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

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

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

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A new game was making the rounds in Victoria’s circle. Pretend You’re Broke for a Month. It was the ultimate loyalty test for the men in their lives. To make it authentic, the challenger’s friends and family were all in on the charade. Even her company would install a “new boss” for the duration. Dressed in a five-dollar t-shirt and a sanitation worker’s cap, Victoria Davenport went to find the man she loved, her confidence unshaken. Instead, Ryan stared at her in disgust and had security throw her out. She stood there for a long time, stunned, before her trembling fingers dialed another number. “Liam? I’m broke. I have nowhere to go.” On the other end of the line, a little girl’s voice chirped with comfort. “Mommy, don’t be scared. You can have my room.” 1 The call from my ex-wife came while I was frosting a cake. My daughter, Thea, who had been playing a game on my phone, answered it without a second thought. I don’t know what was said, but a moment later, the four-year-old’s face lit up. She came tearing toward me, one of her little sneakers flying off in her excitement. “Daddy, it’s great! Mommy’s broke! She can come to my birthday this year!” Broke? The call was still connected. The screen read: Victoria. The last time she’d called was Christmas. She only ever contacted me for holidays. It was always the same request: come to her parents’ house, play the part of the happy, devoted husband, keep the old folks happy. The moment we stepped out of her parents’ estate, she would snatch her hand from mine, her touch turning to ice as she rushed off to appease Ryan. Her back seat would be piled high with gift boxes, the passenger seat a shrine of red roses just for him. I would stand there, clutching the ten-thousand-dollar check—her ‘performance fee’—and feel nothing but the biting wind. No heartbreak, no longing. Just the cold, hard relief of knowing Thea and I had rent for the next six months. Hearing she was broke, my only question was why she wasn’t calling her precious Ryan, the man she’d showered with endless affection. Why was she calling me, the man she couldn’t stand to look at? Victoria’s voice was tentative. “Liam, I don’t have a place to stay. I haven’t eaten all day. Can I… can I come stay with you?” “No,” was on the tip of my tongue. But then Thea tugged on my sleeve. Her eyes, big and dark like purple grapes, were wide with a mixture of hope and pleading. “Daddy, please? Just for one birthday? All the other kids have their mommy and daddy with them.” I looked down at her, and a sharp pang went through my chest. I knew how much she craved a mother’s love. Victoria did love Thea, in her own way. She’d take her to Six Flags, buy her designer dresses, send entire collector’s sets of princess figurines. But one day, Thea had come home with her head hanging low and whispered that she would never “bother Mommy” again. I dropped the spatula, stormed over to their villa, and with the strength I’d built from bussing a thousand tables a day, I slapped Ryan across the face, again and again. I shoved his head in the toilet and flushed, giving his filthy mouth a long-overdue cleaning. Victoria never asked to see Thea after that. But today was Thea’s birthday. All she wanted was to have both her parents with her. I relented. “Thea misses you, Victoria. You can come over for dinner.” On the other end, she let out a breath. It was the sound of someone realizing they hadn’t lost everything after all. “You’re still at The Crestwood, right? I’ll be right there.” I froze. “The what? I’ve never lived there.” My apartment was in Maple Creek, close to Thea’s preschool. The street outside was lined with food stalls. At night, you could hear the muffled bass from the karaoke bar across the road, and the exterminator’s van made its rounds like clockwork. It was a universe away from the luxury condo building Victoria had just named. There was a long silence on her end before she asked for my current address. Even in cheap, worn-out clothes, she still carried an air of unmistakable grace. The moment she stepped through the door, Thea launched herself at her legs. Victoria stroked her hair, a fond smile on her face, but as her eyes scanned our small two-bedroom apartment, the warmth vanished, replaced by an arctic chill. “This is where you have my daughter living?” 2 My hand, holding a teacup, stopped mid-air. The apartment was a nice rental, clean, with a simple, light-wood aesthetic. From the appliances to the cartoon-themed play mat on the floor, Thea had picked everything out herself, and I had paid for it. I might struggle, but I had never, ever given Thea a reason to feel ashamed of where she lived or what she had. And Victoria’s first act upon entering my home was to criticize it. Then again, she and Ryan lived in a 5,000-square-foot villa. Of course this felt cramped to her. I tossed the tea bag I was holding into the trash and pulled my daughter close. “Thea, honey, why don’t you go to your room and see if you can find the birthday present Daddy hid for you?” Her face lit up, and she scampered off. The moment she was gone, my smile disappeared. I fixed Victoria with a glare. “‘This place?’ Weren’t you the one just begging to come to ‘this place’? You don’t even have ‘this place’ to go back to anymore. What right do you have to judge me?” Victoria quickly composed herself, her mask of poise sliding back into place. She was playing the part of the broke girl now, not the CEO. She sat down on the sofa, looking slightly out of place. “You misunderstood. I just meant… why aren’t you living in the house I gave you?” I had no idea what she was talking about. “What house?” When we divorced, I left with a single suitcase and a three-month-old Thea. The only cash I had came from selling the watch my parents had left me. Victoria’s brow furrowed. “Liam, you gave me a child. Even if I didn’t love you, I would never neglect my own flesh and blood. I had my assistant, Quinn, purchase a house for you and set aside a substantial settlement. You didn’t take it?” A house? A settlement? This was the first I was hearing of it. The realization dawned on me. “I never saw a dime. Are you broke and trying to shake me down for money you think you gave me?” Her eyes narrowed, a flicker of genuine regret crossing her face. “Liam, I would sooner beg on the street than try to con you. You are the person in this world I have wronged the most.” Our past played out like a bad soap opera. I was the orphaned son of the man who had saved her father’s life. The Davenports took me in when I was eight. Mr. Davenport doted on me. Mrs. Davenport loved my quiet nature. And Victoria, two years my senior, treated me like a cherished younger brother. She fought off the bullies who picked on me. She took me hiking to see beautiful landscapes, to animal shelters to help me heal. She painstakingly pulled me out of the abyss of grief. And I, in turn, poured my secret adoration into a diary. Liam loves Victoria. Will Victoria ever love Liam? The answer came my senior year of college. Victoria proposed to me. I was ecstatic, believing she loved me too. I foolishly went with her to the courthouse. Nine dollars and we were married. I didn’t know that her father, while giving me 10% of the company’s stock, had made Victoria start at the bottom. She wasn’t marrying me; she was marrying a shortcut to the life and career she wanted. After the wedding, I was lost in a dream. I cooked for her, ironed her suits, picked her up from late-night meetings. But after she gave birth, she had an affair with a cloying, obsequious intern. Ryan, who was half a year older than me. She said Ryan understood her. He was her soulmate, their love was real. What she felt for me, she said, was just familial affection. Her father, sharp as ever, saw right through Ryan’s calculating façade. He swore that creature would never set foot in their house. So Victoria came up with a compromise. She wouldn’t divorce me—I was her shield, there to placate her parents. But she would give Ryan everything a husband deserved, short of a marriage certificate. It was ten days after Thea was born. Me, the man who had always bent to her will, snatched the fruit knife from the counter and, without a moment’s hesitation, plunged it into my own stomach. Marrying Victoria was my mistake. My youthful naivete, my stupid, love-sick blindness. Her cheating, her treating me like a glorified housekeeper—I deserved all of it. But I would die before I let her dishonor my daughter. Blood pooled on the floor. Victoria froze. Panic, terror, and guilt washed over her face. She pressed her hands to my abdomen, her fingers trembling uncontrollably. “Liam, don’t you die.” 3 I was stubborn. If she didn’t agree to a divorce and give me full custody of Thea, I would kill myself. If I was saved, I’d do it again, until I was dead for good. And if I died, I knew her father would make Ryan’s life a living hell. To protect Ryan, Victoria signed the papers. The day I left, she made one last demand. The divorce had to be a secret. On holidays, I had to come back and play the happy husband for her parents. I agreed. On one condition. I would be paid for my performance. Ten thousand dollars a visit. For Victoria, the woman I was willing to die to get away from, to have to turn around and pay me for my time… it was the ultimate humiliation. Her face tightened, her voice dripping with venom. “Don’t you have any feelings for me at all? Is money all you care about? Fine. I won’t give you a single penny. I’ll wait for you to come crawling back, broke and pathetic, begging me for help.” She was true to her word. The “financial compensation” mentioned in the divorce agreement never materialized. I did end up broke and pathetic for a while, but I clawed my way back up on my own. I never begged her for anything. Recalling the past, Victoria pressed her fingers to her temples. “I was just angry. You were a single father with a baby. I would never have actually abandoned you.” “Your angry words were my reality for four years.” My retort silenced her. She looked around the room again. While our things weren’t cheap, it was clearly not the home of a wealthy man. Ryan wore socks that cost hundreds of dollars; the shirt on my back was years old. Victoria picked up her phone and dialed her assistant, Quinn. “Mr.… Ms. Davenport, how can I help you?” It was clear Quinn was still adjusting to the temporary change in leadership. Victoria’s voice was unconsciously commanding. “Four years ago, the house I had you purchase in The Crestwood, and the eight-million-dollar settlement. Did you deliver it personally to my ex-husband?” Eight million dollars? Thea and I could have lived comfortably for the rest of our lives. Quinn hesitated. “Well… you’ll probably have to ask Mr. Ryan about that…” Him again. A surge of pure hatred rose in my chest. Ryan had already taken so much. If he dared to steal from my daughter, I would make him regret it. At seven o’clock, I brought the custom-designed ‘Poppy the Lamb’ cake to the table. Thea squealed with delight. “Wow, Daddy, you’re the best! I love you so much!” Messages flooded the parents’ group chat. “Did your dad make that himself? It looks even better than the custom one I ordered from the bakery! I’m so jealous!” “Thea’s dad is so talented. He can do fox face paint, make handmade purses, carve fruit into flowers, and now this amazing cake…” These past four years, I’d done every odd job imaginable to make ends meet. It had forced me to become a jack-of-all-trades. Thea carefully cut the cake, giving the first piece to me and the second to Victoria. “Mommy, this is the first birthday you’ve ever spent with me. I’m so happy.” Victoria, who had been staring blankly at her phone, snapped back to reality and accepted the plate with exaggerated enthusiasm. I knew what she was thinking about. Today was also Ryan’s birthday. For the past four years, she had celebrated with him. It wasn’t a coincidence that my daughter and my rival shared a birthday. When she was nine months pregnant, Ryan, no longer content with sending me taunting texts and photos, decided to escalate things. He would mail me the cheap trinkets that came with the luxury goods Victoria bought for him, little humiliations in a box. Then he showed up at the hospital for a face-to-face confrontation. It was his birthday, and Victoria had just given him a wedding band, promising him the wedding of the century. He had come to personally invite me and my unborn child. In a fit of rage and grief, I had a foolish, tearful fight with Victoria. When she realized her affair was exposed, the shock sent her into premature labor. She hemorrhaged. We almost lost both of them. For the first time, Victoria scolded Ryan. He had looked at her with tear-filled eyes. “I just want to be with you out in the open…” And in the end, she had pulled him into her arms, her heart softening. “Hush. Keeping him around is how I protect you.” On the other side of the wall, I stood in the NICU, looking at my tiny, fragile daughter. All I felt was disgust and utter despair. 