line went dead. I bolted from the lab and sprinted to his office. When I arrived, I found he wasn’t alone. 4 “So, this is the young man who’s trying to steal Ethan’s award?” The older man sitting across from Mr. Davies’s desk smiled, but his words hit me like a ton of bricks. It was Dean Albright, the head of our college. I took a deep breath. “Sir, with all due respect, you know how prestigious this award is. Does it seem reasonable that a business major could win it? I have all my experimental data to prove this project is mine.” The Dean just chuckled, a dismissive, patronizing sound. “If it were your project, why would Ethan’s name be on it? It seems to me that you saw your roommate achieve something great, got jealous, and decided to claim it for yourself.” Davies chimed in. “You heard him, Liam. The Dean has spoken. Just drop it.” I couldn’t believe it. “As educators, are you really going to make a decision without a proper investigation?” Davies’s face hardened. “What’s wrong with you? You don’t believe me, and you don’t believe the Dean? Do you think a man of his stature would conspire against a single student?” The Dean put on his fake, understanding smile again. “I was your age once, Liam. I know how competitive young people can be. How about this: you can join my research group, and I’ll personally mentor you for next year’s competition. We’ll make sure you get a prize. How does that sound?” “No! Why should I wait until next year when I won the Grand Prize this year?” Seeing that I wouldn’t be placated, the Dean’s expression soured. “Listen to me, young man. Right now, you are slandering your roommate out of jealousy. If I were to follow the university’s code of conduct, I could have you put on academic probation. Do you understand?” Watching the Dean’s righteous act, a thought began to form in my mind. No matter which student won, it was a win for the university. And I was a chemistry major, while Ethan was in the business school. If they were going to play favorites, they should be backing me. Why was he so adamant about protecting Ethan? And Davies was just sitting there, nodding along to everything the Dean said, like his loyal little foot soldier. Was this the Dean’s decision from the start? I decided to test my theory. “Even if you found out now that Ethan plagiarized my work, the award would still go to me, and the university would still get the credit. Why are you so unwilling to find out the truth?” The Dean slammed his hand on the desk, making the coffee mug jump. “I’m not going to repeat myself. The truth is that this project was Ethan’s from start to finish. You are the one spreading lies out of jealousy. I may be the Dean of the College of Sciences, but that doesn’t mean I’ll protect you when you’re in the wrong!” Before I could say another word, Davies, reading the Dean’s mood, started ushering me out. “That’s enough. If you want to get ahead, spend more time in the lab and less time trying to tear down your roommate.” The Dean delivered the final blow. “If you persist with this, I will see to it that you are formally reprimanded. That goes on your permanent record. And you will be banned from every lab in this college. Permanently.” 5 It was clear the Dean and my advisor weren’t going to help. I left their office, their threats ringing in my ears. But I wasn’t giving up. Back in my dorm, I went straight to Reddit and Twitter and laid out the entire story, with screenshots and timelines. I’d deleted the first post to appease Davies, but now the gloves were off. If I didn’t fight back, I was the one who would lose everything. A business major winning a national chemistry competition was the kind of headline that got clicks. Support started pouring in. “What university is this? This is insane.” “As someone who’s competed in these things, I can tell you the level is incredibly high. No way a business major wins without some serious foul play.” “The advisor and the Dean sound shady AF. Smells like someone got paid off.” But there were dissenters, of course. “Let’s wait for all the facts. Maybe he’s a double major or something.” “An advisor, maybe. But I find it hard to believe a Dean would risk his career to target one student. Doesn’t add up.” “This is either a hoax for clout or a total lie. Only an idiot would believe this without proof.” Regardless, the post was gaining traction. The comment count climbed, and so did the upvotes. Soon enough, my phone rang. It was Davies again. “What is the meaning of this? I told you to drop it! You’re making promises to my face and then stabbing me in the back? How am I supposed to explain this to the Dean?” When I posted, I knew I was burning that bridge. I wasn’t surprised by his call. “Mr. Davies, all I want is what’s fair. And I have the email records showing that I was the one who submitted the project proposal and all the preliminary data directly to you. It’s funny how my name suddenly disappeared after that, isn’t it?” He exploded. “Are you accusing me of giving your work to Ethan? That is slander! Libel! I could sue you for that!” “I’ll be waiting for the summons,” I said and hung up. I immediately went back to my post, hoping to find some helpful advice in the comments. But in the few minutes I was on the phone, the entire narrative had flipped. The comments were now a firestorm directed at me. “You’re just jealous of someone else’s success, you pathetic loser.” “And you guys live in the same dorm? Ethan has been so nice to you, and this is how you repay him? By trashing his name online?” “EVERYONE, READ THIS. DON’T BE FOOLED. HIS ROOMMATE JUST POSTED PROOF THAT THE WORK IS HIS.” My hand trembled as I clicked the link. It led to a new post by Ethan. “Hey everyone, I’m the ‘business major’ who supposedly stole a chemistry prize. I’m here to provide some of the evidence from my experimental research. The rest has been sent to the competition organizers to prove my innocence.” Below his text were a series of screenshots. They were my lab notes. My data. Every step, every breakthrough, marked and annotated exactly as I had done it. I felt the blood drain from my face. I read his final sentence: “My roommate Liam is a very hardworking chemistry student. It’s understandable that he’d feel upset seeing an outsider like me win this award. I hope everyone can find it in their hearts to forgive him.” Compared to my angry, accusatory posts, his calm, generous tone made him look like a saint. And it made me look like a monster. “Hardworking but stupid, I guess? The OP is way too nice. If it were me, I’d sue him for defamation.” “The records are crystal clear. There’s no way you’d have this data unless you did the experiments. This guy is obviously innocent. The other one is just a jealous snake.” “This is disgusting. If I had a roommate like that, I’d be scared he’d poison my food.” At the same time, a notification popped up in my class group chat. “Official Notice: Liam Carter (Chemistry Dept.) has been issued a formal reprimand for making false and defamatory statements online against a fellow student, causing significant harm to the community. He will be placed on academic probation and is disqualified from all university honors and awards.” 6 Just then, the dorm room door opened. It was Alex. He wouldn’t look at me, his eyes fixed on the floor. Suddenly, everything clicked into place. After my first attempt to join the winners’ group chat was rejected, the only person I’d told about the conflict with Davies was Alex. He’d never shown the slightest interest in my research, yet he had eagerly offered to help me organize my data. He was bought. Ethan must have paid him off. That’s why he was so desperate to stop me from emailing the organizers—to buy Ethan time to get ahead of the story. And the data, my data… of course, Alex had made a copy and sent it straight to Ethan. Watching him avoid my gaze as he started packing a bag, I knew I was right. But I had to hear it. “Why?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “We’ve known each other for years. How could you do this?” Alex pulled a few shirts from his closet and stuffed them into a backpack. He was quiet for a long moment before finally mumbling, “It’s just a dorm, man. Why’d you have to make such a big deal out of it? Ethan’s our RA, he’s always been cool to us. Why couldn’t you just let it go?” “So this is my fault?” I was in disbelief. This was a level of absurdity I couldn’t comprehend. Alex shifted uncomfortably. “Look, whatever the truth is, the winners were already announced. By making a scene, you’re just trying to ruin Ethan’s life. Did you ever stop to think about how this would make him look?” “Make him look? He didn’t seem to care about his ‘look’ when he was stealing my goddamn research!” I shot back. “Do you have any idea what that prize means? It’s my entire future! If this was your future on the line, would you be spouting this ‘whatever the truth is’ bullshit?” Alex’s brow furrowed in frustration. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and shoved past me. “I can’t talk to you when you’re like this. I’m staying somewhere else for a while.”

