I have late-stage cancer. The doctor told me not to leave any regrets. The first person I thought of was my ex-husband, whom I hadn’t seen in ten years. I started calling him, one number after another, until one finally connected. “I’m dying. Can you come see me one last time?” The man on the other end of the line was silent, unmoved. I couldn’t help the sob that broke from my throat. “Can you just be with me… just for three days… I’m begging you…” “Please… Ethan… say something…” “Say something!” The line went dead. I sat in the dark, hollowed out by despair, until the sun came up. Then, a storm broke, and the doorbell rang. 1. The ringing was frantic, insistent. I scrambled to my feet, knocking a bottle of pills to the floor. When I yanked the door open, a FedEx delivery guy was standing there, his impatient expression freezing on his face. “Uh… hi… package for you…” he stammered. He thrust the package into my hands and practically ran down the hall. I looked out at the empty corridor and laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. In the middle of a hurricane warning, who else but a delivery driver would come to my door? I picked up the package. Then I heard it. Drip. Drip. I turned around slowly. Soaked to the bone, Ethan was standing at the end of the hall. The wind howled outside. I suddenly remembered a line from a movie. The people who love you will walk through a hurricane to find you. And he was here. Did that mean… he still loved me? But his first words shattered that fantasy. “Maya,” he said, his voice flat and cold. “We’ve been divorced for ten years. I need you to stop bothering me.” Ten years. And with a single sentence, he made me lose my mind. I lunged forward, trying to grab the sleeve of his wet jacket, wanting to scream at him. Why? Why could you just leave? Why did you disappear for a decade without a word? But before I could speak, the tears came, hot and traitorous. All I could manage to sob out was, “How could you…” His expression didn’t flicker. “Maya, calm down.” The electronic lock on the door across the hall beeped. “Password incorrect. Please try again.” My neighbor glanced over, her face pale, and I wondered how much she’d heard. 2. I wiped my eyes and forced a professional, customer-service smile. “I’m so sorry, we didn’t mean to disturb you…” Her face went even whiter. She fumbled with the keypad, finally got the password right, and slammed the door shut behind her. The hallway fell silent. I turned back to Ethan. He walked towards me, the only sound the squelch of his wet shoes on the tile. He sighed, a sound heavy with exhaustion. “Let’s talk inside.” Before I could react, he squeezed past me through the door, bringing the damp, cold smell of the storm with him. It was the one-bedroom apartment we had bought together. The decor, the paint, the furniture—it was all chosen to our tastes back then. I hadn’t changed a thing in ten years. Now, it all just looked painfully outdated. Ethan stood in the entryway, not moving. The living room was a mess, littered with takeout containers and pill bottles. It radiated the same air of decay that I did. He frowned, and for a second, I thought I saw a flicker of pity. But when he spoke, his voice was as distant as ever. “Maya, stop harassing me. We’re adults. Can’t we just have a clean break? Be civil about this?” No. I looked up at him and smiled, a cruel, ugly thing. “I’m dying. What do I need civility for?” 3. It started with a dull ache in my stomach. I ignored it, figured it would pass. I got used to the pain, the same way I’d gotten used to the years without him. Until I collapsed at my desk one afternoon. I woke up to the smell of antiseptic. A coworker had dropped me at the ER and gone back to work. From then on, I was alone, going from one test to another. By the time it was my turn to see the oncologist, he was packing up to go home. He’d been frowning and brusque all day, but suddenly his voice became gentle. He saw my dry lips and even had a nurse bring me a glass of water. The room became quiet, the only sound the distant wail of a siren. From the looks on their faces, I already knew. Cancer. The strange thing was, when I heard the word, I felt… a sense of relief. Like a heavy weight had finally been lifted. I did what I was told. I checked into the hospital. I set up a video call with my family. I tried to keep my voice light as I told them. I have cancer. But don’t worry, I’m already in the hospital. You should all get checked, just in case. That night is a blur of my parents’ weeping, my sister’s choked sobs, and my brother’s long, heavy silence. Then came the treatment. The endless needles, pills, chemo. The vomiting, the hair loss, the indignity of losing control of my own body. The face in the mirror grew more sunken each day. At first, people visited. The fruit baskets in my room were constantly being replaced. Then, slowly, the visitors stopped coming. The fruit started to rot. The doctor’s voice grew softer and softer. “Maya,” he said one day. “Is there anything special you’ve always wanted to do?” The question hung in the air, thick with pity. I looked down at my hands, now just skin and bone. How can a person waste away so quickly? Something I wanted to do? Besides just wanting it all to be over, there was only one thing. I wanted to see Ethan. One more time. Just one more time. 4. A sudden cramp seized my stomach. Cold sweat beaded on my forehead. The pain was so intense I had to brace myself against the wall, but I refused to take my painkillers. I just pressed hard against my abdomen, waiting for the wave to pass. Ethan just watched me, his eyes full of skepticism. My body was shaking violently. “You don’t believe me? You think I’d lie about dying to get you here?” I practically threw myself at the coffee table and ripped open the drawer. I pulled everything out and dumped it on the table for him to see. The diagnosis, stacks of medical bills, lab reports, even my insurance statements. “Look,” I sobbed, a hysterical laugh bubbling up. “Open your eyes and look! See if I’m lying to you!” “See? I’m dying. I’m really, truly dying.” He looked down at the mountain of paper. I stared at his face, desperate to see something. Sadness? Pain? He just kept his head bowed, his expression hidden from me. “What is it you really want?” My voice dropped to a whisper, filled with a self-loathing humility. “Three days with you.” My throat was tight. “Just three days… After that, I’ll never bother you again…” We stood there, locked in a silent battle. Finally, he yielded. He sighed. “Does it start today?” Just then, the hurricane passed. A single ray of sunlight cut through the clouds and into the room. The sky was clearing. It was as if even the heavens were taking pity on me. 5. I washed my face and stared at my reflection. Sunken eyes, sallow skin. Behind me, his reflection was still handsome, still young. It seemed time had only taken its toll on me. It wasn’t fair. The ones who break your heart always seem to get off easy. I put on my wig and hastily applied some makeup. The plate-glass windows of the mall reflected our images as we walked, him always a few steps ahead of me, his face a cold mask. He wouldn’t get close. He wouldn’t touch me. I looked down at our shadows on the pavement. I reached out my hand and let my shadow-hand touch his. At least my shadow wouldn’t pull away. We went to a movie. The same theater as our first date. The moment the lights went down, the memories flooded back. His warm hand, cautiously reaching for mine in the dark. Once he held it, he never let go. I didn’t have to see his face to know how red he was blushing. Now, I slowly reached out, trying to touch his hand on the armrest. He snatched it back as if he’d been burned and shoved it in his pocket. My hand was left hanging in the empty space between us. Tears fell, big and heavy. I couldn’t stop them. On the screen, the lovers were kissing. In the dark, I was weeping. And beside me, he was silent. 6. After the movie, we went to dinner. An old place we used to go to all the time. I’d booked our usual table by the window. I ordered his favorites—steamed pork ribs and a spicy Cajun pasta. I carefully wiped down a set of silverware and handed it to him, then ordered another for myself. He stared out the window, ignoring me. I didn’t care. I just started talking. Talking about how the restaurant had been renovated and lost its charm, about how the owner had changed, about how the prices had gone up… He never responded. But I kept talking. I hadn’t spoken to him in so long. Even if he didn’t listen, I wanted to tell him everything about my last ten years. The food arrived, steaming hot. I pushed the plate of ribs towards him. “Eat.” He didn’t even look at it. “I don’t like this stuff anymore.” It felt like a needle driving straight into my heart. I picked up a rib and put it in my mouth. I chewed. Tasteless. I couldn’t taste a thing. Swallowing felt like swallowing glass. He didn’t like it, but I did. He didn’t remember the taste, but I did. And now, I couldn’t taste it at all. I started shoveling the pasta into my mouth. Forkful after forkful. The food mixed with my tears as I forced it down. My stomach churned. I clamped my hand over my mouth and ran for the trash can in the corner. “Ohh—” Everything I had just eaten came back up, mixed with bile and tears. A waiter rushed over with water and napkins. “Ma’am, are you okay? Should I call an ambulance?” I was shaking too hard to speak, just managing to shake my head. “I’m… I’m fine… I’m so… sorry… about the mess…” “It’s okay, it’s okay, we’ll clean it,” he said gently. “Don’t worry, let me help you up…” When I finally managed to stand, I saw that Ethan was already outside, a blurry figure through the rain-streaked glass. 