The first thing I saw when I turned from the billing counter was a strange woman dragging my fifty-five-year-old mother-in-law toward the abortion clinic by a fistful of her silver-streaked hair. The sight sent a splinter of ice straight through my heart. I started to run, to scream, but a nurse grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Don’t,” she hissed, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and excitement. “That’s Eleanor Reed, our Dean’s wife. She’s dealing with a mistress. You don’t want to get in the middle of that.” I frowned, the world tilting on its axis. “Eleanor Reed? But… my father-in-law is Dr. Robert Reed. My mother-in-law is his wife.” The woman’s grip on my mother-in-law’s hair tightened. “You pathetic bitch! You’ve got one foot in the grave and you’re still trying to pop out another heir to steal my son Ethan’s inheritance? You have no shame!” My mother-in-law, a gentle soul I’ll call Catherine, clung desperately to the doorframe of the clinic, her knuckles white. “I’ve been married to Robert for thirty years!” she cried, her voice raw with anguish. “Ethan is the son I raised! How dare you call him your son, your husband!” I twisted out of the nurse’s grasp and rushed forward, planting myself between them. “I’m Ethan Reed’s wife,” I declared, my voice shaking but firm. The woman, Brenda, just snorted, a cold, dismissive sound. “Well, look at this. I’ve stumbled into a whole nest of whores today.” Before I could process the insult, she had her phone out, a sharp-nailed finger jabbing at the screen. “Ethan, you’re not going to believe this. It’s not just your father who’s cheating. You are too.” Her voice dripped with saccharine poison. “You better get down here and handle your little slut before Ashley finds out.” The words hit me like a physical blow. Robert and Ethan? Father and son, both cheating? 1 Brenda hung up, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. I was still reeling, lost in the dizzying possibility of Ethan’s betrayal, and I didn’t see her move. One moment I was standing, the next my hair was being yanked, and my head slammed against the cool, sterile wall of the hospital corridor. Stars exploded behind my eyes. “Like father, like son, I guess,” she snarled, her face a mask of rage. “What did we ever do to you people? Did our family dig up your ancestors’ graves? Why are you two, mother and daughter, so hell-bent on ruining my life and my daughter-in-law’s?” Catherine, tears streaming down her face, scrambled to pull me into her arms. “We are not mistresses!” she screamed at Brenda. “Robert has been my husband for thirty years, and Ethan is the son I spent three decades raising! Olivia is his legally wedded wife!” She took a ragged breath, her voice trembling with conviction. “And I believe in them. My husband and my son would never cheat. You have to be mistaken!” Brenda let out a laugh that was more of a bark. She gestured wildly to the crowd of onlookers that had gathered. “Mistaken? Ask any nurse in this hospital who I am! Ask them if I’m Robert Reed’s wife! If I’m Ethan Reed’s mother! Are they all mistaken, too? Did I pay off the entire hospital staff just to frame you?” The nurse who had stopped me earlier nodded eagerly. “Yes, yes! That’s the Dean’s wife! Mrs. Reed! The young Mr. Reed and his wife always accompany her on her visits. We’ve all heard them call her ‘Mom.’ There’s no mistake!” She paused, then delivered the final, devastating blow. “But… the wife who comes with Mr. Reed isn’t this lady.” Vindicated, Brenda’s arrogance swelled. “See? The nerve of mistresses these days! Caught red-handed and still spinning lies. It’s a good thing this happened in my husband’s hospital, or I might have actually had a hard time proving it!” 2 While my father-in-law, Robert, was technically the Dean of Hillside Medical Center, he had stepped back from all administrative duties five years ago, leaving everything but his surgical practice in the hands of my husband, Ethan. In the years since, Ethan had implemented sweeping changes, and the hospital was full of new faces. The nurses here in the outpatient wing were all recent hires; they wouldn’t know Catherine or me from Adam. Seeing our silence, Brenda must have thought we were scared. She sneered. “Go on, what other tricks do you have up your sleeve?” she taunted. “I should have just exposed you online from the start. I was trying to be discreet, but I guess you flies can always smell the filth.” The murmurs from the crowd grew louder, stinging like paper cuts. “They look so well-dressed and put-together. Why would they lower themselves to being homewreckers?” “Oh, you know how it is. You can’t judge a book by its cover. They look all clean and innocent, but who knows what kind of dirty business they’re into behind closed doors.” “And you know… that other thing…” A man winked suggestively, and the crowd chuckled knowingly, their laughter echoing in the hallway. Catherine was a simple, kind woman. Her family had sheltered her growing up, and after she married Robert, he had preserved that innocence. The world knew that the brilliant Dr. Reed was married, but almost no one knew what his wife looked like. She had never been subjected to this kind of public humiliation, this vile language. Her face went deathly pale, and she clutched her stomach as a wave of pain washed over her. She looked so fragile, like she might shatter into a million pieces. I bit the inside of my cheek, hard, the sharp tang of blood forcing a sliver of clarity through my panic. The reason we were here. The appointment. “Mom!” I said, my voice urgent. “The marriage certificate!” Her eyes, cloudy with shock, cleared. “Yes, yes! The certificate!” Her hands trembled as she pulled it from her purse. The small, heavy booklet felt like our last hope, a tangible proof of our lives. But the moment it was out, Brenda snatched it from her hands. Her face, which had been a tight mask of suspicion ever since I’d mentioned it, twisted into a bizarre expression the moment she opened it. Then, she began to laugh. A wild, unhinged cackle that echoed off the tiled floors. She laughed so hard that tears streamed from her eyes. Catherine and I exchanged a look. A cold, dreadful feeling began to pool in my stomach. Finally, Brenda gasped for air, and under the bewildered gazes of the crowd, she threw the certificate to the ground. A beat of silence, and then the crowd erupted in laughter, too. “Not only are they shameless mistresses, they’re con artists!” “Hahaha, you had me going there for a second! I really thought there was going to be a twist. But this? This is hilarious!” In disbelief, I knelt and picked up the certificate. I flipped it open. Where the official text, our names, and Robert’s and Catherine’s wedding photo should have been, there was only a child’s crayon drawing of smiling stick figures under a lopsided sun. Catherine stared, her eyes wide with horror. She took the fake certificate from me, turning it over and over in her hands as if the truth might be hiding on the back. “How… how can this be?” she whispered, tears falling freely now. “I’ve kept it in the safe all this time… How did this happen?” Her eyes suddenly lit with a desperate spark. “Your father has another copy! Call him, have him bring it!” She reached for her phone, but Brenda was faster. She grabbed it, smashed it on the floor, and then, with a vicious swing, slapped both of us across the face. 3 “Enough of this!” Brenda spat, her voice dripping with contempt. “You two clowns are wasting my time.” She reached into her own designer handbag and produced a marriage certificate, dangling it in front of our faces. “Since you’re so interested, let me show you what a real one looks like.” She opened it, flashing it to the crowd. “See? The official seal! The photograph! The registration number! All here!” She looked down at us, crumpled on the floor, her eyes filled with scorn. “Have you seen enough, you hillbillies? How pathetic. You’ve probably never even seen a real marriage certificate. Had to draw one yourselves. You must be desperate to marry into the family.” She had flashed it so quickly, I hadn’t gotten a clear look. When I asked to see it again, she simply slapped me. “You don’t give up, do you?” she sneered. “You want another look so you can make a better forgery next time? Nice try.” The shock was becoming too much for Catherine. She swayed, about to faint, and I quickly caught her, holding her steady. “Mom, stay calm! You’re pregnant! You have to control your emotions!” She gripped my hand tightly, her other hand pressed against her abdomen. “Olivia,” she gasped, her face contorted in pain. “My stomach… it hurts.” Brenda just spat on the floor near us. “Serves you right. You sleep with another woman’s husband, you try to use a baby to secure your position. Did you ever look in a mirror? Who do you think you are?” Her voice was laced with venom. “I bet the little bastard in your belly knows its mother is a whore and is trying to kill itself out of shame.” The cruel words seemed to suck the air from Catherine’s lungs. Her breathing became rapid and shallow. I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her. “Deep breaths, Mom. Just breathe.” I fought to keep my own voice steady. “There has to be a misunderstanding! Please, have some decency!” Catherine was in a bad state. I knew as long as Brenda was here, no doctor would dare help us. I pulled out my own phone to call for help, but there was no signal. A signal jammer. Brenda smiled, a predator’s smile. “You idiot. You’re on my turf. Do you really think anyone is coming to save you?” Her eyes, glinting with malice, fixed on Catherine’s stomach. “You should have thought about the consequences when you spread your legs. You brought this on yourselves.” And then, she drew back her foot and kicked. Catherine was only a few months along. A blow like that could be disastrous. Without thinking, I threw myself in front of her. The impact felt like my insides were being rearranged. A strangled scream escaped my lips. Catherine heard my cry and held me tight, her own pain forgotten. “Olivia is a Thornton!” she yelled at Brenda. “She’s from the Thornton family! Stop this, right now!” Brenda just laughed as if it were the funniest joke she’d ever heard. “Still trying to bluff your way out of this? Name-dropping at a time like this?” Just as she raised her hand to strike Catherine, a stern voice cut through the chaos. “What is going on here? This is a hospital, not a marketplace for your brawls!” The crowd parted, and a man in a doctor’s coat strode through. Dr. Peterson, the Vice Dean. Relief washed over me. Ignoring the throbbing pain in my side, I waved at him. “Dr. Peterson! It’s me! My mother is here, too!” He froze for a second, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. But as he started to move toward us, the nurse who had first stopped me intercepted him. “Dr. Peterson, sir, don’t be fooled by how pitiful they look! These two are mistresses to the Dean and his son. The Dean’s wife caught them in the act! Mrs. Reed has barely touched them, and they’re acting like they’re about to die!” Dr. Peterson’s gaze shifted to Brenda. She sniffed haughtily. “What took you so long? This hospital’s standards are really slipping. Are we letting just any riff-raff in now? It’s ruining our reputation as the top private hospital in the city.” Dr. Peterson’s brow furrowed. He shot a strange, unreadable look at Catherine and me, and my heart sank. Just as I feared, his expression slowly changed. “Ah, Mrs. Reed! Forgive my old eyes. It’s been so busy at the hospital lately, I didn’t recognize you. My sincerest apologies!” The flattery worked. Brenda’s expression softened. “It’s not your fault,” she said magnanimously. “This is a hospital, after all. Everyone who comes is a patient. I was just here for my routine check-up when I stumbled upon this… disgusting mess.” Hearing the Vice Dean himself confirm Brenda’s identity, the crowd’s murmuring turned into a chorus of sycophantic agreement. “This mother-daughter pair is really something else! The evidence is stacked against them and they’re still trying to lie their way out.” “And she even claimed to know the Vice Dean! Does she think she can just claim acquaintance with anyone? He’s already confirmed who the real Mrs. Reed is. I’d love to see what other lies they can come up with.” Dr. Peterson, as if just noticing our condition, adopted a tone of magnanimous professionalism. “While their moral character may be questionable, they are in a hospital, and as doctors, we must treat everyone equally.” The crowd burst into applause, moved by his display of impartiality. Under the cover of their admiration, he approached to examine us. I pleaded with him in a low voice. “Uncle Pete, you know this isn’t the truth. Why are you siding with her?” He knelt beside me, his voice a barely audible whisper. “This little gift… it’s from your husband, isn’t it? Such a good nephew.” He smiled, a chilling, empty gesture. “I was wondering how I’d ever get a leg up on the Dean. It seems I owe your husband my thanks.” Behind me, I felt Catherine’s hand grip mine with all her remaining strength. She must have heard. “I’m so sorry, Olivia,” she choked out. Then, a dark stain of red began to spread on the floor beneath her. Panic seized me. My mother-in-law’s life was on the line. I swallowed my pride. “Whatever it is, we were in the wrong today! Please, I’m begging you, just save my mother! She’s bleeding!” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, my gaze fixed on the growing pool of crimson. We were childhood sweethearts, Ethan and I. And Catherine had treated me like her own daughter since the day we met. I couldn’t let her die. Brenda just shrugged. “I was going to make her get rid of that bastard to clear the way for my son anyway. Her bleeding now just saves me the trouble.” Dr. Peterson, despite his ambition to oust Robert, didn’t want a death on his hands. He was about to speak, but another voice interrupted. “Mom! What’s going on? Are you alright?” 4 The newcomer rushed to Brenda’s side, frantically checking her for injuries. Only after she was satisfied did she let out a sigh of relief. Speaking into her phone, she said, “Ethan, Mom’s fine. Don’t worry.” Brenda beamed, letting the young woman fuss over her. “Ashley, you’re so sweet! That worthless boy of mine calls but doesn’t even show his face.” Ashley smiled patiently. “Mom, Ethan’s parking the car! He was worried you were in danger, so he sent me up first to check.” Their warm, familial scene was a dagger in my heart. So it was true. Ethan had cheated. Catherine squeezed my hand, her voice a ragged whisper filled with apology. “I’m sorry, Olivia. It’s all my fault. I failed to raise my son properly. You shouldn’t have to suffer like this.” I wiped away my tears and squeezed back. “It’s not your fault, Mom. None of this is on you.” I looked back at Dr. Peterson. “Uncle Pete, please, get a doctor for my mother!” Before he could answer, he was shoved aside. Ashley, the woman who had just been so concerned for Brenda, launched herself at me, kicking and punching. “You slut! How dare you seduce my husband! I’m going to kill you today!” Catherine, with a sudden surge of strength, threw her body over mine, shielding me from the blows. “Olivia, it’s my fault,” she wept. “I had this whim to come to the hospital like a normal person, to experience it all. If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t be going through this.” Her voice broke. “Don’t worry. When you divorce Ethan, I’ll support you.” My own tears started to flow, hot and unrestrained. How could this be her fault? Catherine’s upbringing was one of privilege. Her marriage to Robert was arranged, but they had fallen deeply in love. They had a private family doctor, but by a cruel twist of fate, he had been in a car accident a few days ago and had broken his leg. I was the one who had jokingly suggested we could try being normal people for a day, waiting in line and filling out forms. Catherine, sweet and impulsive, had remembered and decided to do just that for this check-up. This was my fault. If I hadn’t had such a stupid, romantic idea, Catherine wouldn’t be in this pain, and her baby might still be safe… The scene devolved into chaos. People in the crowd, seeing the blood spreading, finally intervened, pulling Ashley away. And then, he arrived. Ethan. Ashley immediately threw herself into his arms. He held her, his expression tender. “Honey, does your hand hurt?” She pouted theatrically. “My hand doesn’t hurt, but my heart does! That woman over there claims you’re her husband!” Ethan’s eyes met mine for a fleeting second before sliding away as if he’d never seen me before. He raised a hand as if taking an oath. “Baby, that’s not true. It’s never been true! There’s only ever been you.” I bit my lip until it bled, forcing down the wave of grief and betrayal that threatened to drown me. Catherine was fading. “Dr. Peterson! Please, save my mom!” Ethan shot me a look of pure disgust. “Save who? If something happens, I’ll take responsibility. People have to pay for their mistakes.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Ethan, how can you be so cruel? That’s your mother! She’s unconscious!” Brenda’s face flushed with fury. “Son! You tell her! You tell her who your real mother is!” Ethan frowned, his gaze sweeping over me and the motionless form of Catherine in my arms, her face obscured. “My mother is standing right here, perfectly fine! Who are you trying to curse? Your own mother passed out? What’s that got to do with me? I don’t even know you. Stop trying to latch onto me.” With those words, the last bit of strength seemed to drain from Catherine. She went completely limp in my arms. I held her, pleading with them, with anyone. “She’s unconscious! Please, for God’s sake, get her help!” A triumphant, twisted smile spread across Brenda’s face. “I want her to bleed out. I dare anyone here to treat her!” Suddenly, a furious voice roared from the edge of the crowd, a voice I knew as well as my own. “I’d like to see who dares to not treat my wife!” This marks the end of the first translated segment, as per the original text’s paywall point.