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My cousin used my photos to catfish someone online, posting my selfies to his feed every day. I finally slid into his DMs. “Are you ever going to stop?” “Liv, come on, just a little longer. I’m one rank away from Grandmaster. I’ll break up with him after I get it, I promise.” Later, my cousin and his online boyfriend broke up. And the professor from the department next door requested, by name, that I come to his office. 1 Lately, my high-school-aged cousin, Liam, has been acting weird. He’s been posting my selfies on his Instagram story with the strangest captions. Like: “Perfect day for a boba.” A few minutes later, another story would go up. A picture of a plastic cup. “Thanks, I love it.” My lips twitched. I messaged him directly with a single question mark. “…Crap. Forgot to hide my story from you.” I continued the interrogation. “Are you using my pictures to catfish someone?” “Liv, he’s an amazing gamer. I just wanted him to help me rank up.” I didn’t push it, but I gave him a warning. “Less gaming, more studying. And don’t you dare scam him for money, or I’m telling your dad.” He went quiet for about a week, then his feed lit up again. It was one of my selfies, bizarrely paired with a picture of a massive LEGO set. The caption: “My birthday’s coming up, and I really want this…” …Unbelievable. He was officially a scammer now. I shot him another message. “Are you ever going to stop?” “Liv, come on, just a little longer. I’m one rank away from Grandmaster. I’ll break up with him after I get it, I promise.” I wanted to drive to his house and punch him. “Ranking up is one thing, but don’t ruin my reputation. If you want the LEGO set that badly, I’ll buy it for you.” Half an hour passed before he replied. “Don’t worry about it, Liv. I already got it.” “What?” I immediately Venmoed him the cash. “Give him his money back and end this. Now.” Liam accepted the payment, replying with a reluctant, “Fine.” I still didn’t trust him, so I called and gave him a piece of my mind. He apologized profusely and promised he’d change his ways. I’m in my final year of my Master’s program, and with the holidays approaching, I was swamped. I didn’t have time to keep tabs on Liam. And his social media went completely silent. 2 The Christmas holiday arrived right on schedule. I was curled up on the sofa, peeling a tangerine, when my best friend, Tessa, sent me a screenshot. “Your cousin has some serious game.” I opened it. Liam’s Instagram was still a shrine to my face, updated daily. He had already used up the handful of photos I’d posted of myself. Not ready to give up, he’d somehow unearthed my high school senior portrait and posted it with a ridiculously sentimental caption: “Look how much I’ve changed.” So when he said he’d “change his ways,” he meant changing his privacy settings to hide his stories from me. I shot up from the sofa and stormed into the guest room, grabbing Liam by the ear. “You’re still stealing my pictures? Do you have a death wish?” “Ow, ow, ow!” he yelped, clutching his ear dramatically. “Liv, perfect timing! He wants to FaceTime. Can you just take the call for me? Please? I’ll give you all my Christmas money.” “In your dreams. You’re telling him the truth right now.” “Liv, it’s Christmas! You want him to find out he’s been scammed by a dude on a holiday? How cruel is that?” I landed a solid punch on his arm. “And you only realize you’re being cruel now?” “Just a few more days, that’s all I need to get my rank. Then I’ll tell him I need to focus on school and break up with him.” He held up three fingers. “I swear, this is the last time.” After an endless barrage of whining and begging, I finally, reluctantly, took the phone. “Livvy? Merry Christmas.” The voice on the other end was a low, smooth baritone that sent an unexpected jolt straight through me. This voice, designed for late-night fantasies, was making a heart I thought long-dormant stir with a faint, dangerous flutter. “Hi…” I started, then realized my voice had climbed a few octaves higher than normal. I cleared my throat, trying to sound as neutral as possible. “Hi. Merry Christmas to you, too.” “So, Livvy, what do you want for Christmas?” Hearing this, Liam sat bolt upright, grabbed his iPad, and swiped frantically until a picture of a new Nintendo Switch filled the screen. He pointed at it, his eyes wide, making absurd pleading faces at me. I gave him a calm, measured nod. Got it. Then I turned back to the phone. “For the new year, I want a complete set of SAT prep books.” Liam’s eyes widened in horror. In their reflection, I could see his heart shattering into a million tiny pieces. Nice try, you little con artist. “Hmm? Why that?” the voice on the phone asked, a note of amusement in it. “Because my SATs are coming up,” I said smoothly. “I need to focus on studying, so I won’t be able to play games with you anymore.” “I see. Well, you definitely shouldn’t be gaming, then. If you ever run into a problem you can’t solve, you can still ask me.” His voice remained impossibly gentle. “Okay, thank you,” I said politely, ended the call, and shoved the phone back into my stunned cousin’s hands. “I’ll be checking your progress on those workbooks every month. And you’re transferring the money for them back to him—consider it your own educational expense. If you don’t, I’m telling your dad. Merry Christmas, little bro.” I made my grand exit, leaving Liam standing there, on the verge of tears. 