7. I rushed to pay the bill, terrified he would just leave. “Ethan!” He looked at me, keeping his distance. “Where to next?” My throat still burned. “The waterfront… let’s go to the waterfront.” We went to the old city bridge. It was mostly deserted now; everyone went to the new, flashy pedestrian bridge nearby. “Do you remember this place?” I asked, watching a ferry glide across the dark water. “This is where you told me you loved me.” He frowned. “That was a long time ago. Let’s not talk about it.” I was going to talk about it. “Our first date. First the movie, at that same theater. Then dinner, at that same restaurant. You saved up for weeks to order the most expensive thing on the menu…” I paused. “Was it good? Did it… taste the same as you remember?” “I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t eat.” “…Oh.” My voice was a whisper. “Right.” And we’ll never have the chance to eat it again. A ferry passed under the bridge, and I remembered that night. He didn’t want to go home, holding me tight, saying we’d leave after the next boat passed. We watched them come and go until the sky was completely dark. A cold wind blew, and I shivered. Was the wind that cold that night? I pointed to another approaching ferry, its lights twinkling on the water. “Let’s go home after that one passes.” The boat slid beneath us, a floating island of light and laughter. They looked so happy. I was so envious. That night, a nightmare woke me. I ran out of the bedroom, my heart pounding. It wasn’t until I saw the dark shape of him on the sofa that I could breathe again. His breathing was so quiet. I crept closer, wanting to touch him, but I was afraid I’d wake him. Suddenly, the pain hit again, a brutal, twisting agony in my abdomen. I curled into a ball on the floor, biting my lip to keep from screaming. Cold sweat and tears streamed down my face. My vision started to blur. Ethan, it hurts so much. Why won’t you come hold me? 8. When I opened my eyes, it was the next day. The sun was bright. Ethan was sitting on the sofa, watching me in silence. I scrambled to get ready, and we rushed to a bridal shop. I carefully looked through the dresses. We were so poor back then, we just signed the papers at the courthouse. We had finally made it, bought the house, bought the car… and we were planning the wedding when we got divorced. I held up a mermaid-style dress. “Is this one pretty?” He leaned against the doorframe. “Yeah, sure,” he said, not even looking. I picked up another, a classic A-line. “What about this one?” “Whatever. They’re all fine.” I stopped asking. I chose a simple, elegant satin dress and a classic black tux. I bought them both. From there, we went to a small, private photography studio with great reviews. I asked Ethan to change into the tux. He refused. “I said I’d spend three days with you. I never said I’d take pictures.” “You won’t?” I asked, holding the suit. “No.” Fine. I didn’t have the energy to fight him anymore. The makeup artist was a miracle worker. She managed to make me look almost healthy. But as she was styling my hair, she tugged a little too hard. My wig shifted, pulling out a few of the sparse, precious strands I had left. She was horrified. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry… I wasn’t even pulling… I…” “It’s okay,” I reassured her. “It’s not your fault. My hair just falls out easily. Just do what you need to do.” After that, she was impossibly gentle. In the studio, the photographer looked from me to the empty space beside me. “Where’s the groom?” 9. I glanced at Ethan, who was standing behind the photographer, looking like he was waiting for me to be humiliated. I forced a smile. “He… uh… he didn’t want to be in the photos. It’ll just be me.” The photographer’s expression changed instantly. “It’s okay,” I said, my voice breezy. “You can just Photoshop him in later. I brought pictures of him. I’ll pay extra.” I only took one photo, but I booked the entire team for the day. The rest of the time was for post-production. I gave the photos of Ethan and the tux to the young graphic designer. “Can you put him in here, please? Thank you.” The kid glanced at the photo, then at me. “Yeah, okay.” I stood behind him, pointing at the screen, trying to recreate the Ethan from my memory. “He needs to be taller. He’s six foot one.” “His shoulders are broader than that.” “His skin should be a little lighter.” “His face… it’s a little thinner than in that photo…” The designer’s mouse clicks got faster, his brow furrowed. Finally, he slammed the mouse down. “Look, lady! I’m not a magician! Why didn’t you just bring the guy with you? This is impossible!” His voice was sharp. I glanced at Ethan, who was watching the scene with detached amusement. My voice shrank. “He didn’t want to come.” The air went still. The studio manager rushed over and smacked the designer on the back of the head. “What did I tell you about your attitude?” He then turned to me, his voice oozing apology. “Miss, I am so sorry. He’s new. Please, don’t be upset. You tell him exactly what you want, and he’ll keep working until you’re satisfied.” The young man muttered under his breath, “Fine, I’ll fix it.” I smiled and said it was okay. Then I remembered something else. “Could you do one more photo for me? A five-by-seven. Black and white. Just of me.” The designer’s mouse stopped moving. The manager’s smile froze. “…Black and white?” 10. I nodded. “Yes. And a simple black frame. Can you… make me look nice? I think… it will probably be for the memorial service.” I found a photo from ten years ago on my phone. In it, a vibrant, happy girl was snuggled up against a man whose face was filled with adoration. “I didn’t… always look like this,” I whispered. I sent the picture to the designer. He stared at it, speechless. The manager smacked him again. “You see? You better do a good job or you’ll be having nightmares!” The designer’s voice was full of guilt when he spoke again. “Ma’am, you just tell me what to change. A little thinner here? Add some color to your cheeks?” On the screen, the Photoshopped me stood in a white wedding dress, my eyes bright. Beside me stood a carefully crafted image of Ethan, wearing a handsome tux, his eyes full of love. It looked just like us, ten years ago. “It’s perfect,” I said softly. “It looks just like the old me. Thank you.” They both insisted they could make it even better and would have it delivered the next day. The kindness of strangers is a strange and beautiful thing. Since my diagnosis, the whole world had shown me compassion. Everyone except him. I looked over at Ethan, sitting alone in the corner. My phone rang. It was my mom. “Maya, sweetie…” her voice was cautious. “The hospital said you checked yourself out?” “Mmmhmm.” “Well… why don’t you come home? Your brother and sister are both here.” “Okay,” I agreed. “And Mom? I’m bringing Ethan with me. Can you make some of his favorite dishes?” There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, she stammered, “Oh… okay… yes, of course, honey. You two… be safe on the road…” 11. After we left the studio, I told Ethan, “We’re going to my parents’ house for dinner tonight.” He was leaning against the wall, half his face in shadow. “And show up as what? Your ex-husband? Maya, we’re divorced. It’s been ten years. It’s not appropriate.” I remembered how my parents had never really approved of him. When they found out his family was from a poor, rural town and he had three siblings, they immediately tried to set me up with other people. “Maya, I’ve been there,” my mom had said. “I don’t want you to struggle the way I did.” I had slammed the door and screamed at her. Later, Ethan found out. He wasn’t angry. He just held me. “She’s not wrong, you know,” he said. “If I had a daughter, I’d want her to have an easy life, not struggle with some poor kid.” He smoothed my hair. “Don’t be mad at your parents. It’s my fault for not being good enough yet. But thank you for believing in me, Maya. I’ll work hard. I promise I’ll give you a good life.” And he did. He worked insane hours, was on call 24/7. In five years, he was a director of engineering. He made six figures, bought a house and a car, and put both in my name. He achieved the kind of success the world respects. My parents never had another objection. He was better to them than I was, always reminding me to call home. I looked at him now. “Mom just turned sixty. Are you really not going to go? You always used to say I didn’t care enough about them. You said…” He cut me off sharply. “Enough! Stop it! You want me to go, right?” He let out a humorless laugh. “Fine. I’ll go. Just don’t regret it.” How could I regret it? We were finally going home together. I pushed open the door to my childhood home. “Mom, Dad! We’re home!” 12. “You’re back!” my sister called out. Everyone turned to look at us. The house went silent, except for the hum of the kitchen fan. “Come… come sit down!” my brother finally said, his voice strained. “Let’s… let’s eat!” I glanced at Ethan and motioned for him to sit next to me. But my brother slid into the seat first. I pushed him gently. “Hey! That’s for your brother-in-law…” The words hung in the air. The room got even quieter. The spoon in my mother’s hand clattered into the soup bowl. My brother jumped up as if shocked. “Oh! Right, right! For my brother-in-law! Sit down, man, sit down!” He grabbed a bottle of wine and started to pour it into Ethan’s glass. “Here, man! Have a drink! Long time no see!” I watched Ethan’s face. His jaw was clenched. I quickly put my hand over the glass. “He can’t drink!” My brother’s hand froze. “Oh… right! Coke! He can drink Coke!” He scrambled to get a soda. I breathed a sigh of relief and looked at the table. Steamed fish, boiled shrimp, vegetable soup… all bland, healthy food. “Mom,” I complained. “Why is everything so plain? You know Ethan loves spicy food…” Before I could finish, my mother covered her face with her hands. A muffled sob escaped through her fingers. “Why is Grandma crying?” my little nephew asked, his face turning red with anger as he looked at me. “Auntie is mean! You made Grandma cry!” “No, sweetie, I didn’t,” I tried to explain. “I just meant, when we have a guest, we should make food the guest likes…” “He’s not a guest! He’s not here!” my nephew shrieked. “Grandma said Auntie is sick! And she’s imagining things! There is no Uncle Ethan! Uncle Ethan is gone! He…” Smack! My sister slapped him hard on the bottom, her face ashen. “Be quiet! What have I told you about saying things like that?” The boy burst into tears, wailing indignantly. “I’m not lying! Grandma said it! Uncle Ethan is… woo hoo hoo…” My sister clamped her hand over his mouth and rushed him back to his room. The crying, the shouting, the shushing, the sighs… all the sounds mixed together, a chaotic symphony in my ears. I turned, dazed, and looked at the man beside me. His image began to warp and twist. Bzzzzzz… Bzzzzzz… A loud ringing started in my ears. He smiled, but tears were streaming down his face. A single drop, then another. “I told you,” he said, his voice cutting through the ringing. “I told you not to bring me home.”