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At the party, Olivia’s friends had me cornered. “We heard you’ve had a crush on Olivia since you were kids,” one of them said, leaning in with a conspiratorial grin. “That you always insisted on being her husband when you played house. So, what’s the deal? Are you still in love with her?” Every eye in the circle landed on me. But my gaze drifted to the corner of the room, to the woman silently pouring herself another drink. “That was a long time ago,” I said, forcing a casual smile. “I was just a kid. I probably caused her more trouble than anything.” I looked down, fiddling with the ring on my finger. “Honestly, I got over it years ago. Besides, I’m getting married soon.” In the sudden silence, the sharp crack of shattering glass echoed through the room. Olivia stared down at her ruined heels, wine soaking into the delicate suede. The corners of her eyes were red, and for a long moment, she seemed completely lost. 1. I could have married Olivia six years ago. What she never knew was that every time she missed her chance, it was because I had designed it that way. It’s because I woke up. I realized this world is a novel, and it’s a tragedy. Olivia is the heroine, my older brother, Michael, is the hero, and I’m just the obsessive, destructive side character. Our families were neighbors, practically joined at the hip. Olivia was the same age as Michael, three years older than me. You could say we were childhood sweethearts, or something close to it. She always looked out for me, a little more than she needed to. I thought that meant she liked me. From the moment I was born, she was there. Through every scraped knee, every victory, every quiet sadness. She was a constant presence for twenty-two years of my life. Loving her felt as natural as breathing. I don’t even know when it started. I remember playing house in the backyard. Olivia wanted to be the mom, Michael the dad, and I was their baby. I threw a tantrum, smashing my favorite toy truck on the patio stones. I wasn’t the baby, I was the dad. I was going to be the one to put a veil on Olivia, to marry her. Michael just laughed and pushed me towards her. “Alright, alright, you marry her. Go on.” And Olivia… she didn’t say no. She giggled, calling me “honey,” and draped a red dishtowel from her grandmother’s kitchen over her head. I was five years old. But when she put on that makeshift veil, it was the beginning of a seventeen-year dream. That dream ended my junior year of college, on Valentine’s Day. I was out with my roommate when I saw them. Michael and Olivia, walking side-by-side. I watched her gently brush a leaf from his hair, a gesture so intimate it stole the air from my lungs. Then she bought him a small, expensive box of chocolates. My roommate nudged me. “Dude, is she giving Michael chocolates? Is she into him? Does he even know you’re in love with her?” That day, my world collapsed. It only takes a second for a person to turn bad. In that moment, I felt like no one in the world loved me. 2. Jealousy is a seed. Once it sprouts, it grows wild. I couldn’t accept that the woman I’d loved my whole life had her heart set on someone else. So, at my college graduation party, I drugged her drink. I made an excuse to leave early, taking her back to my place. The moment the door closed, she lost all control, her arms wrapping around me as she guided us toward the bedroom. The kisses were frantic, a storm moving from my lips down my stomach, igniting every inch of my skin. I was thrilled. And I was terrified. My plan was to not just have her, but to have Michael walk in on us, to find us in this mess. Then she would have to marry me. But right then, at the absolute peak of my terrible plan, I woke up. My mind was flooded with images from years in the future. Olivia, believing she’d taken advantage of me in a drunken haze, marries me out of a sense of duty. It doesn’t take long for her to discover the truth. Her love curdles into hatred, our life together becoming a wasteland of bitter arguments. During one of them, she shoves me down the stairs, leaving me paralyzed from the waist down. My brother, Michael, never marries. He dies years later on a trip, killed in a hit-and-run. The day Michael dies, Olivia runs out of the house in a frenzy, leaving me, sick and helpless, to die alone in my bed. It was only after my death that I understood. This world was a book written by a sadist. My jealousy was the catalyst that doomed us all. Because of me, no one got a happy ending. 3. “What are you thinking about? You’re going to space out at a time like this?” Olivia’s voice, husky and strained, pulled me back to the present. Her breath was hot against my ear. I reached up and touched her cheek, and then the tears came. Her eyes were so beautiful. But I knew, with a certainty that shattered my heart, that I wasn’t the one she truly saw. Her desire-filled expression melted into confusion. “Why are you crying?” she whispered. “Don’t you… want me?” Yes. I wanted her more than anything. I loved her down to my bones. But even if I was a bad person, I wasn’t evil enough to want everyone to die. “Olivia, I’m sorry,” I choked out. “I made a mistake. We can’t do this.” She looked lost, but before she could process it, her rationality was already gone, washed away by the drug. And that’s when Michael came home. He wasn’t alone. Olivia’s best friend, Zoe, was with him. They saw us, saw Olivia on top of me, and assumed the worst. They pulled her off me, Michael so enraged he actually grabbed a broom from the kitchen and started swinging it at her. The scene was pure chaos. And in that moment, I saw just how colossally I had screwed up. “It wasn’t her!” I yelled, scrambling to cover myself. “It was me.” I confessed everything. The room went dead silent. Everyone just stared at me with an alien expression, like they’d never really seen me before. Zoe pointed a trembling finger at my face, her voice tight with rage. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done? This is a crime.” “I know,” I whispered. “I’ll accept whatever happens.” In the end, it was Olivia who stepped in front of me. “He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he’s doing. It was a stupid prank, let’s not make it a federal case.” “A kid?” Zoe shrieked. “He’s twenty-two, Olivia! When are you going to stop protecting him?” Tears streamed down my face as I looked at her. I wanted to take her to a hospital, to make sure she was okay. But when my hand touched her arm, she flinched away like I had burned her. Michael let out a heavy sigh. “I’ll take her. You stay here and think about what you did.” Suddenly, I understood what my brother had meant all those years ago when he said everyone loved me. This—this cold, empty space between us—this is what it felt like to truly not be loved at all. From that moment on, my life became an act of atonement. 4. The story spread like poison. Everyone knew that some psycho was so obsessed with Olivia that he’d resorted to drugging her. I sent her a flood of apology texts. I bought gifts, begging Michael to deliver them for me. A few days later, a single message came through. “I’m not angry. But if you like someone, you should just tell them. You don’t need to do things like this.” By the time I received it, I was already on a train to New York City. “Thank you, and I’m so sorry,” I typed back. “Don’t worry. I’ll never force you to like me again.” After sending it, I popped out the SIM card, cut it in half with a pair of scissors, and put a new one in my phone. Before I left, I’d told Michael he could message me if he missed me, but to never, ever mention Olivia’s name. I didn’t want to be the villain anymore. I had to leave my old life behind completely. … I finished my internship and landed a full-time job. I was scraping by, but I was making a life for myself in the city. I thought I would never see Olivia again. I should have known better. She was too brilliant, too successful. She was transferred to my company’s New York headquarters to become our new COO. The day they introduced the new “Ms. Sterling,” I felt my blood turn to ice. It was a cruel joke played by fate. I watched her walk through the office, a wave of respect and admiration parting before her, and disappear into a corner office. Thankfully, she didn’t see me. A colleague whistled under his breath. “Wow. About time we got a boss who’s an absolute smoke-show.” He nudged me with his elbow. “Hey, Ethan. She’s exactly your type, right?” I snapped back to reality and gave a numb nod. “Yeah. My type.” My manager slapped me lightly on the back of the head. “Don’t even think about it. I heard some psycho tried to drug her once. Ever since, she has zero tolerance for creeps who pull shady stuff.” My heart seized. My most shameful memory, dragged out into the light to be publicly flogged. My colleague whispered, his hand over his mouth. “Jesus, what kind of scumbag does that?” I just wanted the floor to swallow me whole. 5. Logically, I should have quit on the spot. But the job market was brutal, and I couldn’t afford to be unemployed. Besides, my job was insignificant. My desk was tucked away in a forgotten corner. Even though we were on the same floor, our paths never crossed. For two months, I lived like a rat in the walls. Then Zoe came to the office to see Olivia. Olivia was in a meeting, so Zoe started wandering around. I kept my head down, praying she wouldn’t notice me. But of course, she did. “Ethan? Is that you?” Her voice was loud enough to turn heads. “Holy shit, you’re unbelievable! You followed her all the way to New York? I gotta hand it to you, that’s some next-level obsession.” Every single person in my department turned to stare. I felt naked, their eyes like whips on my skin. My voice was thick, my nose burning. “No, that’s not it. I worked here first. I had no idea this would happen…” Just then, the conference room door opened and Olivia walked out. The moment she saw me, she froze. “Ethan? What are you doing here?” Before I could even try to explain, Zoe pointed a finger at me. “What do you think he’s doing? He’s here for you. This is insane. I’m posting about this.” Olivia’s hand, holding a folder, was trembling. I could see the humiliation in her eyes. It must be disgusting for her to see me here. “Ethan,” she said, her voice strained. “Wait for me at lunch. I have something urgent right now, but we’ll talk then.” She turned and followed the CEO into his office. A coworker leaned over, their eyes wide with excitement. “What’s the deal between you and the new COO?” Before Zoe could answer, I looked at her, my eyes pleading. “Please,” I mouthed. “Don’t.” She rolled her eyes and walked away. But I couldn’t face her. I didn’t have the courage. All I could see was that future vision of myself, paralyzed and dying alone in filth. I went straight to my manager’s office and resigned. My position didn’t require a lengthy transition. An hour later, my desk was cleared out, and I walked out of that building for the last time. 6. I had to change my phone number again. I felt like a fugitive. From New York, I ran to Chicago. I was smarter this time. I’d check in with Michael, ask about Olivia’s travel plans. As long as she was coming to my city, I was leaving. She would arrive, and I’d already be gone. This went on until my company offered me a position overseas in London. Finally, I could stop running. I spent six years in London, going from broke to comfortable. The only reason I came back to the States was because Michael got sick. He threw a party to welcome me home. And Olivia and Zoe were there. Six years. Olivia was calmer, more self-assured. Time hadn’t touched her face, but it had given her a new depth, a quiet confidence that was even more captivating. “Ethan,” she said with a small smile. “Welcome back. It must have been a long flight.” There was no surprise in her eyes. It was as if time had smoothed over all the rough edges. She and Michael had never gotten married. It seemed my little stunt had left its mark on their relationship, too. Some of our old friends were married with kids; others were still playing the field. Michael had a stable city government job and had worked his way up to department head. Olivia was the most successful of all of us. She’d slowly bought into her company, and now she was the CEO. Apparently, she owned several apartments in New York. After a few hours, most people were drunk. Except for Olivia. She hadn’t touched a drop. Zoe nudged her playfully. “You’re not getting married, so what’s with all the apartments? You should let me live in one, help you out.” Olivia just smiled and looked over at me. “Ethan’s not married either,” she said smoothly. “And he owns a place in London. Why don’t you ask him to help you out?” The sudden attention made my heart jump. Her friends seized the opportunity and swarmed around me. “That’s right, Ethan! You were always so crazy about Olivia. You insisted on being her husband when you played house. Are you still in love with her?” Every eye was on me. I glanced at Olivia. She was still smiling, pouring drinks for everyone as if the question had nothing to do with her. “I was just a kid,” I said, shaking my head. “I caused her a lot of trouble back then. Honestly, I got over it years ago…” I touched the plain silver band on my left hand. “Besides, I’m getting married soon. I’ll be sure to invite you all to the wedding.” In the sudden silence, I heard the crack of shattering glass. Olivia stared down at her ruined heels, her drink spilled all over them. The corners of her eyes were red, and she couldn’t seem to look away. 7. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her voice tight. “My hand slipped. I’ll clean it up.” She got up and quickly left the table. Michael turned to me, his brow furrowed. “When did you meet someone?” The villainous side character in me was an expert liar. “About six months ago. She’s British.” When Olivia came back, she, the one who hadn’t been drinking all night, downed one glass of wine, then another. Eventually, the party broke up. Olivia stood in front of me. “Ethan. Aren’t you going to walk me home?” I hesitated. She was drunk; it probably wasn’t safe for her to go alone. But all the way to her apartment door, she didn’t say a single word. I watched her fumble with her keys and unlock the door. “Well,” I said, shuffling my feet. “I should probably get going. You’re home safe.” Suddenly, she grabbed my wrist and pulled me inside. I lost my balance, my arms instinctively wrapping around her to steady myself. The door slammed shut behind us, and she pressed me against it. The apartment was dark, and my other senses went into overdrive. The smell of wine on her breath was intoxicating as it washed over my ear. My heart was hammering against my ribs. “Olivia, what are—” I never finished the word. Her lips crashed against mine, cold and demanding. It was a storm, plundering my mouth, leaving me no chance to escape. “Ethan, why did you lie?” she whispered against my lips, her voice raw. “Why tell everyone you have a girlfriend? You’re the one who woke all this up in me. Why am I always the one left chasing you?” “Olivia, stop this. I have to go home.” She held me tighter, her voice cracking with a bitter, choked sob. “Your heart is so cruel, Ethan.” She pressed my hand against her chest, against the soft swell of her breast. “You shouldn’t have abandoned me. Eight years ago, when you did what you did… you should have taken responsibility for me.”

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It all started on move-in day, when my mom dropped me off at my dorm in a Lamborghini. The second my roommate found out she was the CEO of Hayes Industries, his whole attitude changed. “Ms. Hayes is that busy and you still made her drive you? Where’s your dad?” he asked. “I guess a family really does need a man in charge… Don’t worry. I’ll study up for a few days, and then I’ll take good care of you both!” I thought he was just being weird, so I brushed it off. “Yeah, you’re a real hero.” But then he actually started staying up all night, watching videos like, How to Marry into a Billionaire Family. He’d lecture me, “A man shouldn’t play so many video games! You have to act like the head of the house!” He even started calling himself my “stepfather” in front of everyone. “See his hat?” he’d say. “His mom and I picked it out for him. Of course, she also bought me a custom suit. She definitely spoils me more.” It all came to a head at the university’s Centennial Gala. He showed up in a designer suit and sat right down in the seat reserved for the Hayes Family. 1 Move-in day at Blackwood University, and my mother, Eleanor Hayes, decided on subtlety. Which is to say, she pulled up to the curb of my freshman dorm in a screaming yellow Lamborghini that probably cost more than the entire building. When my new roommate, Owen, saw it, his eyes practically popped out of his head. We’d barely introduced ourselves before he was pressed against the window. “Did you guys see that Lambo downstairs? I just looked it up—it’s a four-million-dollar car!” he announced to the room. I casually dropped my duffel bag by my bed. “Mom,” I said, turning to her, “didn’t you tell me you only paid three for it?” A brief, awkward smile flashed across her face. Just then, one of our family’s security detail, a man built like a refrigerator, stepped into the room. “Ms. Hayes, the board meeting is starting shortly.” Owen’s head snapped toward us, his eyes gleaming with a strange intensity. He scrambled over to my side. “Your mom is the Ms. Hayes? As in, Hayes Industries? That is so cool! How did she have time to drive you to campus? Where’s your dad?” Before I could form a single word, he had his phone out and was standing directly in front of my mother. “I’m Owen,” he said, his voice a little too eager. “You should add me on Instagram. That way, if Ethan needs anything, you can just ask me directly!” My mother, a woman who could make seasoned executives tremble, actually hesitated. I could see the refusal forming on her lips, but she’s always had a soft spot for not embarrassing students. With a strained politeness, she scanned his code. “Ethan, honey, I’ve got to get back to the office,” she said, turning to me. “Call me if you need anything.” Before I could reply, Owen jumped in again. “He will! And I’ll make sure he’s okay. You have a safe drive back to the city.” He added a little wave, a shy, almost coy smile on his face. “Don’t forget to eat dinner. You work too hard.” My mom let out a tight, strangled cough, turned on her heel, and was gone. As I started unpacking, I couldn’t help but wonder, are all college students this weirdly intense? The next thing I knew, my suitcase was on the floor, its contents spilled across the dusty linoleum. Owen had kicked it over. “So,” he said, his voice suddenly sharp. “Where’s my welcome gift? It’s customary to show respect to your elders.” I stared at him, completely thrown. I couldn’t tell if this was some bizarre, deadpan joke. When I didn’t move, he slapped me across the face. Not hard, but with enough sting to shock me. He put his hands on his hips, glaring. “Is that how you look at a parent? No respect at all!” he snapped. “From now on, I’m going to have to whip you into shape for your mother’s sake. Or you won’t be welcome in our home!” He was serious. Utterly, terrifyingly serious. A surge of rage shot through me. I stood up and shoved him, hard. He stumbled backward and fell to the floor. “Are you insane?” I yelled, my voice echoing in the small room. “They let psychopaths into Blackwood now? Get help!” The commotion drew a crowd. Students poked their heads in from the hallway, their eyes wide. Owen lay on the floor, his face a mask of pale, wounded innocence. “I know you don’t like me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “But I’m already trying so hard to be a good stepfather…” A collective gasp went through the onlookers. Their bewildered stares shifted from him to me. I felt like my head was going to explode. “My mom doesn’t even know you!” I shot back, my voice shaking with disbelief. “You’re just some psycho trying to marry into money!” Owen slowly picked himself up, pulling out his phone. He angled the screen toward the crowd. “Oh really? Take a look for yourselves! See if I know his mother or not!” he declared. “He’s just jealous. He thinks I’m stealing his mom’s love, so he’s trying to drive me away!” To my horror, people in the crowd started nodding, their expressions turning from confusion to contempt—aimed at me. I had no idea what he was showing them. I snatched the phone from his hand. He had changed my mother’s contact name. It now read: My Beautiful Wife I let out a laugh, a sharp, bitter sound. Before I could say a word, our Resident Advisor appeared, breaking up the crowd. “What’s going on here? You want a write-up on your first day? Get back to your rooms!” The crowd dispersed. Owen and I were left alone in the suffocating silence of our room. He immediately dissolved into tears, his body wracked with sobs. “I’m sorry, Ethan,” he choked out. “My reaction… it was unacceptable.” He took a shaky breath. “I grew up really poor. I was bullied all the time, and… the way you looked at me just now, it brought all of that back. I just… I lost control. I’m so sorry. If you’re still angry, you can hit me back. Please.” He started slapping his own face, hard, leaving red marks on his pale skin. Instinctively, I grabbed his hands to stop him. My anger deflated, replaced by a confusing wave of pity. He was clearly unhinged, but hearing his story… it sounded like he’d been shaped by a lifetime of pain. I sighed, letting go of him. “Forget it. I’m not angry anymore.” I looked him in the eye. “But you absolutely cannot call my mother your wife. That’s insane, Owen.” He wiped his tears, his lower lip still trembling. “My grandmother always told me, when you go to a new place, you have to find the most powerful person and get close to them. It’s the only way to keep from being a target.” He sniffled. “I thought if everyone knew I was connected to Ms. Hayes, they wouldn’t mess with me. I’m sorry…” It was the most twisted logic I’d ever heard, but his misery felt so genuine that I didn’t know how to argue. “That’s not how you do it,” I said, shaking my head. “Just… stop crying. Let’s finish unpacking.” He immediately sprang into action, not just unpacking his own things, but mine too. He made my bed, folded my clothes with military precision, and arranged my toiletries on my desk. I’d been so sheltered my whole life, I was honestly clueless about most of it. His help was, embarrassingly, a relief. “Hey, uh… thanks,” I