3 Back in the living room, I had an unread message from Tessa. “So what is the deal with Liam?” My thumbs flew across the screen as I recounted my tactical victory. “Pretty brilliant, right? I’ve got him completely under my thumb now.” “I bet my cousin is done with online dating for good.” But Tessa, as always, had a different takeaway. She replied with a single skull emoji. “Liam can pull a boyfriend and you can’t. The irony.” “…” Okay, she had a point. Tessa and I were polar opposites. If our lives had a year-in-review summary, it would look something like this: Start of the year: Tessa is dating Mark. I’m single. Mid-year: Tessa is dating David. I’m single. End of the year: Tessa got back together with Mark. I’m still single. Tessa was a magnet for romance. I, on the other hand, was apparently romantic repellent. In the beginning, watching Tessa post about her blissful love life made my own heart ache with a distant sort of longing. I’d tried going on a few dates, but nothing ever clicked. So, I remained single all the way through grad school. I was pretty sure the butterflies in my stomach had long since died of old age. Today’s phone call was the first time in years I’d felt even a flicker of life from them. But let’s be real. Anyone who could be fooled by my cousin’s pathetic acting was probably some naive kid who didn’t know any better. A rich, underage boy with a nice voice. Over the next few days, I forced Liam to break up with the guy and uninstall his game. After he did, I quietly downloaded Realm Clash onto my own phone. If my cousin could find a guy using my pictures, then I, the actual person in those pictures, should be able to, right? As it turned out, the only person I played with for the rest of the break was Tessa. She was barely better than me, yet she spent every day patiently dragging my sorry ass through ranked matches. I was completely clueless, so she taught me to play a tank character named Gideon the Protector and gave me two simple rules. “One: tap whatever button lights up. Two: see an enemy, charge.” So there I was, a woman in her mid-twenties, running around the map as a grizzled old knight, charging headfirst into anyone I saw and mashing my screen randomly. By the time the holiday break ended, not only had I failed to find an online boyfriend, I hadn’t even heard another guy’s voice. In fact, I’d managed to drag Tessa’s rank all the way down to Gold with me. Tessa sent me a screenshot of her demotion. “I can’t rank up anymore. Can I use your pictures to find a new gaming boyfriend?” I sent her back a single sticker: a block button with the word “PERISH” written on it. 4 It was the first day back on campus. My advisor called me out of the blue. “Olivia, Professor Hayes from the physics department needs to see you about something urgent. You should go to his office now.” I hung up, completely baffled. Ethan Hayes. The youngest, and by far the most attractive, professor in the entire physics department. A candid photo of him, teaching in a crisp white shirt and gold-rimmed glasses, had gone viral on TikTok, easily racking up hundreds of thousands of likes. Someone of Professor Hayes’s stature… even if he needed an errand run, why would he ask for me? With a knot of nerves in my stomach, I knocked on his office door. I’d barely tapped the wood when the door swung open. The first thing I saw was a perfectly tailored white shirt that hinted at the kind of lean, athletic build that a well-tailored shirt can’t quite hide. My eyes drifted up. The top few buttons were undone, revealing a pair of elegant collarbones and the subtle curve of his throat. When I finally lifted my gaze to his face, I found myself locked in a pair of deep, dark eyes. “Professor Hayes, you wanted to see me,” I said, my voice steady despite the frantic colony of prairie dogs screaming in my chest. “Yes. Come in.” He stepped aside. As I walked past him into the office, a faint, clean scent of sandalwood drifted by, nearly making me lose my footing. Before I could even find a place to stand, he spoke. “Why did you break up with me?” I froze, turned, and scanned the empty room. No one else was there. I glanced at his ears. No earbuds. “Sorry?” I asked, my face a mask of confusion. He looked down at me, his gaze intense. “You said if I bought you the Switch, you wouldn’t break up with me.” …I felt myself turn to stone. “The… the Switch?” “Yes.” He gave a slight nod. “If there’s something else you want, I can get it for you. As long as you don’t end things.” “Professor, I think you might have the wrong person,” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Even though the clue of the gaming console was screamingly obvious, I refused to believe it. My image of the brilliant, untouchable Professor Hayes couldn’t possibly include getting catfished online. Ethan stared at me for a second, then held out his phone, its screen lit up. “I don’t think so.” His lock screen was a picture of me. Me, curled up on a sofa, happily sipping a strawberry macchiato boba. …That was the boba my cousin brought over the day he came to visit. I remembered it now. He hadn’t started his photo-stealing campaign yet, so when he asked to take a picture, I didn’t think anything of it. Looking back, that boba was probably bought by Professor Hayes. Seeing me just standing there, stunned into silence, Ethan took a step closer. “Still want to deny it?” His proximity brought back that intoxicating sandalwood scent. I opened my mouth, then closed it. “Professor, you’re not going to believe this, but… I think you’ve been scammed by my sixteen-year-old cousin.” He frowned slightly. “What?” “The person you’ve been chatting and gaming with… that was my cousin, Liam.” “You forget, we spoke on the phone. I remember your voice.” “It was really him,” I insisted, quickly pulling out my own phone. “Look, this is my actual account.” He glanced at my screen. “Whichever account you use, just add me back first.” “Professor…” I tried to explain again, but my phone rang. “Liv, I’ve got the files you wanted. Where are you?” Speak of the devil. I excitedly told Liam my location and ordered him to get here immediately. Ethan, looking completely unruffled, picked up a book and began to read. I couldn’t help but stare. He sat in the leather armchair, one long leg crossed over the other, his clean, elegant fingers tracing the edge of a page. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating the angles of his face and making him look impossibly refined and coolly detached. I couldn’t wrap my head around it. How could a man like this, so composed and otherworldly, get catfished? More specifically, how could he get catfished by my sixteen-year-old cousin and be tricked into buying him toys and snacks? Was his awareness of online scams really that low? A ringing phone broke my train of thought. “Liv, which building was it again? I’m lost.” With a sigh, I ran downstairs to get him. It took a while before I saw him waving a folder in the air. “Liv, over here!” “Great.” I grabbed his sleeve and started dragging him toward the building. “Whoa, where are we going? Are you treating me to dinner?” he asked, stumbling along beside me. I gave him a sweet smile. “Nope. I’m taking you to meet your online boyfriend.” His face went pale. He dug his heels in, refusing to move another inch. “Liv, you can’t be serious.” I pushed the office door open. Liam was still plastered against the wall, so I gave him a swift kick in the rear. “Professor Hayes, my cousin is here. Punish him as you see fit. Don’t hold back.” An awkward silence descended upon the room. My cousin, in his school uniform and backpack, looking utterly pathetic, stood face to face with Ethan Hayes, in his white shirt and black trousers, his expression cold and unreadable. Liam glanced at Ethan once, then quickly looked away, guiltily picking at his fingers. “I thought you loved scamming people,” I whispered menacingly. “Go on. Introduce yourself.” Under the pressure of my glare, he finally spoke, his voice cracking. “Hi… I’m your online girlfriend, Sweetest Strawberry.” Ethan sat at his desk, his fingers tapping lightly on the surface. His eyes were impossible to read, but the oppressive aura of a disappointed teacher filled the air. Liam didn’t dare look up. From behind, I could see his shoulders shaking. He was probably crying. I felt a pang of pity, but he totally deserved it. After a long moment, Ethan turned his head to look at me. “Olivia. Your cousin deceived me emotionally. As an adult, don’t you think you should take some responsibility for his actions?” “Yes.” I bowed my head, accepting the blame. “I’m so sorry, Professor Hayes. I’ll reimburse you for all your financial losses.” “That won’t be necessary,” he said, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s just… I don’t have anyone to play games with now.” “Huh?” I looked up, confused. “I’m heartbroken by your cousin’s betrayal. Don’t you think you should take responsibility for that?” I glanced at Liam, who was still trying to impersonate an ostrich. My mouth twitched. “My cousin… broke your heart?” Ethan said, with complete seriousness, “Yes. I bought him boba, sent him gifts, played games with him. Even though it was online, I was very serious about it.” “…” Are you really? Because I don’t believe you. But I didn’t dare say it. He raised an eyebrow. “I’m emotionally wounded by your cousin’s deception and I need companionship. Since he has to study for his SATs, I suppose you’ll have to do.” I was speechless. A slow smile spread across his face, his eyes full of meaning. “From now on, I’ll be in your care, Olivia.”

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My husband Grant and I had an arrangement. We played our own games on our own time. Until the day he brought home a pregnant woman, and I brought home a five-year-old boy. “Grant, this is my son. He was… lost to me for a while,” I said, my voice soft as I stroked the child’s face, a face that was a near-perfect miniature of my own. “He’s so young. He needs his mother.” The demure, innocent expression on the woman behind Grant froze, cracking like porcelain. Grant’s face went dark. 1 I was about to make a saffron risotto for the “son” I’d just brought back from a bar when the doorbell rang. I went to answer it, spatula in hand, apron tied around my waist, my mood already sour. “Who the hell—” The words died on my lips. Grant stood there, his eyes filled with a familiar disgust, his arm wrapped around a woman with skin like snow and a doll-like face. Her belly was gently rounded. The look she gave me was a cocktail of contempt and triumph. I held my breath for a moment, then let it out in a single, sharp word. “Seriously?” “Sloane, watch your tone,” Grant said, his voice as cold as steel. I pointed a finger at the woman, my question a deliberate performance. “What is this?” Grant’s gaze dropped. “She’s pregnant,” he said flatly. “It’s mine. I can’t let them suffer.” A laugh, sharp and bitter, almost escaped me. The depth of my love for him in the past was matched only by the intensity of my hatred now. I hated him for the sweet nothings of our youth, for the gentle romance, for the solemn vow of “I will never fail you.” And I hated him for shattering that beautiful illusion just a few years later. I still remember the day Grant came home, his collar and neck smeared with lipstick. He’d stopped hiding it, parading his infidelity in front of me as if it were a trophy. I screamed at him, my voice raw and cracking. He just loosened his tie, his expression clouded with weariness. “Sloane, can you stop being so dramatic? Business is business. These things happen.” “If you can’t be a supportive wife, at least don’t make my life harder,” he’d added. “Look at you. Do you even remember how to act like the woman I married?” Then came the night I went to pick him up from a private club. I found him in a booth, his arm around a girl who couldn’t have been more than twenty-two. The way the low light caught the tenderness in his eyes—a look I once thought was reserved only for me—was now being given away so freely to someone else. That was the night he laid out the new rules. “Sloane, let’s just do our own thing,” he’d said. “Hire an escort, find a boy toy, I don’t care what you do. But you don’t get to interfere with my life, either.” He’d offered a final, hollow assurance. “Don’t worry. You’ll always be