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At one in the morning, I was jolted awake by a rapid-fire series of text notifications. It was from the mother of a boy in my son’s kindergarten class. She sent a photo of my son Leo’s arm. On it was a faint, shallow bite mark. The text that followed read: “Is this Leo’s mom? Did my Dylan bite your son today?” I figured she was texting to apologize, so I quickly replied that it was no big deal, that kids will be kids. I thought that would be the end of it. Then she sent another picture: a receipt from an emergency dental clinic. Confused, I was about to type a reply when my phone started ringing. It was her. “Leo’s mom,” she said, her voice sharp. “My Dylan chipped his front tooth when he bit your son. What are you going to do about this?” 1. The words chased the last remnants of sleep from my brain. A sharp pain started throbbing in my temples. Is this something a human being would actually say? I thought I must have misheard her. I pressed my forehead and asked for clarification. “Jessica, are you saying that your son bit my son, and because your son’s tooth got chipped in the process, you want me to be responsible?” “Yes, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” Her voice on the other end was shrill and laced with an incredible, unearned arrogance. “What else would I mean? If your son’s arm wasn’t so tough, would my Dylan’s tooth have chipped? What kind of parents are you, anyway? Raising him to have skin like armor. What are you feeding him, gravel?” She was on a roll now. “Talking to people like you is a waste of time. I guess it’s true what they say, people with nothing going for them just pop out kids and don’t even teach them basic manners.” I was so angry I started to laugh. “Jessica, if you’re sick, go see a doctor. Don’t call me in the middle of the night to have a psychotic episode. My son was the one who got bitten. We weren’t going to make a big deal out of it, but now you’re coming after me?” She cut me off with a shriek. “Oh, so now you’re getting an attitude? You pathetic little nobody.” “Let me tell you, this isn’t over! Your son is responsible for my son’s chipped tooth and the severe emotional distress this has caused him. Tomorrow, I want you and your son on your knees, begging for forgiveness. Then we can put this behind us.” “Otherwise, I’ll be at that school every single day, making such a scene that your son will be forced to leave!” On our knees? She really thought she was somebody. I don’t respond well to threats. Wasting another word on a woman like this was pointless. “Your son bites people because you don’t have him on a leash. That has nothing to do with my son. Maybe you should spend less time harassing me and more time taking him to a vet.” I hung up and blocked her number. The rest of the night was sleepless. Having Leo in the same class as a kid like that was a ticking time bomb. I decided I would find a new school for him. The next morning, I brought up the idea of transferring. Leo’s little lip quivered, his eyes instantly welling up with tears. “But Mommy, I don’t want to change schools. Today is rehearsal for the class play! Me and Sophie are supposed to recite a poem together.” Seeing his heartbroken face, my resolve melted. Fine. One more day. What could happen? That woman, Jessica, was probably all bark and no bite. The school has teachers, security cameras everywhere. What could she possibly do? With that thought, my anxiety subsided. “Leo, if anyone, and I mean anyone, bothers you at school today, you call me immediately. Do you understand?” “Okay, Mommy! I’m going now!” Just in case, I sent a long text to his teacher, Ms. Davis, asking her to please keep an extra eye on Leo. With everything seemingly in order, I drove to work. My firm had just landed a major development project downtown, and I was buried in work. It wasn’t until two in the afternoon that I finally had a second to grab a drink of water. I opened my phone and habitually checked my texts with Ms. Davis. The last message was still the long one I had sent that morning. Usually, no matter how busy she was, she’d reply with a quick “Got it.” Today, there was nothing. The knot of anxiety I’d felt earlier returned, tighter than before. I called her cell. It went straight to a cold, robotic voice: “The number you have dialed has been turned off.” My heart sank. I tried calling Leo’s smartwatch. The result made my blood run cold. “We’re sorry, the number you are calling is currently unavailable.” 2. A powerful sense of dread seized me. I abandoned my half-eaten lunch, grabbed my keys, and sprinted out of the office, heading for the kindergarten. I burst through the main doors and nearly collided with Ms. Davis. I grabbed her arm. “Where is Leo?” “Leo’s mom, the children are on a field trip today for a day camp. Didn’t you know?” Ms. Davis’s face was arranged in its usual professional smile, but when she saw me, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes. I didn’t have time for her games. I demanded the address of the camp and turned to leave. “Leo’s mom, please don’t worry, the children are perfectly safe there, we have teachers watching them,” she called after me, but I was already peeling out of the parking lot. The day camp was in a large state park on the outskirts of the city. I followed the signs, searching every designated activity area—the playground, the picnic grounds, the nature center. Not only was Leo not there, but I didn’t see a single child from his class. I found a park ranger, who told me there were no kindergarten field trips scheduled for today at all. My blood turned to ice. “Where did you hide my son?!” I spun around to face Ms. Davis, who had just arrived. I grabbed the front of her shirt. “What did you do with my son?!” “Leo’s mom, please calm down. There are people here. Can’t we discuss this calmly?” “Yes, you’re being very aggressive. This isn’t helping anything,” another teacher said, joining her. They surrounded me, not to help me find my son, but to criticize my behavior. In their eyes, my missing child was somehow proof that I was the one being unreasonable. If he wasn’t in the activity areas, I would search elsewhere. The woods, the fields, the lake… I scoured the entire park like a madwoman. “Leo’s… Leo’s mom, if you don’t stop, we’re going to have to call the police!” one of the teachers threatened, her voice shaking. “Go ahead! Let’s see who they arrest when they get here!” That shut them up. Just then, I heard it. A muffled, suppressed cry. It was coming from an old, abandoned cabin on a small hill. The teachers’ faces went white. They exchanged terrified glances. “Leo’s mom, that area is off-limits! It’s dangerous! You can’t go over there!” I shook them off and ran towards the cabin. Their warnings were just noise. The only thing in my mind was getting through that door. It was locked from the inside. I threw my entire body against it, again and again, until the lock finally splintered. When I saw what was inside, I felt a murderous rage so intense I wanted to tear them all apart with my bare hands. My Leo, my precious baby, was kneeling on the floor. His hands and feet were tied to a thick wooden pole. A woman was holding his head, forcing him to bow it to the ground in front of another boy. “Get your hands off him!” Leo heard my voice and started crying harder, struggling against his bonds. I lunged towards my son, but a group of people—other parents—surged forward, forming a human wall between us. The woman in the center, the one holding my son, stood up slowly. I recognized her. It was Dylan’s mother, Jessica. “Leo’s mom, I warned you last night,” she said, her voice dripping with venom. “I told you to teach your son some manners. You didn’t listen. So I guess I have to do it for you.” As she spoke, she shoved my son’s head down again, hard, against the cold wooden floor. Leo’s forehead was already a mess of purple bruises. His lip was split and he was sobbing so hard he could barely breathe. My heart felt like it was being crushed in a vice. I could barely breathe. My sweet boy, who I had never even raised my voice to, was being tortured. “Leo’s mom, don’t be so dramatic,” Ms. Davis said, blocking my path with a ridiculously earnest expression. “Jessica is just teaching Leo a valuable lesson about respect.” “That’s right,” another parent chimed in. “This is a community. We can’t have one child ruining it for everyone. Why shouldn’t he be held responsible for chipping another boy’s tooth? If he gets away with it, it sets a bad example for our children. Can you take responsibility for that?” I can understand some parents being ignorant. But the teachers? They were educated professionals. How could they stand by and let this happen? 3. I tried to push through them, but there were too many. Jessica had come prepared. There were at least a dozen other parents she had rallied. They linked arms, and I couldn’t break through. My eyes were burning with tears of rage. “Let my son go! This is child abuse! It’s a felony!” Leo’s head was swelling, and his breaths were ragged. But he tried to be brave for me. “Mommy… it doesn’t hurt… I’m a big boy.” Jessica let out a cold laugh. “You hear that? Your son himself says it doesn’t hurt.” She turned back to Leo. “Okay, sweetie, you’ve apologized. Now, if you just crack open these ten walnuts with your forehead, I’ll let your mommy off the hook. She won’t have to get on her knees.” “Really, ma’am? You promise?” Leo asked, his voice small. “NO!” I shrieked. “Leo, don’t listen to her! Mommy said no!” Leo hesitated, his little mouth clamping shut. The next second, Jessica grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back. Another parent rushed to pin his arms. Leo let out a piercing scream of pain. “You monsters! Let him go! If anything happens to him, I swear to God, none of you are walking out of here!” “I already called the police on my way here! They’ll be here any minute! Every single one of you can look forward to having this on your permanent record!” That gave them pause. The human wall wavered. I saw an opening and was about to charge through when Jessica laughed again. “The police? And who do you think they’ll listen to? In this city, the Harrison family calls the shots!” She gave a smug smile. “So you can all stop worrying. In fact, if you help me keep this crazy woman under control, I’ll have my Mark send a few projects your companies’ way. A thank you, from me.” The Harrison family? Mark? Mark Harrison! That’s my husband’s name! Since when was he her Mark? My mind reeled. A few of the parents, hearing the promise of business deals, lit up. One man lunged forward, grabbed my hair, and slapped me hard across the face. “That’s for messing with Mrs. Harrison!” Jessica’s smile widened. The others took their cue, pushing and shoving me. I was a rag doll in the middle of a vicious mob. I screamed, my voice raw. “She’s a liar! She’s not Mrs. Harrison! I AM!” Leo was on the verge of passing out, his small body limp. “Leo’s mom, lying isn’t a good habit,” Ms. Davis sneered. “No wonder your son is so badly behaved. He learned it from you.” I couldn’t take it anymore. I spun around and slapped her across the face. “You shut your mouth!” “You don’t believe me? I can video call Mark right now!” Jessica sauntered over, her eyes full of contempt. “A video call? In the age of deepfakes? Please. You want to prove who you are? You’ll need more than that. Besides,” she added, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, “you’ve been ‘calling the police’ for a while now. Do you see any cops?” It had been almost two hours since I called 911. Even with a slow response time… My heart sank into a black pit. She savored my expression. “Let me be clear. The Harrisons have had this whole park cleared out. No one is coming to save you. Unless… you have your precious son crack this entire basket of walnuts. Otherwise, neither of you is leaving.” She gestured to a man in a suit standing by the door. “Mr. Evans, bring in the ‘dessert’ I prepared for Leo.” The man walked in. When I saw his face, I felt like I’d been struck by lightning. It was Mr. Evans, Mark’s most trusted executive assistant. 4. I couldn’t process why he was with Jessica. All I could think about was saving Leo. I scrambled towards him and grabbed his sleeve. “Mr. Evans, please! You have to help us! Get us out of here!” He looked at me as if I were a complete stranger and pried my fingers off his arm, one by one. “My apologies, madam. I only take orders from Mrs. Harrison.” I felt a chill spread through my entire body. Mrs. Harrison. Jessica. A thousand little details suddenly clicked into place. The late nights “at the office.” The strange business trips. The ‘LW’ necklace he wore, which he claimed was his mother’s, Loretta’s. It stood for Lin Wei, Jessica’s name in Chinese. No, in English it’s Jessica… was it Jessica Williams? JW? Or… wait, her name was Lin Wei. LW. He had told me her name was Jessica. She was Chinese-American. The necklace was LW. For Lin Wei. A lie within a lie. And what about me? Our eight years of marriage, building his company from nothing… what was all that? Seeing my devastation, Jessica burst out laughing. “Some people just can’t accept their place in the world. Always dreaming of a life they don’t deserve. Tell me, Leo’s mom, do you still insist you’re the real Mrs. Harrison?” “I’m sorry,” I whispered, my voice breaking. “Please… Mrs…. Mrs. Harrison… have mercy on my son. I’ll teach him better, I promise.” My knees gave out, and I knelt on the floor in front of her. Even though Mark and I were legally married, Leo’s life was on the line. I couldn’t provoke her further. The more I humbled myself, the more she would gloat. And maybe, just maybe, Leo would suffer a little less. “Like mother, like son,” she sneered. “Trash begets trash.” “Mrs. Harrison, don’t let her off so easy!” one of the other parents shouted. “Her son chipped a tooth today, who knows what he’ll do tomorrow! He’ll probably become a school shooter! And she wasted so much of our time! You need to teach her a lesson!” Someone kicked me hard in the back. A coppery taste filled my mouth, and I coughed up a spray of blood onto the floor, splattering Leo’s broken smartwatch. The thought of him, trying desperately to call me for help… my heart felt like it was being shredded. “Since you all feel so strongly about it,” Jessica announced, “I’ll do you all a favor. For every walnut this little bastard cracks, I’ll give you one hundred thousand dollars.” I looked up, my eyes bloodshot. She was going to kill him. “No! He’s just a child! He’ll die!” But my voice was drowned out by the greedy shouts of the parents. They swarmed around Leo, a pack of vultures. He cried out in terror as they pushed and shoved him, his small voice quickly lost in their taunts. “I am Ava Prescott! My father is the chairman of the Prescott Group! If you stop now, I can forget this ever happened. Otherwise, I will hold every single one of you accountable!” Ms. Davis laughed. “Leo’s mom, that lie wasn’t believable the first time. Why would it be the second?” “Mrs. Harrison,” another parent suggested, “I think we should just knock all of the little brat’s teeth out. That’ll stop him from growing up to be a liar like his mother.” Jessica smiled. “An excellent suggestion. I’ll do it for free.” She pulled a small hammer from her purse and crouched down next to my son. “NO! JESSICA, YOU PSYCHO, STOP!” Leo was barely conscious, a broken doll in their hands. He heard my voice and struggled to open his eyes, to look for me. But I was pinned to the floor, helpless, forced to watch. Jessica kicked Leo hard in the ribs, then pried his mouth open. She raised the hammer. Just as she was about to bring it down, the door to the cabin was kicked open from the outside. “What the hell is going on in here?” The man standing there… it was Mark.

