My parents have a contract, not a marriage. My older brother, Ethan, has my dad’s last name: Miller. My older sister, Olivia, has my mom’s maiden name: Baker. They each only ever looked out for the child who carried their family name. And they never dared to be too kind to me, Chloe, the third kid, the accident. They flipped a coin to decide my last name. And they’d always tell me, “Ethan and Olivia were supposed to have everything. If we give them even a little bit less, it feels like they’ve lost something.” So, when Ethan bombed his SATs, my dad cancelled my tutoring classes to pay for his. When Olivia got called “chunky” by some kid at school, my mom cut my weekly allowance to buy her a new wardrobe. They expressed their devotion to their chosen heir by chipping away at me. But twenty-six years later, Olivia was diagnosed with infertility. Ethan found out he was sterile. Of the three of us, I was the only one who could have children. The day my baby was born, my parents scrambled over each other to get to the hospital. Knowing exactly what they wanted, I held my child close and whispered, just loud enough for them to hear. “Hey, little one. Whoever buys you the bigger house and the nicer car, that’s whose last name you’ll get. How does that sound?” 1 My brother is Ethan Miller. My sister is Olivia Baker. My name is Chloe Miller. But I wasn’t born a Miller in the way my brother was. And I certainly had nothing to do with the Bakers. My last name was the result of a fifty-fifty chance, decided by the flip of a quarter in a sterile hospital hallway. Decades ago, my parents were pioneers of a sort in our small suburban town. They had what they called a “dual-headed marriage.” No dowry, no grand wedding paid for by one side. Everything was split 50/50. Before they even said “I do,” they signed a prenup that would make a corporate lawyer blush. Two kids, it stipulated. One for the Miller legacy, one for the Baker bloodline. Each would inherit from their respective side. No crossover. They saw themselves as a model for modern marriage: fair, independent. Ethan and Olivia were the products of this “fair” agreement. I was the variable they hadn’t planned for. The weight that tipped their perfectly balanced, selfish scales. My arrival was like a rock thrown into a still pond, shattering the fragile “fairness” they had built. The day I was born, there was no joy. Outside the delivery room, my parents argued, their voices sharp and angry, about who would get stuck with me. “Dammit, Sarah,” my dad hissed. “We agreed, one each! Don’t you dare try to palm this extra expense off on me!” “I’m already raising Ethan! Do you have any idea how much it costs to raise a boy? College funds, helping with a car, a down payment on a house one day? I can’t afford a second one. Besides, I promised him he’d be my sole heir!” My mom’s voice was just as fierce. “Don’t you pin this on me, Tom! Why should I take on another kid? I have Olivia! That’s all I wanted. I’m not going to let her feel like her mother’s love is being split in half!” They weren’t fighting for custody of me. They were fighting to get rid of me. In the end, it was my grandma, my mom’s mom, who came up with the solution. “Oh, for heaven’s sake, stop it, both of you! Just flip a coin. Let fate decide.” And so, on a cold vinyl bench in the hospital corridor, in front of God and everyone, my parents held the most important lottery of my life. My dad pulled a quarter from his pocket. “Heads, she’s a Miller,” he said, his jaw tight. “Tails, a Baker,” my mom shot back, her arms crossed, face a mask of anxiety and disgust. She stared at that quarter like it was a loaded gun. “You call it,” she snapped at my dad. “You’re the man.” My dad’s face was pale. He flicked the coin high into the air. The small silver disc seemed to hang there for an eternity, catching the fluorescent light. He caught it, slapped it onto the back of his hand, and held it there, his knuckles white. He was terrified of seeing a president’s head. Terrified that I would take a slice of the pie that belonged entirely to Ethan. Terrified that he was about to lose this long, transactional game he called a marriage. Finally, he lifted his hand. Heads. A long, slow sigh of relief escaped my mother’s lips. Her face broke into a smile that was pure, undisguised triumph. She patted my dad’s shoulder, her voice light and cruel. “Congratulations, Tom. You’ve got another heir for the Miller dynasty. She’s all yours now. Nothing to do with me, or my Olivia.” My father’s face turned to stone. He stared at George Washington’s profile, then his icy gaze slowly drifted toward the nursery window, toward me. There was no fatherly love in that look. Only the bottomless resentment of a gambler who had just lost a major hand. I wasn’t his daughter. I was a bad bet. A debt he was now forced to carry. 