4 The pain of that memory was a knife twisting in my gut. Which is why, hearing that Victoria was broke, my only thought was that she deserved it. After the cake, I told her it was time to leave. “I have nowhere to go,” she pleaded, her voice small. I pushed her firmly out the door. “Not my problem. Go find him.” The hallway light flickered on, then off, leaving her in darkness. She stood outside my door for a long time before her body slid to the floor, her head bowed in defeat. Of course, Ryan had been her first stop. Victoria had thought that after four years of being lavished with affection, of having every whim catered to, Ryan would be frantic upon hearing of her misfortune. She imagined he would move heaven and earth to help her. All he had to do was sell one of the properties she’d bought him. That would be enough. He would have passed her test. She didn’t want to make it too hard for him. But when Ryan saw her standing there in a sanitation worker’s uniform, a look of involuntary disgust flashed across his face. A needle pricked her heart. He quickly masked it with a smile and welcomed her inside, assuming this was all part of some elaborate birthday surprise. A prank, leading up to a grand reveal. But a moment later, his phone buzzed. It was a group chat with Victoria’s wealthy friends. “The Davenports are finished. Even her parents fled the country overnight.” “The company was sold and they’re still a billion in debt. Victoria will be paying that off for the rest of her life.” “Not necessarily. She bought Ryan all those houses and luxury items. He can sell them to pay it off. Of course, then he’ll have to live a simple life with her.” Someone remembered. Isn’t Ryan in this chat? Another friend cursed. He was immediately kicked from the group. Ryan’s eyes widened. The cruelty of it was breathtaking. Just yesterday, they were calling him their dear friend. Now, they kicked him out with an insult. The storm was coming, and he had to save himself. “Your family is bankrupt? What’s that got to do with me? Do we have a marriage license? Do your parents even accept me? Why should I have to sell my property for your family’s problems?” Victoria’s heart hammered against her ribs. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing. This couldn’t be the gentle, understanding man she loved. “What are you saying? I’ve given you everything but a ring on your finger! I practically tore my heart out for you. I gave up my husband and my child for you.” She thought appealing to his sentiment would work. She was wrong. Ryan let out a derisive laugh. “You gave me those things willingly. I’ve never heard of someone asking for a gift back. I slept with you for four years. You didn’t expect that for free, did you?” He leaned in closer. “Besides…” Seeing the raw pain in her eyes only made him more contemptuous. “A woman who would abandon her own husband and child… you think I’d ever truly trust you?” “You almost died giving birth to a daughter you don’t even care about. How do I know you wouldn’t do the same to me if someone new came along?” Victoria swayed on her feet, unable to form a rebuttal. Ryan was tapping away on his phone. “Since you’re useless to me now, let me tell you a little secret. You want to know why your husband was so desperate to divorce you?” “From the first time you slept with me, I sent him everything. Pictures from our dates. Pictures from our bed. Pictures of every gift you ever gave me.” “I have to hand it to him, he put up with it for a long time. I had to push him to a complete mental breakdown before he finally snapped. I’m not as stupid as he is. I wasn’t going to be your free nanny and sperm donor…” A lightning bolt seared through Victoria’s mind. So, Liam had given her chances. So many chances. Ryan dropped the act entirely. “Listen, Victoria, I dug through all your social media the day I started at the company. I know everything you like. You thought we had this amazing connection? It was just me doing my homework… God, it was exhausting trying to keep you entertained.” Victoria finally snapped. She lunged forward, her hands closing around his throat, a primal scream building inside her. “You… you were only after my money! You used me! You destroyed my marriage! You nearly killed my child! My father was right. You’re poison!” Before she could finish, security guards Ryan had called dragged her away and threw her out of the building. It was the end of June, but Victoria was shivering, an unnatural cold seeping into her bones. Just then, her phone buzzed. A group chat named “His True Colors.” The same friends from before were waiting for the results. “Tori, we just put on the performance of a lifetime. Is Ryan selling his condos to save you as we speak?” Victoria’s fingers flew across the screen, her knuckles white. “His last name is not Ryan. It’s the one I threw away. And I’m going to get him back.” 5 At 7:20 the next morning, I opened my door to find a tall figure sprawled across my welcome mat. I stepped over Victoria’s waist. Thea, her backpack on, giggled and hopped over her. Victoria sat up, rubbing the sleep from her eyes, and scrambled to her feet. She instinctively reached out and took Thea’s hand. I was about to knock her hand away. But then Thea beamed, her smile wide and bright. “Mommy, can you wait at the school gate for a little while after you drop me off? I want everyone to know I have a mommy. Then they’ll stop saying mean things about Daddy, and those other moms will stop bothering him…” “Thea!” I cut her off sharply. Victoria looked at me, her expression filled with a sorrow I hadn’t seen before. I used to be as harmless as a sloth. Now I was sharp-edged and defensive. She could only imagine the kind of harassment and gossip that could forge such a transformation. Victoria lifted Thea into her arms. “Okay. I won’t just wait for a little while. From now on, Mommy will be with you and Daddy every single day.” She reached for my hand. I pulled away. Filthy. Victoria was nearly six feet tall. Standing at the entrance to the preschool, she was impossible to miss and caused an immediate stir. “Thea, is that your mom? She’s so pretty! She and your dad look perfect together.” “Why does your dad look so mad? He’s not even talking to your mom…” I wanted nothing to do with her, but the matter of the house still needed to be resolved. For now, we were temporary allies. I got on the bus and sat in the very back. Victoria sat down next to me. As the bus lurched forward, I immediately moved to another seat. Not used to public transport, she tried to follow, lost her balance, and stumbled, hitting her head. A cold smile touched my lips. The house had people living in it. An elderly couple. The moment they saw Victoria, they pulled her inside. They were Ryan’s parents. Victoria was stunned. I laughed. It all made perfect sense now. Ryan had stolen the house meant for me and Thea and used it to house his own parents. The penthouse was over 3,000 square feet, with marble floors and smart home technology throughout. A dozen beautifully decorated rooms. Even their dog had its own room. In our small rental, Thea slept in the master bedroom, which was barely 150 square feet. We had to use vertical space just to fit all her things. This kitchen was equipped with an automatic food processor, a stir-fry machine, and a dishwasher—a completely hands-off setup. Meanwhile, I spent my days chopping fruit at a bubble tea shop until my hands ached so badly I could barely lift them. At night, I’d slap on a pain patch and force myself to cook dinner. The more I thought about it, the more a crushing weight settled on my chest. I had to crouch down, taking deep breaths to keep from blacking out. Four years of exhaustion washed over me in a tidal wave. The first year after the divorce was the hardest. Major companies saw “single father with a three-month-old infant” on my application and politely declined. I had to take cash-in-hand jobs at places with flexible, tolerant environments. A one-year-old is expensive and gets sick easily. Money disappeared as soon as it came in. I started working multiple jobs. I lived on coffee, often working around the clock, sleeping in my clothes. I had no one to rely on, not a single family member to give me a hand. My spirit was a rubber band stretched to its absolute limit. It was about to snap. My knees buckled. Victoria rushed to my side, her arms wrapping around me, her voice laced with a genuine, forgotten tenderness. “Liam. Liam, don’t think about it. I’m here now. I’ll protect you. I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” When I was a kid, other students used to taunt me for not having parents. Victoria would march right over and start a fight. I’d patch up her scrapes, and she’d make me the same promise, that she would protect me for life. But in the end, all the storms in my life had been brought by her. If she hadn’t lost everything, would she have ever remembered that old promise? 6 Victoria’s panic was palpable. She hoisted me up by my shoulders, trying to drag me. I was gasping for air, like a drowning man. She wanted to take me to the hospital. I pointed across the street to the bubble tea shop. “Just… get me a milk tea.” Half a cup of the warm, sugary drink later, the color returned to my face. It was a stress-induced condition, something akin to a panic attack. A little sugar, and it would pass. Victoria stared, dumbfounded. Then she said, “Well… I’ll take you out for a proper meal.” In her sixty-dollar sneakers, she started walking towards a high-end restaurant. I grabbed her arm. “Aren’t you broke? You need to save your money.” The confident stride faltered. She seemed to remember her role and tugged awkwardly at her cheap clothes. I found a hole-in-the-wall diner. Victoria’s expression was a mix of confusion and disgust. “Can you even eat food this cheap?” I understood. She and Ryan would order takeout that cost upwards of three hundred dollars. I used to be a delivery driver; I made a few bucks per order. I’d seen those expensive orders come through more than once, but I always passed them to my colleagues. The delivery address was my old home. I refused to serve my ex-wife and her lover. Now, Victoria devoured a five-dollar plate of beef stir-fry and two bowls of rice. “Ask Quinn,” I said, “if that house was registered under my name and Thea’s.” When she got the confirmation, a massive weight lifted from my chest. Thank God, Quinn was reliable. After we ate, I went straight to the County Registrar’s Office to report a lost deed. Forty minutes later, I had a new, official copy in my hand. Owners: Liam C. and Thea C. I ran my thumb over the crisp red cover. I felt grounded for the first time in years. Next, I stopped at a digital superstore. An hour later, I knocked on the penthouse door. “Sir, Ma’am, I’m very sorry, but this property belongs to me and my daughter. Your son has been illegally occupying it for four years. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Ryan’s parents weren’t malicious people, so I treated them with respect. When they saw the new deed, their faces went white. His father immediately called his son. “How could you take someone else’s house? You told us Victoria gave it to us out of respect! I’ve never taken a penny that wasn’t mine in my entire life. You’ve brought shame on this family.” From the other room, Victoria called out, “I gave you no such thing.” I twisted the knife. “He didn’t just steal the house. While my ex-wife was pregnant, your son interfered in our marriage, directly causing its collapse. After the divorce, he stole the settlement money and property that was meant for me and my daughter—the very home you’re living in. Because of him, my daughter and I have struggled for four years.” Ryan’s father’s eyes were wide with horror. He stomped his foot in anguish. I then showed him every single taunting message Ryan had sent me. I’d saved them all. Victoria’s ears turned bright red. She shrank away into a corner. So, the cheater was capable of shame after all. The Ryan in those messages was lewd, shameless, and arrogant. His father looked like he was about to have a stroke, crying out, “How did I raise such a shameless monster!” With that, he tried to kneel before me. “Young man, I am so sorry! Please accept my apology!” I helped him up. Ryan wasn’t here yet. It wasn’t time for kneeling. When Ryan arrived, he was greeted by several hard slaps from his father. Even after the beating, Ryan held his head high. “So what if I took his woman and his house? Is the world a fair place? Am I supposed to be like you, all high and mighty, and stay poor my whole life?” He looked from me to Victoria, not an ounce of remorse on his face, only a smug satisfaction. “Even without this place, I have four other properties, two luxury cars, and twenty million in the bank. Countless designer goods. Right now, I’m the richest person in this room!” “The two of you,” he sneered, “one is bankrupt, the other is a wage slave. You think you can fight me? Let’s see if you can even afford a lawyer. Let’s see how long you can last.” 7 Ryan’s audacity was unlike anything I had ever witnessed. Without him, my daughter should have been living like a princess, carefree and provided for. He was still gloating. “Liam, if you get on your knees right now and bow to me a hundred times, I’ll forgive you and your daughter.” Thump. Thump. With tears streaming down their faces, his parents fell to their knees before me, bowing their heads to the floor. “This is a sin! Young man, our whole family has wronged you. We failed as parents. We’ll move out immediately.” The scene stunned Ryan into silence. I didn’t tell the old couple to get up. Instead, I mirrored his earlier arrogance. “You see that? You hurt me and my daughter without a second thought, and the consequences fall on your parents.” “There’s nothing wrong with ambition. But ambition should drive you to work hard and succeed, not to abandon your morals for a shortcut. Anything given to you can be taken away at any moment.” Ryan’s face darkened. I suspected Victoria, for all her infatuation, hadn’t willingly gifted him every single car and property. He was preying on her weakness for him. I pressed my advantage. “You know why you can’t have a child? Because you built your life on my pain and suffering. You’ve severed your own fate with any future children. Even a soul would be too ashamed to be born to a father like you!” I’d noticed the herbal medicines at the villa the last time I was there. I had worked in an apothecary once; I recognized them immediately as fertility treatments. His deepest insecurity exposed, Ryan’s face contorted with rage. He lunged at me. Victoria, who had been silent until now, stepped between us, grabbing his arm. And that was all. Ryan smirked, looking at me with the confidence of a winner. Of course. Victoria had always been on his side. Unconditionally. The last time I’d forced Ryan to drink toilet water, she had rushed in and shoved me so hard my back slammed into the sink. I’d crumpled to the floor, the pain so sharp it took me five minutes to get up, watching helplessly as she fussed over him and led him away. Right or wrong, Victoria always left me to stand alone. My hope flickered and died. Even though I had given up on her long ago, a small part of me wished she would, for once, stand up for her own daughter. “Liam, I’ve got him. You hit him. Hit him until you’re satisfied.”