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That night, at the Sinclair Holdings annual gala, the grand ballroom was a sea of champagne flutes and celebratory chatter. Every executive, every employee was there, basking in the year’s success. Everyone but Isabelle Sinclair, my childhood friend and my boss. She stood alone on the frost-kissed terrace overlooking the city, clutching her phone, waiting for me. A vigil she was destined to keep alone. Because I was already gone. The day before, Alex, the bright-eyed protégé she’d personally mentored, framed me for leaking company secrets—a final, vicious move to shove me out of Sinclair Holdings. And Isabelle, the woman I had built this empire with, had believed him. She’d slapped me across the face in front of our entire team and suspended me indefinitely. My heart, already fractured, finally turned to dust. I resigned. I walked away without a word. What I didn’t know then was that in the aftermath of my departure, Isabelle would come undone. She would leverage every contact, burn through every resource, and spend three years searching for me like a woman possessed. Ethan, where in God’s name are you? I was wrong. Please, just come back and see me. I promise, we’ll get married. 1 The Sinclair Holdings annual gala. From a shadowed corner of the ballroom, I watched Isabelle adjust the knot on Alex’s bowtie. She smiled, her fingers lingering on the silk, the two of them so close they looked like they were breathing the same air. A perfect couple. Whispers eddied around me. “Isabelle and her young assistant… they look good together. Still, I feel for Ethan.” “I heard he was suspended. Explains why he’s not here tonight.” An older colleague clapped me on the shoulder. “Ethan, my friend! Why aren’t you asking the boss for a dance? The whole company knows you’ve been chasing her for more than a decade. From the garage startup to this skyscraper. If you don’t make your move now, you’ll be waiting another year.” I forced a smile that felt like cracking glass and said nothing. His eyes followed my gaze to the terrace doors, where Isabelle and Alex were now sharing a private laugh. He sighed, patted my shoulder again, and led his date to the dance floor. I had loved Isabelle for fifteen years. I was there when her “company” was just two desks in a rented room. I was beside her as we forged Sinclair Holdings into the titan it was today. We’d survived on all-nighters fueled by stale coffee and ambition, shared slices of cheap pizza over project blueprints, and held each other on freezing street corners at 3 a.m., too exhausted and too exhilarated to go home. All of that changed the day she hired Alex. Suddenly, her warmth, her focus—they were no longer mine alone. When Alex mentioned he wanted to “learn about venture capital,” she’d take him to late-night meetings with investors, patiently walking him through financial statements line by line. For his birthday, she bought him a gleaming silver Porsche. The combined value of every birthday gift she’d ever given me wouldn’t buy one of its tires. For years, I’d tried to convince her to go see the Northern Lights with me. Her response was always the same. “What’s the point of going to a place like that? It’s a waste of time. You should be focused on closing the next deal.” I understand now. It wasn’t that the lights weren’t beautiful. It was that she didn’t want to see them with me. She even chose nursing Alex through a common cold over me. The day she was supposed to pick me up from a minor surgery, she canceled because Alex was sick. I ended up taking a cab, bleeding through my bandages on the way. When she finally saw me later, there was no apology. Just a cold reprimand. “You’re a thirty-year-old man, Ethan. Can’t you even take care of yourself?” 2 The moment my heart truly broke came three months ago, during the Harrison Corp crisis. It was an all-out corporate war. Alex, trying to prove himself, went rogue and walked right into a trap set by our rival, nearly costing the company a hundred-million-dollar contract. I was the one who got on a red-eye flight to London, calling in every favor I had, working for seventy-two hours straight to salvage the deal. Harrison Corp wasn’t happy. They sent a message—a dozen thugs who cornered me in an alley outside my hotel. They left me with two cracked ribs and a concussion. I spent ten days in a London hospital. Isabelle never visited. She never even called to ask if I was okay. Her only communication was a single, ice-cold email: You’re the COO. Cleaning up messes is your job. Stop using your injuries as an excuse. Alex is young; he can’t handle a blow like this to his confidence. My job. He’s young. She was worried about his confidence. Fine. But I was her fiancé. Her partner for a decade. When I finally got back to the office, she didn’t ask about my recovery. She demanded to know why I hadn’t completely crushed Harrison Corp in retaliation. I was quiet for a long moment. Then I asked, “Do you honestly believe that my life is less important than Alex’s ego?” She slammed her coffee mug on the desk, shattering it. “When did you become so damn cold-blooded, Ethan? You could have done more! If you can’t handle the pressure, then maybe we should put this engagement on hold.” It was the third time she’d used our engagement as a weapon. I met her furious gaze. “Put it on hold?” I asked softly. “So you can get engaged to Alex instead?” Her face contorted with rage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Alex is my assistant! Is it a crime to mentor someone? My God, you’re so incredibly paranoid!” I just smiled. There was no point in arguing. We didn’t speak for two months after that. A cold war waged across the executive floor. For her birthday, I managed to acquire a limited-edition Patek Philippe she’d been wanting, pulling strings with a contact in Geneva. As I approached her office to give it to her, I heard their voices from inside. It was Alex. “He hasn’t even tried to talk to you after one little fight, Isabelle. Doesn’t that tell you something? Maybe he doesn’t care anymore. Maybe he’s already found someone else.” And then, Isabelle’s voice, sharp and dismissive. “The biggest regret of my life was agreeing to marry him. He’s small-minded. He was never worthy of me.” I stood frozen in the hallway, the blood turning to ice in my veins. A decade of my life. A decade of devotion. And to her, it all boiled down to one thing: unworthy. 3 I placed the watch box gently on the floor in front of her office door and walked away. I heard later that Alex gave her an identical watch—no doubt the one I had left. She accepted it with a smile, then turned around and gave it right back to him. “You’re young,” she’d told him. “You need a good watch to make an impression.” There was no conceivable way he could have afforded that watch on his own. The only person in the company who knew the truth was my assistant, Sarah. She was furious and wanted to confront Isabelle, but I stopped her. “Who do you think she’ll believe, Sarah? Me, or him?” Sarah fell silent. She was right to. If Isabelle had ever trusted me, how could Alex have succeeded, time and time again, for three years? From “accidentally” leaking my travel itineraries to competitors, to altering figures in contracts I’d negotiated, and now, this final act of framing me for corporate espionage… He’d set me up ten times. Ten times, Isabelle had chosen to believe him over me. Three times, she had threatened to end our engagement. I wasn’t a man without limits. I had just loved her more than I loved my own pride. But not anymore. I was too tired to love her. The well had run dry. 4 Back in my office, I gathered the few personal items I kept there. The things Isabelle had given me over the years: a simple watch she’d handed me off her own wrist once, an old fountain pen she no longer used, and the tie clip from our engagement. I lined them up neatly on the polished surface of my desk. It was laughable, really. Over ten years, the gifts I’d given her tracked our journey from poverty to power. From a street-cart necklace to a watch worth a down payment on a house. From her first sputtering scooter to the Rolls-Royce she drove now. Each one chosen with care. And from her to me? These three secondhand items. In the three years Alex had been here, she had showered him with gifts. Even the old pen she gave me was an afterthought, tossed to me during a meeting when mine ran out of ink. The Montblanc she gave Alex? She’d flown to Hamburg herself to pick it out for him. I smiled, a hollow, empty thing. I slipped on the old blazer I’d worn for my first interview with her, the fabric worn thin at the elbows. I came with nothing. I’d leave with nothing. It felt right. I had helped build this company from the ground up. I had saved it from the brink of collapse more times than I could count. I didn’t owe her a thing. Next to the tie clip, I placed my resignation letter and the key to the apartment we once shared. Then, without a backward glance, I walked out. Standing on the pavement outside the towering Sinclair Building, I looked up at the penthouse office, its lights still blazing against the night sky. “Goodbye, Isabelle.” I hailed a cab and gave the driver the name of the airport. The moment the car pulled into traffic, a weight I didn’t know I’d been carrying simply lifted. For the first time in years, I could breathe. 5 Onstage at the gala, Isabelle was a vision in a floor-length crimson gown. One of the board members leaned in, speaking quietly. “Isabelle, Ethan isn’t here yet. Several of our partners from the West Coast are asking for him.” Isabelle’s smile tightened, a flicker of annoyance in her eyes. The board member pressed on. “Could it be that he’s still upset about your fight? Maybe he’s boycotting the event to make a point?” Isabelle scoffed. “He wouldn’t dare. If he doesn’t show up tonight, he can forget about me speaking to him for the next six months.” With a flick of her wrist, she pulled out her phone and dialed my number. The call went straight to voicemail. Everyone was watching. The public rejection hung in the air, a stain on her perfect evening. Her face darkened. She tried again. And again. On the third try, it was clear the phone had been turned off. “Stop calling. He’s not coming.” The voice cut through the murmur of the crowd. It was Sarah, my assistant, her expression like stone. Isabelle’s face went rigid. “Where is he?” she demanded. Sarah let out a short, bitter laugh. “Now you remember Ethan exists? Don’t worry. My guess is you’ll probably never see him again in this lifetime.” Isabelle’s brow furrowed. “What is that supposed to mean?” Sarah slapped a manila envelope into Isabelle’s hand. “Ethan’s gone. This is for you.” Isabelle tore it open. Inside was a single key and a one-sentence resignation letter. Her hand trembled, and the color drained from her face, leaving her as white as a ghost.