Mrs. Harrison. I won’t bring these flings home. Your position is secure.” And now, here he was. “She’s pregnant. I can’t let them suffer.” A noble excuse, delivered without a hint of shame, as he brought his affair to my doorstep. The promises of men are ghosts. For the longest time, I thought seeing this would feel like a knife in my heart. After all, I had loved him so fiercely. But now, I was surprised by the profound, unnerving calm that settled over me. The woman spoke, her voice a soft purr. “Sloane… Grant didn’t want this to happen. But a child needs his father. You’re a generous woman. Surely you can find it in your heart to make room for us? Grant and I… we’re in love.” As she spoke, a single, perfect tear traced a path down her cheek. A masterclass in calculated fragility. Grant, of course, bought it completely. His expression hardened, his gaze condescending as he warned me, “Sloane, whether you accept this or not, Layla is a good person. Don’t you dare try to hurt her.” I stared at him. “…Are you fucking kidding me?” 2 “Mommy?” A small, clear voice piped up from behind the sofa. A moment later, a handsome little boy with my eyes and my mouth peeked out. It was only then that I remembered what I’d forgotten. All my melancholy and anger evaporated in a rush of panic. “Oh, shit! My risotto!” I sprinted back to the kitchen. It was too late. The creamy rice was a burnt, sticky mess at the bottom of the pan. Goddammit. Just then, I felt a gentle tug on my finger. “It’s okay, Mommy,” the little boy said, his wide, earnest eyes looking up at me. “I’m not that hungry anyway.” His perfect face, his soft little hand clutching mine… my heart melted. I knelt down and planted a loud kiss on his cheek. “I’ll let myself starve before I let my sweet boy go hungry,” I murmured. “Mommy will make something else. Mommy makes the best grilled cheese in the world.” The toxic couple in my foyer was completely forgotten. My universe had shrunk to this adorable “son” of mine. I could feel Grant’s unease from across the room. He had been married to me for nine years. He knew damn well that in all that time, I had never been pregnant. His voice trembled slightly. “Sloane… who is he?” Only then did I seem to remember they were still there. I lifted my gaze lazily. “Grant, this is my son. He was lost to me for a while.” I looked down at the boy, my voice laced with manufactured pity. “As you can see, he’s very young. A boy needs his mother.” The weak, innocent facade on Layla’s face shattered. Grant’s face went black with rage. “Sloane!” he roared, his eyes turning red, a storm of fury gathering around him. He couldn’t accept it. It was as if he could sleep with the entire city, but the thought of me being with someone else was unforgivable. The little boy pouted, his brow furrowed. “Mister, you’re scary.” Then, he turned to me, his expression melting into a soft, angelic smile. He wrapped his little arms around my legs and hugged me tight. “You shouldn’t be mean to my mommy. I would never be mean to my mommy.” 3 My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs like a drum. Adorable! How could he deliver that line with such devastating cuteness? I wanted to scoop him up and never let go. But I restrained myself. There were still two pieces of trash to take out. I gently covered the boy’s ears and shot Grant a mocking look. “What are you so angry about? Weren’t these your rules? We don’t interfere with each other.” A vein pulsed in Grant’s temple. He ground his teeth, struggling to contain his rage. His voice was a low, furious growl. “Play around all you want, Sloane, but who the fuck gave you permission to have another man’s child?” “Permission?” I shot back, my voice dripping with scorn. “You bring your pregnant mistress to my home and tell me you can’t let them suffer, but I can’t have another man’s child? Do you really think you have the right to ask me that?” I let out a cold laugh. “Grant, don’t be such a goddamn hypocrite.” He was breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling. Then, a sneer twisted his lips as if he’d figured it all out. “Sloane, are you jealous? Did you really grab one of your cousin’s kids just to get my attention? This little game of yours… it’s not going to work on me anymore.” “…” I honestly couldn’t comprehend how the bright, handsome boy I’d fallen in love with had devolved into this greasy, arrogant, and utterly delusional man. Was I blind back then, or just stupid? He looked down at the boy with contempt. “Sloane, get rid of this little bastard right now, and I’ll pretend this never happened.” CRACK! The sound of my palm connecting with his cheek echoed in the kitchen. He stared at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. I flexed my stinging hand. The last thing I wanted was to be violent in front of a child, but the moment he said “little bastard,” I couldn’t stop myself. “Mr. Harrison!” Layla shrieked, glaring at me. “How could you do that to him?” CRACK! I slapped her too, right in front of Grant. Layla was stunned. “You hit me…” she stammered, and then, forgetting her delicate act, lunged at me. I calmly lifted my foot, my voice flat. “Do you want to keep the baby in your belly, or not?” She froze, instinctively clutching her stomach, her eyes pleading with Grant. “Sloane, she…” “Both of you, get out,” I cut her off, my patience gone. I turned my cold gaze back to Grant. “You cheated. I moved on. You’re about to have a child. I already have one. I’d say that makes us even.” With that, I pulled a folded document from my apron pocket and threw it at his chest. A DNA report. I didn’t want him indulging in any more fantasies that this was all a joke. “He is my son,” I said, my voice like ice. “And I am his biological mother.” The words on the report—”The probability of maternity is 99.999%”—seemed to burn into his eyes. “Are you done looking? If you are, get the hell out of my house. Now. Don’t keep me from making dinner for my son.”