mumbled. “I’ll buy you lunch tomorrow.” He gave me a sweet, radiant smile and pulled a lumpy, wax-paper-wrapped object from his bag. “This is a roll my grandmother baked. They’re the best. You should try one.” After the drama, I was starving. I took it and bit into it. It was surprisingly delicious. “Wow. Your grandma’s a hell of a baker. She could sell these.” I started to think that maybe Owen wasn’t so bad. Maybe he was just deeply insecure, a problem that college and a better environment could fix. Suddenly, he held up his phone. “Can we take a picture? I want to show my grandma I made my first friend in college!” he said, beaming. “And that he loves her baking! She’ll be so happy.” I played along, holding up the half-eaten roll and giving a peace sign. He snapped the photo and immediately started tapping away on his phone, a blissful smile spreading across his face. “Hey, let’s trade numbers,” he said. “I’ll send you the pic.” Seeing his phone reminded me I hadn’t even texted my mom to let her know I was settled. Just as I was thinking it, a message from her came through. [Mom]: Making friends already? I’m so proud of you, honey! Attached was a screenshot. It was a chat between her and Owen. He’d sent her pictures of my perfectly made bed, my organized closet, and the photo of us he’d just taken. [Owen]: Ethan’s doing great! All settled in and eating well! My mom had replied with two thumbs-up emojis. I thought it was a little weird, but also kind of sweet that he was trying to reassure her. A second later, I opened Instagram and saw Owen’s new post. The caption read: I’ll keep working hard on how to be a good stepdad, don’t you worry, honey! The son is all settled in at school~ The picture was the screenshot of his chat with my mom. Rage, white-hot and absolute, flooded my veins. I shoved my phone in his face. “What the hell is this? Delete it. Now!” He flinched, his eyes instantly welling up with tears. “I’m sorry! It was just for my grandma’s sake! So she wouldn’t worry! If you don’t like it, I’ll take it down right now!” He fumbled with his phone, tapping furiously. I refreshed my feed, and the post was gone. A knot of suspicion tightened in my gut. Something about him was fundamentally wrong, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. “Don’t you ever post anything like that again,” I said, my voice low. “This is your last warning.” I went to take a shower, trying to wash the whole bizarre day off me. The next morning, Owen was back to being the perfect, considerate roommate. He’d even squeezed toothpaste onto my toothbrush for me. “Morning! Time to get up. We have orientation today.” His relentless cheerfulness was unsettling, but I didn’t know how to tell him to stop. As I was getting dressed, I couldn’t find the new pair of designer cargo pants I’d bought. “Hey, Owen, did you see a pair of white pants when you were folding my clothes yesterday?” He froze for a second. “Oh! The ones with all the chains on them? Yeah, those were a little… aggressive. Very street-style. I thought people might get the wrong impression, you know? Like you were in a gang or something. I threw them out.” He smiled helpfully. “You’re a good kid from a good family. You shouldn’t dress like a delinquent. People might think you have no upbringing.” I looked in my closet. It wasn’t just the cargo pants. Every single pair of pants that had any unique design element was gone. I fought down the urge to scream. I’d deal with him later. I pulled on a plain pair of jeans and headed to orientation. In the auditorium, a few classmates complimented the limited-edition baseball cap I was wearing. “Dude, that hat is sick! Is that the new release?” I smiled, about to answer, when Owen physically stepped in front of me, adopting the air of a proud parent. “It’s great, isn’t it?” he said with a knowing smile. “His mother and I picked it out for him when we were in Europe.” He leaned in conspiratorially. “Of course, she also bought me a custom-tailored suit. Between you and me, I think she spoils me a little more.” My classmates just stared, their faces blank with confusion. That’s when it hit me. Owen wasn’t just weird or insecure. He was a genuine, five-alarm psychopath. My pity had been a mistake. “My mom did buy me this hat,” I said, my voice tight. “He had nothing to do with it. My mom doesn’t know him. Don’t listen to a word he says.” Owen just winked at the group. “He gets so embarrassed about me being younger. You know how kids are, so worried about their image.” He patted my shoulder. “Alright, alright, whatever you say, champ. Let’s go get some lunch.” The looks on my classmates’ faces were getting more and more complicated. I knew losing my temper now would only make me look worse. I’d settle this back at the dorm. But at lunch, he took all the broccoli off his tray and dumped it onto mine. “Your mom told me you’re a picky eater,” he announced to the table. “I’m here to make sure you eat your vegetables.” That was it. I snapped. I flipped my entire tray over, sending food scattering across the floor. I pointed a shaking finger at him. “What is wrong with you?” I screamed, the entire cafeteria falling silent. “Are you addicted to this? Do you really think you’re my father? My mother doesn’t know who you are! One more time, and I swear to God, I’m calling the cops and having you committed!” Everyone was staring. Owen looked terrified, his face pale. He trembled for a long moment, then his voice came out in a broken whisper. “I know… I know you don’t approve of us. But your mother and I… we’re in love.” He choked back a sob. “I’m sorry. I’ll go.” He turned and ran out of the cafeteria, crying. Whispers erupted all around me. I pulled out my phone, ready to call my mom and tell her everything, when a notification from the Blackwood University Confessions page popped up. [Post]: Whose insane sports car was parked outside the freshman dorms yesterday? That thing was beautiful! The attached photo was of my mom’s Lamborghini. And the top comment, with over a hundred likes, was from Owen. [Owen_B]: That’s my wife’s car! She paid over four million for it and tried to tell me it was only three. But what can I say? She’s the one in charge of the money in our house. Guess I’m just a kept man, haha! I was shaking with so much rage I could barely see straight. This psycho. This absolute lunatic. Tomorrow was the university’s Centennial Gala. My mother, a distinguished alumna, was the keynote speaker. Tomorrow, I would have her set the record straight in front of everyone. I would watch his fantasy world burn to the ground. I was too furious to eat. Back in the dorm, I was about to call my mom when a video call from her came through. “Ethan,” she said, her expression serious. “Are you fighting with your roommate?” I was baffled. How could she know already? “How did you hear about that?” Her face tightened with embarrassment as she shifted the camera. My jaw dropped. The background wasn’t her office. It was the main floor of Hayes Industries. And Owen was there, strolling around like he owned the place, pointing and directing employees. He was acting like the CEO. “Owen? He’s insane! Mom, don’t listen to a word he says!” I sputtered. “He’s been telling everyone at school that you’re his wife and he’s my stepfather! The whole campus is talking about it! You have to clear this up at the gala tomorrow, or my entire college experience is over!” I was so frantic I could barely get the words out. My mom looked completely stunned. “My God. What is wrong with these kids today?” she murmured. “I’ll have security send him back to campus. And yes, we will clear this up tomorrow.” After we hung up, I paced the room, my mind racing with all the ways I was going to destroy Owen when he got back. A few minutes later, I heard two students whispering as they walked past my door. “That’s the room. The one with the son and the stepfather. It’s so creepy.” “I know, right? The lives of the super-rich are messed up.” I stormed out into the hall. “Who told you he’s my stepfather? He’s lying!” One of them just scoffed and held up his phone. “Your family is something else. Your mom has a thing for younger guys, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.” I looked at the screen. It was Owen’s Instagram feed. He’d posted a new selfie from inside my mom’s office, along with a short video of him ordering her employees around. [Caption]: Just checking in on my wife’s empire. Making sure the staff knows who the new boss is! The post before that was a picture of me sleeping, clearly taken the night before. [Caption]: Long day for the boy. Out like a light. And the one before that? The screenshot of his chat with my mom. [Caption]: Son is all settled in at school. I’ve got everything under control, honey~ He never deleted anything. He just blocked me. A cold, hard fury settled deep in my bones. I wasn’t going to wait until tomorrow. The second he walked through that door, I was going to tear him apart. I didn’t care if I got expelled. But he never came back. Not all night. He was scared to face me. The next day, the Centennial Gala was packed. Everyone who was anyone in the city was there. My mom arrived looking like a goddess in a custom-tailored pantsuit. She was in her forties but had the poise and physique of a woman half her age, thanks to a lifelong devotion to yoga and kicking ass in the boardroom. “Our seats are in the front row,” she told me. “I had them reserve a spot for honorary alumni family.” I nodded and followed her toward the stage. And then I saw it. A sight so horrifying it made the world go dark at the edges. There, dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, sitting smugly in the chair labeled Hayes Family, was Owen.

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I was born with a cursed tongue. Whatever bad I say, happens. Instantly. When I was four, I dropped a single grain of rice. My grandmother snatched me up and dragged me toward the old cesspit behind the house. “You wasteful thing! Still daring to waste food? I should just drown you now and be done with it!” I looked up at her and said softly, “You’re the one who’s going to fall in and drown.” The words had barely left my lips when her foot slipped on the muddy edge. She pitched forward into the filth and never climbed out. My grandfather pointed a shaking finger at me, his voice cracking. “You’re a jinx! A bad omen!” He said I’d killed her. The next day, he sold me to a man from out of town. As they walked away, I watched his back and whispered, “You and him. A speeding truck is going to hit you both.” No sooner had I spoken than a pickup truck, swerving to avoid a deer, barreled down the dirt road. It crushed them both beneath its wheels. The people in our small town said I was a devil child. They wanted to beat me to death, to silence my cursed mouth before I took them all down with me. My parents, desperate, knelt before the head of a spiritual sanctuary on Quiet Mountain for three days and three nights. They begged her to take me in, to let me live among them, hoping the mountain’s deep silence could contain my voice, could… protect me. They promised they’d come for me when things got better. But I waited and waited. I grew up in the sanctuary, becoming known in whispers as the girl who spoke to the mountain, and still, they never came. Until the day my mother appeared, her eyes red-rimmed and hollow. She had come to take me down the mountain. “Seraphina,” she choked out, “your father… they broke his legs. And your sister… those animals, they ruined her… Come home with me, Sera. Come see them one last time…” Seeing the endless grief on her face, I said nothing. I just packed my simple clothes and walked out of the sanctuary gates for the first time in sixteen years. Since entering that quiet place, I had rarely spoken a word. But now, I was ready to speak. And when I spoke, I would bring ruin to the houses of the wicked. 1 My mother didn’t take me back to our town in the foothills. Instead, we took a train, then another, journeying deep into the heart of a sprawling city, descending into a basement apartment. The room was sunless and suffocating, thick with the stench of sickness and despair. It held nothing but a single, dilapidated bed, upon which lay two people who were already ghosts. My father, once a man of broad shoulders and easy strength, was now a skeleton, his skin stretched thin over jutting bones. One leg was horrifically bent, a shard of bone piercing the skin, the wound crawling with maggots. My sister, Amelia, was even thinner. She was little more than a head on a skeletal frame, a husk wrapped in skin. Her eyes, wide and vacant, stared at nothing. She was a living corpse. A hot rage burned behind my eyes. In all my years at the sanctuary, Amelia’s letters had been my only connection to the world. She’d send them with whatever small comforts my parents could afford—a new shirt, a little cash. She was only two when I left, but I remember her pressing a sticky piece of candy into my mouth, her eyes shining. “For you, Sera. It’s sweet.” That was the one and only time my cursed tongue had ever tried to form a blessing. “You be good, Amelia. May you grow up happy and safe.” For all these years, I had allowed myself to believe she had. That my wish had somehow worked. Today, I learned the truth. My curse only worked one way. I wiped the tear from the corner of my eye. If they were so blind as to lay a hand on my family… Then I would teach them what it truly meant to be cursed. Before my mother could finish explaining, the steel door to the basement crashed and shuddered under a heavy barrage of kicks. “You filthy bitch, get out here! You didn’t take care of us last time, so today you’re gonna pay!” “Little slut! Thought you could crawl into Mr. Blackwood’s bed and get away with it? You pissed off Miss Langford, and now Mr. Blackwood is pissed. He sent us to teach you a lesson, to help Miss Langford cool off. He’s paying us good money to make sure you never walk right again!” Amelia, who had been catatonic, began to tremble violently, her hands flying to her head as she shrieked, “I didn’t… I didn’t climb into his bed! I’m not a homewrecker… It wasn’t me!” My father, gritting his teeth against the agony, dragged his broken body across the mattress to pull her into his arms. Before I could process what was happening, the door burst open with a deafening crash. A bucket of red paint flew through the air, drenching me. In an instant, I was covered head to toe in crimson, dripping like some demon clawed up from the depths of hell. A few thugs with cheap, dyed hair froze when they saw me, then broke into leering grins. “Well, well. You hiding a new one? She’s not bad looking.” “Perfect. We’re tired of the old one anyway. Looks like we’re all getting a turn today, boys!” Spitting filth, they began to spray-paint the walls with words like WHORE, SLUT, HOMEWRECKER… The leader, a cigarette dangling from his lips, sneered at us. “You really think you could hide from us down here?” “Mr. Blackwood’s offer was too good to pass up. We’ve been watching you in shifts. There’s no running.” My mother, her eyes blazing with a fury I’d never seen, screamed, “You can only kill a person once! You broke her father’s leg, you… you did what you did to my daughter! What more do you want? Do you want us all dead?” The thug spat on the floor. “Dead? That’s too easy. Miss Langford is a kind woman. She wants you to live. A long, long time.” “You get to die when she gets bored. Not a second before.” Another one picked up a paintbrush and advanced on my sister with a twisted smile. “Come on, little slut. Let me write a little something on your face. A nice photo for Miss Langford to cheer her up.” “What should we write today? How about… ‘I’m a bitch in heat. Free to use.’” He reached for her, but I threw myself in his path. He kicked me hard in the stomach, sending me sprawling. “Get out of the way, you fucking mutt. You looking to die?” I lay on the filthy concrete, then slowly pushed myself up. A cold, thin smile touched my lips. “You animals don’t deserve to live another day. In a moment, you will all be crushed to death by stones falling from the sky.” The room erupted in mocking laughter. “Stones from the sky? Is she crazy? What the hell is she talking about?” The laughter died in their throats as a tremendous cracking sound echoed from above. The ceiling gave way. A gaping hole opened, and massive slabs of concrete rained down upon them. 2 They were all crushed instantly, their laughter replaced by the sickening crunch of bone. My mother and I didn’t hesitate. We each grabbed one of my parents and hauled them out of that concrete tomb. The moment we cleared the doorway, the entire ceiling collapsed, burying them all. No one could have survived. My mother stared at the rubble, her face pale, her voice a trembling whisper. “Sera… what are we going to do?” I managed a faint smile, pulling a thick wad of cash from my pocket—lifted from the lead thug’s jacket in the chaos. “First, we find a quiet place. A clean place. Then we get Dad and Amelia to a doctor.” A flicker of hope returned to my mother’s eyes. She nodded, her resolve hardening. “Okay. Whatever you say.” We settled them in a small rented house on the edge of the city. As they rested, the full, ugly story finally came out. After I was left at the sanctuary, Amelia dedicated her life to one goal: getting me back. She studied relentlessly, determined to succeed, to make enough money so our family could be whole again. My parents, banished from our hometown, worked themselves to the bone at menial jobs, saving every penny for the day we could be reunited. But even in the city, the best they could afford was that lightless basement. They never wanted me to suffer with them. Life at the sanctuary was austere, but the headmistress was kind. I had food, shelter, and peace. They couldn’t bear to drag me from that. Then, Amelia graduated from college and landed a job at Blackwood Enterprises, as a personal assistant to the CEO, Donovan Blackwood. She was brilliant. She single-handedly secured a major client, earning a massive bonus and a promotion. She called my parents, ecstatic. It was enough. Enough to move out of the basement, enough to get a real house, enough to finally bring me home. But Amelia never saw that bonus. At the company’s annual gala, Donovan Blackwood’s fiancée, Victoria Langford, stormed in. In front of hundreds of colleagues, she slapped Amelia across the face, the sound echoing through the ballroom. “A little slut who slept her way into a job, and you dare show your face here? You think you’ve earned a place at this table?” She looked down her nose at my sister, her voice dripping with venom. “Someone get over here and rip that cheap dress off her! Let’s show everyone the price of being a homewrecker!” Amelia, shaking, looked to Donovan Blackwood, her voice a desperate plea. “Mr. Blackwood, please… tell her. Tell her nothing happened.” He didn’t even meet her eyes. “Amelia, you’ve upset my fiancée. Whatever she decides is a fitting punishment, you deserve it. As long as it makes her happy.” He then wrapped his arm around Victoria and walked away. While the entire company watched, my sister was stripped and humiliated, her spirit shattered. That night, she climbed to the roof of the office building. The wind was cold, and all she wanted was the release of death. But before she could jump, a group of thugs dragged her back from the ledge and pulled her into a dark alley. All night, the only sound was her screaming. The next day, a video of her ordeal was delivered to Victoria Langford. Donovan’s voice was casual, offhand. “See, Victoria? You think I’d waste my time with trash like that? Are you satisfied now?” Victoria pouted, her red lips forming a sneer. “How do I know this isn’t all an act? That you won’t just whisper a few sweet words and have her wrapped around your finger again?” Donovan issued an order on the spot. “Hire some guys. Have them follow her. Let them do whatever they want. They stop when Victoria says she’s not angry anymore.” From that day on, my sister’s life became a living hell. They tortured her with every cruel method imaginable, until there wasn’t an inch of her skin left unscarred. When my father tried to protect her, they shattered his leg on the spot. Listening to this, the quiet stillness I had cultivated for sixteen years burned away, replaced by a fire that consumed everything. Once I saw that my father and sister were stable and safe, I told my mother to lock the doors and trust no one. I took the simple travel bag I’d brought from the mountain and walked out of the house without a backward glance. You used your power and influence to push my family to the brink of death. Now, it’s my turn. Don’t blame my cursed tongue for what comes next. I am simply opening my mouth and sending you on your way. 3 Dressed in the simple, homespun clothes of the sanctuary, I appeared outside the gleaming tower of Blackwood Enterprises. Years of mountain air and quiet contemplation had given me an aura of otherworldly calm. That, combined with a face that had been called beautiful, was enough to stop people in their tracks. Within hours, photos and videos of me went viral. “The Mountain Mystic.” “The Girl Who Speaks Fate.” An endless stream of wealthy young men and reporters came, trying to get a word, a reaction. I remained silent, my expression serene. Until Donovan Blackwood walked past me. For the first time, I spoke. “Sir,” I said, my voice clear and calm. “You have a darkness about your brow. Blood will be spilled today.” A murmur went through the crowd. “She spoke!” “Tell my fortune next!” Donovan Blackwood stopped, his gaze a mixture of surprise and curiosity. “Oh? And what kind of blood are we talking about?” I looked directly into his eyes. “In a moment, sir, your forehead will be cut open.” The crowd of onlookers pressed closer, amused. “Don’t go, Mr. Blackwood! Let’s see if the mystic is right!” He found the whole situation absurd but was intrigued enough to play along. He crossed his arms. “Alright. I’m waiting. Let’s see how accurate this prophecy is…” CRASH! Before he could finish, a car careened out of control, slamming into a nearby street sign. A piece of metal shrapnel flew through the air, slicing across his temple. Blood instantly streamed down his face. The crowd gasped, their amusement turning to stunned awe. Their eyes on me were now filled with a feverish reverence. That evening, Donovan Blackwood hosted a dinner in my honor, attended by the city’s elite. I simply nodded and accepted the invitation. The restaurant was a masterpiece of glass and light, overlooking the glittering city. A table of the finest vegetarian cuisine had been prepared for me. Donovan raised his glass. “To the mystic who spoke today. If not for your warning, that car might have hit me directly. May I ask your name?” I smiled faintly. “You can call me Seraphina.” The men at the table seemed captivated by that small smile. I had just picked up my fork when the restaurant’s grand doors burst open with a violent bang. As expected, Victoria Langford swept in, flanked by a squad of grim-faced bodyguards. She marched straight to me. She raised her hand to strike, but Donovan caught her wrist. “Victoria, don’t be rude! This is Seraphina, a master.” Her eyes were wild and red. “Master? Don’t make me laugh! She’s just another slut in a costume trying to seduce you!” She ripped her arm from Donovan’s grasp. “She calls herself a mystic? Then why does she have hair? Men! Shave her head, right here, right now! Let’s show the whole internet what happens to wannabe-spiritual homewreckers!” She then jabbed a finger at Donovan. “Donovan Blackwood, if you dare stop me, the engagement is off! We’ll see how long your precious family business lasts then!” She glared around the room. “And if anyone else here isn’t afraid of making an enemy of the Langford family, feel free to step in and stop me!” Any words of protest died in the throats of the other guests. The room fell silent. Donovan tried to placate her. “Victoria, this time is different. Please, don’t make a scene.” “I’m making a scene?” Her eyes filled with tears. “You never cared what I did before, but for this… this fortune-telling tramp, you say I’m making a scene?” Her expression hardened instantly. “You forced my hand, Donovan! Men! Don’t just shave her head, break her legs! I’m going to throw her in a pit of snakes and let them bite her to death, piece by piece!” The guests turned pale. Victoria’s reputation as “The She-Devil” was well-earned; her cruelty towards those she deemed beneath her was legendary, and she always made good on her threats. With the Blackwood and Langford families behind her, no one dared to cross her. Seeing her fury, Donovan fell silent. He actually stepped aside, his tone suddenly indulgent. “Alright, alright. Whatever you want. I’ll handle the consequences.” I almost laughed. Consequences? This time, none of you are strong enough to handle the consequences. Donovan’s surrender only fueled her rage. Two bodyguards grabbed me, forcing me to my knees on the floor. She yanked my hair, pulling my head back, and brought her sharp, manicured nails toward my face. I spoke, my voice a low hum. “Victoria Langford, your hand is about to break.” It hadn’t even touched my skin. CRACK! A sickening snap echoed in the silent room. Her wrist bent at an impossible angle. “Aaaah!” she shrieked, letting go of my hair and collapsing in agony. 