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My mother’s chemotherapy had failed. Her last wish was for one final family dinner. But on that day, my husband Julian’s new flame showed up at our door, pregnant and provocative. The shock was too much for my mother. Her condition worsened, and she passed away that same night. I called him again and again, but he never answered. It wasn’t until after I had arranged the funeral that he finally called back. “She’s just a kid, she doesn’t know any better,” he said, his tone dismissive. “You and your mom shouldn’t take it so seriously.” “Her emotions are all over the place because of the pregnancy. Don’t go looking for trouble with her.” “If you can’t accept her, I’ll make sure she never shows up in front of you again. But she’s the mother of my child, so I have to spend time with her. I’ll be home with you on the weekdays, and I’ll stay with her on the weekends.” Listening to his non-negotiable terms, I didn’t argue. I just gave a quiet “mm-hmm.” Then I turned back to my laptop and submitted my application to Doctors Without Borders. If the promises of our youth were now empty, then I would let him go. And I would let myself go, too. 1 As Julian laid out his new life plan, I calmly scrolled through the requirements for Doctors Without Borders. I met all of them. Without a second thought, I started filling out the application. When he finished speaking, he heard the faint tapping of my keyboard. “Anna, did you hear a word I said?” he asked, a note of annoyance in his voice. “Mm-hmm,” I murmured, a flat acknowledgment. He fell silent, clearly surprised by my easy compliance. After a long pause, he sighed. “Anna, if only you’d always been this agreeable.” His words made me freeze. I remembered the countless fights. In the five years we’d been married, a parade of women had shown up at my door. The first time it happened, I had shattered everything in our living room, screaming at him, demanding to know why he was doing this to me. Back then, his eyes were filled with nothing but exhaustion. “It was for work,” he’d insisted. “We were just playing a part. Nothing happened between us. How many times do I have to tell you that for you to believe me?” He was disappointed by my lack of trust, worn out by my willingness to believe others over him. Afterward, I hated myself. Maybe I was being paranoid. I apologized, begged for his forgiveness. But not long after, the tabloids exploded with photos of him and a famous actress entering a hotel together. I lost my mind again. All I wanted was an explanation. This time, his eyes were filled with disappointment. “Anna, in your eyes, am I really that untrustworthy? If that’s the case, then I’ll be exactly what you think I am.” From that day on, he stopped hiding. He was in the headlines with a different woman every week. I even saw him with my own eyes once, kissing a woman passionately in his car. When I confronted him, he no longer offered explanations. He just met my rage with silence. I’ve lost count of how many times we’ve fought over the past five years. All I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion. I had thought about divorcing him, about ending this tragic, ridiculous marriage. But my mother’s greatest wish was to see me happy. She was suffering so much already; I couldn’t bear to add to her pain. So I endured. I ignored everything related to Julian, turned a blind eye to the women who showed up at our door. I thought that by doing so, I could maintain the illusion of happiness. But just before she passed, my mother, her body withered to almost nothing, lay in her hospital bed, tears streaming down her face. “My dear girl,” she whispered, “it’s all my fault… I just wanted you to be happy… If you’re unhappy, you have to let yourself go…” Her last wish had changed from a simple family dinner to my happiness. Thinking of her final words, my eyes welled up. “Julian,” I asked, my voice trembling, “you can’t give me the happiness I want anymore, can you?” 2 He didn’t answer my question directly. He just sighed. “Anna, we’re almost thirty. We need to be more mature. Love… it’s not that important anymore.” It was his way of telling me he didn’t love me. I understood. A laugh escaped my lips, but it was hollow, laced with the sound of a sob. “Okay,” I said. “Then I’ll let you go. And I’ll let myself go.” The moment I said the words, my heart clenched. Five years ago, Julian had said something similar to me. We were living in a tiny, dark apartment, and the only ring he could afford was a simple silver band. He had proposed with such earnest devotion. “Anna, I promise you, wherever I am, that will be your home. I will build you a safe harbor, a place where you will never suffer again. For the rest of your life, you will only know happiness.” I believed him. I said yes. He had reacted like a child given the most precious gift in the world. “Anna,” he’d exclaimed, “from now on, you are my wife! We will never be apart! Don’t you ever think I’ll let you go!” But now, he had forgotten his promise. After I spoke, he didn’t argue. He just said, “Okay. But don’t worry, the title of Mrs. Vance will always be yours. No one can ever take your place.” When we were first married, hearing someone call me Mrs. Vance filled me with pride. Now, the title was just a bitter irony. Since his affairs became public, I was the object of pity in our social circle. Someone had even sneered at me once. “The way Mr. Vance goes through women, who knows how long you’ll be Mrs. Vance. You should try to have a baby while you still can. At least you’ll get a bigger settlement when he divorces you.” “If she could have a baby, don’t you think she would have by now? It’s been five years. I bet she’s barren. That’s why she can’t hold on to him.” They didn’t know that in our first year of marriage, I had been pregnant with our child. Julian was at a networking dinner, and some clients were deliberately trying to humiliate him, forcing him to drink. To close the deal, he endured it all with a smile. I had just finished dinner with some colleagues and saw the whole thing. My heart ached for him. I saw the pain on his face, the way he held his stomach, and I went to get him out of there. But the clients jeered. They said if I drank a glass of whiskey, they’d sign the contract and even pay for our ride home. I knew how much that contract meant to Julian. I couldn’t bear to see him fail. So I took the glass and drank it all. That day, he got the deal he’d been working so hard for. And we lost our first child. After that, no matter how hard we tried, no matter how many doctors we saw, I never got pregnant again. Maybe it was God’s punishment for not protecting my baby. Maybe I just didn’t deserve to be a mother. As Julian’s words hung in the air, a tear I’d been holding back finally fell, landing hot on the back of my cold hand. 3 After my mother’s funeral, I went back to work at the hospital. My mentor, Dr. Evans, had heard about my application to Doctors Without Borders. “Anna,” she said, her voice gentle, “are you sure about this? The next deployment is to a country in the middle of a war. You’ll be facing gunfire every day.” “I’m sure, Dr. Evans. I’ve wanted to do this for a long time. I just never had the chance.” Before, I couldn’t leave my sick mother. I couldn’t leave Julian. Now, my mother was gone. And the Julian who had loved me was gone, too. I had no reason to stay. One place was the same as another. I might as well do something meaningful. Seeing my determination, she didn’t press the issue. She gave me a few words of advice and left my office. Just as she walked out, Julian walked in. “Where did you just say you wanted to go?” he asked, a frown on his face. I paused what I was doing and looked up at him. “Traveling,” I said calmly. “I haven’t really gone anywhere since I started working.” He knew that in college, I was always taking trips with my friends. He didn’t seem suspicious. “That’s a good idea,” he said. “It’ll be good for you. Oh, by the way, Noelle needs to come to this hospital for a prenatal check-up. Can you arrange a time for her?” He was so direct. Not even a hint of pretense. A sharp pain lanced through me. I thought of the child we had lost. I wanted to scream at him, to ask him if he ever thought of our baby while he was so eagerly awaiting this one. But I bit back the words. What was the point? The past was the past. He had probably forgotten anyway. I swallowed the lump in my throat. “All the doctors at this hospital are very responsible. You can just book an appointment and wait in line like everyone else.” Just then, a familiar figure appeared at the door. Noelle, her baby bump prominent, walked in and took Julian’s arm. “Julian, honey,” she said, her voice a wounded whisper, “does Dr. Hayes not want to help us? It’s all my fault, I forgot to make an appointment. I’m so sorry to waste your time.” Julian didn’t push her away. He gently squeezed her hand. “It’s no waste of time to be with you and our baby. If she won’t help, it’s fine. I’ll wait with you.” He saw the fatigue in her eyes, leaned in, and kissed her forehead, murmuring words of comfort. The tender scene was like a knife in my heart. There was a time when he had been that gentle with me. He would make silly faces to cheer me up, spend all his money on a necklace I wanted just to see me smile. He used to say that whatever other girls had, I would have too. He worked so hard, and no matter how exhausted he was, he would come home with a smile, telling me funny stories about his day. He’d stay up late just to listen to me talk, even when he could barely keep his eyes open. He said it made him feel complete. I don’t know when it changed, but we went from having endless conversations to sitting in silence. I looked away. I couldn’t watch anymore. But Julian seemed to remember something. “What happened the other day was Noelle’s fault,” he said. “I had someone buy some gifts. We’ll bring them to your mom later to apologize.” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice flat. “She doesn’t need them anymore.” 4 The day my mother died, I had called him countless times. All I got was a cold, mechanical voice on the other end. With each unanswered call, my initial rage slowly cooled into a numb emptiness. I had thought about hunting them down, making them pay for what they did to my mother. But whenever I closed my eyes, I heard her last words. She told me not to blame anyone, not to live with hatred. She wanted to see me free, happy, living my life to the fullest. And I would honor her wish. Julian, however, misunderstood my words. He thought I was still holding a grudge against Noelle. “Anna,” he said, his brow furrowed, “you don’t need to hold on to such a small thing. It’s in the past.” It was in the past for him. For me, it would never be. I looked at him, my eyes cold. “My mother is gone. You won’t be able to find her.” “Anna! Don’t be ridiculous! She’s your mother, how can you say such things? She’s so sick, where else would she be but the hospital?” My mother had treated him better than she treated me. She always saved the best for him. When his business was failing, she had given him her life savings to pull him out of debt. And because of him, she couldn’t even die in peace. Noelle chimed in. “Dr. Hayes, I know you and your mother are upset with me. I apologize, okay? Julian is really worried about her. Can’t you just stop being difficult?” “You don’t have the right to speak her name!” Hearing her mention my mother, the dam of my anger finally broke. “Get out! I don’t want to see you!” I stood up, pointing to the door. Julian immediately moved to shield her, as if I were going to attack her. His eyes turned cold. “Anna, throwing a patient out of your office… is this your idea of professional ethics?” He pulled out his phone and, right in front of me, dialed the hospital’s complaint line. “I’d like to report Dr. Anna Hayes in surgery for a serious breach of medical ethics…” He was going to teach me a lesson, he said. Watching him, my calm facade finally cracked. He didn’t wait for me to say anything. He just turned and left with Noelle. As they walked out, she looked back over her shoulder and gave me a triumphant smile. See? it said. He’s on my side. You’ve lost. Soon after, I received an official warning from the hospital administration. When Dr. Evans heard, she helped me appeal to the board, and they allowed me to take an early leave to prepare for my deployment. After completing the paperwork, I went home. Julian wasn’t there, but his social media was constantly updated. A picture of Noelle’s ultrasound, sharing his joy about becoming a father. A photo of the nursery he was putting together himself, with the caption: “Come out soon, little one. Mommy and Daddy can’t wait to meet you.” He hadn’t blocked me from seeing his posts. I stared at the screen for a moment, then calmly liked his latest post. When I checked again later, I found that he had blocked me. I wasn’t angry. I opened his profile and, just as he had done to me, I blocked him. From now on, we would be strangers. For the next few days, Julian felt a persistent sense of unease. He was so distracted he didn’t even hear Noelle when she called his name. He chalked it up to the guilt of not visiting my mother. One day, he left work early and bought a basket of expensive gifts, heading straight for the hospital. But a nurse told him, “Dr. Hayes’s mother? She passed away a few days ago. We were the ones who took her to the crematorium. You’re her son-in-law… didn’t you know?”