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After striking out on finding a single open seat in the library for the nth time, I called the boy I knew was pathologically in love with me. “Hey, Aidan,” I said, my voice breezy. “Quick question. You know that soundproofed little basement room you built for me? Any chance I could borrow it a little ahead of schedule?” The silence on the other end of the line was so absolute I thought the call had dropped. Then, a soft, strangled sound. “I… I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I laughed, leaning against a mercifully empty wall. “Oh, come on. Don’t be like that. I was practically supervising the construction from the coffee shop across the street.” 1 This time, the silence was funereal. Even the sound of his breathing had vanished. I waited a beat. “You’re allowed to breathe, you know,” I offered. “Wouldn’t want you to pass out.” A few seconds later, a shaky exhale rustled through the phone, followed by a low, hoarse voice. “…Thank you.” He was so polite, this boy. Though I had no idea what he was thanking me for. I decided to press on. “Look, graduation is just around the corner, and I’ve got two theses for my double major to write. I’m desperate for a place with zero distractions. Your little… gilded cage is perfect. So, can I use it? I’m serious, I really need it.” Aidan cleared his throat. “…Okay.” “So we’re done pretending you didn’t build a bespoke prison for me in your basement?” “…I’m sorry,” he whispered. He was quick to apologize, I’ll give him that. And his voice was nice, a low timber that vibrated pleasantly even when strained with shame. I decided to let him off the hook. “…Are you coming now?” he asked. “Yeah. I know the address. I’ll grab an Uber.” “Don’t. I can give you a ride. It’ll be faster.” I paused. “…Don’t tell me you’re watching me right now.” “…I’m… sorry.” “Okay, enough with the apologies. Where are you?” “Turn around.” I turned. And there he was, emerging from the shadow of a large oak tree not fifty feet away. Aidan was all long legs and lean frame, dressed in a black hoodie and a baseball cap pulled low. His eyes were lost in the shade of the brim, but the part of his face I could see—his jawline, his mouth—was pale and finely sculpted, like something carved from porcelain. The sight of him was arresting, but my mind flashed with a sudden, intrusive image of crimson. The thick, metallic smell of blood flooded my memory, overwhelming and sharp. By the time I blinked it away, he was standing in front of me, his head bowed like a penitent. 2 My gaze landed on the black baseball cap. I raised an eyebrow. “I think I have a hat just like that.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes. His voice was a murmur. “I had it custom-made. To match yours.” Of course he did. The earnest intensity of teenage boys… it was something else. My eyes drifted down to his hands. They were beautiful hands, long-fingered and elegant, with prominent knuckles. Right now, they were trembling almost imperceptibly. “Are you nervous?” “No…” he denied instantly, then corrected himself. “…A little.” He pressed his lips together, annoyed at his own transparency. “Where’s your car?” I asked. “Underground parking. Level two.” “Lead the way.” “Okay.” Aidan’s car was a Maybach. The kind that screamed money. I’m not great with cars, but the overlapping M’s of the Maybach logo, shaped like a stylized pyramid, were unmistakable. Nine years ago, when I was just starting middle school, my biological father drove a Maybach for a while. He wasn’t the owner, of course. He was the chauffeur. Thirty grand a month, weekends off. To this day, I still can’t figure out how a waste of space like him, a man who was mediocre at everything including driving, landed a gig like that. Thankfully, he was fired after a month. “…Is something wrong?” Aidan’s voice pulled me from the memory. I had stopped in front of the passenger door. “Is it the car?” I shook my head. “The car’s fine. Just… remembering something unpleasant.” He didn’t press for details. Instead, he just opened the door for me, his other hand carefully placed on the roof of the car to make sure I didn’t hit my head. It was a thoughtful, gentle gesture. I slid into the plush leather seat without a second thought. Aidan got in the driver’s side, buckled his seatbelt, and placed his hands on the steering wheel. But he didn’t start the car. He turned to me, his face still half-hidden by shadows. “How did you know I… that I was building a…” He faltered, unable to bring himself to say the words. A room for you. A cage. The shame of his own dark impulse was a physical thing, choking the confession in his throat. I knew exactly what he was thinking, but I decided to be cruel. “A prison?” “…Yeah.” His head dipped lower, like a stray dog expecting a kick. I couldn’t help myself. I reached out and gently scratched him under the chin. His entire body went rigid. I pulled my hand back, a slow, lazy smile spreading across my face. “I would think you’d be more curious about why I didn’t call the cops the moment I saw the construction.” “…Why didn’t you?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. I just kept smiling, letting the silence stretch. The air in the car grew thick and heavy. A fine sheen of sweat appeared on Aidan’s brow. “You… you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” he finally stammered, his voice tight with anxiety. “Just… please don’t be mad at me.” Please don’t hate me. “I’m not mad at you,” I said softly. I just… didn’t know where to begin. Because, according to the original timeline, I wasn’t supposed to find out about any of this for another six months. At his funeral. 3 Three days ago— I stood in the center of the library’s grand lobby, my eyes fluttering open. A wave of dizziness and a high-pitched ringing in my ears hit me all at once. For a disorienting moment, the river of students flowing around me blurred into a surreal, slow-motion film reel. I was the glitch in the frame, completely out of sync. Even after the physical sensations faded, a profound sense of dislocation remained. I didn’t know what to call what had happened to me. Rebirth? No. In the car crash that was supposed to happen six months from now, Aidan was the only one who died. He’d shielded me with his own body, and I had survived. I’d even made it to his funeral in a wheelchair. A dream, then? That didn’t feel right either. Dreams were fragmented, illogical, hazy. My memories were crystal clear. After turning it over and over in my mind, I landed on the only explanation that made any sense. Time travel. I had somehow been sent back six months. I took a deep, shuddering breath as the images flooded my mind: Aidan’s body lying in a pool of blood, the stark black-and-white photo on his headstone… and his diary. Right before I came back, his mother had given it to me. The cover was made of rich, worn leather, embossed with a single, elegant line of text: This body is like a flame, born of thirst and of love. When I’d opened it to the first page, I saw my own name, written in his careful, precise script: Esme. … “We’re here.” Aidan’s voice snapped me back to the present. I looked up. He had driven us deep into the wooded hills outside the city and parked in front of a stunning