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Twelve executives. Twelve red lights. My three master’s degrees from one of France’s most prestigious universities meant nothing. It all fell apart because the CEO, Victoria Davenport, asked me a question in French, and I didn’t understand a single word. Now, she was on a tirade, calling me a fraud, a liar, a fake. The studio audience, smelling blood, joined in, a faceless mob chanting for me to get off the stage. They had no idea that Victoria’s mangled, butchered French was so atrocious that a native Parisian wouldn’t have understood it. She’s the fake. I tried to explain, but the show’s host, Ryan Shaw, cut me off, his voice dripping with condescending authority. He demanded I admit my degrees were forged. I refused. The dozen CEOs on the panel grew bolder, a pack of wolves sensing weakness, threatening to have me blackballed from the entire industry. Backed into a corner with nowhere to run, I had no choice but to pull out the very document they were defaming—my diploma from a French Grande École, one of the most elite institutions in the world—and demand that the French Embassy itself be called to verify it. “When did your country’s most renowned university become a diploma mill? Don’t you care about your national reputation?” 1 A cold shock washed over me. Seated on the judges’ panel, Victoria Davenport—the CEO who built her brand on having lived in Paris for a decade—was a complete fraud. In one short, garbled sentence of French, she had made no less than sixteen grammatical and vocabulary errors. I had politely asked her to repeat the question, hoping to give her a way out. I never imagined that, fearing exposure, she would turn on me with such venom. “Don’t play dumb,” she sneered. “It’s clear you don’t understand a word. Some ‘international’ candidate you are.” Putting on a show of righteous indignation, she picked up her coffee mug and flicked its contents at my face. “Let me help you wake up,” she said as the cold liquid dripped down my chin. “This is The Boardroom. It’s a stage for genuine talent, not a place for charlatans like you to sneak through!” The audience erupted in applause for her “integrity.” I could hear them muttering, “Serves her right!” The other executives shook their heads in disappointment. “Young people today,” one of them sighed, “all ambition and no substance. Always looking for the easy way out.” One by one, they slammed the red buttons on their consoles. The lights above my head went dark. Twelve buzzers, twelve nails in the coffin of my career. I tried to defend myself, my voice cracking. “I’m not lying! I graduated from one of the top universities in France. You can verify the diploma number on the school’s official website!” Without hesitation, I held my diploma up, turning it toward the camera operator. The truth is the truth, I told myself, a desperate mantra. It has to be. But before the camera could focus, the host, Ryan Shaw, snatched the document from my hands and presented it to Victoria with a dismissive flourish. “See, Ms. Davenport? You can tell it’s a fake at a glance.” “How can you say that?” I shot back at Ryan, my voice trembling with rage. “You didn’t even read it! Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re destroying my future!” Was that all it took? One accusation from a powerful CEO? Did being the boss mean you were always right, no matter what? And we, the job seekers, were we just supposed to stand here and take the abuse? Victoria scoffed at my outburst. “A cornered rat always bites. When you expose a liar, they always claim you’re the bully.” She swore her judgment was impartial. “I’ve looked at it,” she said, holding the paper as if it were contaminated. “It’s a French certificate, I’ll give you that. You really did study abroad. At a vocational-technical school!” She was deliberately demeaning me. “No wonder your French is so poor. You probably couldn’t handle a real university.” Fury burned in my chest. Victoria Davenport probably couldn’t even read the diploma, yet here she was, the ultimate authority, condemning me to the academic gutter. But no one believed me. The crowd was chanting now. “Get off the stage! Get off!” They were embarrassed for me. Humiliation coiled in my gut. I clenched my fists. “Give me back my diploma.” I would post it online. I would let the entire world see it and judge for themselves. Victoria’s lips curled into a smirk. “Be my guest. I have nothing to hide.” As she spoke, her elbow “accidentally” knocked over a cup on the panel desk. Hot coffee flooded my diploma. The culmination of countless sleepless nights, of years of sacrifice, dissolved into a soggy, useless piece of paper. Victoria tossed it to the floor in disgust. I dove for it, collapsing to my knees, frantically trying to wipe away the dark, spreading stain with my sleeves. Tears I hadn’t realized I was holding back began to fall, mixing with the coffee. Victoria’s voice cut through my despair. “It’s just a worthless piece of paper from a diploma mill. Who do you think you’re fooling with this little performance?” That was it. I couldn’t take it anymore. I would expose her, right here, right now. “You’re the one performing!” I screamed, getting to my feet. “You can’t speak French, and you were terrified I’d call you out, so you attacked me first! You made sure no one would ever believe a word I said!” My voice raw, I issued a challenge. “Why don’t you have the producers find a native French speaker? Right now! Let him talk to both of us, one-on-one. Let’s see who the real fraud is!” My outburst stunned the audience into silence. I heard whispers ripple through the crowd; people were saying I didn’t seem like I was acting. They started calling for the show to bring in a French person to test me. I stood my ground, my heart pounding with a desperate confidence. I waited. But it was Ryan Shaw’s voice that boomed through the studio, not a producer’s. “That’s enough! This show is not a stage for a liar’s endless theatrics. The twelve executives have made their decision. You have been eliminated. You have no more chances!” He pointed a finger at me, his face a mask of contempt. “Now, I’m officially asking you… to get the hell off my stage!” 2 Why? I couldn’t understand. Are job applicants just disposable? Meant to be summoned and dismissed at will, without even a shred of basic human respect? Or was it simpler than that? In their eyes, we weren’t even human. When I refused to leave, demanding an explanation, Ryan’s face tightened with impatience. He stormed toward me and shoved me, hard, toward the edge of the stage. I stumbled backward, losing my balance, and tumbled off the platform. Pain shot through my entire body as I hit the floor. I lay there, trembling. “More theatrics,” Ryan sneered from above. “Why don’t you just admit you lied about your degree? Aren’t you tired of playing the victim?” I slowly, painfully, held up my hands. They were already starting to bruise from the fall. “Is this an act, too?” I asked, my voice shaking. Ryan’s expression faltered for a second before he hardened it again. “You did that to yourself!” But it was too late. This was a live broadcast. Millions of people had just seen him physically assault a candidate. Fearing a PR nightmare, the production team frantically cut the live feed. After a commercial break and a hushed, intense discussion, the show returned. Ryan stood center stage, his face arranged into a mask of solemn sincerity, and declared that the show was absolutely, unequivocally fair to all candidates. As a testament to that fairness, he made a magnanimous announcement. “Stella Morgan, it’s your lucky day. The producers have agreed to invite a French guest to speak with you. You will be given a chance to prove yourself!” He smiled benevolently. “Please believe me, here at The Boardroom, we never let true talent slip through our fingers!” The twelve lights above me blinked back on. Facing the camera, Ryan led the studio in a round of applause for me. Then, as the clapping subsided, he leaned in close, his voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “You piece of trash. You’re wasting my time.” He pulled back, smiling again for the cameras. “The team has decided to bring in a whole panel of French speakers to expose you. Let’s see you talk your way out of that.” But the person who needed to worry was Victoria Davenport. On the judges’ panel, her face was a sickly shade of pale. During the extended break, she found me in the drab waiting room. “Stella, you should drop out now,” she said, skipping any preamble. “Even if you expose me, so what? I’ll be embarrassed for a day. I’ll pay a PR firm to scrub the articles, silence the online mob, and I’ll still be a CEO.” She could afford to play this game, she told me. I couldn’t. If I dared to humiliate her on national television, she would make sure I never worked in this country again. The absurdity of it was suffocating. “And what if I just leave?” I asked. “If I walk away and let everyone believe I’m a liar? You think my life will be any better?” No. The entire industry would blacklist me. What would I do then? Collect cans? Work sanitation? How would I support my family? How would I even survive? Victoria was completely indifferent. “Don’t be so picky. You should be grateful for any job you can get. So what if the pay is low and the work is hard? Young people today are just too soft.” I had only one thing to say to her. “Get out.” Her face contorted in rage, and a stream of curses poured from her mouth. “You stupid bitch! You have no idea what real power is! You’re a fucking nobody, and you think you can challenge me? You think we can’t crush you with a single phone call?” I pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Get. Out.” She slammed the door on her way out. All I had to do was wait. Get back on that stage. Exposing Victoria now would be more effective than showing a thousand diplomas. But when the show went live again, the promised French guest was nowhere to be seen. Ryan Shaw grinned at me, a predator’s smile. “Ms. Morgan, the producers have arranged an even more exciting segment for you!” He exchanged a look with Victoria. A cold dread washed over me. I finally understood. A promise, a chance—they could take it away just as easily as they gave it. The boss always gets the final say. Ryan’s voice boomed across the studio. “To bring this farce to a swift conclusion, and at the suggestion of Ms. Davenport, we’ve invited two very special guests to the stage.” As he spoke, two figures walked out from the wings. My parents. My heart stopped. They stood blinking under the harsh lights, trembling as thousands of eyes fixed on them. I lost control. “What have you done?” I shrieked at the producers. “Why are you dragging my parents into this? This is about me! Leave them out of it!” The next thing I knew, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. My mother had slapped me. “How dare you!” she hissed, her voice shaking. “You’re the one who caused all this trouble! You’re a liar! Apologize to Ms. Davenport right now!”