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At a party with my fiancée Jenna and her friends, she said she had to step out. Two hours later, she still wasn’t back. As I went to look for her, I heard her best friends speaking in Spanish—a language they thought I didn’t understand. “This idiot has no idea he’s being cheated on,” one laughed. Another added, “I bet Jenna and Leo are really going at it. She said Creed isn’t as big as Leo anyway. Poor fool—we’re tearing him apart and he doesn’t even know.” I stood frozen, my mind blank. Just then, Jenna walked in, flushed and satisfied. “How was it?” her friend asked in Spanish. “A thrill?” “Completely,” Jenna replied huskily. “I couldn’t get enough.” 1 Leo followed her in, casually draping an arm over her shoulder like he always did—the quintessential guy-best-friend. But now, I saw it. A cluster of angry purple hickeys blooming on the pale skin of her neck. I collapsed back onto the sofa, the air punched from my lungs. A cold wave of despair washed over me. Her friends, like a pack of hyenas, kept prodding her in Spanish, demanding details of her tryst. Jenna, perhaps pricked by a sliver of guilt, instinctively pushed Leo’s hand away and glanced at me. She crossed the room and sat down beside me. “Hey, what are you so nervous about?” one of her friends teased. “He can’t understand a word we’re saying. If we were speaking French or something, then you’d have to worry!” “Yeah, with Spanish, he’s totally lost. Right, guys? Hahaha!” “You all are so mean, ganging up on the poor gringo.” Hearing that, Jenna seemed to relax. She leaned in and pressed a light, meaningless kiss to my lips. “Creed, honey, don’t mind them,” she said in English. “We all grew up together, so we always slip back into Spanish when we’re hanging out. It’s just a habit.” My hand, hidden by my side, clenched into a fist so tight my knuckles ached. What they didn’t know was that my mother is from Puerto Rico. I grew up speaking Spanish. I understood every damn word. Seeing my silence, they took it as indifference and dove back into their game. “Come on, Jenna, tell the truth. Is Leo bigger than him? I’ve got money riding on this.” Jenna’s lips curved into a smug smile. “Of course, he is.” Friend #1: “Look at that satisfied glow. You’re practically purring.” Friend #2: “God, this is so much fun! Who knew our secret language would be this useful? Look at that idiot, just sitting there like a lost puppy, not understanding a thing.” Leo shot me a look of pure contempt and then mouthed to Jenna. “Jenna, just marry me. Why are you with him?” Jenna just laughed, her hand moving to my shoulder, kneading the tense muscle as she spoke in a mocking tone. “Marry you? Don’t be ridiculous.” “I know the difference between reality and a good time. You’re for fun, Leo. A thrill. You’re my stress relief in bed. But Creed… Creed is the one I love.” “Could you put me first in everything? Could you treat me like a princess? No. You have a temper. Only Creed can do that. I had a fever once when he was on a business trip overseas, and one phone call had him on the next flight back.” The memory, which once warmed me, now felt like acid in my veins. All my devotion, all my love… and this is how she repaid me. With betrayal. “Shit,” Leo suddenly said. “I forgot to wear a condom. You might be in trouble.” “Damn it, Leo! How could you be so stupid? Go buy me a Plan B, now!” “Hey,” he said with a wicked grin. “Why don’t we make Creed go? If we’re going to play, let’s go all the way.” “You…” Leo picked up his wine glass and downed it in one go, a silent declaration that he was in no condition to drive. In the end, Jenna turned to me. “Creed, honey, could you run to the pharmacy for me? I need you to pick up a box of the morning-after pill. We might… need it tonight.” 2 The knuckles of my clenched fist cracked. There wasn’t a decent person in the entire room. I had so badly misjudged Jenna. In the three years we’d known each other, she’d cultivated this image of a sweet, innocent girl. She’d always said that cheating was the one thing she could never forgive. It was all a lie. She was the cheater. I lifted my head, my eyes locking with hers. The cold fury in my gaze must have startled her, because her smile faltered. “Creed? What’s wrong? Are you not feeling well?” She reached out to touch my forehead, but the lingering scent of another man on her skin made me recoil in disgust. “Jenna,” I said, my voice flat. “I think we need to postpone the wedding.” Real panic flashed in her eyes. She grabbed my arm. “Creed, what are you talking about?” I pulled my arm free. A bitter smile touched my lips. “Don’t worry. It’s not a big deal.” “I just think… we’re rushing things. We’re still young. Maybe you should have some more fun before we talk about settling down.” Her panic melted into a relieved, radiant smile. She threw her arms around me, burying her head in my chest. “I knew you were the best,” she murmured. “Thank you for always thinking of me.” She had no idea that I was already done with her. She shot a triumphant look over my shoulder at Leo and her friends. “Wow, what a keeper! A real simp.” “His ancestors must be so proud.” They were laughing at me, calling me a fool, a pushover. I didn’t care. Let them laugh. Anyone who makes a fool out of me will end up becoming the joke themselves. I turned and walked out the door to buy her damn pill. The moment I was gone, I heard them fall into each other’s arms, the sound of their passionate kissing echoing in the hall. “Damn, girl. Two guys at once. Only you could pull that off.” “Oh, shut up. Like you’re any different.” “Well, I’ve got to go. My god-tier hookup is waiting for me at the hotel, all showered and ready.” Hearing that, I quickened my pace. Outside, the sky had opened up. Rain soaked through my clothes, leaving me looking as pathetic as I felt. When I returned with the pills, the room was filled with raucous laughter. They all looked at me, not a trace of shame on their faces, and continued their conversation in Spanish. “How about we go hiking tomorrow?” “Ugh, no. Too much effort.” “It won’t be tiring if we find a quiet spot off the trail,” Leo said with a wink. “For some… exploring.” He nudged Jenna’s foot with his, and her eyes lit up. They all watched me, their smiles dripping with condescension, treating me like their personal plaything. The next day, Jenna took me on a trip to a state park outside the city, saying we were going to go hiking. At the trailhead, her friends were already joking around. “You guys are wild,” one said in Spanish. “Bringing Creed along while you two sneak off? Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out?” “If we don’t tell him, who will? It’s not like he knows the trails.” “That’s what makes it so thrilling! The risk, the danger! Hahaha!” With that, Jenna grabbed my hand and led me down the path. It wasn’t long before she stopped, feigning an upset stomach. “I need to find a bathroom, quick. Can you wait here and make sure no one comes this way?” A dull, numb ache spread through my chest. I couldn’t believe the woman I loved could be so shameless. She was carrying a backpack, and I knew what was inside. Lingerie. Toys. I had heard her packing it last night while I pretended to be asleep, whispering to Leo on the phone about what positions they should try. I hadn’t slept a wink. Instead, I had sent a message to my boss. I told her I was ready to take the transfer to the Paris office. I was moving to France. I would never see Jenna again. 3 She was practically bouncing on her feet with anticipation. Watching her hurry away, my heart twisted. I followed her, keeping a safe distance, and hid behind a large oak tree. And there, I watched it all unfold. I watched Jenna and Leo tangle together on a blanket spread over the grass. She pulled out a slinky, silk nightgown. Leo told her he wanted to be the one to put it on her. Their shameless laughter echoed through the woods as they began their sordid affair. Jenna kissed him fiercely. “The grass is kind of scratchy,” she complained. Leo just chuckled, nipping at her ear. “You have to try everything once, right? Isn’t this kind of thrill what you live for?” “You’re terrible!” “Hahaha! And that idiot has no idea. He’s standing guard for us right now, completely clueless.” “You’re so bad! Making me do this. If Creed finds out, you’re in deep trouble.” “Oh, you wouldn’t let anything happen to me. You’d miss this way too much.” I stood frozen, a wave of disbelief washing over me. Hearing them describe it was one thing, but seeing it with my own eyes… the pain was a physical, stabbing sensation that no one else could possibly understand. “Okay, we need to hurry,” Jenna said after a while. “Creed’s still waiting.” “No way. I’m not done with you yet.” I had never seen this side of her. So wild, so unrestrained. I couldn’t watch anymore. I turned to leave. My mind was a chaotic mess. I took a wrong step, my foot slipping on the muddy ground, and I tumbled down a steep embankment. My reflexes kicked in, and my hand shot out, grabbing hold of a thick tree root just in time. “Help!” I yelled, my voice raw. “Somebody, help me!” I shouted until my throat was hoarse, hoping they would hear me. Nothing. Gritting my teeth, I held onto the root with one hand and fumbled for my phone with the other. I called Jenna. It rang and rang. She was lost in her own world of pleasure. Finally, just as I was about to lose hope, she answered, her voice thick with annoyance. “Creed? I’m kind of busy right now. Don’t call me, you’re ruining the mood. My stomach hurts.” “I don’t know, I must have eaten something bad last night.” I didn’t waste time. “Jenna, you need to come help me. I fell. I’m about to fall off the ledge.” Her response was cold and dismissive. “Oh, stop being so dramatic. It’s not that steep. You city boys are always so delicate.” My grip was failing. The root snapped. I plunged downwards, tumbling over and over, my body slamming against rocks and earth until I finally came to a stop. A searing pain shot through my leg. It was covered in blood. I nearly passed out. Through the haze of pain, I realized the call was still connected. I could hear Jenna’s soft moans through the phone. She must have heard my screams, the sickening thud of my landing, and she had done nothing. Her priorities were clear. Between love and lust, she had chosen lust. In that moment, something inside me died. I closed my eyes, my face a mask of ashes. I was done with her. Completely and utterly done. 4 She never came looking for me. It grew dark. She never called to see if I was okay. I dragged my broken body down the mountain, step by agonizing step. It was an ambulance, called by another hiker, that finally took me away. Jenna and her friends were long gone. It wasn’t until late that night that she finally remembered me. When she called, her voice was dripping with accusation. “Creed, where are you?” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?” “You went to ‘find a bathroom’ and disappeared for hours. What was I supposed to think?” The anger I had suppressed for so long finally boiled over. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you accusing me of something? After I was done, I came back to find you, but you were gone! I looked everywhere. I lost cell service. I was worried sick! I even fell and hurt my leg looking for you!” Hah. She hurt her leg looking for me. The irony was suffocating. I told her which hospital I was in. Less than half an hour later, she limped into my room, followed by Leo and her pack of loyal friends. Seeing my bandaged leg, Jenna’s face crumpled with guilt. “Oh, Creed, I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I never should have dragged you out there.” She leaned over me. “Does it still hurt? I’m not leaving your side. I’m staying right here with you.” But I couldn’t stand the sight of her. The thought of her touch made my skin crawl. She wouldn’t let go, hugging me tightly, as if her performance of regret could undo the damage. I couldn’t push her away, so I relented. “You’re hurt too. You should get some rest.” “No, my injury is nothing. I only care about you.” Her persistence was exhausting. I finally gave in. Thinking my anger had subsided, she let go and started peeling an apple for me. As she fed me slices, she started chattering with her friends in Spanish. “Luckily, I’m smart enough to fake a limp. It makes me look pathetic. It’s the perfect excuse for taking so long.” “Tsk, you’re a genius.” “I know, right? Look at my Creed. He’s already forgotten all about yesterday.” “That damn simp. He forgave you that quickly.” “Of course, he did. Because my Creed loves me.” My body went rigid. The air in my lungs turned to stone. Why was her entire life a lie? For a fleeting moment, I had almost believed she was really hurt, had almost considered forgiving her. I was a fool. This woman was incapable of telling the truth. Then, right there in front of me, they started reliving their little adventure in the woods, laughing about the details. They bragged about their sexual histories, throwing condescending glances my way. The day I was discharged from the hospital was the day of our engagement party. Jenna was breathtaking in a stunning evening gown. Leo stood right behind her. He took her hand, his voice laced with emotion. “Jenna, are you really going to marry him? What about me? What am I?” “You’re my plaything.” “But I love you.” “And I love Creed more. After we’re married, this is over between us. I’m going to change. I’m going to be a good wife.” I watched the scene on the security monitor in my apartment as I packed my last suitcase and chatted on the phone with my boss. “The flight leaves in about two hours. I’m heading out now. See you in Paris.” I hung up, zipped my suitcase, and walked out without a backward glance. But before I left, I had one last gift for Jenna. At the party, Jenna was growing anxious, constantly scanning the crowd for me. She pulled out her phone, but before she could dial, my best friend, Mark, intercepted her, a glass of champagne in his hand. “Congratulations, Jenna!” he said with a wide grin. “My buddy Creed… he takes relationships very seriously. Don’t you worry, he’ll be here on time.” He paused, then added, “Oh, but he does have one flaw. He absolutely cannot stand betrayal.” Jenna managed a tight, forced smile. Just as she was about to reply, Mark snapped his fingers. “I almost forgot to tell you the craziest thing! We’re all from the same area, you know? Creed too. Before he moved to New York, he grew up in the same region as you. His town was right next to yours.” “Look, here’s a copy of his old ID. I’m not kidding. I can even prove it.” And then, Mark switched to fluent, perfect Spanish.