2 I never had a real Thanksgiving dinner. Because of their arrangement, my parents always went their separate ways for the holidays. Dad would take Ethan to the Miller family gathering across town, a loud affair full of football and beer. Mom would take Olivia to the Baker family home in the next county, a quieter gathering with fine china and polite conversation. And I was always the one left behind in the empty, silent house. “Chloe, be a good girl. We’ll bring you back a plate,” Mom would say dismissively, grabbing Olivia’s hand and walking out the door without a backward glance. Dad was even more direct. He wouldn’t even speak to me, just give me a cold look before leading Ethan out to the car. I’d sit by the window, watching the warm lights flick on in the neighbors’ houses, listening to the distant sounds of laughter and the Macy’s parade on TV. My stomach would grumble. The canned laughter from the TV sitcoms felt like it was mocking my loneliness. When they returned, it was always late at night. What they brought back were the scraps, the leftovers from the leftovers. The dry end pieces of the turkey, the gelatinous cranberry sauce nobody wanted, a spoonful of cold, soggy stuffing. “Chloe, come and eat!” Mom would call out, her voice devoid of any real warmth. I’d walk to the table and look at the sad, congealed food. A familiar ache would rise in my chest. “Mom, why can’t I ever go with you to Thanksgiving?” I finally asked one year, when I was seven. Her hand paused. She looked at me, her face blank. “Because your last name is Miller. You’re not a Baker. The Baker’s Thanksgiving is for family.” “Can I go with Dad to the Miller’s house, then?” I asked, turning to him with a flicker of hope. He didn’t even look up from the newspaper. “We don’t need another one. Ethan is enough.” In that moment, I understood. It didn’t matter what my last name was. In this house, I was always going to be the extra one. I thought if I could just endure it, things would get better when I grew up. I thought if I worked hard enough, was smart enough, they’d eventually see my worth. I studied relentlessly, always getting better grades than Ethan and Olivia. I did all the chores—dishes, laundry, vacuuming—without being asked. I walked on eggshells, desperate to please them. But in my junior year of high school, fate slapped me across the face again, harder than ever. 3 My dad threw the refund receipt from the SAT prep center on the kitchen table like it was a piece of trash. In the living room, my brother Ethan was rage-quitting a video game, venting his frustration over yet another abysmal practice test score. Next to the cold, official receipt was my notebook, filled with advanced calculus problems I’d spent three all-nighters solving. The neat, intricate equations suddenly felt like a joke. My dad’s anger was never aimed directly at Ethan. It was always ricocheted, with perfect accuracy, straight at me. He pointed at my notebook, his voice dripping with resentment. “What’s the point of all this? Girls don’t need to be geniuses in math!” he seethed. “If your brother doesn’t get into a decent college, are you going to take responsibility for that?” “We’re cancelling your prep class. We’ll use the money to get Ethan a private tutor!” Ethan didn’t even look up, just grunted in annoyance when his character died again. “God, you guys are so loud! You’re messing up my game!” he yelled. His casual entitlement was more suffocating than my dad’s rage. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms, the pain a welcome distraction from the humiliation. It felt like my only purpose was to pay for their failures. Just then, my mom walked in with a plate of sliced fruit, carefully navigating around me to place it next to my sister, Olivia. The apple slices were carved into little swans. As a girl, Olivia’s life was much easier. Her biggest problem was the number on the scale. The other day, she’d come home from school with red, puffy eyes, sobbing in my mom’s arms because a boy had laughed at her “thunder thighs.” My mom’s heart shattered. She held Olivia, comforting her and cursing the “rude, un-raised” boys at school. Then, she found me in the kitchen, eating a piece of dry toast. “Chloe,” she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. “I’m cutting your allowance in half this month. I’m taking your sister shopping to cheer her up.” “And you could stand to eat fewer snacks yourself. It’s better for girls to be thin.” I looked at her, the toast turning to sand in my mouth. My “snacks” were pieces of dry toast. The faded hoodie I was wearing was a hand-me-down from Ethan. For three years of high school, I hadn’t owned a single new piece of clothing. My closet was a recycling bin for my siblings’ cast-offs. Sensing my resentment, my mom sighed. “Your sister is sensitive, Chloe. She’s not tough like you are. When she’s upset, the whole house feels it. Just be understanding. If she’s happy, we’re all happy, right?” From then on, I became a human piggy bank. When Ethan needed money for a tutor, they smashed a piece of me. When Olivia needed money for new clothes, they took a piece of me. They did it without a second thought, and my parents saw it as the natural order of things. 4 The more they took, the harder I studied. If they wouldn’t give me resources, I’d steal them. I used the lunch money I saved to buy used textbooks and AP prep books from the second-hand store. At night, when everyone was asleep, I’d read under my covers, the weak glow of my cheap smartphone illuminating the pages. My world shrank to the small space under my blanket, that single beam of light, and the formulas and vocabulary words that were my ticket out. I craved escape like a dying man in the desert craves water. College was the only lifeboat I could see. My grades quietly skyrocketed. I went from the middle of the pack to the top ten in my class. I hid every report card under a loose floorboard in my closet. They were my secret weapons. I thought I could make it, just quietly survive until graduation, then disappear and cut this toxic family out of my life for good. But a month before finals, my dad lost a major account at work and came home completely drunk. He stumbled into my room in the middle of the night, probably looking for someone to yell at, and kicked over the cardboard box by my bed. With a soft rustle, hundreds of pages of notes, practice