4 The entire room stared in shock. In that moment of stunned silence, I shook off the dazed bodyguards, smoothed my clothes, and calmly returned to my seat. I picked up my fork and took a deliberate, slow bite of food. Five-star hotel. The food really was delicious. No one moved. No one spoke. They looked at me as if I were a ghost. Victoria was still writhing on the floor, screaming. Donovan’s face was a mask of disbelief as he rushed to her side. “What was that? What did you do? You spoke, and her wrist just… broke?” His voice hardened. “Miss Seraphina, you owe me an explanation. Or I won’t hesitate to use less pleasant methods.” In his arms, Victoria shrieked, “Donovan, kill her! Kill her right now! She did this to me!” I smiled gently. “Miss Langford, everyone saw. I didn’t lay a single finger on you. How could I have possibly broken your wrist?” “Perhaps you have a calcium deficiency. You should get more sun.” Donovan’s face was dark with rage. He lifted her to carry her out. He had taken only two steps when I spoke again, my voice casual. “Donovan Blackwood, you’re about to fall.” Before the words faded, his foot caught on something, and he pitched forward. THUD. He went down hard, sending Victoria flying from his arms. She landed in a heap, crying out in pain. As a Langford heiress, she had only ever been the one to inflict humiliation. To suffer it herself was unthinkable. Forgetting her broken wrist, she screamed at her bodyguards. “Get her! Shut her cursed mouth for good!” Donovan scrambled up, pulling her close, his voice a furious command to his men. “Do what she says!” But seeing what they had just seen, the men hesitated, exchanging uneasy glances. One of the other guests asked tentatively, “Miss Seraphina… how did you know he was going to fall?” I smiled. “Oh, I saw his shoelace was untied. He tripped over it.” The simple explanation seemed to break the tension. The bodyguards took a collective breath and began to close in again. I set down my fork, lifted my tea, and took a slow, deliberate sip. My voice was quiet, but it carried an undeniable warning. “I wouldn’t touch me if I were you. If you do, no one is having a good night.” The bodyguards had already earned a furious glare from Victoria for their hesitation. If they didn’t act now, their own fate would be grim. I spoke again, my voice barely a whisper. “The next person who touches me will have their arm broken.” One of them lunged, his hand brushing my shoulder. He recoiled instantly with a piercing scream. “My arm! My arm!” Everyone watched in horror as his arm, the one that had touched me, dangled at a grotesque, unnatural angle. It was clearly broken. Panic finally erupted. The guests shot to their feet, their eyes wide with terror. “This is… this is witchcraft! Whatever she says comes true!” “What is she? Is she even human? Is she possessed?” Some of the weaker-kneed guests were already starting to collapse. Everyone’s only thought was to escape. This was bad luck on a scale they couldn’t comprehend. Donovan, terrified now, supported Victoria and turned to flee, desperate to put as much distance as possible between himself and this creature of ill omen. As the crowd surged toward the exit, I spoke one last time, my voice soft but absolute. “Tonight, no one is leaving this room.” SLAM! The instant the words left my mouth, the heavy oak doors swung shut with impossible force. They pushed, they kicked, they threw their bodies against them, but the doors wouldn’t budge. They were as solid as the wall itself. Even when the hotel’s maintenance staff came with power tools, the doors remained sealed tight. Donovan finally lost his composure completely. He spun around and yelled at me. “Miss Seraphina! We have no quarrel with you! This dinner was to thank you! Why are you doing this to us?” Only then did I slowly rise from my chair and walk toward him and Victoria. Victoria, all her previous arrogance gone, shrank behind Donovan, her eyes wide with a primal fear as she met my gaze. Seeing the panic on their faces, I finally let a real smile show, a smile as cold as ice. “I forgot to mention,” I said. “My family name is Song. I am Seraphina Song.” “The woman you slandered as a homewrecker, the woman you had tortured day and night… Amelia Song… is my sister.” “Now,” I asked, my voice dropping to a whisper, “tell me again why I shouldn’t make your life a living hell?” The color drained from their faces. They stared at me in pure horror and stumbled back a step.

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After the Sinclair family finally acknowledged me, they forced me onto a reality show to be the villain in my perfect, counterfeit sister’s fairytale. They wanted me to be the train wreck, the backwoods cautionary tale that would make their “perfectly harmonious” family look even better. The first time around, I endured it. The result? A nationwide hate campaign that ended with me taking a long step off a short rooftop. This time, on the first day of filming, things would be different. Audrey, the girl who had stolen my life, cooed at me in that syrupy-sweet voice of hers. “Sloane, darling, you just got here from… wherever, so you might not know how things work. Daddy prefers a fresh pour-over in the morning. Why don’t you go get that started?” In front of the live-streaming cameras, I slapped her across the face. “You’re a cuckoo in the nest, an imposter. Who the hell do you think you are, giving me orders?” I looked down at her, my voice dropping to ice. “And don’t you dare call me sister. My mother only had one daughter.” The entire crew went silent. The internet, however, exploded. 1 The crack of the slap was sharp and clean, echoing through the cavernous living room. Audrey cupped her cheek, tears instantly welling in her wide, innocent eyes. She stared at me, a perfect portrait of disbelief. “Sloane… why did you hit me?” Her voice trembled, as if she’d just been dealt the cruelest blow imaginable. I gave a cold laugh and shook the sting from my hand. “Consider that a lesson in knowing your place.” “In the Sinclair family, I’m the root, and you’re the weed. And no matter how lush a weed grows, it always gets pulled for the root.” The camera was pointed right at us, capturing every raw, unfiltered second. The live-stream comments went into a frenzy. [HOLY S**T! The show just started and we’re already here? Is the real daughter always this intense?] [GOOD. I can’t stand that two-faced type. ‘Sister’ to your face, knife in your back.] [Um, what? Audrey was just trying to be helpful. That girl from the sticks is seriously unhinged.] [Get out of here with your high-and-mighty act. Did you not see the way she was ordering her around? Like she was the damn queen.] A dead silence had fallen over the living room. Behind the monitors, I could see the director rubbing his hands together, his eyes gleaming with delight. My dear mother, Catherine, was the first to snap out of it. She lunged forward, pulling Audrey behind her as she glared at me. “Sloane! What is wrong with you!” “You apologize to Audrey this instant!” I looked at her perfectly preserved, Botox-smooth face. It was the exact same expression she’d worn in my last life when she’d forced me to my knees to beg for forgiveness. Back then, I was terrified of her—terrified this mother who had abandoned me and then summoned me back would cast me out all over again. So I knelt. I apologized. All I got for it was more humiliation, more abuse, and an endless torrent of online vitriol. Now, all I felt was a hollow, bitter amusement. “Apologize?” I met her gaze, speaking each word with deliberate calm. “Could she even handle it?” “Catherine, you dumped me in the middle of nowhere and didn’t give me a second thought for eighteen years. You really think you have the right to teach me anything now?” “Go on, ask her. Ask the imposter who built her life on my mother’s pity why I, the actual daughter, should apologize to her.” The color drained from Catherine’s face. She never imagined I would air our dirty laundry on a live broadcast. “You… What are you talking about!” she stammered, her voice shrill with panic. “When did I ever abandon you! It was…” “It was what?” I stepped toward her, refusing to back down. “Was it the nanny who conveniently ‘lost’ me? Or did you spend eighteen agonizing years searching for me? Spare me the soap opera script. You don’t even believe your own lies.” My father, Richard Sinclair, shot to his feet, his face a thundercloud. “That’s enough, Sloane!” he boomed, his voice layered with the authority he was so used to wielding. “Don’t air our dirty laundry in public! Do you have to make a scene for the whole world to see?” “Go to your room! Now! And think about what you’ve done!” I laughed as if he’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Dirty laundry?” “Forcing me onto this pathetic show to be a prop for your fake daughter—that’s not dirty laundry?” “But the moment I fight back, it’s a family disgrace?” “Richard, is your hypocrisy really that shameless?” Richard was trembling with rage, pointing a finger at me, speechless. My brother, Ethan, who had been silent until now, walked over, his brow furrowed in disapproval. He grabbed my arm. “Sloane, stop it.” His tone was laced with reprimand. “Audrey is part of this family now. You just got here. You can’t be so hostile.” I ripped my arm from his grasp, staring at the brother I had once trusted more than anyone. This was the same brother who, while I was being torn apart by the entire internet, had posted a single, devastating tweet. “I only have one sister. Audrey.” That tweet was the final straw that broke me. “Hostile?” I smiled at him, a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Ethan, let’s get something straight. I am your sister. Your actual, biological sister.” “You wag your tail for a stranger while you bare your teeth at your own blood. What the hell does that make you?” “You’re not just blind, you’re a goddamn traitor.” Ethan’s face went from red to a blotchy purple. My entire family, silenced by one person. In the live stream, the comments were a waterfall. [My god, she’s the internet’s patron saint of clapbacks! She says EVERYTHING!] [YES! This is what I’m talking about! I live for watching these fake, sweet girls get what they deserve!] [This family is disgusting. They’re the ones who wronged her, but they act like she owes them something.] [I’m officially a fan. Sloane, destroy them all!] Audrey, hiding behind Catherine, was a sobbing, trembling mess. She peered at me with a look of pure venom, as if I were her mortal enemy. I knew this was just the beginning. The trial, broadcast live to the nation, had only just begun. 2 At dinner, the long table was laden with an immaculate spread. The Sinclairs all wore thunderous expressions, the silence so thick you could drown in it. I was the only one with an appetite. I methodically cracked open a lobster claw, completely ignoring the murderous glares being shot my way. In my past life, I wouldn’t have even dared to sit at this table. They told me I chewed with my mouth open, that I had no manners, that I should go back to my room and eat instant noodles. And I actually believed them, hiding in my room, crying with an empty stomach. Looking back, my own stupidity was pitiful. Audrey, her eyes red and puffy, picked at her rice, the very image of a heartbroken waif. Catherine placed a piece of abalone on her plate with a pained expression. “Audrey, darling, eat up. Don’t let… irrelevant people… ruin your appetite. It’s not worth making yourself sick.” The jab was obvious, her eyes flicking pointedly in my direction. I picked up a piece of sea bass, not even bothering to look up. “She’s right. It’s never worth getting angry over irrelevant people.” “Take me, for example. I never waste my energy on imposters who steal other people’s lives. Or on family members who are both blind and heartless.” “After all, you can’t reason with animals.” “Pfft—” Ethan choked, spraying a mouthful of soup. “Sloane! Can you not be so vile!” I set down my chopsticks and dabbed my lips with a napkin. “No.” “I was raised in the sticks, remember? No manners. Not like you high-society types who have to bury every sentence under three layers of subtext. Isn’t that exhausting?” “Speaking your mind. That’s what good kids do.” Richard slammed his hand on the table. “Insolent!” he roared. “Have you no respect for the rules of this house!” I picked up the crystal fruit bowl from the center of the table. It was filled with freshly washed cherries, glistening like dark jewels. I walked over to Catherine and tipped the entire bowl over her perfectly coiffed hair. “Rules?” “You want to talk to me about rules?” “What rules were you following when you threw me away?” Cold juice and sticky cherries trickled down Catherine’s hair and neck, staining her silk blouse. Red fruit rolled across the marble floor. She froze, a statue of desecrated dignity. Audrey shrieked. “Mom!” Ethan and Richard shot to their feet, their faces masks of stunned horror. “Sloane, you’re insane!” Ethan lunged for me. I sidestepped him easily, a cold satisfaction spreading through my chest as I took in Catherine’s wretched state. “If you want fruit, wash it yourself. Are your hands broken?” “Oh, right. Those hands were busy abandoning your own daughter, and now they’re busy waiting on a fake one. I guess you are pretty busy.” The shock finally wore off. Catherine began to tremble violently, pointing a shaking finger at me, her lips quivering. “You… You monster!” “I don’t have a daughter like you!” “Good,” I said with a brilliant smile. “In that case, let’s quit this ridiculous show and go cut ties officially.” “You can pay me the eighteen years of child support you owe, plus damages for pain and suffering, and of course, the shares of the Sinclair company that are rightfully mine. Settle it all in one lump sum.” “Then we can go our separate ways and never see each other again.” “Do you dare?” Catherine was trapped, speechless. Richard, apoplectic, pointed at the door. “Get out! Get out of this house right now!” “This show is over! We’re not filming anymore!” I crossed my arms, watching him with detached amusement. “Fine by me.” “The contract is crystal clear. Unilateral termination comes with a penalty of one hundred million dollars.” “So, Richard… are you writing the check?” One hundred million. It wouldn’t bankrupt them, but it would cripple them. More importantly, pulling out now would be a public admission of guilt. Richard’s face cycled through an impressive spectrum of red, purple, and finally, a mottled gray. He looked like he wanted to swallow me whole. All I did was offer him an innocent smile. You want me to leave? It’s not going to be that easy. I haven’t seen nearly enough of this show yet. 3 In the end, the Sinclairs didn’t dare to break the contract. Faced with a one-hundred-million-dollar penalty or becoming a national laughingstock, they chose the latter. Perhaps they thought that with the right PR spin, they could salvage their reputation. Unfortunately for them, I wasn’t going to give them the chance. The producers, smelling blood in the water, arranged a “Heartwarming Family Moment” segment. Each family was to present an item of profound personal significance. The Sinclairs brought out a diamond necklace, so brilliant it seemed to radiate its own light. Audrey wore it as she sat beside Catherine, her smile a perfect blend of sweetness and shy pride. The host began, his voice dripping with emotion. “This is the ‘Angel’s Tear,’ a necklace Mrs. Sinclair acquired at auction for Audrey’s eighteenth birthday. It represents a mother’s purest love for her daughter.” Catherine lovingly stroked Audrey’s hair. “Audrey is my little angel. This necklace was simply destined for her.” The performance of mother-daughter devotion was truly touching. In the live comments, Audrey’s fans went wild. [I’m crying, this is so beautiful. The love between Audrey and her mom is so real.] [This is what a real high-society family looks like. Some people could learn a thing or two.] [The Angel’s Tear for an angel like Audrey. Perfect!] I stared at the necklace on the screen, a familiar ache tightening in my chest. What a coincidence. I had one too. As all eyes were on me, I slowly reached into my shirt and pulled out another necklace. It was an exact replica of Audrey’s, except the brilliant diamond was replaced with a cheap rhinestone, and the chain was a tarnished alloy that had long since lost its shine. Under the bright studio lights, it looked pathetic and laughable. The host paused, clearly thrown by this unexpected turn. “Sloane, that necklace…?” I rubbed the fake diamond between my fingers, my voice quiet but captured perfectly by the microphone. “Oh, this?” “It was the only thing I had on me when my mother left me behind.” “I was only three. I don’t remember anything else, but I remember clutching this necklace so tightly, thinking that it was my mother.” “It wasn’t until I was much older that I realized it was worthless. You can buy them at a street stall for five dollars.” I lifted my head, my gaze falling on the ashen faces of Catherine and Audrey. “I never imagined my mother would turn around and buy an identical one for my ‘sister.’ A real one, this time.” “I guess there are different kinds of motherly love.” “One worth five dollars, one worth millions.” I smiled, but there was no warmth in it. “Truly a mother’s love is a powerful thing.” The entire studio was silent. The camera operator, a true professional, zoomed in on the blood draining from Catherine’s and Audrey’s faces. Beneath the table, Richard’s hands were clenched into white-knuckled fists. The live chat, after three seconds of stunned silence, absolutely erupted. [OH. MY. GOD. What is this plot twist?!] [I’m going to be sick. That whole mother-daughter act was so touching a second ago, now it just feels disgusting and fake.] [My heart breaks for Sloane. She held onto that cheap necklace for eighteen years thinking it was a symbol of her mother’s love, and it was all just a joke.] [Catherine is not human! And Audrey is no better! How could she wear that, knowing its history? Doesn’t it feel like a noose?] Audrey began to tremble, her hand instinctively going to the necklace at her throat. Catherine grabbed her wrist, forcing a serene, composed expression onto her face as she addressed the camera. “No, no, everyone has misunderstood!” “I… I just missed Sloane so much, so I… I had a replica made. To remember her by…” She didn’t even sound like she believed her own lie. I let out a short, sharp laugh. “To remember me by?” “Then when you saw the real thing—me—standing right in front of you, why wasn’t there a flicker of affection? Is it more satisfying to cry over a fake?” “Catherine, you might be able to fool them, but you can’t fool me.” “Eighteen years. Was there a single phone call? A single letter?” “No.” “You were just contentedly living your life with your ‘daughter,’ while I was left to fend for myself in a place you’d rather forget.” Richard finally snapped. He shot to his feet, pointing at me. “Sloane! Shut your mouth!” “Don’t disrupt the show with these lies!” I met his furious gaze without flinching. “Lies?” “Then why don’t you explain this, Richard? Why is it that on the official records for your ‘lost’ biological daughter, the legal designation isn’t ‘missing,’ but ‘abandoned’?” “That word, ‘abandoned.’ You signed the papers yourself, didn’t you?” Richard’s pupils contracted. He never thought I’d know about that. That’s right. The first thing I did after being brought back to the Sinclair fold was get a copy of my own records. There it was, in black and white. I, Sloane Sinclair, was officially abandoned. Not the poor, unfortunate soul who was “accidentally lost.” That truth hit the live broadcast like a bomb. The entire internet was in an uproar.