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I had just flown back to the city after finishing my design degree abroad. The moment I landed, my grandfather informed me that a marriage had been arranged for me since birth. He promptly dragged me to the Ashworth estate to finalize the engagement. I got bored listening to the old men drone on, so I slipped out to wander through the family’s sprawling gardens. Suddenly, a woman stormed up to me and slapped me hard across the face. “Who the hell are you, you little tramp? How dare you steal my things!” I cupped my stinging cheek, staring at her in shock. She tilted her head back, her voice dripping with the kind of arrogance that sounded like charity. “That ruby on your finger? That was a birthday gift from Mr. Ashworth himself! Can a little charity case like you even afford to wear something like that?” My mouth fell open. I was about to tell her it was mine when she slapped me again, even harder this time. “Do you have any idea who I am? I am the future Mrs. Ashworth! This entire estate will be mine one day!” I pulled out my phone, and right in front of her, I sent a message to the contact saved as “Fiancé.” “Stanley Ashworth, there’s a rabid dog in your garden. Are you going to handle it, or should I?” 1 To my surprise, the message was immediately followed by a red exclamation mark. I almost laughed. The engagement wasn’t even official, and he’d already blocked me. “Where did you sneak in from? Give Miss Vance back her property this instant!” An older maid rushed toward me, but I sidestepped her easily. “I am an honored guest of the Ashworth family,” I said, my voice cold. “Is this how you treat your guests?” Penelope Vance scoffed and pulled out her own phone, dialing the man who was supposed to be my fiancé. A deep, smooth voice answered on the first ring. “What is it, Penny?” Not bad, I thought. He has a nice voice. Grandfather has good taste, at least in that. “Stanley, darling! There’s some wretched girl who snuck into your house claiming to be a guest, and she stole the ring you gave me!” I cut through her sickeningly sweet tone before he could get the wrong idea. “Mr. Ashworth, my name is Seraphina Blackwood. I’m your fiancée.” He paused for a beat, as if trying to place the name. When he spoke again, his voice was laced with ice. “What fiancée? No one enters the Ashworth estate without an invitation. Otherwise, you’ll be dealt with as a trespasser.” Then, his tone melted back to honey. “Penny, don’t be upset. It’s just a ring. I’ll buy you a new one when I get back.” This pigeon’s blood ruby was my parents’ engagement ring. There wasn’t another one like it in the entire world. As I was seriously reconsidering the wisdom of this alliance, Penelope was bent over laughing, her eyes raking over me with contempt. “You? Look at you! Your clothes don’t even have a brand name! And you have the nerve to call yourself Stanley’s fiancée? That’s hilarious!” I had been studying fashion design abroad. The clothes I was wearing were my own creations, of course they didn’t have a label. My designs were already sought after by socialites across Europe, but this woman didn’t recognize them. It made me question her credentials. Her little scene had ruined my mood. I turned to leave. Penelope blocked my path. “Didn’t you hear Stanley? You need an invitation to be here! You claim to be a guest? Where is it?” I rolled my eyes and dug into my pockets, but came up empty. I suddenly remembered my grandfather saying we wouldn’t need one. She saw my hesitation, and her smirk widened. “I knew it! You’re a liar! Guards! Get the ring off her finger, tie her up, and throw her out!” I shielded the ring with one hand and took a step back, my expression hardening. Several household staff members approached me, one of them speaking with a hint of pity. “Miss, you should just give the ring back to Miss Vance. If you don’t, you won’t even know what hit you.” “Yeah, that ring is a symbol of their love. Mr. Ashworth and Miss Vance grew up together. He won’t spare you when he finds out.” “I saw it with my own eyes. A guy once spilled a drink on Miss Vance’s dress. The next day, his hand was just… gone.” The staff’s warnings only fueled Penelope’s sneer. “Did you hear that? Now, get on your knees, place this ring respectfully in my hand, and then get the hell out of here. Otherwise, you’ll end up just like the man who dirtied my dress.” 2 In my entire life, I had only ever seen people kneel before me. The last person who dared to speak to me like that has been fertilizing a patch of daisies for years. I stepped forward and slapped Penelope across the face. Her head snapped to the side, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You dare hit me?!” she shrieked, clutching her cheek and ordering the maids to attack. A smirk played on my lips. Before I went abroad, my grandfather, fearing I’d be vulnerable on my own, had personally arranged for me to be trained in Krav Maga. A few beefy housekeepers were nothing. A few quick strikes sent them stumbling back, dazed and confused. “Pathetic,” I muttered, shaking out my slightly numb fist. I turned to leave, ignoring Penelope’s enraged screams. Suddenly, one of the maids shouted, “Mr. Ashworth is back!” I looked up to see a man in a perfectly tailored suit striding toward us, his face a mask of cold fury. In an instant, Penelope’s vicious expression melted away, replaced by one of heartbreaking fragility. She threw herself into Stanley Ashworth’s arms. “Stanley, darling! You’re finally back! I was being bullied so horribly!” I had to admit, Stanley Ashworth was handsome enough to be a movie star. It was a shame that, knowing full well he was engaged to me, he was now cradling his childhood sweetheart with such tender concern. I curled my lip in disgust. I needed to call my grandfather and tell him this wedding was absolutely, unequivocally off. I ignored their little melodrama and headed for the garden exit. “Stop right there,” Stanley’s voice cut through the air, cold as steel. “You think you can just walk away after touching my woman?” He didn’t even look at me, his attention focused on gently wiping away Penelope’s tears. From behind him, several large bodyguards moved to block my path. I let out a resigned sigh and turned back to him. “Mr. Ashworth, my grandfather is currently in your grandfather’s study discussing our engagement. If they were to find out about this, it wouldn’t look good for you, would it?” At the mention of his grandfather, the maids’ expressions flickered. “What? Is she really his fiancée?” “Who cares? Look how protective he is of Miss Vance. This engagement might not even happen.” “Exactly. We’d better not say the wrong thing and get on Miss Vance’s bad side. With her temper, she’ll make our lives a living hell.” The word “engagement” seemed to enrage Stanley even more. His face darkened. “What engagement? I never agreed to anything. Besides, my grandfather adores me. He would never force me to marry some nobody from God knows where.” Penelope looked up from his embrace, her eyes gleaming with triumph. “Stanley and I are childhood sweethearts. What right does a common thief have to the title of Mrs. Ashworth?” I nodded slowly. A scumbag and a shrew. They were made for each other. Let them be locked together forever so they couldn’t inflict themselves on anyone else. Still, my grandfather had told me that of all the families who had sought an alliance with ours, the Ashworths had put in the most effort. I had met the elder Mr. Ashworth a few times; he was a kind man. I could only imagine the storm that would erupt when he found out his grandson had single-handedly destroyed the union he had worked so hard to secure. But there was nothing to be done about it. Sometimes a fine bamboo stalk produces a rotten shoot. 3 I shook my head with a sense of pity and was about to leave for good when Penelope shrieked again. “Don’t let her go! The ruby ring you gave me is still on her hand!” At Stanley’s signal, his bodyguards seized me, their hands grabbing for the ring without a shred of gentleness. But the ring had been custom-fitted to my finger. They pulled and twisted, but it wouldn’t budge. “Penelope,” I said, a mocking tone in my voice, “if this ring is yours, why does it fit my finger so perfectly?” My taunt only enraged her further. She shook Stanley’s arm. “She’s fatter than me, obviously! She must have forced it on, and now it’s stuck!” “Then use a power drill!” My face paled. This was bad. I hadn’t brought my own security today. Stanley’s bodyguards were big, and there were too many of them. I fought back, but they quickly found an opening and pinned me to the ground. Penelope crouched in front of me, her eyes alight with manic glee. Her blood-red nails dug into my chin. “Not so tough now, are you?” She slapped me with all her might. The grit from the garden path scraped against my skin, drawing blood. Stanley stared down at me for a moment, a cold smile playing on his lips. “Penny, did you hurt your hand? Want to see something more fun?” Her eyes lit up. “Tie her to the boat in the middle of the pond!” My eyes widened in horror. I looked at Stanley’s face, which was twisted with a strange excitement. Did he know something? “No! You’ll regret this!” I screamed. Penelope’s voice was a cocktail of disdain and thrill. “Regret? That word isn’t in my vocabulary. But you? You’re about to regret ever touching what’s mine.” The guards dragged me to the ornamental pond in the center of the garden and threw me into a rickety old boat, tying me down with coarse rope. Before I could even open my eyes, they flipped me onto my stomach. A high-pitched whirring sound filled the air as a power saw descended toward my hand. A searing pain shot up my arm, and I screamed. Blood splattered onto the pigeon’s blood ruby, making it gleam with a sinister light. “Oh dear, looks like another one’s about to learn a lesson the hard way.” “Such a pretty girl, too. Had to be stubborn. Now Mr. Ashworth won’t let her off. She’ll lose a finger, at least.” “It’s too brutal. I can’t watch.” The maids and servants chattered on the edge of the pond, but their voices were a distant buzz. The pain made me thrash wildly. The old, dilapidated boat rocked violently, slapping against the water. The scene was horribly reminiscent of the night my parents died at sea. A deep-seated terror clawed its way out from the recesses of my mind. My face turned ashen. My hands, acting on their own, flew up to clutch my head as fresh blood from my finger trickled down my cheek. “No! Please! Let me off this boat!” But Penelope and Stanley just stood on the shore, watching the spectacle as if it were a play. He even kicked the boat, sending it drifting toward the center of the pond. I forced my eyes open and saw Penelope clutching the ring, her face a mask of triumph. Stanley had his arm around her, whispering, “That ring is tainted with her filthy blood now. Throw it away. I’ll buy you a new one.” And then, as I screamed, they casually tossed my parents’ ring into the murky water. “Stanley Ashworth! Aren’t you afraid of what my grandfather will do to you?!” 4 He just laughed, his eyes full of contempt, as if he were looking at a piece of trash. “Your grandfather? Who the hell is he to demand an accounting from me?” “Your family is just you and that old fossil now, isn’t it?” “She was bad luck enough to get her own parents killed, and he actually wants me to marry her? In his dreams!” His words—get her own parents killed—were a dagger to my heart. My pupils constricted. On my eighth birthday, my parents were supposed to be on a cruise, coming home to celebrate with me. But a storm had rolled in. The captain of our yacht advised them to wait it out in port. But I had called them, crying, telling them how much I missed them. So they took a smaller boat, determined to make it back for me. Just as they were nearing the shore, a freak squall hit. A fifteen-foot rogue wave crashed over them. Right in front of my eyes, their boat capsized and disappeared into the churning sea. The scene flashed before my eyes, triggered by Stanley’s cruel words. I curled into a ball on the boat, trembling uncontrollably, tears streaming down my face. All I could do was whisper the same words over and over. “Daddy… Mommy… I’m so sorry. I don’t want you to come back for my birthday anymore…” Penelope clapped her hands, delighted by my suffering. “So she’s a jinx! No wonder she has such a foul aura! Stanley, darling, we should stay far away from her, or her bad luck might rub off on us!” Abroad, no one knew my past, so it was never mentioned. At home, to protect me from the pain, my grandfather had forbidden anyone from speaking of it. He’d even had the lake on our estate filled in. The guilt and grief I had suppressed for so long erupted now, a toxic volcano of self-loathing. I felt an overwhelming urge to throw myself into the water and atone for my sins. Suddenly, my phone rang. It was the custom ringtone I had set for my grandfather. A sliver of clarity pierced through the fog of my despair. The Blackwood family was just me and him now. He had already suffered the agony of burying his own children. If I left him, too… I couldn’t bear to think of the consequences. I took a deep breath, fighting down the impulse, and struggled to reach for my phone. But Penelope saw. She ordered one of the guards to throw a rock at me. My body, weakened by the sudden depressive episode, was trembling uncontrollably. The rock hit its mark. My phone flew from my grasp, its screen flickering twice before going dark as it sank into the pond. The rock had also punched two large holes in the bottom of the boat. Icy water seeped through my clothes, making me shudder. “Seraphina Blackwood, weren’t you just dying to join your parents? I’m giving you the chance! You should be thanking me!” Stanley stood with his arms crossed, watching coldly as I began to sink. “And that old geezer of a grandfather of yours… when he gets here, I’ll send your whole family down for a reunion!” I struggled weakly, but it was no use. My mind screamed one last, silent apology. Grandfather… I’m sorry… Just as the water closed over my nose, I heard the sound of familiar footsteps approaching. A heavy, sandalwood cane swung through the air. A voice like thunder roared, “I’d like to see who plans on sending my family to their graves!”