modern villa, all clean lines and glass, nestled among the trees. I turned to look at him. “You certainly know how to pick a spot. It’s beautiful up here, so secluded…” Aidan flushed with a mixture of pleasure and embarrassment, the corners of his mouth twitching into a smile. I let the pause hang in the air before adding, “…Perfect for hiding a body.” He choked on a breath of air. I couldn’t help but laugh. It was just too easy to tease him. Then, my eyes caught a glimpse of his wrist. A silver chain bracelet, delicate and intricate, circled the fine bones. My breath hitched. “Is that… Is that the bracelet I lost last semester?” “Yes,” he admitted, his smile vanishing. When he saw the look on my face, his anxiety returned in a rush. “…I’m sorry.” I was silent for a moment, then I used his full name. “Aidan, is ‘I’m sorry’ the only phrase you know?” “…No.” “Then why do you say it to me all the time?” You’re the last person in the world who should be apologizing to me. He kept his head down, a boy well over six feet tall who somehow managed to look like a small child awaiting punishment. “Because I did something wrong.” “What, exactly?” I pressed. “Following me around like a D-list movie stalker because you’re worried about my safety, but never daring to get within thirty feet of me? Or building a five-star hotel suite of a prison for me that you were too scared to ever actually use?” His voice was almost inaudible. “…I found your bracelet and I kept it. I didn’t give it back.” I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing out loud. “Keep it,” I said. His head snapped up, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Really? I can?” I nodded. “Yeah. It’s yours now.” A brilliant, breathtaking smile broke across his face, as if I’d just handed him the crown jewels. His eyes, a striking shade of hazel, crinkled at the corners. Even half-hidden by the shadow of his hat, they were devastating. Watching him, I leaned back against the headrest, propping my chin on my hand. “You know,” I said playfully, “if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you built that cage hoping I’d be the one to lock you up in it.” His gaze flickered towards me, and a dark blush crept up his neck and flooded his ears. “If… if that’s what you wanted,” he stammered, “I would be okay with that.” 4 “An interesting proposal. I’ll think about it.” 5 The room was in the basement, but it was flooded with light. I walked down a short flight of stairs and stepped into the most magnificent, audacious space I had ever seen. It was a cage, yes, but a cage made of polished brass and reinforced glass, furnished with exquisite, minimalist pieces. I tilted my head back. In the center of the ceiling was a massive skylight, custom-built in the shape of a butterfly. Golden afternoon sunlight streamed through its transparent wings, scattering across the floor in a shimmering, dreamlike pattern. “…Do you like it?” Aidan asked from behind me, his voice laced with nervous hope. He sounded like a young architect waiting for the final verdict from a demanding client. I nodded slowly. “It’s hard not to. It’s breathtaking.” He let out a breath he’d clearly been holding. “I’m glad you don’t hate it.” He moved to my side, his voice gaining a little confidence. “It’s beautiful when it rains, too. And when it snows. On clear nights, you can see the entire Milky Way…” “It’s very romantic…” I murmured. He instinctively agreed. “It is very roman—” He cut himself off as I turned to face him, a slow, deliberate smile on my face. “…I imagine it would be even more romantic,” I finished for him, my voice a low purr, “when we’re lying in this beautiful cage together, tangled up in the sheets, looking up at all those stars.” The color drained from Aidan’s face, only to be replaced by a furious, spreading blush. I let my smile widen and crooked a finger at him. He hesitated for a second, then obediently bent down, bringing his head closer to mine. I leaned in, my lips brushing against his ear, and pressed a single finger to the center of his chest, right over his heart. “Tell me the truth, my brilliant designer,” I whispered. “When you were building this room, didn’t you imagine that, even once?” 6 I pushed him back onto the bed. The golden bars of the cage surrounded us, trapping us together. A pair of birds who could never fly away. Aidan’s breathing grew heavy, ragged, but he didn’t resist. He lay pliant beneath me, his long, dark lashes trembling against his cheeks. A faint pink flush stained his neck and collarbones. He was utterly delectable. I straddled his hips, leaning down, ready to make my next move, when the shrill ring of my phone shattered the charged atmosphere. Aidan and I both flinched, our brows furrowing in perfect, annoyed unison. I pulled the phone from my pocket and glanced at the screen. Unknown number. I answered it. A drunken, slurring male voice immediately assaulted my ear. “I’m out of money. Send me some, now!” It was Rick. My biological father. A world-class piece of human garbage. This wasn’t the first time he’d called demanding money. Of course, I’d never given him a dime. Just as he’d never given my mother a dime in child support. My standard response was a curt “Go to hell” before hanging up. But this time… I glanced down at Aidan, a new idea taking root. I pressed the speakerphone button. “…Don’t tell me you don’t have it,” Rick’s voice boomed from the phone’s tiny speaker. “You’re at that fancy college. Pick up a few more shifts, eat less. The money’s there. And your brother, he’s smart but his grades aren’t great. He’ll probably only get into community college after this year’s exams. You’re going to have to pay to send him to a good private university. And his living expenses, too. You’re his big sister, it’s your responsibility…” Rick’s voice was naturally coarse and grating; the alcohol only made his loud, belligerent tone worse. I could see Aidan’s expression darkening, his jaw tightening as a storm gathered behind his eyes. But Rick was on a roll. “…And take me off your damn block list! I have to borrow someone else’s phone just to call my own ungrateful daughter!” The words “ungrateful daughter” meant nothing to me. But to Aidan, they were like stones thrown into a calm lake, sending ripples of anger spreading through him. He couldn’t stand to hear anyone say a single bad word about me. In my mind, I lit a small white candle for Rick. He was a dead man walking. Aidan was not the same gentle, timid boy with everyone else as he was with me. 7 Rick, blissfully unaware of the mortal danger he was in, kept digging his own grave. “…Oh, and Esme, you need to change that name back! You’re my daughter, you should have my last name! It’s tradition! Taking your mother’s name… that’s for people with no respect for their ancestors!” It’s almost impressive, how a person can be so wrong, twice, in a single sentence. With that one statement, he had insulted me, and insulted anyone who takes their mother’s surname—which, as it happened, included Aidan. Though Aidan and his mother had a somewhat distant relationship due to their personalities, he was fiercely protective of her. “And ‘Esme,’” Rick sneered. “What kind of garbage name is that? All fancy and weird. What was wrong with the name I picked for you