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I doted on his parents for five years, catered to their every whim. And with their blessing, I finally married their only son. My husband, Ethan, was a classic trust-fund kid, more interested in polo than profits. So, as his wife, I became the CEO of Prescott Enterprises. Life was, for a time, perfect. Then came the gala celebrating our billion-dollar acquisition. Ethan showed up, his arm wrapped around his pregnant first love, Amber Sutton. “Marrying a commoner like you was always a compromise,” he announced, his voice carrying across the hushed ballroom. “Amber and I are back together. The mother of my child is the only one qualified to run my family’s company. You’re fired, you washed-up charity case. Get out.” I glanced at my in-laws, Arthur and Eleanor, who stood frozen, their faces a mask of conflict. I let out a soft sigh. “You don’t have the authority to fire me, Ethan. I’ll give you one last chance. Tell her to get rid of the baby, cut her loose, and maybe we can still be a family.” A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, followed by a wave of derisive laughter. They thought I was insane, a gold-digger trying to play hardball. I just smiled. “You’re right about one thing. I am playing hardball. And I have every right to.” 1 Silence fell over the glittering ballroom for a heartbeat. Then, the whispers erupted. “Has she lost her mind? Kate owes everything to the Prescotts. What a bluff.” “Don’t call her CEO anymore. She’s just the jilted wife. Once she’s fired, she’s back to being a nobody.” “Honestly, Kate should just take the deal,” a woman in diamonds muttered. “The kid was never going to be hers anyway. What’s the difference? She gets to play stepmommy, she should be grateful.” Amid the jeers, Ethan stared down at me, his handsome face contorted with that familiar, aristocratic disdain. “Kate, don’t embarrass yourself trying to make threats. You don’t have the capital. Without me, you are nothing.” I looked at his face, the one I had known so intimately, and a bitter taste filled my mouth. “Three years of marriage, and you throw it all away? You kick me out of the company I built? How exactly do you plan on explaining this to your parents?” Ethan’s expression soured. “Don’t you dare bring them into this. If you hadn’t shamelessly fawned over them, do you really think I would have ever married you? We’re from different worlds, Kate. I can’t do this anymore. And why shouldn’t you be fired? Of course Mom and Dad will side with me.” “Will they?” I crossed my arms, my voice even. “I wouldn’t be so sure.” My confidence seemed to give the room pause. “Does… she have an ace up her sleeve?” someone murmured. “Come to think of it, Prescott Enterprises was just another mid-level firm before she took over. She tripled its value in three years.” “Exactly. And this billion-dollar deal she just closed? They could coast on that for the next decade.” As the murmurs of praise for me began to swell, Amber’s composure cracked. She sniffed, her gaze dripping with contempt. “So what if she’s a good little worker bee? Once you’re fired, you’re less than nothing. You need to understand your place. You’re not like us, the ones who were born to have it all.” I ignored her acidic tone, my eyes fixed on Ethan. “Is that how you see it, too?” A flicker of something—maybe pity—crossed his face, likely recalling the endless nights and weekends I poured into his family’s company. “My decision is final. But look, I’ll give you a hundred thousand dollars. For old times’ sake.” A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and incredulous. “A hundred thousand? For three years of my life? For the billion-dollar deal I closed today? You’d need to add at least two more zeros to even start that conversation.” Ethan scoffed. “You think you can talk about fairness? People like you don’t get to talk about fairness with people like me. You might recall, Kate, that you never signed an employment contract. So legally, I don’t have to give you a damn cent. Take the money and get out before you make this worse for yourself.” Every eye in the room turned to me—a flood of pity, shock, and unconcealed glee. I could only shake my head at my own foolishness. It was true. I was working for family, I’d thought. I never imagined Ethan would replace me with Amber. Amber. The one that got away. She’d dumped him without a second thought years ago when the family business was struggling. Now that I’d turned it into a powerhouse, she was back, ready to reap the rewards. And Ethan, blinded by nostalgia, was letting her. For a woman who had abandoned him, he was treating me with a cruelty that was breathtaking. A cold rage solidified within me. “You don’t have the authority to fire me, Ethan,” I repeated, my voice like ice. “I am giving you one chance. One. Send her away, tell her to terminate the pregnancy, and dedicate yourself to our marriage. This is the only offer you will get.” Ethan stared at me, his disbelief morphing into pure fury. He jabbed a finger in my direction. “Who the hell do you think you are, giving me orders? Amber is carrying the next Prescott heir! She’s the one I’m going to love. As for you? You could get on your knees and beg, and the only thing you’d get is fired.” The crowd shook their heads, laughing at my audacity. But I didn’t care. They were all wrong. I never make empty threats. I had every right to give him that ultimatum. If I hadn’t promised his parents I would love him, would tolerate him, he would have been out on the street the moment I confirmed his affair. I held his gaze. “So, to be clear, you are firing me and divorcing me for your mistress?” “Don’t you call me that, you bitch!” Amber shrieked, her mask of civility gone. “The one who isn’t loved is the mistress! Are you that stupid you don’t even get that?” Ethan wrapped a protective arm around her. “That’s right, Kate. I don’t want you. And without me, you have no right to be the CEO of Prescott Enterprises. Amber, our baby, and I—we are a family now.” “What a pity,” I murmured. “You really should have taken the chance I gave you.” Ethan’s face hardened, his disgust for me palpable. “Stop with the theatrics. You think you’re still the all-powerful CEO? You’re nothing without me. Who needs your pathetic chances?” Amber shoved a finger into my forehead. “Are you a dog that only knows how to bark? Before your brain completely short-circuits, you’d better start the handover process. I’m in charge of everything now.” I slapped her hand away. “You think any stray off the street can handle this project?” “What the hell is wrong with you, Kate!” Ethan shoved me backward, then immediately turned to Amber, his voice full of concern. “Are you okay? Did she hurt you?” Amber shot me a venomous glare. “Ethan, she’s not going to listen to reason. It’s time to stop being nice.” He nodded grimly, his eyes returning to me, cold and dismissive. “Fine. If you won’t cooperate, it doesn’t matter. If someone like you could land this deal, an Ivy League graduate like Amber certainly can. Besides, my father will help her.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “What makes you so sure Dad will accept her?” He looked at me as if I were a simple-minded child, placing a hand gently on Amber’s stomach. “Amber is the mother of my child. The mother of the future heir to the Prescott fortune. Against that, Kate, you’ve already lost.” Seeing his smug, self-satisfied expression, I felt a pang of something almost like pity. “You know,” I said gently, “if you’re with her, your child might not have the right to the Prescott name.” “You’re damn right!” Amber crowed triumphantly. “Ethan loves me so much, he’s already agreed our first child will take my last name, Sutton. See? That’s the difference between being loved and not. You could fawn over his family for a decade and you still wouldn’t be worth a single hair on my head.” The guests snickered. “Did she really think everyone is as desperate as her to marry into money, that the child has to take the father’s name?” “The Prescotts and the Suttons are a good match. They can decide the name however they want.” “Besides, Mr. Prescott only has the one son. He’ll let him do whatever he wants.” Ethan’s patience was gone. “It’s over, Kate. You’re fired. From now on, Amber is the CEO of Prescott Enterprises.” I let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “I told you. You don’t have the authority to fire me.” This time, the crowd roared with laughter, pointing at me as if I were the court jester. Amber’s voice was laced with scorn. “Just give it up, you pathetic bitch. You’ve made an enemy of the Prescotts. You’re not just fired—no one in this industry will ever hire you again. Your lucky streak is over.” They all thought I was a fool. I could have walked away with a severance, but now I would have nothing. My career, my future, all of it, gone. But they didn’t matter. I stood up straighter, my voice ringing with a confidence they couldn’t comprehend. I swept my gaze across the room, meeting the eyes of our business partners, our allies, our fair-weather friends. “Do you all think,” I asked, my voice clear and steady, “that based on my performance, I deserve to be fired?” The people at this gala were the ones I worked with day in and day out. They knew Ethan was a dilettante who cared only for his leisure. They knew his father had run the company, and then I had. They had all dealt with me directly. There was a man whose company I’d saved from bankruptcy, investing in a project no one else would touch. He’d once told me, with tears in his eyes, that I was his savior. There was a woman who’d initially dismissed me as a trophy wife, but after closing three deals with her, she’d become a close friend and confidante. And there were countless others who had courted my favor, desperate to maintain a good relationship. Now, they either avoided my gaze or looked at me with open contempt. “Don’t look at me, Kate,” one of them said, a man I’d had dinner with last week. “If you had just left quietly, I might have considered giving you a job. A little something to tide you over.” “You’re talented, sure,” said another. “But you burned your bridges. There are plenty of talented people out there. We don’t need to piss off the Prescotts for you. You’re not that important.” “My advice? Find another rich man to latch onto. After all, that’s what you’re good at.” The laughter was a physical force, crashing over me in waves. The very people who had sung my praises were now kicking me while I was down. I remembered something Arthur, my father-in-law, had told me when I first took over. When things are going well, you’re surrounded by friends. It’s only when you fall that you see who they really are. Looking at their smug, opportunistic faces, I finally understood. But I would not give them the satisfaction. I stopped looking at them, my voice dropping to a low, powerful tone. “I’ll say it one more time. There is no one in this room who has the authority to fire me.” “You gold-digging parasite! How long are you going to keep this up?” Amber shrieked, her patience completely gone. “Ethan has thrown you away! People like you don’t belong in a place like this!” I ignored her as if she were a yapping dog, picked up a glass of champagne from a passing tray, and took a slow, deliberate sip. My utter calm seemed to unnerve them. A flicker of doubt crossed their faces. Maybe I wasn’t bluffing. For a long moment, in that vast ballroom, no one dared to make a move to throw me out. Ethan, however, was immune to my act. He shot me look after look of pure hatred, his eyes constantly darting towards the entrance. Suddenly, his face lit up. “Mom! Dad! You’re finally here!” He strode over and took Arthur’s arm, his voice dripping with triumphant condescension. “Kate, you said no one here could fire you. I believe my father, the Chairman of the Board, has the authority, don’t you think?” He was right, of course. I was the CEO, but Arthur Prescott was the Chairman. He had the final say. “Dad,” Ethan pleaded, “I know Kate is a suck-up and you like her, but I’m miserable with her. I love Amber, and she’s having my baby! Please, just let us be happy!” “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, it’s so good to see you,” Amber said, her previous vulgarity replaced by a mask of demure sweetness. Arthur had never liked Amber, especially after she’d broken his son’s heart. But his gaze fell to her pregnant belly, and he held his tongue. Eleanor, my mother-in-law, looked at Amber, her voice hesitant. “Are you… are you really carrying Ethan’s child? Are you feeling alright?” “I was fine,” Amber said, instantly playing the victim, “but Kate has upset me so much, my stomach has started to hurt.” At this, Arthur’s expression hardened as he turned to look at me, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. The guests, who had been momentarily swayed by my confidence, saw this exchange. The concern Arthur and Eleanor showed for Ethan and Amber was all the proof they needed. My bluff had been called. A fresh wave of scornful looks pierced me like daggers. Ethan, sensing victory, smirked. “Mom, Dad, I want a divorce. If you want someone to bring you tea and massage your feet, you can hire a team of nurses. No normal woman would debase herself like that. Just give Amber a chance. You’ll love her once you get to know her.” His undisguised revulsion at my acts of affection made several guests physically recoil from me, as if I were contaminated. Amber laughed, a loud, victorious sound. “See? What’s the point of all that devotion? Without status, without power to back it up, you end up with nothing!” Just as Arthur and Eleanor were about to speak, I raised a hand, silently asking them to wait. Ethan was shocked. “You used to jump when they so much as breathed. Now you dare to silence them? I see. Now that it’s over with me, you’re showing your true colors. You really are a piece of work. “Mom, Dad, can you really stand to see me with such a manipulative person? I want a divorce. Please, just agree.” Amber immediately chimed in. “Mr. and Mrs. Prescott, you wouldn’t want your first grandchild to be born out of wedlock, would you? The moment Ethan is free, I promise I will marry him.” My in-laws looked at me, then at the tightly clasped hands of Ethan and Amber. Finally, Arthur let out a long, heavy sigh. “It’s a shame. It seems you can’t force people to be family.” He looked at his son. “Ethan, do what you feel you must.” Ethan beamed and immediately had someone bring over the divorce papers. “You could have had a settlement, Kate. But you were too greedy. Sign this, and you and I are done. You are no longer the CEO of Prescott Enterprises. You brought this all on yourself.” The jeers of the crowd were a roaring in my ears as Ethan impatiently urged me to hurry. There was nothing left to say. I signed my name with a firm, steady hand. “There,” I said, setting the pen down. “Now that we’re no longer connected, it’s time you learned where my confidence really comes from.”