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At my own lavish, once-in-a-lifetime wedding, my sister drugged herself with an aphrodisiac and begged me to “lend” her my new husband, a decorated military major general. I called her childhood friend to help. But when my sister, Julia, woke up and realized it wasn’t Captain Hayes beside her, she threw herself from a balcony in a fit of shame and fury. James Hayes didn’t blame me. He treated me the same as he always had. Racked with guilt, I sang his praises to my father, the Commander in Chief of the armed forces. But the day he was promoted to General, the very first thing he did was have his men force-feed me the same drug and dump me in an enemy encampment. “If it weren’t for you, Julia would never have suffered like that,” he hissed, his face a mask of hatred. “You’re going to pay for it a thousand times over.” I was tortured to death, my body and the baby inside me cremated as a sacrifice on my sister’s altar. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on my wedding day, my sister weeping at my feet, begging me to give her James. 1. “Please, Ava, I’m begging you. If word of this gets out, how could the Thorne family ever show its face in public again? And it happened at your wedding, of all places. We’re family, just… just lend me your husband this one time…?” My sister’s face was flushed a deeper red than a boiled lobster. She clung to my leg, her pleas a desperate, shameless whimper. I stared down at her, my disgust a cold, hard knot in my stomach as I wrenched my leg free. In my last life, her tears had thrown me into a panic. I’d been desperate to protect her reputation, to spare her the embarrassment of facing James again. So I had called her childhood friend, the man she’d secretly loved for years, to help. But when Julia woke up the next morning, she flew into a rage, blaming me for everything before making a grand, public spectacle of leaping from a balcony. James had said nothing. I thought he was unaffected. But on the day of his promotion to General—a promotion I had helped him secure—he gave the order. His men forced an aphrodisiac down my throat and threw me to our enemies. As I was defiled, my flesh carved from my bones, I saw him watching, his face twisted with a sick, triumphant hatred. “After what you did to Julia,” he spat, “no amount of suffering is enough for you.” The sound of hurried footsteps pulled me back to the present. James, still in his groom’s tuxedo, appeared in the doorway. His eyes, when they fell on Julia, were filled with an unmistakable ache. The moment Julia saw him, she scrambled across the floor, sobbing, and clutched his leg. “Help me…” she whimpered, her face burning with a mixture of shame and desperate need. A dark blush crept up James’s neck. He shot a glance at me, his jaw tight. “…Ava and I just finished our wedding ceremony. This isn’t right.” He said the words, but his tone was a lie. He was practically vibrating with the desire to pounce on her. He tugged at the collar of his uniform as if it were a noose, and the look he gave me was filled with resentment and disgust. A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. They were so obvious. How had I been so blind? This time, I would give them exactly what they wanted. “It doesn’t matter,” I said, my voice flat. “We’re both the Commander’s daughters. Marrying one is the same as marrying the other. You can always have another wedding.” James’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with shock. He clearly hadn’t expected the woman who had been so ecstatic to marry him just hours before to say something like this. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. He didn’t have time to think. Hearing my permission, Julia grew bolder, wrapping herself around his neck like an octopus and pulling him down for a kiss. James shot me one last, fleeting glance before his face turned beet red. He swept Julia into his arms and carried her into the adjoining room, shutting the door behind them. I stared at the closed door, my expression blank. My reflection in the nearby mirror showed a woman in a magnificent white gown. A laugh bubbled up from my chest. Hilarious. Utterly, ridiculously hilarious. I turned to my assistant, who was frozen in place, speechless with shock. “Help me out of this dress,” I said. I pulled out my phone and sent a single, public message announcing that the wedding was off. Then, after months of nonstop, frantic wedding preparations, I let the exhaustion claim me. I collapsed onto the bed and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I had no idea that when I woke up, the world would have turned upside-down. 2. My assistant shook me awake, her face pale with panic. My phone was buzzing nonstop. Seventy-seven missed calls from my father, each more frantic than the last, culminating in a single, terse text: “GET TO THE MANSION. NOW.” “Ma’am… the Commander said I need to bring you to the family estate immediately. Your sister and… your ex-fiancé… I think they went to see him,” she stammered. My mind raced. What have those two done now? I rushed to the Thorne family mansion and was stunned by the scene. The grand hall was packed. I’d never seen so many relatives in one place, not even for a funeral. They were all sitting in stiff, perfect rows, and as I walked in, every single head turned toward me, their faces grim and accusatory. A teacup shattered at my feet. My father’s roar of rage broke the silence like a clap of thunder. “You disgraceful child, get over here! Look at what you’ve done to your sister!” Julia immediately burst into crocodile tears. A great-aunt I barely knew looked me up and down with a sneer. “Well, well, Ava. Look how you’ve upset your father. Tsk, tsk. This was your wedding, planned entirely by you. How could you let Julia drink something so… indecent?” Julia shot the aunt a look, then let out a theatrical wail, as if the words were too much to bear. “I can’t live like this!” she shrieked, making a show of running for the door. A flurry of relatives jumped up to stop her, cooing and pleading. I watched her performance with cold detachment. She was always good at playing the victim. In my last life, she’d used the same tactic, her dramatic suicide attempt nothing more than a show. She’d had a parachute hidden and had spent the next few years living it up in Europe, only to return after my death to claim my inheritance. I looked at her, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “If you really want to die, the window is faster.” A vicious slap cracked across my face, sending me sprawling to the floor. The pain was a white-hot flash. I felt a warm trickle from my nose and brought a hand to my face. It came away covered in blood. My father’s face was contorted with fury. “You think you’ve done nothing wrong? How dare you provoke your sister! Will you be happy when you’ve driven her to her death?” “Now,” he bellowed, his spittle hitting my cheek, “get on your knees and apologize! If you don’t, you are no longer a Thorne!” Behind him, nestled in the arms of our relatives, Julia looked at me, a flicker of triumph in her tear-filled eyes. This was a drama of her own making. Why was I the one being punished? Facing their universal condemnation, I clenched my jaw, a bitter taste rising in my throat. “Dad,” I asked, my voice shaking, “would Mom be proud of you right now?” 3. My mother was his lawfully wedded wife. I was supposed to be his only, cherished daughter. But when I was ten, there was an assassination attempt. At the last second, my mother threw herself in front of him, taking the bullets meant for him. She died. My only mother was gone. I remember my father holding me, his usually stoic face streaked with tears, promising he would take care of me for the rest of his life. The very next year, he brought home an illegitimate daughter—Julia. A year older than me. And just like that, I was forced to call her “sister.” The knot of injustice in my stomach was just the beginning. I had no idea how much worse things were going to get. … My eyes filled with tears as I looked at my father, my voice choked with unshed sobs. For a moment, his expression softened. He frowned, a flicker of memory in his eyes. But Julia, sensing the shift, broke free from the huddle of relatives. “Father, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault,” she cried, her eyes swimming with tears. “It would be better if I had never been born! My sister hates me so much… I might as well just die!” She lunged for the decorative sword mounted in the entryway and held it to her own throat. “Good heavens, child!” The relatives, seeing the alarm on my father’s face, scrambled to disarm her. In the ensuing chaos, my father rushed to Julia’s side. As he passed me, he aimed a vicious kick at my ribs, sending me crashing back to the floor. It was the signal for the pack to descend. “Arrogant little brat, causing all this trouble!” “I never liked you, Ava… and now this scandal at your wedding! It’s a disgrace!” “Look at her, with that sly face… always bullying poor, sweet Julia!” Fists and feet rained down on me. My dress was torn, my skin covered in bruises. They scrawled insults on my arms in lipstick. A sharp pain shot through my throat, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood. “You hypocrites…” I rasped, my vision blurring. “Don’t you have daughters of your own? Aren’t you afraid of karma?” I pulled out the jade seal my grandmother had secretly given me. “I dare you to touch me again!” I screamed. It only made them angrier. A distant male cousin brought his heel down on my ribs with a sickening crack. “Who are you cursing, you unloved little bitch?” he sneered. “You think that little trinket scares anyone?” Pain exploded through my body. As my consciousness started to fade, I saw Julia, in the middle of the chaos, “accidentally” stomp on the jade bracelet on my wrist. It was my mother’s. A multi-million dollar piece she’d given me, taken from her own wrist in the ambulance on the way to the hospital. They say jade has a spirit, that it protects its wearer. I had always thought of it as my mother’s guardian angel, sent to watch over me. And now it was shattered. How dare she? How far was she willing to go? A surge of adrenaline shot through me. I scrambled to my feet, grabbed Julia by the collar, and slapped her with all my might. The next second, a brutal kick to my stomach sent me flying. It was James. “What do you think you’re doing to Julia?” he roared. 4. I stared up at him, a hysterical laugh bubbling in my throat. “Have you forgotten? You were supposed to be my husband.” My family’s cruelty was one thing. But this, from the man I had once loved more than anything… this was a wound that cut deeper than any physical blow. He looked away, his hand tightening around Julia’s. My body ached, but my heart was frozen solid. I let out another cold laugh and, with trembling fingers, sent a text to a contact I hadn’t spoken to in years. Another piece of porcelain shattered near my head. “I told you to kneel!” my father screamed. “And you’re playing on your phone?” “I’m telling you, if you don’t kneel right now, you can forget you ever had a father!” A piece of my mother’s broken bracelet was still on my wrist. I ripped it off and threw it at him. “Fine by me,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion. “And I don’t have you for a sister!” my ten-year-old brother shrieked, running to hide behind Julia. My head throbbed. This was the child I had practically raised, and he was now throwing things at me, his face twisted in a mask of hatred. “Leo… you too?” I whispered, a bitter smile on my lips as I closed my eyes. It was as if my surrender was a signal. The beating started again. Soon, the pain faded into a dull throb. I lay there, limp and broken, like a corpse. Suddenly, my father’s phone rang. A relative who was standing nearby glanced at the caller ID and his face went pale. “It’s… it’s him! He’s calling!” “What do we do? He never calls unless it’s something serious!”