when you were born? Bertha! It’s a good, solid name. Means bright and glorious! It was for your own good, so you’d have something strong to lean on…” I cut him off, my voice cold as ice. “You know, for a fossil, you talk a lot. You should be in a museum, not on the phone, stinking up the airwaves with your backwards thinking. And for the record, Bertha is a perfectly fine name, but it’s not mine.” “You—!” Rick sputtered, enraged. “And if you’re going to be an idiot, at least be an educated one,” I said, my tone dripping with contempt. “Get a book. Or a hobby. Just stop drunk dialing me.” I hung up and immediately blocked the number. … “Not long after I changed my name to Esme, my mom died of stomach cancer.” I was lying in Aidan’s arms, idly playing with his fingers as I spoke. “The day she died, I went down to the river to drown myself. But then, I ended up saving some other kid who was trying to do the same thing…” Aidan’s expression flickered at that. I didn’t notice, my gaze distant. “It’s funny, isn’t it? I wanted to die myself, but the second I saw someone else in the water, my first instinct was to save them…” “Because you’re a good person,” Aidan said softly. “My mom raised me to be,” I replied. He shook his head. “Even the kindest parents can raise a child who isn’t. You’re good because that’s who you are, Esme.” I smiled, tilting my head back to look at him. “I think you see me through rose-colored glasses.” “Do I?” He smiled back, a faint, gentle curve of his lips. “I think I’m just telling the truth.” His eyes softened, the smile reaching them. It was like seeing the first crocus of spring push through the winter snow. And suddenly, I really wanted to kiss him. 8 For the next few days, I lived at Aidan’s villa. It was even more comfortable than I had imagined. When I was writing my thesis, he never disturbed me. The moment I took a break, however, he would appear as if summoned, bearing fruit, or iced coffee, or some other small gift. He was attentive and caring, down to the smallest detail. I received a ‘good morning,’ ‘good afternoon,’ and ‘good night’ text every single day, without fail. One evening, he told me he had to be away for a couple of days on business. He asked if I would have a candlelight dinner with him before he left. I knew his “business” was taking care of Rick, so I readily agreed. But when I saw the bottle of red wine on the table, my appetite vanished. “I don’t drink red wine.” Aidan froze, a bottle opener in his hand. “But I thought… on New Year’s, you…” You drank red wine with your roommates. “I liked it then,” I cut in. “I don’t anymore.” “…Why?” he asked. I didn’t answer. Why don’t you like it anymore? Because… the deep red liquid looked too much like blood. I closed my eyes, and the metallic tang of it filled my senses, making me want to retch. It was all… it was all Aidan’s blood. Seeing that I wasn’t going to explain, Aidan lowered his eyes, hiding the storm of questions I knew was raging within him. “I’m sorry,” he said, looking lost. A wave of tenderness washed over me. I took a slow breath, composing myself, and offered him a small smile. “It’s fine. It’s my issue, don’t worry about it. Could you… could you get me a glass of white wine instead?” He visibly relaxed, a wave of relief washing over his features. “Of course. That’s not a problem at all.” He paused, his gaze meeting mine, his expression earnest and intense. “Anything you need, Esme. I’ll do anything for you.” … After dinner, as night settled over the hills, Aidan prepared to leave, a team of serious-looking men in dark suits waiting for him by the door. As he walked away, I called out to him. “Aidan.” He turned back to look at me. There were a million things I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t form. In the end, I just smiled. “Be careful. Don’t get hurt.” 9 As soon as Aidan was gone, I started packing a bag of my own. Rick was about to have a very bad day, and there was no way I was going to miss the show. But as I stepped out of the villa, I ran right into Aidan’s mother. She was an incredibly beautiful woman, with a chic, razor-sharp bob that framed a face that was both cold and striking. But more impressive than her looks was her status—a permanent fixture in the top ten of the country’s wealthiest individuals. “Hello,” she said, extending a hand. “I’m Aidan’s mother, Seraphina.” I was momentarily stunned, but recovered quickly and shook her offered hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Esme.” I had a very positive impression of Seraphina. In the other life, after Aidan died saving me, she had been a pillar of support. I was in the hospital, badly injured. My own mother was long dead, and Rick was, characteristically, nowhere to be found. Besides my friends, it was Seraphina who came to visit, who took care of things. She was a woman in her forties who had just lost her only son, yet she never blamed me. She comforted me, worried that the trauma of the accident would leave deep psychological scars. She even hired a therapist for me. She told me that if souls lingered after death, Aidan would be worried about me, and as his mother, the only thing she wanted was for her son to be at peace. Now, in the present, Seraphina’s sharp eyes scanned me from head to toe. Seeing me unharmed, she let out a quiet sigh of relief. “It seems he hasn’t done anything too terrible yet.” The “he,” of course, was Aidan. I found myself defending him instinctively. “He’s been wonderful.” Seraphina looked at me and smiled, a sad, knowing expression. She shook her head gently. “Do you know that for the past two days, he’s been investigating every single detail of your life?” I nodded calmly. “I figured.” He was going after Rick; of course he would dig into our history. The day I put that call on speakerphone, I knew this would happen. In fact, it’s what I had intended. My calm reaction seemed to disconcert her. The smile faded from her lips. “Aidan did the research himself. He didn’t delegate. Just like he designed and built that room in the basement himself. Do you understand what that means?” My expression didn’t change. “It means his possessiveness has reached a dangerous level.” Seraphina gave me a long, searching look. “You’re even smarter than I imagined. And if you know that, then you should also know this—that kind of possessiveness festers. It turns into a desire to destroy.” She paused, her voice softening slightly. “Aidan is my son. I know him. He isn’t normal. He’s a beautiful, brilliant, broken boy. He’s… unwell.” I frowned, about to argue, but she leaned in closer, her voice a low, urgent whisper. “I was once like him. A madwoman, sick with the same disease. I’m telling you this as a warning. He may seem perfect now, but he is not harmless. He is just… controlled. He’s hiding it from you. But one day, that control will break, and he will hurt you, even if it’s the last thing in the world he wants to do. And the fallout… the pain and the pressure that has been building up… it will be more than either of you can bear.” She straightened up, pulling a business card from her slim wallet and handing it to me. It listed a private number. “If the day ever comes that you want to leave him, call me. I will help you.”

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