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The year Weston and I loved each other most fiercely was the year he got a vasectomy for me. It was the year he signed over his entire fortune and had a signaling implant embedded under his skin, so I could summon him with the press of a button. That was also the year his mother was dying of cancer, and I was the one who called off the emergency measures. I let Weston beg, let his pleas echo in the sterile hallway, but I wouldn’t let anyone give his mother a single drop of blood. After she died, he shielded me from the cameras and calmly signed a waiver, absolving me of all legal responsibility. He told me, “Even if you had asked for my life, I wouldn’t hate you.” And then, “Lana. For the rest of my life, my love for you will be unconditional.” After that, everyone in Veridia City knew Weston Blackwood was madly in love with me, a force that defied gods and men. But in the seventh year of our marriage, he fell for a girl who spoke of “The Divine” as if it were her closest confidante. For her, he had the implant surgically removed. For her, he had the vasectomy reversed. He started spending his days with her, lingering in sun-drenched chapels and quiet sanctuaries. It all came to a head the day my father was in a car crash, hemorrhaging, his life measured in minutes. I called Weston, hoping he could leverage his connections to find a rare blood type. But the girl, Seraphina, answered his door. She blocked the entrance with her delicate hand, a smirk playing on her lips. “The Divine has spoken,” she said, her voice light and cruel. “Your father, and you… you’re both meant to die.” I called Weston’s cell. When I told him, his voice was a flat, distant thing. “Your father lived a few years longer than my mother. It’s his time. This time, I’m listening to the will of the Divine.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I grabbed Seraphina by the throat and dragged her up to the rooftop. One by one, I started breaking her fingers. Then I made a video call to Weston, my face a calm mask. “The Divine has a new message,” I said. “If you can’t save my father in the next hour, it’s a life for a life.” 1 Weston, a man I hadn’t seen in months, appeared on that rooftop less than ten minutes after I hung up. His eyes landed on Seraphina, curled on the ground, five of her ten fingers already twisted at grotesque angles. His pupils contracted, his brow furrowed in a deep line. “Lana, this is too much. Because of you, Seraphina will never play the piano again.” He took a step closer. “You don’t need to take your anger at me out on her. She’s just a kid.” The moment the words left his mouth, I brought my heel down on her sixth finger. Seraphina’s voice was already raw from screaming. A choked, gurgling sob escaped her as her body convulsed. “Westy, save me,” she whimpered. “The Divine wouldn’t want one of its flock to lose her hands.” Her cry sent a jolt of panic through Weston. “Lana, I said let her go! Don’t you want to save your father?” I froze, lifting my foot. A sardonic smile touched my lips. “Then what are you wasting time here for? Go find the blood. If I don’t hear from you in fifty minutes, your little treasure is going to pay the price.” Weston’s gaze, thick with worry, settled on Seraphina. He whispered a soft, “Wait for me,” and then he was gone. Watching his retreating back, Seraphina began to tremble, but it was with laughter. “Even if you cripple both my hands, Westy will still love me. Unlike you. You’re just a psycho, a freak with a broken brain.” She looked up at me, her eyes gleaming with malice. “Do you know what he said the night he took my virginity? He cried. He said he hated you. He said he hated you for killing his mother, that you were nothing but a filthy, disgusting murderer!” For a second, the world went white. A sharp pain lanced through my skull, and I was thrown back seven years, to the day I stood in front of a team of doctors, blocking them from saving Weston’s mother. He had begged me then, begged me until the light above the operating theater went out, until the white sheet was pulled over his mother’s face. I had asked him, “Do you hate me?” If he had said yes, just one word, I would have told him everything. I would have gone to prison for it. But he shook his head. And I actually believed him. I believed he didn’t hate me. Seeing my composure falter, Seraphina’s expression grew even more triumphant. With her few remaining intact fingers, she flipped me off. “You know, Lana, you’re not even as useful as a broodmare at a stud farm. But maybe you should go learn—” She paused, her eyes widening in mock realization. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I almost forgot. You already are one, aren’t you? Ridden and passed around by a thousand different men.” Her contemptuous laugh was cut short after three seconds. I was holding a dagger, its point aimed directly at her throat, ready to slice down. A split second before I made contact, a boot kicked the dagger from my hand. I grunted, clutching my hand. I didn’t need to look to know the blade had flipped, slicing my palm open. Blood was already welling. Weston swept a crying, trembling Seraphina into his arms, his expression like carved stone. “A blood match was found. Your father is receiving a transfusion now.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. “Show me.” Weston nodded, and a bodyguard held a phone in front of my face. It was a live feed from the hospital security camera. My father was surrounded by doctors, and I could clearly see a bag of blood plasma hanging by his bed. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and looked up at Weston’s retreating back. “Weston,” I said. “Let’s get a divorce.” He stopped, his shoulders stiffening. He turned around. From this distance, I could see the faint smile on Seraphina’s lips before she buried her face in his chest to hide it. “Seraphina is just a child. She won’t affect our marriage, so I won’t agree to a divorce,” Weston said, his eyes dark and unreadable. “My mother’s life was my wedding gift to you. It’s also the chain that binds our marriage. This lifetime, you’re never getting away.” My hand shook as I lit a cigarette. I swiped at my phone, not looking at him again. The blood from my palm smeared across the screen, and it took me a long time to wipe it clean. Weston gave an order to one of his men. “Get gauze and antiseptic. Make sure her hand doesn’t scar.” He didn’t remember. He and his mother had already left countless scars on my body and in my soul. As his footsteps faded, I looked at the faint, silvery lines on my wrist and spoke to my lawyer on the phone. “Draw up the divorce papers. I want them today.” After I hung up, I stubbed out the cigarette and went downstairs to see my father. In the hospital corridor, a couple of nurses were whispering. “It’s so tragic. Wrists and ankles both slit, bled him out…” “That’s what you get for crossing the wrong people…” My heart leaped into my throat. I ran, a frantic, desperate sprint toward his room. The heel of my shoe snapped, and I heard a sickening crack from my ankle. I limped the rest of the way, bursting through the door. There he was. My father, limbs splayed out like a starfish, the flesh on his wrists and ankles peeled back. His skin had a sickly, bluish-gray pallor. “…Dad?” I whispered. I stumbled toward him, took his hand, and pressed it against my cheek. “Dad, you said you wanted those cream-filled cannolis from that little shop in the North End, remember? I’m not busy today. I’ll go get them for you, okay?” The icy chill of his hand made my tears feel like acid. In the dead silence of the room, I heard laughter from next door. It was Seraphina, her voice a sickly sweet whine. “Westy, I want the cannolis from that little shop now. I mean it. If you don’t go buy them for me yourself, I’m not taking my medicine!” She held up her bandaged hand pitifully. “Go buy them now, and then you can feed them to me. Please, hurry up!” Weston’s eyes were full of doting affection. He gently pinched her cheek. Seraphina pouted, and then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw me standing in the doorway. Her smile was bright, blinding. “Lana, I’m not mad at you anymore for what happened earlier. The Divine teaches us to forgive everyone. And Westy isn’t mad either, right?” Weston wouldn’t meet my eyes. After ten years together, I knew that look. It was guilt. I hooked my fingers under his chin, forcing his head up. I ignored his frown and held him steady. “My father is dead,” I said softly. A faint smile touched his lips. “He deserved to die. But the blood in his body won’t go to waste. What do you think… blood pudding?” CRACK. The sound of my hand hitting his face echoed in the hallway. His head snapped to the side, his expression hidden by his hair. “Don’t you hit Westy! The Divine will never forgive you for that!” Seraphina shrieked, jumping in front of him. A second later, she was reeling from a slap of her own. The moment she cried out in pain, Weston moved. He opened his mouth to yell at me, but then he saw the tears streaming down my face. His expression went completely blank. I had only seen that look on his face once before, seven years ago. His mother was undergoing chemotherapy, and I had disappeared for seven days. When he saw me again, my face was also stained with tears. The thick armor I had built around myself had shattered. I had made him promise never to lie to me again. He had lied to me three times since. He lied about working late, the night he took Seraphina’s virginity. He lied about not liking birthdays, throwing away the cake I baked from scratch, only to place a handmade gift from her under his pillow. He lied about saving my father, but left me with nothing but a corpse. The harsh words on Weston’s lips softened. “The Divine told Seraphina that bloodletting therapy might be effective. I didn’t think your father wouldn’t make it. But I promise, I’ll give him a funeral worthy of a king.” He sighed. “This was my mistake. Do whatever you want to me, just don’t hurt yourself.” As the words left his mouth, I pulled the stylus-sharp pin from my hair and plunged it into his shoulder. Seraphina let out a tearful scream. He grabbed her hand, telling her not to move. A laugh bubbled up inside me. How did it come to this? How did I become the irredeemable monster in this story? My fingertips brushed against the warm, sticky blood. I rubbed it between my thumb and forefinger. “Weston, I want you to personally take a knife, slit Seraphina’s wrists and ankles, and drain three bowls of her blood.” “Lana, don’t push it!” Without even flinching, Weston pulled the hairpin from his shoulder and tossed it into a trash can. “Seraphina’s anemic. Besides, your father dying was fate. Don’t drag an innocent person into this!” “Fine. Then we’re divorced,” I snapped. “Impossible!” “Nothing’s impossible. You used to say it was impossible for you to cheat, and now you have a mistress, don’t you?” I gave them both a cold, withering look. Just then, my lawyer arrived, handing me a divorce agreement. The smile that was about to bloom on Seraphina’s face vanished instantly. Because Weston tore the papers to shreds. I toyed with a lighter as my lawyer handed me a whole stack of identical agreements. I lit one on fire, then held another one out to him. “Tear all you want. I had a few thousand copies made.” Weston looked exhausted. “Lana…” I enunciated each word. “Did you not understand me? I want you to personally slit her wrists and ankles and drain three bowls of her blood.” Weston’s gaze shifted to Seraphina. She started shaking like a leaf. “Westy, I’m anemic! And… and The Divine doesn’t like its followers to be imperfect! Besides…” she looked up at me, a cunning light in her eyes. “Lana, I’m carrying Westy’s child. I’m not like you, all used up and broken inside, unable to have one. This is our first baby.” She covered her mouth. “Oh dear, did I say something wrong?” Her words were like lightning strikes, leaving me charred and exposed. I lunged at her, my teeth gritted, and aimed a punch straight for her stomach. “If you’re so sorry, then you can join me in never having children!” Weston’s hand clamped around my wrist like a vice of iron. I thought I heard the bones creak. “Was she wrong? Isn’t it the truth?” he ground out. “Lana, Seraphina and I have been in the chapel, praying for your repentance for what you’ve done.” His voice was laced with righteous fury. “You should be atoning for your sins, not running wild like a madwoman!” My vision tunneled. “Atoning? What sin did I commit?” Weston’s handsome features twisted into a cruel mask before my eyes. “You’ve committed no sin? Weren’t you the one who took your anger out on my mother after you let other men sleep with you?” “My mother did nothing wrong! Why did she deserve to die at your hands?” I burst into hysterical laughter, tears streaming from my eyes. “You say she did nothing wrong?” “Yes, yes, you’re right. It’s my fault. The biggest mistake I ever made was marrying you!” How could we have ended up here, when we were once so in love? I had loved him so much that when his mother, sick with cancer, suggested using my blood as some kind of folk remedy, I had sliced my own wrist without a second thought. I had loved him so much that even when I was pushed into that dark room, when countless hands reached out to grope me in the blackness, I held onto one belief. I believed that Weston loved me. I can still see his mother’s sneering face. “Lana,” she had said, “if a woman loses her purity, do you think Weston will still want you?” And later, after I stopped the doctors from saving her, she was still smiling from her hospital bed. “Lana, you have no womb, and no purity. You will never, ever have Weston’s untainted love!” But the night she died, Weston had held me in his arms, his embrace firm and unwavering. He had chosen me. My lawyer discreetly handed me a fresh copy of the divorce agreement. My hand trembled as I signed my name, refusing to wipe the tears from my eyes. I threw it at Weston. “Let’s get a divorce. A sinner like me can’t possibly compare to your pure little Seraphina.” I saw the rage in Weston’s eyes cool for a moment. But then he heard Seraphina start to sob. He snatched a pen, and with a cold snort, scrawled his own name on the paper. “You want to play this divorce game? Fine, I’ll play along,” he spat. “But Lana, even divorced, you’ll only ever be mine. I told you, we die together. Let’s just see how many days you last this time before you come begging me to take you back.” Those words, once so full of passion, now made me want to vomit. It was true, this wasn’t the first time I had brought up divorce. But this time… Remarry? Never again. Not only that, I was going to make them lose everything. Clutching the signed agreement, I limped away. Behind me, I heard Seraphina’s soft, cloying voice. “Westy, I hurt all over. How are you going to make it up to me?” Weston’s voice was deliberately loud, meant for me to hear. “How about a wedding?” As I walked away, I made a discreet gesture to my lawyer. “I need you to do something for me.” Weston thought he could still wound me emotionally. He paraded Seraphina around at every high-profile event, his arm around her, introducing her as his fiancée. Soon, everyone was looking at me with a strange mixture of pity and contempt, as if the madwoman had finally been cast aside. But Weston would always try to compensate afterward. The expensive, custom-blended scar cream he’d won at a high-stakes auction at the Phoenix Club—no matter how much Seraphina whined for it—was still delivered, untouched, to my bedroom. I wouldn’t leave the Blackwood estate until after my father’s casket was in the ground. I was afraid. Afraid he wouldn’t be able to find me. On the seventh day, the day of the funeral, I stood at the door in a black dress, greeting the mourners. Suddenly, an invitation card flew through the air, its sharp edge slicing my cheek. Seraphina stood there, arrogant and proud, dressed in a pure white wedding gown studded with the very jewels that had been the talk of the city at an auction just days before. “Lana,” she said with a saccharine smile, “you don’t mind if I borrow your venue for my wedding today, do you?” Before I could react, her burly bodyguards pushed me aside, clearing a path for her. I stumbled, my eyes falling on the gilt-edged card on the floor, now stained with my blood. It read: Groom, Weston Blackwood, and Bride, Seraphina Vance, cordially invite you to witness their love. In the moment it took for me to process this, Seraphina had skipped over to my father’s open casket. Her face was a mask of childlike innocence. “Uncle’s complexion doesn’t quite match today’s wedding theme!” She took a marker from her purse and drew a bright red clown nose on my father’s face. She beamed at me, triumphant. “What do you think? Isn’t that much better?” Weston had clearly sheltered her well. It had only been a few days, and she had already forgotten the feeling of pain. I grabbed a handful of her hair, yanking until I could feel her scalp tear, and slammed her head against the heavy wood of the casket, again and again. I let her scream, let her struggle. Weston appeared out of nowhere. “What the hell are you doing now? Are you trying to kill her?!” he roared. I laughed, not stopping. “That’s right! I am going to kill her! Today is her death day!” I let her go. “And before she dies, I’m going to rip that pretty mouth off her face!” When I finally released her, Seraphina was a mess. Her makeup was smeared, her hair was matted, and a patch of her scalp was bald. The pure, white angel had become a crawling insect on the floor. Weston caught her, his face a mask of anguish and hatred. “Treating her like this will only push me further away,” he said, his teeth clenched. Words like that couldn’t stir a single ripple in my heart anymore. Because Weston was already a world away from me. He probably didn’t remember it. The day he found me, homeless, and took me in. The day he stood between me and his mother’s whip. The whip. I would never forget the whip. Weston had sworn to me then. He had said that nothing, nothing, could ever push him away from me. My eyes burned. I pulled a dagger from a sheath strapped to my thigh. “Get out of my father’s funeral, now!” Seraphina sobbed in Weston’s arms. “Westy, I only want to have our wedding here today. Nowhere else will do! You can’t say no! Do you want to betray the vows we made before the Divine?” Weston held her close and gave a sharp nod to his men. In an instant, the dagger was knocked from my hand, and my arms were pinned behind my back. “Lana,” Weston said, his voice cold. “I hope today’s events will teach you a lesson.” Seraphina clung to him, her expression a mixture of triumph and scorn. There, in the black-and-white solemnity of the funeral hall, in front of my father’s memorial portrait, a priest invited the bride and groom to exchange their vows. “Wait!” Seraphina suddenly said, a cruel smile playing on her lips. “After Westy and I are married, I’ll be the primary wife. If Lana is still around, she’ll be the secondary one. It’s only right that the second wife kneel before the first to show respect. A little tradition will make our modern wedding perfect.” Weston hesitated for a moment, then nodded. I was dragged in front of Seraphina. Two bodyguards tried to force me to my knees, their hands heavy on my shoulders. But I gritted my teeth, my body rigid, refusing to budge. “You want me to kneel to you?” I spat. “You’re not worthy.” “Seraphina, if I get through this today, I swear I will make you wish you were never born!” My threat seemed to ignite something in Weston. He barked at his guards. “More pressure! If she still won’t kneel, break her kneecaps!” BANG! A bullet whizzed past Weston’s ear. Suddenly, the hall was filled with more than a dozen men in black suits. At their head was a young man who looked barely out of his teens. He waved his hand, and every man raised a weapon, aiming directly at Weston and Seraphina. “I’m here today,” the young man’s voice rang out, cold and clear. “Who dares make her kneel?”