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1 I am the heir to the Blackwood crime family. To protect me, my mother adopted and trained ten orphan girls from childhood to be my personal bodyguards. When I came of age, my mother told me to choose one of them as my wife. Without hesitation, I chose Sera, the leader of the ten, the woman I had secretly loved for years. After we were married, I was kidnapped by a rival family. They strung me up in a flooding cell, iron chains biting through my collarbones. With my last ounce of strength, I managed to call Sera for help. All I heard was her cold, mocking laugh. “Stop playing games, Damian. Your tracker clearly shows you’re still at the villa!” “You’d sink to such a pathetic trick just to keep me from spending time with Leo?” Despair washed over me as I listened to her heartless voice. The water rose, covering my mouth, my nose. Then, everything went black. I woke with a gasp. I was back on the day my mother told me to choose a wife. … Staring at the ten photographs spread before me, I knew. I had been reborn. This time, my finger didn’t hesitate. It landed on the very last photo, the one that was always overlooked. Phoebe. My mother raised an eyebrow. “I thought you’ve always favored Sera. Why choose the tenth?” I just shook my head, saying nothing. In my mind, I could still see Phoebe’s frantic expression as she rushed to my side in my past life, could still hear her final, desperate scream. Thankfully, my mother didn’t press the issue. She simply nodded in agreement. Leaving her study, I walked out into the villa’s courtyard. Suddenly, Leo appeared and dropped to his knees before me. “Sir, I’m begging you, please, let me have Sera,” he pleaded. “You have everything in the world. All I have is her. Please, I’m begging you, let her go.” I stared at him, stunned. This was different from my past life. Could it be that Leo had been reborn, too? Just then, Sera rushed out. The sight of Leo kneeling made her eyes blaze with fury. She hauled him to his feet and glared at me, her voice dripping with venom. “Damian! How long are you going to keep tormenting him?” “Just because he’s the housekeeper’s son, you think you can treat him like this?” A sharp, familiar pain lanced through my chest. It was always like this, in both lifetimes. Sera never, ever believed me. She shot daggers at me. “I’m telling you, even if you choose me as your wife, I will never submit. You won’t have me!” An icy chill seeped into my bones, as if I’d been plunged into a frozen lake. The memories of my death swirled in my head. I had let them be together in my past life precisely because I knew she would never choose me. And still, the dull ache in my heart persisted. Before I could speak, a van screeched to a halt outside the courtyard gates. Men with guns jumped out and opened fire. Sera’s training kicked in instantly. She moved like lightning, sprinting toward me. But then, Leo let out a pained groan and collapsed, a crimson stain spreading across his pant leg. A flicker of conflict crossed Sera’s face, but it was gone in an instant. Without a second thought, she changed direction, throwing herself over Leo to shield him with her own body. I watched them, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. As one of the gunmen leveled his weapon at me, a figure blurred past, tackling me to the ground. The sound of gunshots echoed around us. When I opened my eyes, I saw who was shielding me. It was Phoebe. Seeing their chance was lost, the assassins retreated. Phoebe got to her feet, an aura of cold fury surrounding her. She glared at Sera. “Did you forget your mission?” “What would have happened if the Young Master had been hurt?” Sera looked away for a second, a hint of guilt in her eyes, but it was quickly replaced by defiance. “Leo was shot! Who else was going to help him?” “Besides, Damian’s fine, isn’t he? What’s the big deal?” Phoebe scoffed. “So you can just abandon your duty to the Young Master? It seems your obsession with that man has made you forget why Mother took us in in the first place!” Sera flinched, clearly aware she had crossed a line. Just then, Leo moaned from her arms. “Sera… it hurts…” Her resolve hardened. “He’s not hurt, so it doesn’t matter. I need to get Leo to a doctor. We can talk about this later.” She lifted Leo into her arms and stormed off. Phoebe’s expression was glacial. She turned to me, her eyes burning with frustration and anger. “This is the woman you choose? The one who abandons you at the first sign of trouble?” I shook my head. She didn’t know yet. “I didn’t choose her.” Phoebe looked at me, disbelief written all over her face. “Who else would you choose?” For once, she lost her temper with me. “Fine. Choose whoever you want. Just don’t come crying to me when you regret it.” I watched her storm away, a small smile playing on my lips. I wondered what her face would look like when she found out the person I chose was her. A few days later, a haggard-looking Sera appeared in my room. Before I could speak, she fell to her knees. “Please, give me the life-saving serum. Leo… he’s not doing well.” I stared at her, incredulous. She knew what that serum meant to me. My father was from a long line of brilliant biochemists. When he was diagnosed with a terminal illness, fearing I’d be targeted by our enemies, he used his final days, enduring immense pain, to create a single dose of a miracle antidote. It was my last line of defense, a final gift to keep me alive. Sera bit her lip, her voice trembling. “I’ll marry you. Just give the serum to Leo.” “This is all your fault anyway! If it weren’t for you, none of this would have happened to him!” A wave of weariness washed over me. She was a stranger to me now, so quick to cast all the blame on my shoulders. She remained on her knees. “If you give me the serum, I’ll obey Mother’s command and marry you. I’ll send Leo somewhere safe and never see him again.” I let out a hollow laugh. “There’s no need. I never chose you.” Sera froze, her eyes flickering with disbelief. “Damian, stop lying. I’ve already accepted my fate. Just give the serum to Leo!” I turned, opened the safe, and took out the vial I had treasured for so long. I tossed it to her. “Get out. And from this day forward, we have nothing to do with each other.” Not in this life, not in the last. Sera looked at me, a flash of surprise in her eyes, but she said nothing more. She clutched the serum and rushed out, desperate to save her precious Leo. I leaned against the wall, my heart a block of ice. I couldn’t believe how blind I had been in my past life, dying without ever seeing her true colors. For the next few days, Sera stayed by Leo’s side, nursing him back to health. Then, one evening at dinner, my mother made an announcement. “In a few days, we will celebrate Damian’s eighteenth birthday. At the party, I will officially announce his future wife.” The ten girls at the table reacted in their own ways. Phoebe just kept refilling her wine glass, drinking silently. Sera looked miserable, her gaze darting between me and the direction of Leo’s room. The other eight, however, smiled and congratulated Sera. “Congratulations, leader. You’ll officially be part of the family.” “Take good care of Damian for us.” My mother listened to their chatter with a serene smile, saying nothing. Her silence was taken as confirmation. Everyone assumed Sera was to be my bride. That night, Leo mysteriously vanished. Sera burst into my room in a frenzy, her eyes wild as she grabbed me by the throat. “Where is he? What have you done with Leo?” “I already agreed to marry you! Why can’t you just leave him alone?” “He’s afraid of the dark! What will he do all by himself without me?” I was shocked, but quickly recovered. “Are you insane? What does Leo’s disappearance have to do with me?” Her face was ashen, her eyes bloodshot. “Who else could it be? You’re jealous that he and I are close! You’re afraid I’ll back out, so you had him kidnapped, didn’t you?” “I’m begging you, bring him back. His wound hasn’t even fully healed. After we’re married, I’ll send him away, I promise!” I shoved her away. “Sera, I didn’t choose you! I don’t care who you’re with! Leo’s disappearance has nothing to do with me, whether you believe it or not! If you cause another scene in my room, I’m telling Mother!” That threat stopped her. She turned and fled, desperate to find Leo. The next morning, she returned with him in tow. He looked weak and disheveled, collapsing into her arms as if he’d been through hell. Sera marched right up to me, her face a thunderous mask. “Damian, if you have a problem, take it out on me! Why do you always have to involve Leo?” “If you keep this up, I will never marry you!” With that, she turned and left with Leo. I watched her go, a cold smile on my face. To think I died in my past life for someone so utterly blind. That evening, Leo came to my room. He glared at me, his face twisted with resentment. “You were reborn too, weren’t you?” In the dim light, his features were distorted by jealousy, his eyes burning with venom. His voice rose to a shrill peak. “Why do all the good things happen to you?” His chest heaved. “You’re the golden boy, the Blackwood heir! You were born with everything!” “And me? I’m just the housekeeper’s son, living on scraps, always watching my back. The only thing I’ve ever had is Sera’s love!” His voice broke. “Why do you have to take that from me too? You already have so much, Damian. Why are you so greedy?” “If it weren’t for you, Sera would never have changed her mind! Just now, she told me she’s sending me abroad!” He grabbed my arms, a strange fire in his eyes. “I won’t give up!” Then, he lunged, dragging me with him as he threw himself over the second-floor balcony railing. We crashed to the ground. Pain exploded through me, feeling like my organs had been rearranged. Leo let out an agonized scream. Within moments, the other girls rushed out. When Sera saw the scene, she flew into a rage and slapped me across the face. The next second, she was being restrained, still screaming at me with bloodshot eyes. “Damian, what is wrong with you? What did Leo ever do to deserve this? When will you stop tormenting him?” I held my cheek, saying nothing. The others covered her mouth. “Leader, be quiet! If Mother sees you like this, you’re done for!” “Go, hide somewhere until after the coming-of-age party! You need to cool down!” They bundled Sera and Leo into a car and drove them away. On the day of my party, my mother threw a lavish celebration. The grand ballroom was filled with her associates, all there to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. I scanned the room but didn’t see Phoebe. She had to be here today. I pulled out my phone and called her. She answered quickly, her distinct, cool voice on the line. “Where are you?” She gave a small laugh. “What? You want me to stand there and watch Mother announce you’re marrying Sera?” There was a pause, then her voice grew hoarse. “Damian, that’s just cruel.” The emotion in her words was too tangled for me to decipher. I gripped the phone tighter, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Yes. I want you here.” “Are you coming or not?” The line went silent for a moment. Finally, she spoke. “Fine. I’ll be there.” Just then, a stir at the entrance drew everyone’s attention. Sera walked in, clinging intimately to Leo. The guests began to whisper, their eyes darting between the three of us, filled with speculation and amusement. I could feel several pairs of pitying eyes on me, as if I were the poor fool about to be publicly jilted. The second-in-command, Maya, was the first to react. She hurried over, her brow furrowed. “Leader, what are you doing?” she whispered, her voice a sharp warning. “This is Damian’s party. Mother is about to announce your engagement. You need to put some distance between you and Leo!” Sera just smirked. Instead of letting go of Leo, she pulled him even closer, a clear declaration to the entire room. “Engagement?” she scoffed, just loud enough for the eavesdropping guests to hear. “I came today to tell Mother one thing: I am not in love with Damian Blackwood!” Her gaze, sharp as a dagger, shot toward me, filled with disgust and finality. “And I will never marry him!” The room erupted in a stunned silence. My mother’s smile froze on her face, her eyes narrowing dangerously as she looked at Sera. Sera added, her voice ringing with conviction, “After Mother makes her announcement, I am cutting all ties with the Blackwood family!” Her sisters gasped, rushing to her side, pleading with her not to be rash. But she was resolute. “Don’t try to stop me. I will not betray my heart and marry a man I don’t love. I would rather die!” Leo stood beside her, a triumphant glint in his eye as he glanced at me. His look said it all: See? I won. In the end, she chose me. I laughed coldly. Sera. You never fail to disappoint. You truly would do anything for him. The ceremony was about to begin when Phoebe finally arrived. She reeked of alcohol, but her eyes were startlingly clear. The lights dimmed. My mother took the stage. “Thank you all for coming to celebrate my son’s eighteenth birthday. I also have an important announcement to make regarding my son’s future.” “I hereby declare that when I step down, the Blackwood family will be jointly managed by my son, Damian, and my tenth daughter, Phoebe. She will also be my son Damian’s wife!” The entire hall fell silent. Everyone was stunned. No one had expected this. After a long, breathless moment, a single, sharp voice cut through the silence. “What?” It was Sera.