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After two years away, I came home to find my fiancé with another woman on his arm—a woman who looked just like me. They called her the sweeter, kinder version. They whispered that my illness had made me bitter and weak. They’re about to learn that the deadliest venom comes from a woman left for dead. 1 I spent two years in a Swiss wellness clinic, supposedly putting myself back together. My first day back in New York, my cousin Zoe threw me a welcome-home party. The guest list was a who’s who of the city’s trust-fund kids, the sons and daughters of the ruling class. It had been a long time. The girls I used to run with, the ones who once mirrored my every move, were unnervingly quiet, their gazes fixed on their champagne flutes. Liam, heir to the Richmond fortune and my half-brother—the kid who used to trail after me, calling me Livvy with a sweet, almost desperate adoration—was now keeping a calculated distance. It was my party, and I, the guest of honor, was a ghost at the feast. A stir at the entrance broke the tension. Ethan Hayes walked in with a woman on his arm, and the quiet room crackled like oil hitting a hot pan. My brother, Liam, was the first on his feet. “Ethan, Sophie, you finally made it.” The same heiresses who had been giving me the silent treatment suddenly sprang to life. “Sophie, over here!” one of them called out. “We saved you a seat!” The woman at the center of the sudden warmth was all radiant smiles and effortless grace. The man beside her, Ethan Hayes, watched her with a tenderness that could melt glaciers. They were a perfect portrait of love. If Ethan weren’t my fiancé, I might have even rooted for them. Zoe, ever the agent of chaos, sidled up to me and whispered, “See her? She’s the replacement they found. And from the looks of it, the understudy’s about to get top billing.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping. “If you’d stayed away any longer, she’d probably be pregnant by now.” Zoe and I grew up together. My aunt, her mother, was a master of outsourcing parenting, and Zoe spent more of her childhood in our house than her own. My mother never had the heart to say no to her sister, and with a fortune like ours, one more child at the table was hardly a rounding error. Two months ago, Zoe had sent me a picture. In it, Ethan’s arm was wrapped possessively around a young woman who shared a certain shadow of my features. Sophie Miller, I learned, was the recently acknowledged daughter of some new-money family, raised in obscurity somewhere upstate. She only appeared on the New York scene after I left for Switzerland, a constant presence at every gala and charity event. At first, she mirrored my style—the clothes, the hair. People laughed, calling her a cheap imitation. But then they noticed the differences. Where I was sharp edges and biting words, Sophie was all gentle curves and soft-spoken grace. She was, in a word, more likable. And she was a social conductor. She organized river-rafting trips in the summer, fishing retreats in the fall, and ski weekends in Aspen when the first snow fell. Soon, she wasn’t just part of the circle; she was the circle. The friends who had once orbited me were now her satellites. Liam, my own brother who had initially sneered at her, now looked at her with the same puppy-dog eyes he once saved for me, finding in her a warmth I’d apparently never offered. Even my fiancé, the untouchable Ethan Hayes, had gone from publicly chastising her for copying me to gazing at her like she was the last good thing in a wicked world. Zoe, my loyal informant, had kept me updated with a relentless stream of details, making it impossible to pretend I didn’t know. “Miss Miller. You look like me?” I asked, my voice cutting through the renewed chatter. Sophie flinched, instinctively shrinking behind Ethan. I let out a soft, contemptuous laugh. “You all need to get your eyes checked. Where’s the resemblance?” Tonight, I was in a tailored white cocktail dress. Sophie, too, wore white. Around my neck was a necklace of brilliant, impossibly rare pink diamonds. She wore a string of pink pearls. She was pretty, I’d give her that. But even dressed in the same color, adorned with similar jewels, I couldn’t see it. Our faces shared no lines, no echoes. My question hung in the air, silencing the room once more. The expressions on the faces around me were a complicated mix of pity and annoyance. Sophie was the first to recover, her face pale but her voice steady. “You’re Olivia Richmond,” she said, her tone dripping with false humility. “Your beauty is legendary in this city. How could I ever compare?” A wave of disapproval rippled through the guests, all of them moved by Sophie’s performance of meekness. “Olivia,” Liam started, his voice sharp with accusation. “You can’t control what you’re born with. It’s not Sophie’s fault she happens to look like you. You can’t just attack innocent people because you need to be the only one of everything.” I almost laughed out loud. If I were truly attacking her, none of them would be standing so comfortably. “You idiot,” I said, my words aimed at Liam but my gaze sweeping over every single person in the room. “Don’t you realize I’m insulting you?” A low murmur went through the crowd. “Two years away, and Olivia Richmond’s temper hasn’t improved a bit.” “I used to think they looked alike. But seeing them side-by-side… Olivia looks exhausted. Sophie is glowing.” “Honestly, Olivia’s looks are fine, I guess. But her personality…” My temper was legendary in our circles. My father once tried to lecture me on being more like water—gentle, yielding, life-giving. But water can also be a flood, a destructive force that carves canyons and drowns cities. I’ve always believed it’s better to burn others than to slowly consume yourself. Seeing them all squirm under my gaze, their polite facades cracking, was deeply, profoundly boring. “You call this a welcome-home party?” I said, my voice dripping with disdain. “You all look like you’re at a funeral. But you light up like a Christmas tree for a complete stranger.” I picked up my clutch. “Zoe, thank you for organizing this. In the future, if any of these people are on the guest list, don’t bother inviting me.” I started for the door. As I passed Sophie, her best friend, who was standing beside her, suddenly cried out. She stumbled, and a gift box in her hand tilted, sending a massive white quartz geode sliding out. It crashed onto Sophie’s foot, instantly turning the delicate skin of her instep a blotchy red. In a heartbeat, Ethan’s voice exploded through the room. “Olivia, what the hell are you doing!” he roared. I turned. He was already crouching by Sophie’s side, his face a mask of fury. “Sophie searched everywhere for that geode! She thought it would help purify your energy, that it would be good for your health. If you didn’t want it, you could have just said so! Why did you have to knock it out of her hands?” I had known Ethan Hayes my entire life. We were the textbook definition of childhood sweethearts, if you ignored the complete lack of warmth. He’d always been the untouchable one, a marble statue of a man who held the world at arm’s length. Even on the day he slipped a ring on my finger, his eyes held a distant chill. I had never seen him this incandescently angry. After checking her foot and confirming it wasn’t broken, he straightened up, his eyes blazing at me. “Everyone came here tonight for you, to welcome you home. And what do you do? You insult everyone, you smash a gift, you make a disgusting scene. Two years, and you’re still the same spoiled, vicious brat.” The crack of my handbag hitting his cheek was sharp and satisfying. Ethan fell silent, stunned. He looked at me, his eyes wide with disbelief. A few of the decorative studs from my clutch had come loose, clinging to the shoulder of his jacket like misplaced jewels. “You hit me?” he whispered. Did he need an appointment? “You’re still my fiancé,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “And you defend another woman in front of my face? Did you really think I’d just stand here and accept that?” I’d thought the two years away had mellowed me. The clinic taught me that rage was corrosive to the soul, and to my health. The old Olivia would have been screaming right alongside him, would have thrown the first punch. It seemed they had forgotten who I used to be. They had poked the bear, and now they were shocked it had claws. “Miss Richmond, it was all my fault,” Sophie sobbed, ever the martyr. “I… I didn’t know the gift was so fragile. If I had held it differently, it wouldn’t have broken.” “Of course it was your fault,” I sneered. “You brought a geode to my party. Am I some kind of demon that needs purifying?” Sophie’s tears flowed freely. She was good; she was a beautiful crier. As she covered her face with her hands, I saw the corner of her mouth twitch upwards in a tiny, triumphant smirk. It was angled perfectly, a private message just for me. Ethan’s face darkened further. He turned his back on me, pulling Sophie into a comforting embrace. “I never realized how unreasonable you could be,” he spat over his shoulder. My brother pointed a finger at me. “What did Sophie ever do to you? Why do you have to be so cruel?” he seethed. “I’m telling Dad about this tonight. He’ll make you pay for this!” I laughed, a real, genuine laugh. “Go ahead,” I said with a wave of my hand as I turned to leave. “Go tattle. And ‘Sophie’? Since when is any Tom, Dick, or Harry your sister?” I paused at the door and looked back. “Oh, and Ethan? Have you forgotten how our engagement came to be? Your father, dragging you to our door, practically begging for the alliance.” My eyes hardened. “You’re so fond of Sophie. I wouldn’t want to stand in your way. I agree to end the engagement. You can explain it to your father yourself.” I might as well burn it all down. I turned to Sophie. “And you,” I said, my voice soft but carrying across the silent room. “Do I look like an idiot to you? I have a temper, but I also have spatial awareness. I was nowhere near your friend when she ‘tripped.’ It was a nice little setup, though. A classic.” I gestured towards a discreet dome on the ceiling. “I’m sure the security camera on the patio caught the whole performance in perfect high-definition.” Liam’s face was sullen, Ethan’s was thunderous, and Sophie’s was a frantic kaleidoscope of red and white. The other guests looked like they’d swallowed sour milk. Their misery was my pleasure. I was used to it; they’d either whisper behind my back or to my face. Did they think I was just going to take it? “You don’t have to run to my father,” I announced to the room. “I’ll do it myself. I’ll make sure every single one of your parents gets a full report on your behavior tonight.” I held up my phone. “After all, there are plenty of cameras here. Your outfits, your makeup, your expressions…” I smiled a sharp, predatory smile. “Every little word you said. It’s all been recorded.” With that, I turned and walked out, not bothering to watch their panicked faces crumble. I almost collided with a man who was just walking in from the garden. A strong hand gripped my arm, steadying me instantly. I looked up into a face that was flawlessly, breathtakingly handsome. His cheeks flushed, and he quickly released me. I wasn’t in the mood for handsome. “Don’t touch me,” I snapped. “Get out of my way.” To my bewilderment, the man’s face turned an even deeper shade of crimson, the color spreading to the tips of his ears. I frowned. Was he into this? “Liv,” Zoe said weakly from behind me. “Let’s just go together.” She gestured at the man. “Don’t mind him. He likes it when you’re mean to him.” What kind of a weirdo was this? He was gorgeous, but clearly had some strange tastes. There was something familiar about him, though. Seeing my gaze on him, the red-faced man quickly introduced himself. “Miss Richmond. I’m Noah Jensen.” Jensen? A tier-two family. Wealthy, but not in the same stratosphere as the Richmonds or the Hayeses. Before I could respond, Noah shoved a gift box into my hands, turned, and practically fled. I was still confused as I settled into the back of the car. “Noah Jensen? Have I met him before?” Zoe leaned back against the leather seat, tapping at her phone. A crisp, AI-generated voice filled the car. “Noah Jensen. Chief Operating Officer of Jensen Industries, second child of the family patriarch. Current estimated net worth, several billion. If he inherits the primary stake, net worth could exceed twenty billion. Age 22, unmarried, height six-foot-two. Physical dimensions below the waist are unconfirmed, but speculative reports suggest a size comparable to a premium bottled water…” My face burned. “What kind of depraved AI are you using?” I demanded. “You don’t know him? You had to use your AI?” I asked. “Uh, should I? It’s my first time meeting him, too,” Zoe said, all wide-eyed innocence. I gave her a look that said, keep playing dumb. She just shrugged and grabbed the gift box from my lap. “Well, let’s see what he got you.” She tore away the wrapping paper with practiced efficiency. When the box was open, she let out a low