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Five years into my marriage, my husband’s mistress was pregnant. I didn’t throw a single plate this time. I didn’t scream until my throat was raw. Instead, I drove to her rundown apartment in a forgotten part of the city and brought her home. She was ten years younger than me, with wide, dark eyes and a gracefully sculpted nose. A ghost of me at twenty. Her hand hovered protectively over her belly. “Ma’am,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I can have the baby and then I’ll disappear. I won’t ask for anything, I swear.” I reached out and smoothed a stray strand of hair from her forehead. Don’t be afraid, I thought. I’ll help you take my place as soon as possible. After all, if I waited any longer, the brilliant college boy I had my eye on would be leaving the country. 1 By the time some well-meaning informant slipped the news of Stella’s pregnancy into my hands, she was already three months along. It wasn’t that Donovan had set out to humiliate me. Not this time. It was just that three months ago, on my birthday, we’d had a fight. I’d said things I couldn’t take back, things designed to cut deep, and he had stormed out of our Fifth Avenue apartment in a fury. He must have ended up with her—a girl so desperate to pay for her mother’s medical bills that she’d do just about anything. I don’t know the sordid details of that night. All I saw was the shirt Donovan discarded the next morning. Near the hem, almost invisible against the white cotton, were tiny blossoms of blood. She wasn’t the first substitute he’d found for me. I didn’t give it a second thought. And because of that, I never knew she could be pregnant. The black town car wound its way toward the city’s edges, into a neighborhood of brick tenements and forgotten factories. The farther we went, the deeper the frown etched itself onto my face. “Arthur,” I said, my voice quiet. “Didn’t Mr. Hayes buy this girl an apartment?” Arthur, our driver for the past decade, met my eyes in the rearview mirror. His expression was carefully blank. “He did, Mrs. Hayes. She wouldn’t take it.” A flicker of recognition. That stubborn pride sounded a little like me, a long time ago. When we arrived, my frown tightened. The buildings were packed together so tightly they seemed to be leaning on each other for support, blotting out the sun. She lived on the eighth floor of a walk-up with a narrow, suffocating staircase. Climbing those stairs, one by one, left me breathless, a strange feeling for someone who spent three mornings a week with a personal trainer. The air was thick with the scent of damp and decay, a suffocating closeness that was, in a strange way, achingly familiar. Apartment 801 had a peeling green door. I knocked, and a moment later, it opened to reveal a girl in a simple white dress, her long hair falling over her shoulders. She wore no makeup, but she was beautiful, with wide, startled eyes like a fawn caught in headlights. The color drained from her face as she recognized me. She took an involuntary step back. “Mrs. Hayes.” I gave a cool, practiced nod. “Hello.” The single word made her flinch. “Aren’t you going to invite me in?” Stella blinked, then scrambled to the side, holding the door open. The apartment was a tiny one-bedroom, so small that the master bathroom in my own home was larger than her entire living space. But it was cozy. A lace coverlet was draped over the sagging sofa, a small television sat on a milk crate, and on a little end table were a few handmade trinkets and a framed photograph of Donovan. Donovan at twenty-one, beaming on a mountain summit, the wind in his hair. I took that picture. I thought he’d lost it. To think he’d brought it here. Stella followed my gaze and quickly moved to block the photo. “I—I’m sorry. Mr. Hayes, he… he made me put it there.” Ten years together. I knew every little game Donovan played. He saw Stella, with her face that was eighty percent mine and a temperament that was fifty percent the girl he fell in love with, and he was trying to claw his way back to the past. I never understood his obsession with it. I smiled faintly and sat on her sofa. “You’re pregnant.” Stella froze. Raw fear bloomed in her eyes. “…Yes.” “But—but it was an accident. I swear, I didn’t know this would happen.” “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Hayes. I never wanted to hurt you, I never wanted to come between you. Please, don’t hate me.” Tears welled and spilled, tracing clean paths down her cheeks. She was heartbreakingly lovely when she cried. “I’ll get rid of it,” she sobbed. “I’ll leave, I’ll disappear. Please, just… don’t do anything to my mother. She’s sick, she needs me.” I rose and walked over to her, gently touching her cheek. Her skin was so soft, so new. “Why are you crying?” I murmured. “I never said you had to get an abortion.” 2 I brought Stella back to the Hayes estate. On the drive out to Greenwich, Arthur kept glancing at me in the rearview mirror, his mouth a tight line. “Mrs. Hayes, are you sure about this? Perhaps we should call Mr. Hayes first. He returns from his business trip in two days. He might… he might be angry.” “He won’t be.” More accurately, he wouldn’t dare. The car passed through the towering wrought-iron gates, navigated the long, winding drive through manicured gardens, and stopped before the imposing front entrance. Stella was trembling like a cornered animal, clutching her stomach and sobbing into her hands. “Please, Mrs. Hayes, I’m begging you, just let me go. My mother has late-stage kidney disease. I’m trying to save money for her treatment.” “I never would have gone near your husband if it wasn’t for the money. I was wrong, I know I was wrong.” Her pleas were a jumbled, desperate mess. I just kept wiping her tears away. “Shh. It’s alright. I told you, I’m not going to hurt you.” Compared to the thirteen mistresses before her—all of them sharp, ambitious, and dripping with contempt—Stella was by far my favorite. That’s why I brought her here. I led her through the grand foyer, down a long marble hallway, and into the private wing of the estate. We took the internal elevator to the deepest, most secluded part of the compound. There, beside a serene reflecting pool, sat a woman with her eyes closed, meditating. A traditional Japanese-style pavilion rose behind her. I walked with Stella to her side. “Mother.” The woman’s eyes opened slowly. Eleanor Hayes. “Mm.” Her gaze, heavy and deliberate, shifted to me, a sharp glint in their depths. “Is this her?” “Yes.” “Have you had it checked?” “I have. It’s a boy.” “Good. See that she’s well taken care of.” “I will.” With that, I took Stella’s hand, bowed my head slightly, and led her away. By now, Stella had stopped crying. She just stared at me, her fear mixed with a profound confusion. “Mrs. Hayes… why did you bring me here?” 3 I genuinely liked this girl, so I answered her with a patience I rarely showed anyone anymore. “To make you official. You’re carrying a child. We can’t have you hiding in the shadows, can we?” Stella’s hand flew to her stomach. “I—I told you, I don’t want to take Mr. Hayes from you…” I cut her off with a gentle smile. “Let’s not talk about that. First, dinner.” It was clear Donovan had never taken her anywhere nice. The evening’s modest fifteen-course tasting menu left Stella utterly overwhelmed. By the end of it, she was clutching my hand like a lifeline, her eyes wide. “Mrs. Hayes, that prosciutto with the fig jam was incredible! And the way they did the eggplant… I’ve never tasted anything like it.” I watched her practically bounce with excitement, reminding her gently to be careful. She laughed, then her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Hayes. I grew up poor. I haven’t seen much of the world. I know I’m probably acting like a fool.” I just shook my head and smiled, reaching out to pat her head. “Do you like it?” I asked softly. “This kind of life.” Stella nodded without hesitation. “Yes.” Good, I thought. That makes this easier. I tucked her into a guest suite and waited until the lights were out. The house fell silent. I stood in the garden, breathing in the familiar, suffocating stillness of my life. The head housekeeper approached with my cigarettes and a lighter, her expression as conflicted as Arthur’s had been. “Ma’am, must you do this? I don’t think… I don’t think he really loves this girl.” “She’s young, that’s all. In every other way—education, background, poise—she can’t hold a candle to you.” “And what good has it done me?” I murmured, taking a long drag. “I’m still here, year after year, counting the days like a monk in a monastery.” A life of such exquisite, soul-crushing boredom. Perhaps it was seeing Stella, a living echo of my past, that made the memories surface. Tonight, for the first time in years, I allowed myself to remember. I remembered being a girl who didn’t know the meaning of hardship. My parents were farmers in Ohio. We were poor, but their love was rich. They spoke to each other with a kindness and respect that money could never buy. I was a good student, not brilliant, but good enough to earn a scholarship to NYU. And so, at twenty, when I met the Donovan Hayes—the campus royalty who walked through life like he owned it—I wasn’t scared or intimidated. It never once occurred to me that I wasn’t good enough for him. While every other girl was chasing him, I was trying to figure out what I’d do after graduation. Perhaps it was that indifference that caught his eye. He fell in love with me. He pursued me relentlessly. I didn’t care for money or expensive gifts. So he took a pottery class to make me a coffee mug, his large hands clumsy with the clay. I believed in equality, in partnership. I hated the stuffy, expensive restaurants he liked. So he learned to cook for me, blistering his hands in the process. To marry me, he went to war with his family. I never knew the full extent of what he endured. I only knew that he vanished for three months and returned thirty pounds lighter, his eyes red-rimmed and haunted. He just held me and said, “Evelyn, I can finally marry you.” He gave me a wedding that was the talk of New York, our photos plastered across the society pages for a week. And I, like a fool, believed we would love each other forever. 4 The cracks, of course, were there from the beginning. The first time he brought his family to meet mine. A convoy of black cars rolling up the gravel driveway of our small Ohio farmhouse. My parents, their faces weathered by the sun, their hands calloused from work, were terrified. They thought debt collectors had come. When they realized it was a proposal, they were ecstatic. My father offered Donovan one of his good cigars. My mother brought out the special-occasion tea she saved for holidays. I saw the flicker of discomfort in Donovan’s eyes. But he was well-bred, and he covered it smoothly, changing the subject. Sitting beside him, I saw the subtle clenching of his jaw, the slight wrinkle of his nose. He never lit my father’s cigar. The Hayes family staff didn’t touch a single cup of tea. At the time, I just thought, some things are different, and that’s okay. We didn’t have to force it. But I was naive. Those small moments were a map of the chasm that separated our worlds. As the years passed and the initial passion cooled, our different values began to tear us apart. The first time he cheated, my world collapsed. It wasn’t even a real affair. He was out with his friends, a pack of trust-fund heirs, all of them single. They were at some exclusive club, each with a model draped over them. Donovan was sitting alone, and one of them—Wes, his so-called best friend—grabbed a bottle girl and pushed her onto Donovan’s lap. He started to refuse, but then his eyes landed on her, and he stopped. Later, drunk, they ended up in a bathroom stall together. A muffled groan, the sound of a zipper. He handed her a wad of cash and told her to clean herself up. I was at home, fuming that he was late again, when an anonymous text came through with a picture. I drove to the club like a woman possessed. I saw him walking out of the men’s room just as the girl walked out of the women’s. That night, we had the fight of all fights. In front of all his friends, I clawed at his face, leaving red streaks down his cheek. A paparazzo caught the whole thing. It ended up on Page Six. Donovan paid a fortune to kill the story and didn’t come home for a month. But he did come back. He apologized, his pride making the words stick in his throat. It was probably the first time in his life he’d ever had to say sorry to anyone. I cried for days. The next morning, his mother, who had never liked me, gave me a look of pure ice. “You’d do well to learn your place, Evelyn.” I didn’t understand what she meant then. I did after the second affair. And the third. And the thirteenth. I cried over every single one. I made a scene every single time. Number thirteen surfaced the day before my birthday. I thought I was going to lose my mind. Number fourteen was Stella. This time, I didn’t cry. I brought her home. And Donovan, hearing the news while on his business trip, finally rushed back. 5 It was late when Donovan arrived. Stella and I were curled up on the sofa in our pajamas, watching television. She was a child, really. She loved Tom and Jerry. She was giggling, holding a bowl of fruit. “Evelyn, look! The cat is so dumb. How does he keep falling for the same tricks over and over?” Yes, I thought, a bitter smile touching my lips. How stupid. I laughed along with her, and when I looked up, I saw him. Donovan, standing in the doorway, his eyes burning holes in the placid scene. I hadn’t really looked at him in a long, long time. He hadn’t really looked at me, either. Up close, I could see the faint lines forming around his eyes. His gaze locked on Stella, his brow furrowing in rage. “Who the hell let you in here? Get out.” The girl in my arms flinched as if struck. I shot back, my voice dangerously calm. “Don’t yell. You’ll scare the baby.” Donovan’s jaw worked. He looked from me to her, speechless. Finally, he bit out, “Who says it’s my child? And even if it is, there are ways to handle it. She doesn’t have to have it.” The casual cruelty in his voice terrified Stella. I rubbed her back soothingly and told her to go to bed. She clutched at my sleeve, her eyes pleading. “It’s alright,” I murmured. “His bark is worse than his bite. Go on. Pregnant women need their sleep.” Stella finally scurried away, looking back every few steps. The sight seemed to break something in Donovan. He let out a harsh, incredulous laugh. “Well, congratulations. I have to hand it to you, Evelyn. Is this your new thing? Playing the magnanimous, long-suffering wife? Should I give you a round of applause?” I met his glare with a serene smile. “Donovan, you brought one woman after another into our lives. Weren’t you just testing my limits?” “I know how this world works. Your friends, your business partners, your father, your uncles… they all have their perfect families at home and a string of diversions on the side.” “You used thirteen women to grind down my pride, to break me. Wasn’t this always the goal? Well, I admit it. You won.” For so long, I truly didn’t understand. The man who had once looked at me like I was the only thing in the world, who had been willing to fight everyone for me—how had he become this monster? It wasn’t until the day before my birthday, with mistress number thirteen, that his actions finally slapped me awake. So when I spoke those words of surrender, Donovan looked genuinely stunned. He stared at me, his lips pressed into a thin line, his eyes a storm of unreadable emotions. “Three months ago you were slitting your wrists in the bathroom. Now you’re telling me you’ve seen the light?”

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I thought Audrey Lane was the love of my life. I’d planned a wedding for the ages, timed perfectly with the launch of the Eternity Collection—a jewelry line worth a fortune, built entirely around our story. Then, seven days before the wedding, she told me she had to marry someone else first. Her high school sweetheart, Ryan. It was to honor his late mother’s dying wish, she explained. After that was done, she would marry me. She said it with a straight face, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “It’s about his mother’s memory, Grayson. Some things are more important than money.” Then she added, a little too casually, “If you can’t handle that, I guess you can find someone else to marry.” Just like that, I understood. In her world, my love, my life’s work—it was all disposable. A temporary roadblock on the path to serving the ghost of her first love. I turned away, my heart a block of ice, and dialed my sister-in-law. “Eleanor,” I said, my voice steady. “The wedding is still on. I just… need you to find me a new bride.” 1 The day of the final dress fitting, I waited for what felt like an eternity in the black town car idling in front of Audrey’s downtown office. She finally emerged, sliding into the leather seat beside me without a glance. She tossed a small, branded box onto my lap. A miniature model of a private jet. “A little something from Ryan,” she said. “He felt bad about how you acted at the memorial service. You should probably call him and apologize.” The model was a cheap gift-with-purchase. I’d seen the real thing—a top-of-the-line Gulfstream—in Audrey’s online shopping cart a few days ago. “I don’t want it,” I said quietly. Audrey’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “What is your problem now? You’re the one who stormed into his mother’s memorial service and made a scene, telling everyone I wasn’t his fiancée. He’s being the bigger person here, and you can’t even accept a simple gift?” The woman who once defended me, who saw me as her entire world, was gone. In her place was someone who cherished another man’s feelings above all else. She cracked the window, the city noise flooding in, a tangible representation of the static between us. When it became clear I wasn’t going to soothe her irritation, she sighed. “Fine. Whatever. Today is supposed to be a happy day. I won’t let you ruin it.” It was the closest she’d come to an apology in months. At the bridal salon, a hushed temple of silk and lace, the consultant greeted us with a reverent smile. “Ms. Lane. Mr. Cole. We have the one hundred and twenty custom gowns you commissioned ready for your selection.” But Audrey’s eyes weren’t on the sea of white before us. They were glued to her phone, her thumb swiping furiously. I saw the flash of panic on her face before she shoved the phone into her purse. “Grayson,” she said, her voice laced with a practiced sort of regret. “Something’s come up with Ryan. It’s an emergency. I have to go. You know my style… just pick one for me? I trust your taste.” Before I could answer, she was out the door, hailing a cab, leaving me alone in a room built for two. The consultant approached cautiously. “Mr. Cole? Would you… would you like to make the selection yourself?” I drew my gaze away from the empty space where Audrey had stood and gave a slow nod. Oh, I would be choosing a dress. Just not for Audrey Lane. Because the bride had changed. “Eleanor,” I’d said into the phone, the words feeling foreign and heavy in my mouth. “The wedding’s still on. I just… need you to find me a new bride.” There was a stunned silence on the other end. “You’re calling it off?” “No,” I said, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “She is. She’s marrying someone else.” To be with Audrey, I’d fought my own family, battled my way through boardrooms, and staked the biggest launch of my career—the Eternity Collection—on our wedding day. Now, it was all turning to smoke. Eleanor was quiet for a long moment. “Then it has to be Sloane Davenport,” she said finally. “Her family has been putting the pressure on, and she’s been looking for a suitable arrangement.” I winced. Sloane Davenport was my lifelong rival. The day I announced my engagement, she’d sent me a bottle of hundred-year-old scotch with a note that said, “Here’s to watching it all go up in flames.” Turns out, she was a prophet. But time was running out. “Fine,” I bit out. “Ask her. If she says no, I’ll figure something else out.” Eleanor’s reply was suspiciously quick. “Oh, she’ll say yes. Don’t you worry.” Before I could ask what she meant, she claimed she was busy and hung up. I drove home, half-expecting the house to be empty. But Audrey was there, bustling in the kitchen just before dinner. She walked over to me, holding out a takeout container from a ridiculously expensive Italian place across town. “I went all the way to Marcella’s to get this for you,” she announced, a triumphant smile on her face. “Your favorite Cacio e Pepe.” I looked down at the pasta. There were three forkfuls missing from the top. On one of the remaining swirls of spaghetti, I could clearly see a bite mark. Thirty minutes earlier, I’d seen Ryan’s Instagram story. A picture of this exact dish, a half-empty glass of wine beside it. The caption read: My girl still knows how to spoil me after a long day. Love you, A! I set my fork down, my appetite vanishing. The self-loathing was a physical taste in my mouth. “I’m not hungry. Throw it out.” Audrey’s face hardened. She took a breath, visibly restraining herself, and sat down next to me. “You have no idea what Ryan went through today,” she began, her voice taking on a martyred tone. “My parents showed up at his apartment and demanded he prove his financial stability. The poor guy broke down in tears.” She slid her arm through mine, a gesture that used to feel like coming home. “He’s just getting back on his feet after moving back to the States. He doesn’t have that kind of money. I was thinking… I could give him the money you were giving my parents.” I pulled my arm away, looking at her as if for the first time. “Let me get this straight,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You want me to bankroll your other husband?” 2 There was a time when I would have given Audrey anything she asked for. I would have burned down the world to keep her warm. But she was the one who handed me the extinguisher. Looking back, ever since Ryan returned from overseas, every decision she made, every move, was for him. She had completely forgotten that I was the man she had promised to spend her life with. My question infuriated her. “What is that supposed to mean? Are you saying no?” She stood up, her eyes flashing. “You need to understand something, Grayson. Ryan is my oldest friend. You will make him happy. If you don’t, I swear to God, I won’t marry you.” She stormed out, the slam of the front door echoing in the silent house. My head pounding, I went for a run in the park downstairs to clear it. I’d barely completed a lap when my phone rang. Sloane Davenport. Remembering her cool, perpetually unimpressed expression, I hesitated for a second before answering. “Just so we’re clear,” she said, her voice like chilled vodka. “You’re my problem now. You try to back out of this, and I’ll make you regret it.” Classic Sloane. I remained silent, and she continued, all business. “FedEx me a copy of your driver’s license. My assistant will handle the marriage certificate. I don’t trust you not to get cold feet.” Sloane, what is going on with you? I found myself thinking. I pictured a thousand ways she could use this marriage to torment me, to settle old scores. All I could manage to say was, “I’ll see you at the altar, Ms. Davenport.” Just as I hung up, a voice cut through the evening air from behind me. “You’re inviting Sloane Davenport to our wedding? Absolutely not.” It was Audrey, her arms crossed, her face a mask of fury. “Grayson Cole, I told you to stay away from her. She’s always had a thing for you. If you insist on having her at our wedding, don’t blame me for what happens.” Before I could even process the hypocrisy, she’d laid down her ultimatum. Audrey had always harbored a strange, baseless animosity toward Sloane. Early in our relationship, she’d thrown a fit over Sloane and me trading sarcastic comments on social media, so I’d eventually just cut contact. But her saying Sloane had a thing for me? That was new. I was about to ask what she meant when Ryan stumbled, leaning dramatically against Audrey’s shoulder. “Audrey, baby, you’re holding my hand too tight…” That’s when I noticed their fingers were interlaced as they walked. Audrey coughed, a faint blush on her cheeks, but she didn’t pull her hand away. Ryan shot her a look of pure adoration before turning his attention to me, his face a caricature of apology. “Hey, Gray, sorry about this. We were just… practicing our walk down the aisle. You know, for the wedding. Don’t mind us.” He paused, his expression shifting to one of deep concern. “And listen, I won’t tell anyone about you hiring those guys to jump me or what you did to my mother’s grave. Just… please don’t hurt Audrey. A woman’s heart is a fragile thing.” I had no interest in watching this soap opera. I turned to leave. “Since you’re so convinced, maybe I’ll go find some thugs and desecrate your mother’s grave for real tonight.” SLAP! The sting on my cheek was sharp, but not as sharp as the pain in my chest. Audrey stood before me, breathing heavily, her face dark with rage. “How can you be so vile, Grayson?!” So vile? He spins a ridiculous lie, and she believes him without question. Five years of my life, of my unwavering devotion, hadn’t earned me an ounce of her trust. A white-hot anger surged through me. I opened my mouth to confront her, but Ryan stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Please, Gray,” he said, his voice trembling. “I’m begging you. As soon as the wedding is over, I’ll give her right back to you. Just… show some mercy. Don’t hurt the people I care about. Don’t hurt Audrey.” He made a show of starting to kneel. Audrey gasped, wrapping her arms around his waist to hold him up, glaring at me over his shoulder. “Don’t you dare pull your rich-boy power plays with us, Grayson! You know how much I hate that. If you still want to marry me, you’ll stop this nonsense right now!” With a final, warning look, she told me to stay away from them until the wedding. I didn’t expect to hear from her the next day, but she called, her voice shrill with accusation. “Grayson, you actually did it! You dug up Ryan’s mother’s grave! I can’t believe you’re that kind of monster!” Confused and furious, I called my assistant, Mark, and told him to find out what the hell was going on. An hour later, he called back with a piece of information that changed everything. Ryan’s mother… wasn’t dead. 3 Of course. No wonder he could so casually use his own mother’s grave as a weapon to frame me. The whole thing was a scam. I sent Audrey a single text message: Ryan’s mother is alive. The proof is in the email I just sent you. Whether she chose to open it was no longer my concern. My flight was in three days. Sloane had booked it herself. When Audrey came home that evening, she found me sorting through my closet, creating two piles: one for donation, the other to be shipped to Chicago. “Why are you packing?” she asked, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “Moving,” I said, not looking at her. She was quiet for a moment, missing the finality in my tone. “Well, the company headquarters is in Chicago, so we’ll have to move there after the wedding. It’s good you’re starting early.” She then fixed me with a hard stare. “And you will apologize to Ryan’s mother on the day of the wedding. Don’t make this difficult for me.” With that, she went to find her passport. Today was the day she and Ryan were getting their marriage license. She didn’t come back that night. Around midnight, my phone buzzed. A text from Ryan. It was a photo of Audrey, shot in low light. She was wearing a French maid costume, looking directly at the camera. I squeezed my eyes shut, a sharp, familiar pain piercing my chest. I forced it down, silenced my phone, and turned off the screen. But the night offered no peace. Every hour, like clockwork, my phone would vibrate on the nightstand. Another text from Ryan. A video clip of him and Audrey. A taunt. A reminder. The next morning, a different message appeared. It was from Sloane. Mr. Cole, the peonies are in bloom. It’s time to come home. Attached was a photo of two crisp, new marriage certificates lying next to a vase filled with the most magnificent crimson peonies I had ever seen. I’d given her a cutting from my garden years ago, a casual peace offering after a particularly brutal business negotiation. I never imagined she would actually cultivate it. A strange, unfamiliar warmth spread through my chest. I texted back a single word: Okay. I was packing up the files in my home office when Audrey finally returned. She was pulling a suitcase, stuffing her everyday essentials into it. “I’m going to stay with Ryan for a few days,” she announced. “He can’t manage all the wedding prep by himself. Just remember to be at the ceremony the day after tomorrow. Don’t be late.” She followed it with a long-winded explanation about how it was all perfectly innocent and that I shouldn’t “make a scene.” “I won’t be there,” I said, my eyes focused on the laptop in my hands. After last night, the last embers of whatever I felt for her had finally turned to ash. My calm demeanor seemed to unnerve her. A flicker of panic crossed her face, and for a second, she looked like she might stay. But then her phone buzzed, and I saw the name ‘Ryan’ on the screen. The memory of his cloying affection was enough. Her hand, which had been gripping the suitcase handle, relaxed. Grayson loves me too much, she was surely thinking. What could possibly go wrong? With that thought soothing her, she turned and disappeared from my sight without another word. I watched her go, then picked up my phone and made a call. That evening, a helicopter landed in the private square behind my building. A man in a pilot’s uniform approached me. “Mr. Cole? Your charter is ready. We’ll have you safely in Chicago in three hours.” I nodded and handed him a large manila envelope. “Make sure this is delivered to the wedding venue tomorrow. It’s my gift to the bride and groom.”