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I walked into the supermarket, my phone live-streaming, and shot the camera a defiant grin. “Alright, folks, today I’m going on a zero-dollar shopping spree.” The live chat exploded. “Are you insane? Live-streaming yourself stealing? You trying to get arrested?” I ignored the comments, piling things into my shopping cart with a manic energy. Once it was full, I just pushed the cart straight out the door and ran. It didn’t take long for the police to track me down using my stream’s location data. In my past life, my twin sister murdered her billionaire ex-boyfriend and then vanished with her new lover. I was home alone, with no alibi, no one to prove the killer wasn’t me. They sentenced me to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of the murder. If she could forge evidence to place me at the scene, then I would use the entire internet and the police department’s own records to prove my alibi. At the exact time of the murder, I would be sitting in a police precinct holding cell for shoplifting. This time, I was going to make damn sure she was the one with nowhere left to run. 1 I stood at the entrance of Brighton’s Market, my fingers trembling slightly as I tapped my phone to go live. My own pale, nervous face stared back at me from the screen. Taking a deep breath, I forced a wild, exaggerated smile. “Hey everyone! Today, we’re doing a five-finger discount haul!” The live chat instantly blew up. 【Has this streamer lost her mind? Is this how people try to go viral now?】 【Shoplifting at a supermarket? Enjoy your jail cell!】 【Already reported. You’re welcome.】 I ignored the torrent of comments scrolling past and pushed a cart straight toward the snack aisle. The red lights of the security cameras blinked down at me, feeling just like the cold, accusatory lenses in the courtroom of my past life. My throat tightened, but my hands were steady as I began grabbing things off the shelves with frantic purpose. My cart quickly filled with high-priced items designed to look cheap: bulky bags of chips, boxes of cookies, and cases of water. Things that didn’t cost a fortune but took up a massive amount of space. The comments kept flying. 【She’s just grabbing cheap junk. Nothing valuable.】 【Yeah, this is totally for clout. Even a full cart of that stuff won’t be more than a hundred bucks.】 【But is she actually going to walk out without paying? Even if it’s under a hundred, she’ll still get arrested.】 【Lame. If you’re gonna steal, steal something big. What’s the point of this?】 【It’s probably just an act. She’ll go pay for it in a minute. People will do anything to get famous these days.】 The debate sent my viewer count soaring. A crowd was gathering online to watch me furiously load up my cart. Since I had my location services on, people quickly identified the exact store, and the supermarket’s security guards started watching me, though they didn’t intervene yet. Feeling the eyes of the world on me, I let out a loud laugh and shouted at my phone. “Okay, folks, watch closely! I’m heading to the checkout now!” With that, I shoved the heaping cart forward and sprinted for the exit. The security alarm shrieked to life the second I passed the threshold. I didn’t care. I just kept running, feeling the frantic footsteps of someone chasing me from behind. The live chat went insane again. 【HOLY CRAP, SHE’S FOR REAL.】 【Is this staged? Did she really just walk out without paying?】 【LOL, look at the security guard behind her! He ran so fast his shoe fell off! This can’t be an act.】 【COPS ARE HERE!! Look!!】 I glanced up and saw them. Two police officers, hands on their holsters, standing directly in my path. They must have gotten the call the moment I started my “shopping spree.” Before they could even shout, I let go of the cart, sending it rolling away, and raised my hands high above my head. “Don’t shoot! I surrender! Take me in.” The younger officer frowned, confused by my bizarrely cooperative attitude, while the older one had already pulled out his handcuffs. The cold kiss of metal on my wrist sent a shiver through me—the exact same sensation as my arrest in my past life. But this time, it was my choice. “Take her away,” the officer said curtly. As I was escorted to the patrol car, I made a point to look back at the supermarket’s entrance camera. The angle would have perfectly captured the exact time I was taken into custody: 3:27 PM. Plenty early. As the car pulled away, I saw several bystanders filming with their phones. Good. Their videos would become another link in the chain of my evidence. I leaned back against the seat, closed my eyes, and let the tide of memory pull me under. 2 The last image from my past life was the blinding white light of the execution chamber. And now, my story had to begin in that nightmare. I was a crime novelist, writing under the pen name Jane Night. I was moderately well-known in the community but had never had a breakout hit. In my previous life, today was the day I was arrested. I was rushing to meet a publisher’s deadline, writing the most crucial chapter of my new book, The Perfect Double. The protagonist had just discovered his identical twin brother had stolen his identity to commit a murder. I had just typed the line, “He stared at the security footage, at the face that was a mirror image of his own, and suddenly realized the only person in the world who could perfectly replicate him was his own flesh and blood,” when my keyboard jammed. Looking back, it was a cruel joke played by fate itself. When the police smashed through my door, I was on the floor with a screwdriver, trying to fix the keyboard. The explosive crash of the door made me slip, and the screwdriver sliced open my index finger. Blood dripped into the crevices of the keyboard, which later became evidence in court of my “violent tendencies.” “Anna Jane, you’re under arrest for the murder of Marcus Thorne and the theft of a large sum of cash.” I collapsed on the floor as they pulled a blood-stained shirt from the back of my closet. It had my fingerprints on it, and traces of Marcus Thorne’s. “That’s impossible…” My voice trembled. “I haven’t left my apartment in three days. That’s not mine…” But the security footage shattered every one of my denials. On the screen, “I” was wearing the black baseball cap I always wore and carrying my one-of-a-kind backpack, a gift from fans at a book signing, covered in their signatures. “I” showed up on camera at Marcus Thorne’s penthouse apartment. The footage clearly showed me plunging a knife into his chest, then taking a stack of documents from a safe in the bedroom. The most ironic part was the look on Marcus’s face before he died—not fear, but pure shock. He must have recognized that face, too. “So you’re telling us you have an identical twin sister, and she was Marcus Thorne’s mistress?” In the interrogation room, the lead detective tapped his pen against the case file. “Yes. Check his phone. I guarantee you’ll find tons of messages and pictures of my sister.” The detectives interviewing me huddled together and left the room. When they returned, they showed me a photo. It was a picture my parents had provided, showing my sister, Nina, smiling at an airport gate. The electronic departures board behind her clearly displayed the date and time: 12:15 PM on the day of the murder. The murder took place at 3:50 PM. At that time, her plane hadn’t even landed. My editor, Lucy, once told me that the alibis in my novels were too perfect, that reality was never that convenient. Now I knew she was right. It wasn’t a coincidence. My gut screamed that the photo was a fake. But no one believed me. My parents’ testimony in court was the final, fatal blow. My mother cried until she nearly fainted, but she insisted they had personally driven Nina to the airport that morning. My father produced ticket stubs and parking receipts as proof. “Anna was never as smart as her sister,” he said, his voice choked with false grief. “She was always secretly jealous. When they were little, she used to cut up Nina’s dolls with scissors. But I never, ever thought she would be jealous of her sister’s boyfriend, too. It’s our fault. We failed as parents.” They sobbed hysterically on the stand, and everyone in the courtroom was convinced I had been a monster since childhood. And me? A reclusive writer who spent all her time locked in her apartment. I barely even appeared on my own building’s security cameras. No one could prove I was at home when the murder happened. “The defendant is a long-term recluse with severe social anxiety…” The prosecutor’s words flayed my ears. “Her novels repeatedly depict meticulously planned perfect crimes, proving she has the capacity for premeditation…” It wasn’t until the death sentence was handed down that I finally understood how all the pieces fit together. But it was too late. I had become my sister’s perfect scapegoat. Three hours before my lethal injection, Nina came to visit. Through the bulletproof glass, her lips, painted a slash of crimson, moved. “By the way,” she mouthed, “I helped you finish your new book. The protagonist confesses in the end. A beautiful story of repentance, don’t you think?” She didn’t even stay to claim my body. She was finally free to run off with the pretty college boy she’d been keeping on the side. 3 I never expected to open my eyes again. But here I was, reborn two hours before the murder. I was sitting at my computer, the document’s last save time showing 1:27 PM. Nina’s murder of Marcus was set to happen at 3:50 PM. I spent the first twenty minutes doing three things: First, I looked up the local laws and confirmed that theft of property under $200 was a misdemeanor, punishable by a maximum of fifteen days in jail. Second, I researched the police response times for precincts in the area. The one covering Brighton’s Market was the fastest. Third, I checked Nina’s social media. She had posted an airport selfie that morning. As I grabbed my jacket and rushed out the door, I made sure to take the black baseball cap and the limited-edition backpack—the very items Nina had used to frame me in my past life. This time, they would appear with me on the supermarket’s security cameras, becoming a crucial part of my alibi. “Name?” In the interrogation room, the officer’s voice snapped me back to the present. “Anna Jane. My pen name is Jane Night.” I mentioned my profession intentionally, planting a seed for the media storm I knew was coming. The officer raised an eyebrow. “A writer? What do you write?” “Crime fiction,” I said with a bitter smile. “Funny how life turns out to be stranger than any story I could ever make up.” The clock on the wall read 3:45 PM. Nina should be inside Marcus’s building by now. According to the police timeline from my past life, she would be swiping my key card—which she had stolen—to get into the lobby. She would flash my signature little lip-biting smile for the camera, a micro-expression she had spent three months perfecting. “You’re saying you caused this disturbance at the market on purpose?” The officer’s voice sounded distant. “Yes.” I dug my nails into my palms, my eyes darting uncontrollably toward the clock. The officer slid a photo across the table. “We’ve totaled up the value of the items you stole. It’s less than two hundred dollars…” 3:48 PM. My temples throbbed. On the security footage, Nina would be taking off the baseball cap now, shaking out her long hair. Hair that was identical to mine, right down to the carefully replicated split ends. When Marcus opened the door, he would be stunned. The last time he’d seen me was at a book signing. “According to Section 49 of the Public Order Act…” The sound of the officer flipping through his file was eerily similar to the judge turning the pages of my death sentence. 3:49 PM. Nina would have locked the door from the inside by now. She would be holding the knife in her left hand. She wasn’t left-handed, but she had practiced writing and eating with her left hand for months just to imitate me perfectly. The coroner’s report had noted the angle of the wounds indicated a left-handed killer. “Miss Jane? Are you listening?” I looked up suddenly. “Can I have a glass of water?” The officer frowned but motioned for his colleague to get one. 3:50 PM. On the dot. My throat went dry. I could almost hear the second hand ticking. Right now. Nina’s knife would be plunging into the space between Marcus’s third and fourth ribs—the exact same spot I described in my novel when the protagonist committed his murder. A cool, disposable cup was pressed into my hand. I stared at my reflection in the water’s surface and, for a dizzying moment, saw Nina stuffing blood-soaked cash into my backpack. “You’re trembling,” the officer observed. I looked down and saw that the surface of the water was rippling. 3:52 PM. Nina would be cleaning the scene now. She’d use my favorite brand of sanitizing wipes on the doorknob but intentionally leave a partial print on the coffee table—my fingerprint, which she had collected earlier on a piece of tape. “I have low blood sugar,” I managed, forcing a smile. I watched the officer write “emotionally unstable” in his report. Every word he wrote would become my shield. I didn’t hear a single thing the police said after that. I knew Nina had succeeded. By now, she would be on her way to my apartment to plant the t-shirt stained with Marcus’s blood in my closet. In my past life, I was taking a nap at this time. She was so quiet I never even knew she’d been there. But she wouldn’t succeed this time. She had no idea about the little surprise I’d left for her in my apartment. Before I left, I had deliberately left my computer on, the screen displaying the latest chapter of The Perfect Double: “The moment the double believes they have won is the exact moment the protagonist’s counterattack begins.” I remained silent, no matter what the police asked. My goal had been achieved. Anything more felt like a waste of effort. “Sign here.” The officer pushed the report and a pen toward me. “Given the circumstances, you’ll be detained for a few days. Do you need to call a lawyer? Or family?” An image of my parents testifying against me flashed in my mind. I shook my head quickly, grabbed the pen, and signed my name.

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