whistle. “Whoa.” I followed her gaze. Nestled on a bed of black velvet was a jadeite bangle, the color of the deepest, most vibrant imperial green I had ever seen. It was the kind of piece that rarely even made it to auction. I took it from her, examining the flawless stone. I slid it onto my wrist. It was a perfect fit. “And you say you don’t know him,” Zoe murmured, her eyes wide. “He even knows the exact size of your wrist. And your taste.” I rotated my arm, watching the light play across the bangle’s translucent surface, a slow smile spreading across my face. The party had been a disaster, but this perfect piece of jade was a hell of a consolation prize. Perhaps it was the calming effect of the jade, but I slept soundly that night. I was up early the next day. I’d finished my entire Pilates routine before eight. After dressing, I sent one of my security team to The Gilded Sparrow, the restaurant currently favored by our crowd. I had them set up a screen, six feet tall, right by the entrance. On a continuous loop, it played a beautifully edited video from my party. There was Sophie’s friend taking her dive. There was Ethan’s furious, accusatory shouting. There was Liam’s petulant rage. And there were all the others, their catty whispers now displayed as subtitles, with helpful labels identifying each speaker by name. Passersby, restaurant patrons, and a few enterprising citizens with smartphones uploaded the video to the internet. It went viral in our circles within the hour. The group chats lit up. My name was tagged again and again, dozens of furious messages demanding to know what I thought I was doing. I replied with a single smiling emoji, then left the group. According to the report my assistant compiled, every single one of the young elites featured in my little film was dragged home and raked over the coals by their families. Who gave them the nerve, after all, to openly mock the Richmond heiress? That afternoon, my father summoned me to his study. Liam was already there, standing ramrod straight in front of the coffee table, his head bowed. He shot me a venomous look as I entered. “What are you doing here?” he muttered. I ignored him, walking past to sit beside my father on the sofa. “Dad,” I said, my voice sweet as honey. “What are you so smug about?” Liam spat. “You only get away with this because Grandpa and Dad spoil you rotten. Sophie grew up with nothing, she’s suffered so much, and the second you’re back you start attacking her.” My father patted my hand, then calmly picked up a book from the table and hurled it at Liam. “You stood there and let strangers insult your own sister, and you have the gall to complain? Get out!” he roared. Liam stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I watched the door close. “Father,” I said quietly. “Are you really sure you want him to inherit the company?” My father’s expression was grim. “Your brother is inexperienced. But you shouldn’t have made such a public scene.” He pushed a file across the table towards me. It was a compilation of social media posts and messages from the families involved, all trashing my name. The usual garbage. “These families,” I began, “they all built their fortunes on the scraps we threw them from the Richmond table, didn’t they?” I slid my own prepared file over to him. “A dog that bites is a problem. A dog that bites its master needs to be put down.” My father’s face grew darker with every page he turned. When he finished, he slammed the file down on the table. “These goddamn vultures!” My report detailed, with excruciating precision, how several of those same families had been colluding to sabotage Richmond Corp projects, undercutting us and skimming profits. I picked up my teacup and took a delicate sip. “Father, Liam has had his hands on all of these projects. Do you suppose his… oversights… were intentional or just incompetence?” I put my cup down and refilled his. “It wasn’t that long ago that these people came to us, begging for a lifeline. We gave it to them. And now, they’re trying to sink the ship.” “They’ve clearly gotten too comfortable,” my father growled. “Fine. Let them pay it all back. With interest.” My health had always been fragile, that part was true. But my two-year convalescence in Switzerland was only half the story. No one pays attention to a sick girl who isn’t in line to inherit. While I was ostensibly “recovering,” my team was quietly investigating our international holdings, sniffing out the rot. I never expected the betrayal to run so deep, to originate with the very people we had propped up. My mother died shortly after I was born, a postpartum complication that was never fully explained. Years later, my father had a son, Liam, with Eleanor Ashford. And among the families trying to gut Richmond Corp from the inside was, of course, the Ashfords. That was the part that truly enraged my father. The company was meant to go to Liam one day, yet his mother’s family was already trying to bleed it dry. “The Ashfords have been using Liam’s name to leverage deals for years,” I said softly. “Are you really going to stand by and watch the Richmond legacy get swallowed whole by them?” He understood the logic, I knew he did. But Liam was his only son. He was hesitating. He wasn’t ready to cut him out completely. He closed his eyes. “I need to think. You can go now.” I expected as much. I switched topics, informing him that I had told Ethan I was breaking the engagement. He agreed without a second thought. The Hayes family had publicly humiliated his daughter. I was a Richmond. I didn’t need to marry anyone. I could spend my nights at galas and my days on a yacht if I wanted. A few days later, news of the broken engagement reached the Hayes family. Ethan, predictably, lost his mind. He found me in the garden, having afternoon tea with Zoe. The moment Zoe saw his storm cloud of a face, she made a break for it. “I’ll just… leave you two to talk.” She scurried back towards the house, positioning herself just inside the French doors, not too close but not too far. A perfect vantage point for eavesdropping. Ethan didn’t even notice her. He strode across the lawn and dropped into the chair opposite me. “Olivia. We need to talk.” My mood was excellent, so I decided to ignore his rudeness. I pushed the teapot towards him in a silent offer. He ignored it. “Talk about what?” I asked. “Why did you break our engagement like this?” he demanded, his face tight with anger. “My father is furious with me. Do you have any idea what people are saying?” I leaned back, getting comfortable. “What could they possibly be saying? That I’m arrogant and impossible, and that my fiancé can’t stand me?” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Or are they talking about how the great Ethan Hayes, despite being engaged to me, spends every waking moment with Sophie Miller?” At the mention of her name, he thought he’d found the root of the problem. “Nothing is going on between Sophie and me,” he said, his voice softening. “She’s just a friend, someone I can talk to. Is your jealousy really worth throwing all of this away?” His expression turned pleading. “Do you have any idea what this has done to her? She was an outcast, she finally found her place in the city, and now because of your tantrum, her family is sending her back upstate.” He shook his head. “Two years, and you’ve only gotten more cruel.” I was genuinely confused. “What does our engagement have to do with Sophie? You just said you two are innocent. So why would our breakup affect her at all?” I let a smirk play on my lips. “Anyone with eyes can see you’re in love with her, Ethan. Stop pretending to be a saint. Besides, I didn’t force her family to do anything. If she’s being sent away, that has nothing to do with me.” He shot to his feet, looming over me, his eyes blazing. “First you release that video, then you break our engagement the very next day! How do you think that makes Sophie look to everyone?” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling with rage. “Olivia, if I had known this is the person you’d become, I never would have saved you from that car crash!” He turned to leave. Ethan Hayes, my savior. Eight years ago, I was in the back of the family car on my way home from school, just like any other day. A truck ran a red light and t-boned us. The world spun, and the car landed upside down. The smell of gasoline was everywhere. The driver and I were both pinned. Blood was running into my eyes, hot and sticky, blurring everything. I heard a man’s voice shouting, but I couldn’t open my eyes. I felt him pull me, then the driver, from the wreckage. Then came the boom, a wave of heat and force that knocked me unconscious. When I woke up, Ethan was sitting by my hospital bed. He told me he had saved me. A life debt, combined with the Hayes family’s standing and Ethan’s own accomplishments, was more than enough to forge an engagement. Our families had been planning the wedding for when I returned from Switzerland. Now, here we were. My voice, when I spoke, was as cold and clear as ice. “Ethan. Was it really you who saved me that day?” I had thought, after all these years, that marrying him was something I could tolerate. But seeing him with Sophie, this cloying, deceptive dance they were doing, was sickening. I wanted out. And now he had the audacity to bring up his heroism. It was time to settle the score. He froze, turning back to look at me as if for the first time. “My eyes were blurred with blood,” I continued, my voice even and calm. “But I wasn’t deaf. The voice of the man who pulled me from that car… it wasn’t yours. And he had a gash on his arm, a deep one, had to be at least six inches long. I felt it when he lifted me.” I stood, facing him directly. “If you hadn’t been the one sitting there when I woke up, if our families weren’t already so intertwined, I would have exposed you years ago.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “If you had come here today just to defend Sophie, I would have let it go. But you had to bring that up.” A cruel smile touched my lips. “Did you really think I was so desperately in love with you, so bound by that life debt, that I would never leave you?” The color drained from his face. He hadn’t known that I knew. He hadn’t known that my feelings for him were a carefully constructed facade, not the all-consuming passion he imagined. The look in his eyes slowly shifted from anger to a dawning, primal fear. “You say you and Sophie are innocent?” I continued, pulling out my phone. “Then I suppose all of these photos were photoshopped?” I set the phone on the table, a slideshow beginning to play. Last April, Ethan and Sophie embracing under the cherry blossoms at the Botanic Garden. Last July, Ethan and Sophie in the same kayak on a river trip, her body pressed tightly against his back. Last New Year’s Eve, Ethan and Sophie kissing passionately as fireworks exploded in the sky. His face cycled through shades of white and green. He never imagined I would have proof. I smiled. “So, you see, I’ve been very restrained. I haven’t released any of these. You should both be grateful for that.” I picked up my teacup. “Now, get out of my sight. And don’t ever bother me again.” When it came to a war of words, I had yet to lose. Ethan Hayes, who had come to my home to demand an accounting, left looking like a ghost. Zoe only emerged from the house after his car had disappeared down the driveway. She was still clutching a half-eaten scone, her eyes darting to the photos still cycling on my phone. She looked like she was bursting with questions but didn’t dare ask. She couldn’t hold back the most important one, though. “Liv,” she began, her voice hesitant. “Where did you get these? Did you hire a P.I. to tail them?” I sat back down and took a sip of my tea, letting her wait. Finally, I looked at her. “What do you think?” “I… I have no idea. You’re always ten steps ahead of everyone. Do you have someone else here, in the city, watching them for you? You act like you have this crazy temper, but then you pull something like this, and I realize you’ve been playing chess the whole time.” I just smiled at her, a slow, knowing smile.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385475”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was on a tight schedule, en route to Liechtenstein to finalize a ten-billion-dollar deal with the royal family, when my private jet was grounded right on the tarmac. A man in a sharp, too-tight suit stormed up the stairs, his voice echoing in the cabin. “Who the hell gave you permission to touch my jet? Do you have any idea what this thing costs? It’s worth more than your damn lives.” I figured he had the wrong hangar. A simple mistake. “Easy, kid,” I told him, keeping my voice level. “Take a look around. This is Hangar 25. This jet is mine.” My explanation only seemed to fuel his rage. “My jet is in Hangar 25,” he shot back, his voice cracking with indignation. “My girlfriend gave it to me last month. You think I’d forget?” He jabbed a finger at my crew. “Get your people and get the hell off my plane, or I swear to God, you’ll regret it.” Seeing that reason wasn’t going to work, I motioned for my assistant to get the FBO manager to pull the aircraft’s registration file. As I stood there, confident that this arrogant little prick was about to be profoundly embarrassed, the manager delivered a blow that felt like the sky cracking open. “Mr. Hayes, I’m going to have to ask you to deplane. The aircraft is, in fact, registered to this gentleman, Mr. Foster.” 