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In my last life, I won thirty million dollars in the lottery. I told my parents, bought them a house, a new car. I made them promise to keep it a secret from everyone. They promised. And then they turned around and told my cousin, Jessica. The next day, Jessica showed up with a DNA test, claiming she was my biological sister. My parents, overjoyed, welcomed her with open arms. Then they demanded I give half of my winnings to her. I refused. We fought. In the chaos, Jessica shoved me down the stairs. I spent the rest of my life as a vegetable. My parents forgave her. They let her be the daughter they’d always wanted. While they lived it up on my thirty million dollars, my lungs filled with fluid. I died of a hospital-acquired infection, alone. Then I opened my eyes. It was the day I won the lottery. And this time, I would not make the same mistakes. 1 The string of zeros in my bank account balance wasn’t a dream. It was real. I was back. And I was going to use this second chance. My phone buzzed, shaking me from my thoughts. “Annie, honey, is it true?” It was my mom, her voice practically vibrating with excitement. “What you texted? Did you really win something?” I leaned back, dangling the new debit card between my fingers. “Yeah, I did. I won 30.” “Thirty… thousand?” she asked, her breath catching. “Thirty dollars, Mom,” I said, a smile on my face that she couldn’t see, and wouldn’t have understood. “You thinking of something else?” “Well, what’s all the fuss in the group chat then? Jessica was just saying someone in our city won the big one. Thirty million dollars.” Ah, yes. I’d forgotten. In my last life, my parents had added Jessica to the family group chat. “Wow,” I said, pulling up a financial planning app on my phone. “Good for them. That’s some serious luck.” “Yeah, well. Just… come home soon, okay?” Mom said, the disappointment thick in her voice before she hung up. The moment the call ended, I requested the rest of the day off from work. I spent the afternoon driving all over town, opening multiple accounts at different banks and splitting the money between them. Call me paranoid. I’d earned it. If my parents wanted Jessica to be part of the family so badly, who was I to stand in their way? In fact, I was going to help them. I remembered that DNA test from my last life, and an idea began to form. I called an Uber and headed for Jessica’s apartment. “Jessica,” I said, standing in her doorway, doing my best to look overwhelmed and a little lost. I let my eyes drift around her cramped, stuffy rental. “What is it?” she asked, pointedly fiddling with a gaudy gold bracelet on her wrist, making sure I saw it. This time, I pretended I didn’t. “I think… I think our neighborhood is getting bought out.” Jessica’s eyes darted around, then she grabbed my arm and yanked me inside. “What are you talking about?” she hissed as soon as the door was shut. “I saw a zoning proposal,” I said, pulling up a screenshot someone had posted in the neighborhood Facebook group. “The city wants to build a new transit hub.” “And the payout? What’s the payout?” she asked, her eyes glued to the map on my phone. “It’s based on occupancy. Something like sixty thousand per legal resident.” I kept my voice vague, uncertain. I saw the light flare in her eyes. I knew, right then, that the hook was set. “What did your mom and dad say?” she pressed. “They said they’d take their hundred and twenty thousand, and I could use my sixty, plus a little extra I’ve saved, to make a down payment on a small condo for myself.” I was spinning the story out of thin air, but it sounded plausible enough. “You have money for a down payment?” Jessica asked, her voice laced with disbelief. I just grinned like an idiot. “Yeah, I’ve managed to save up about eight or nine thousand over the last few years. I was actually hoping I could borrow a little from you to round it out.” She stared at me, sizing me up. “I thought you only made, what, four thousand a month?” “I live at home, you know? Don’t have that many expenses.” I smiled and showed her the balance in my checking account on my banking app. The fish was on the line. The very next day, just like before, Jessica showed up at our house with a DNA test in her hand. Showtime. I stared at the report she’d slapped down on the kitchen table, feigning shock. “Mom? Dad? What… what is this?” “Annie, honey, let me explain,” Jessica started, her voice syrupy sweet. I just looked at her, waiting. I wanted to see how she’d play it this time. “When Mom and Dad were just kids, they had me,” she began, pulling an official-looking document from her purse. “They weren’t married, and their families would have disowned them. So, to avoid the scandal, they asked Aunt Carol—who couldn’t have kids of her own—to adopt me and raise me.” She was already calling my mother’s sister “Aunt Carol.” The nerve. I picked up the adoption certificate. The raised seal looked real. I felt a sudden, cold stillness in the room. “We thought you were going to be a boy,” Mom added, her voice trembling as she reached for Jessica’s hand. “So we let your sister go.” “All these years, you’ve suffered so much,” Dad said, his eyes filled with a pained, manufactured sympathy. “Dad, Mom, it’s my fault. I’m the one who failed you, not being there to take care of you,” Jessica sobbed, sinking to her knees in a display of pure theater. So I was the only one who had been kept in the dark. A flood of memories from my past life rushed back. The way my parents always paid Jessica’s rent. The way they made me bring her home-cooked meals every night after work. The way they had so easily forgiven her for putting me in a coma. “Oh, Jessica,” I cried, wrapping my arms around her in a hug. “You poor thing. You’ve been through so much.” If you want this daughter back so badly, I thought, then by all means. Have her. My parents explained everything—the shame of a teen pregnancy in their small town, the secret they’d carried for decades. They even told me a psychic once said I’d bring great fortune to the family. He was right, I guess, but I think he was probably just trying to save my life. “Mom, Dad,” Jessica said, wiping her tears away. “Annie mentioned something about the neighborhood buyout.” Here we go. I lowered my head to hide my smile. “Annie told you?” Dad asked, shooting me a disapproving look. “Dad, I didn’t think it was a secret. She’s not a stranger,” I said, my voice dripping with innocence. “Exactly,” Mom chimed in. “Annie said the payout is per person,” Jessica continued, her voice steady now. “I was thinking… I should have my residency officially transferred back here. That way, we can get a bigger share.” “But the buyout isn’t a sure thing yet, honey,” Dad said, hesitating. “But I’ll have to transfer it back home eventually anyway,” Jessica said, squeezing out a few more tears. “Mom, Dad, I just want to be here to take care of you.” “She really does, Mom, Dad,” I added, playing my part. “She just wants to be part of the family.” “What about your Aunt Carol?” Dad asked. “I’ve already talked to her. I’ll send her three hundred dollars a month for support. Of course,” she said, her eyes shifting to me, “I’ll need some help with that.” She was cornering me. “Of course, Jessica,” I said, my voice full of warmth. “It’s the least I can do. I mean, I’m the one who got to grow up here with them.” “Please, Dad? Just do this for her,” I begged. It was the second step of the plan, and it was falling perfectly into place. A few days later, my dad took care of the residency paperwork. In that same window of time, while he had the necessary documents out, I made copies and finalized the purchase of my condo and a new car. So my parents wouldn’t get suspicious, I moved my things out little by little, while Mom was busy making up for lost time with Jessica, taking her on shopping sprees for new clothes and jewelry. That night, as we lay in our beds in the room we now shared, I decided it was time. “Jessica,” I said into the darkness. “There’s something I need to tell you.” “What is it?” she said, her voice muffled, the glow of her brand-new iPhone illuminating her face. “The real reason Dad is so stressed about the buyout… The family’s in debt. Over a hundred and fifty thousand dollars. If the buyout goes through, we’ll get around two hundred and forty thousand total. We can use that to pay it all off, and maybe have enough left for a small place…” I kept talking, pretending not to notice the way she’d frozen. “When did this happen?” she cut me off, her voice sharp. “A few years ago. Dad’s business failed. We’re paying thousands in interest every year.” I was feeding her the truth, but a truth from my last life. A truth I only discovered after I’d won the lottery and offered to pay off their debts, right before she sent me into a coma. “Why didn’t you say anything before?” she demanded, sitting bolt upright. “I thought Mom would have told you by now,” I said, my voice laced with fake surprise. “Whatever. We’ll just sell the house after the buyout and pay it off,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant. Oh, my dear cousin. You weren’t listening. I said the city wants to buy us out. I never said it was a done deal. A week later, the news broke in the neighborhood Facebook group. “The project’s been canceled,” Dad announced at dinner, looking at the notification on his phone. “What?” Jessica shot to her feet. “What do you mean, canceled?” Mom asked. “An environmental impact study found an endangered turtle species in the marshland behind our neighborhood. The whole transit hub is on hold indefinitely.” “It’s okay,” I said, trying to comfort them. “At least the four of us are together. That’s what matters, right?” “What’s good about this?” Jessica snapped, before storming out of the house. “Mom, what’s wrong with her?” I asked, playing the innocent, confused sister. “It’s… it’s nothing.” The way Mom’s eyes darted away told me there was more to the story. Jessica didn’t come home that night. Aunt Carol called to say she was staying with her. My dear cousin, I thought. You couldn’t even last a week? The fun is just getting started. I pretended to be heartbroken and went to my room. My parents even came to console me. They had no idea that under the covers, I was smiling so hard my face ached. The next morning, Jessica returned and started packing her things. “Honey, what are you doing?” Mom asked, watching her shove clothes into a suitcase. Jessica just shot me a venomous look and kept packing. “Annie, I need you to run to the store. We’re out of olive oil,” Mom said, waving me away. They were trying to get rid of me. I nodded, but as I walked out, I discreetly turned on the voice recorder on my phone and left it on the hall table. When I got back, Mom and Jessica were sitting on the sofa, looking for all the world like a happy mother-daughter pair. “Annie,” Mom said as I walked in. “Your sister and I have been talking.” She took a deep breath. “This house is only seven hundred and fifty square feet. It’s not big enough for four adults. We think it’s best if you move out.” I froze. “What? Why?” “Don’t be upset, Annie,” Jessica said, jumping up to put a comforting arm around me. “I was just thinking, you need your own space. Your own privacy. So I suggested this to Mom.” There it was. I glanced at the date on my watch. It was a Saturday. Most of our neighbors would be home. If you’re going to be cruel, then don’t blame me for being ruthless. I backed out of the apartment and into the hallway. “It’s okay, Mom. I don’t need my own space,” I said, my voice just loud enough to carry. I wanted to move out, but not like this. Not by being kicked out. “Every young woman needs her privacy,” Mom insisted from the doorway. Just then, the bottle of olive oil I was holding “slipped” from my grasp. It shattered on the tiled floor with a loud crack. Instantly, doors up and down the hall creaked open. “I can sleep on the couch, Mom! If Jessica needs the space, I can sleep on the couch!” I pitched my voice higher, letting it crack with emotion. Our neighbors, I knew, loved two things: drama and judging other people’s parenting. “Annie, what are you talking about?” Jessica said, rushing forward to pull me back inside. “Are you kicking me out too, Jessica? This is my home! I’ve lived here for twenty-six years!” I dug my nails into my palm, hard, until my eyes filled with real tears. “Honey, what’s going on?” Jessica shot Mom a panicked look. They both reached for me. As their hands touched my arms, I let my knees buckle and crumpled to the floor, staring up at them with wide, wounded eyes. “Mom?” I whispered, letting a single tear trace a path down my cheek. “Jessica… you too?” It hurt, but it was a good kind of hurt. A useful hurt. “I get it,” I said, slowly pushing myself to my feet and brushing the dust from my legs. “You fell on your own, Annie! Don’t you dare try to blame us!” Mom snapped, her voice shrill. “You’re right,” I said, backing away towards the stairs, my hand gripping the railing. “I fell all by myself. I almost fell right down the stairs.” “You…” Mom started, but I cut her off. “It’s okay, Mom. I’ll leave.” I walked back into my room, grabbed my phone—the one that was still recording—and walked out. “The nerve of some people,” Mrs. Gable from 3B muttered, rushing over to me. “It’s okay, Mrs. Gable. It’s fine,” I sobbed, letting the tears flow freely. “What kind of parents do they think they are?” The whispers started, a chorus of disapproval up and down the hall. Did you really think they’d side with you, Jessica? The newcomer? These people watched me grow up. As I listened to the rising tide of gossip, I smiled through my tears, called an Uber, and walked away without looking back. I was finally out. It was sooner than I’d planned, but not before I’d made them miserable. Lying in my own condo, a cool sheet mask on my face, I waited for my takeout to arrive. I was finally free. The sharp ring of my phone cut through the silence. I picked it up. “Hello?” I said, expecting the delivery driver. “Hello there… little sister.” The voice was unmistakable. I ripped the mask from my face and sat up straight. This was a high-end condo building. No one got past the front desk without resident approval. They couldn’t know where I was. So what was the point of this call? Before I could figure it out, Jessica spoke again. “You won the thirty million, didn’t you?” It wasn’t a question. It was a statement. “Jessica, what are you talking about?” I played dumb. So far, no one knew. After my last life, I didn’t trust a single soul. “Check the picture I just texted you.” I could hear the smugness in her voice. I forced myself to keep my own voice even. “A picture? What picture?” I opened my messages. It was a photo from the lottery commission’s press release. I’d forgotten. They’d snapped a bunch of photos after I claimed the prize. But I’d worn a mask, a baseball cap, and a baggy men’s jacket. Even someone who knew me well would have a hard time recognizing me. “Is there a problem with this photo, Jessica?” I asked. “That person is you,” she said, her voice triumphant. “Jessica, if that was me, would I have let you and Mom kick me out of the house?” I said, my voice cracking with manufactured hurt. “So, what, you’re just going to deny it?” If I admit it, you’ll become a leech I can never get rid of. I’m not that stupid. “Jessica, I…” I trailed off, then hung up the phone. I’d known this day would come, but it was happening too fast. My phone rang again. I flinched and threw it across the room. The helplessness I’d felt in my last life, trapped in my own body, came rushing back. No. I will not go back there. Calm down. Think. I picked up the phone, the screen now a spiderweb of cracks. First things first. I needed to move the money again, make it untouchable. I went to a different carrier, bought a new phone, got a new number. That would buy me some time. Then, I contacted a high-end real estate broker and bought several small properties in different cities across the country. A rabbit needs more than one hole. By the time I was done, a good chunk of the money was tied up. I kept two hundred thousand in a liquid account for emergencies and put the rest into a series of trusts managed by a wealth advisor. The terms were simple: no one, not even me, could touch the principal without my physical signature, verified in person. Finally, just in case, I had a lawyer draw up a will. With all that handled, I took three days off, holed up in my condo, and went over everything, trying to find any loose ends. That’s when I remembered the recording. There had to be something on that recording that I’d missed. I found the file and pressed play. The familiar voices filled my silent apartment. “Honey, what are you doing?” “I can’t take it anymore, Mom! Four people in a seven-hundred-square-foot apartment? I’d rather be back in my own place!” The sound of clothes being thrown into a suitcase. “Calm down, honey.” “How can I calm down? She’s just some kid you picked up off the street. What right does she have to live here with me?” Some kid you picked up off the street. The world seemed to stop.

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