1 “Everything’s secure. Prepped for takeoff.” “Hold on, we’ve got a situation on the ground.” Just as the captain was about to taxi, a warning crackled over the radio from the ground crew. I had the flight attendant open the cabin door to see what the commotion was about. Through the opening, I saw a young man in a designer suit screaming at the hangar manager. “What the hell am I paying you for? A million dollars a year in fees and you just let anyone walk onto my jet? Are you incompetent?” Behind him, a crowd of equally young, flashy men and women smirked, watching the show with detached amusement. The manager, flustered and red-faced, pointed up at me in the doorway. “It’s… it’s not my fault! The jet was registered to a Mr. Foster. When this gentleman showed up and said he was the owner, Mr. Hayes, I assumed…” The young man’s eyes, bloodshot and furious, locked onto me. He charged up the stairs, reeking of stale champagne. “Who let you touch my jet?” he roared, the words slurring slightly. “Do you know this thing is worth more than your lives?” My crew, a freelance team I’d hired for the transatlantic flight, all turned to me, their faces a mixture of confusion and concern. “Mr. Hayes, what’s going on?” my captain asked quietly. I held up a hand to silence them. I took a moment to size up the intruder. He was handsome in a soft, boyish way, but his eyes were wild and he was clearly drunk. A spoiled rich kid who’d stumbled into the wrong hangar after a long night. To avoid any more delays, I tried to reason with him. “Son, look carefully. This is Hangar 25. This is my aircraft,” I said patiently. “Take a look at the next bay over. Maybe yours is parked there.” At this, the gaggle of friends behind him erupted in derisive laughter. “Ryan, seriously?” one of them called out. “You told us you had a jet, not that you were squatting in one.” “Dude, this is a G700,” another sneered. “We’re talking nine figures. Your dad’s in real estate, not running a kingdom. You’re blowing smoke.” “Let’s just go, man. This is embarrassing.” Stung by their mockery, the young man—Ryan—panicked. He grabbed the hangar manager by the collar. “You were here! The day my girl gave it to me, you were here! Tell them! Vouch for me!” The manager looked trapped. “Well, I do recall an ownership transfer, sir, it’s just that…” Ryan didn’t let him finish. He spun back to his friends, triumphant. “You hear that? I have a private jet! I told you!” His friends’ expressions shifted instantly. The mockery vanished, replaced by fawning admiration. “Damn, Ryan, you really made it! A goddamn G700!” “My man! You gotta let us in on your secrets to success.” “So, who’s this rich girlfriend? Does she have a sister? Introduce me.” Buoyed by their praise, Ryan’s arrogance swelled. He shoved the hangar manager toward the stairs. “I’m taking my friends to my girlfriend’s birthday party. Get this trash off my plane, now. If you make me late, I’ll have your job.” He then glared at my crew. “And I want a full inspection, inside and out. If there’s so much as a scratch on the leather, I’m holding them responsible.” He was so convinced, so utterly certain, that for a fleeting moment, I questioned myself. Had I made a mistake? I exchanged a quick, silent glance with my assistant, Ben, who gave a subtle shake of his head. No, we were in the right place. It hit me then. This wasn’t a drunken mistake. He was intentionally using my jet to impress his sycophantic friends. And he’d picked the one day I couldn’t afford any delays. Just as I was about to have him physically removed, the manager approached me, his face a mask of weary resentment. “Sir, claiming another person’s aircraft is a federal offense. Please leave peacefully, or…” “Are you serious?” I cut him off, my patience gone. “He says it’s his, and that’s all it takes? I bought this jet from Gulfstream last year for eighty-five million dollars. He opens his mouth and suddenly the deed changes hands? What kind of amateur operation are you running here?” “But… you both claim to be the owner, I don’t know who…” “It’s me, obviously!” Ryan shouted, stepping between us. The anger that had been simmering inside me began to boil. “I’m warning you,” I said, my voice low and cold. “There’s a limit to this charade. You’re interfering with a registered flight plan. Get off my aircraft before I sue you into oblivion.” He responded by shoving me, hard. “You’re the one who should be worried, you damn thief. Trying to steal my jet and then threatening me? Get your pathetic crew and crawl back to whatever hole you came from.” Ben stepped forward, ready to intervene, but I stopped him. Time was wasting. I couldn’t get bogged down in a brawl with this idiot. “You say this jet is yours?” I asked, my voice cutting through the tension. “Fine. Tell me the tail number.” Only the owner would know it by heart. This would be the end of it. The crew, Ryan’s friends, even the hangar manager—everyone turned to him, waiting. I crossed my arms, ready to watch him crumble. But the words that came out of his mouth knocked the air from my lungs. “The tail number is N-9527. It’s a Gulfstream G700, custom interior package. Final price tag was eighty-five million, three hundred and forty thousand dollars. Am I wrong?” He smirked. “Now, are you going to get off, or do I have to have you thrown off?” I was stunned into silence. He didn’t just know the tail number; he knew the exact, final purchase price. The base model for a G700 is around seventy-five million, but every interior is custom-built. That final, specific number was known only to me, my financial team, and Gulfstream. How in God’s name did he know it? My crew, hearing him rattle off the registration, huddled around me, their faces etched with anxiety. “Mr. Hayes,” the captain began, his voice strained, “is this actually your plane? Don’t drag us into this. An aircraft like this… if there’s a dispute, we could lose our licenses, even face jail time.” “He’s right,” the engineer added. “Your fee was generous, sir, but this is too much risk. I’m out.” I could feel the entire trip unraveling. “Everyone, calm down,” I said, trying to project a confidence I no longer felt. “I don’t know how he got that information, but I assure you, this aircraft is mine.” I pulled out my phone. “Look. Here are the email chains, the wire transfer confirmations between my office and Gulfstream.” That seemed to placate them, for now. “I’ve already had my assistant contact the FBO’s corporate office,” I continued. “They are pulling the official ownership file right now. When it comes through, not only will this imposter be thrown off, but I’ll press charges.” The crew members, reassured, slowly returned to their stations. Ryan just laughed, a loud, obnoxious bray. “Wow, you’re really committed to the act. ‘Checking the file.’ You’re probably just stalling so you can make a run for it.” I ignored him, focusing on the FBO manager who was now approaching with a tablet in his hand. Ryan turned his attention to my crew. “Are you people blind? Can’t you see this guy is a con artist? A common thief? He’s stealing my jet and trying to make you all accessories.” His friends chimed in, emboldened. “Seriously, use your eyes. Does he look like he owns a Gulfstream?” one of them said, gesturing at me. “Look at our boy Ryan. Armani suit, Rolex on his wrist. That’s class. That’s private jet money.” Another one sneered, looking me up and down. “And this guy? Not a single logo on his clothes. Looks like he got dressed at Target. He couldn’t afford a toy plane, let alone the real thing.” My assistant, Ben, had heard enough. “You’re embarrassing yourselves,” he said, his voice dripping with contempt. “That’s Loro Piana. Vicuña wool. It took their master tailors six months to make. The jacket alone costs more than your car. Our boss doesn’t need a logo when the people who matter recognize the fabric. You wouldn’t know quality if it slapped you across your cheap, knock-off faces.” Ryan’s friends flushed, their ignorant bravado deflating. To reclaim his dominance, Ryan pointed a trembling finger at me. “Who are you calling cheap? We’ll see who’s laughing when the file comes through. When they prove this jet is mine, you’re both going to get on your knees and apologize. Or you’re not walking out of this hangar.” I allowed myself a cold smile. “We’ll see who’s on their knees.” Just then, the FBO manager finally reached us, his face grim. He held up the tablet. “You’ve confirmed the ownership?” I asked, my victory assured. He nodded slowly. “Yes, sir. We have.” I shot a triumphant look at Ryan. “Well, then. Please remove these people from my aircraft.” I gestured dismissively at Ryan and his entourage. But the manager didn’t move. He looked at me, his expression one of sincere, professional regret. And then he said the words that shattered my world. “Mr. Hayes, I’m going to have to ask you and your crew to deplane immediately. The legal and registered owner of this aircraft is, in fact, Mr. Ryan Foster.” The hangar seemed to tilt on its axis. My jet? It was impossible. I grabbed the manager’s arm, my voice tight with disbelief. “You’ve made a mistake. That can’t be right. I paid for this jet. With my own money.” He gently extricated his arm. “I assure you, sir, our records are impeccable. There was an ownership transfer last month. The aircraft’s previous owner, a Ms. Isabelle Reed, signed it over to Mr. Foster. It was filed as an unconditional gift.” Isabelle. The name hit me like a physical blow. Of course. Last year, when we got married, I had put the jet in her name. A wedding gift. And she… she had given my eighty-five-million-dollar wedding gift to this… this boy toy. My legs went weak, and the world swam before my eyes. Ben and the manager caught me before I collapsed. Ryan swaggered over, a victorious sneer plastered across his face. “Well, well. Now that we’ve established whose jet this is, I believe you owe me an apology. On your knees.” His friends echoed him in a gleeful chorus. “On your knees! Apologize to Mr. Foster!” The thought of this arrogant parasite with my wife, on my jet, sent a surge of pure adrenaline through me. I shook off Ben’s hands, lunged forward, and slapped Ryan across the face with all the force I could muster. The crack echoed in the cavernous space. “Kneel for you? I’ll kill you, you son of a bitch!” His friends, shocked for a second, descended on me like wolves. Fists and feet flew. Ben tried to pull them off and was thrown to the ground. They held me down while Ryan, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip, slapped me back, hard. “You steal my jet, then you hit me? Oh, I’m going to enjoy this.” He drew back his foot to kick me again when his phone rang. He paused, pulling it from his pocket. His expression immediately softened into a delighted smile. “Hold up, guys,” he announced to his friends. “It’s my sugar mama.” He answered, putting the call on speaker for everyone to hear. A familiar, melodic voice filled the air—Isabelle’s. “Baby, where are you?” she purred. “I’m getting impatient.” Ryan winked at his friends, basking in their impressed looks. They gave him silent thumbs-ups. “I was on my way, babe,” he said, his voice full of drama. “But you won’t believe this. Some loser was on the jet, claiming it was his. I had to straighten him out, and the asshole actually hit me. I’m just teaching him a little lesson now.” Isabelle’s voice turned sharp. “What? Someone hit you? Oh, baby, you teach him a lesson he’ll never forget. But don’t be too long. I’ve got the suite at the Setai all ready for you.” The mention of the hotel in Miami, a place we’d stayed at a dozen times, was a final, intimate twist of the knife. Ryan hung up, grinning, as his friends whooped and hollered. Rage, cold and absolute, washed over me. I wanted to tear them all apart, but their weight pinned me to the floor. They took turns taunting me, kicking me, until they were bored and out of breath. Then they dragged me and Ben to the stairs and threw us out onto the tarmac. As the cabin door was closing, Ryan leaned out for one last parting shot. “You broke-ass pretender! You’re lucky my girl’s in a hurry, or I’d have really messed you up!” I watched the Gulfstream taxi away, its engines whining, before lifting into the sky and banking south. An icy calm settled over me. The shock was gone, replaced by a singular, chilling purpose. I pulled out my phone and dialed my chief of staff. “I want you to buy up every single landing slot and flight corridor between Teterboro and every airport in southern Florida. Effective immediately,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “Ground N-9527. Make sure it has nowhere to land. Let them burn.”

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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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