tests, and my treasured honor roll certificates spilled across the floor like a flock of startled birds. The air froze. The shock seemed to sober my dad up. He stared at the “Rank: 3” on my latest report card, then looked up at me. There was no pride in his eyes, no joy. Only a cold, stunned fury, as if he’d just discovered a spy in his own home. He looked at me like I was the enemy. “You…” he slurred, pointing a trembling finger at my work, as if it were criminal evidence. “You’ve been lying to us this whole time?” There was no lie. They just never cared enough to ask. But I didn’t answer. I just knelt, trying to gather up the pieces of my shattered hope. My mom, drawn by the noise, rushed in. She got to the papers before I did, snatching a handful of them. Her eyes were red with rage. “What do you think you’re doing?” she shrieked at me. “Trying to fly away from us? I won’t let you!” “Your brother is the one who’s supposed to go out and make a name for himself,” my dad added, his voice low and menacing. “He’s the Miller heir. You’re supposed to stay here and take care of us.” My mom nodded in furious agreement. “Yes! We’ve invested so much in Olivia, she deserves to have the best opportunities. How dare you think you can just leapfrog over them and leave?” My dad even raised his hand, ready to strike down my only chance of escape. I stared at him. For the first time, my eyes weren’t filled with tears, but with ice. The hand never fell. Not out of love, but because of the look in my eyes. It wasn’t pleading or fear. It was the dead, hollow look of someone who had burned through every last ounce of hope. He was shaken by it, frozen in place. The papers fluttered from his hand, a silent funeral for the last shred of my delusion that he was my father. I spoke, my voice barely a whisper. “If you don’t let me study, I’ll go to the school counselor. I’ll tell them everything about the neglect, the emotional abuse.” I looked from his face to my mom’s. “You both have respectable jobs in the community. You wouldn’t want people to know what you’re really like, would you? Without your incomes, how would your precious heirs maintain their lifestyles?” They stared at me, stunned into silence by my audacity. My dad took a step back, pointing at me, his finger trembling. “Fine,” he finally choked out. “Just fine. You think you’re so tough, Chloe. You think you can fly. Let’s see how far you get without this family.” 5 After that night, a strange, tense silence fell over the house. They stopped yelling at me, but they watched me like a prisoner planning a jailbreak. I became a ghost in my own home, a silent, breathing shadow. I got what I wanted. I finished my exams, filled out my applications, and waited. The acceptance letter from a state university all the way across the country was the key that unlocked my cage. The day I left, nobody saw me off. I dragged a single, beaten-up suitcase to the bus station by myself. Inside were a few old clothes and my life savings—three thousand dollars I’d scraped together from part-time jobs and skipping lunches for years. When the bus pulled away from the curb, I didn’t look back. The town, the house, and the people inside it blurred into an insignificant smudge on the dirty window, a bad memory I was finally leaving behind. College was the first time in my life I could breathe. I took out student loans and earned every scholarship I could get my hands on. I worked constantly: tutoring, waiting tables, delivering pizzas. I was exhausted, but I was free. I never called home, and I never asked for a dime. When they called, it was a perfunctory check-in, with the sound of the TV or Ethan yelling at a video game always buzzing in the background. After graduation, I stayed in that city. I got a good job, an apartment of my own, and a loving boyfriend, Jake. My life was finally on track. But the family was like an invisible cord, always trying to pull me back just when I thought I was free. I’d go back for major holidays, a joyless obligation. The dinner table conversation was always about Ethan and Olivia. I’d just listen, my heart a placid lake. My dad would boast about Ethan’s “potential,” dropping names of his “connections” who could get him a job. Ethan would be glued to his phone, grunting in response. My sister, Olivia, would be taking selfies with her new Louis Vuitton bag. “Mom, doesn’t this bag just complete my outfit?” she’d ask, pouting for the camera. “All my friends are, like, so jealous.” “It’s perfect, sweetie. You look beautiful in anything,” my mom would coo, beaming with pride. The four of them existed in their own perfect bubble. The father invested in the son’s future, the mother in the daughter’s vanity. The children soaked it all up. I sat in the corner, a spectator at a bizarre play called “Family.” Finally, there was a lull, and the spotlight swung to me. “So, Chloe, how’s the job? You off probation yet?” my dad asked, as if just remembering I existed. “I am,” I said. “Good, good.” He nodded, and that was it. Duty done. 6 Then, Olivia, finished with her photoshoot, suddenly clapped her hands. “Oh my god, I almost forgot! Your birthdays are next month!” She looked at my parents, her smile wide. “They’re only a few days apart, we should celebrate together. What do you guys want for gifts?” My parents waved their hands dismissively. “Oh, it’s the thought that counts. You don’t need to get us anything.” But their eyes shone with expectation. Ethan finally looked up from his phone, suddenly animated. “I already know what I’m getting Dad. The new iPhone Pro Max. He deserves the best.” Not to be outdone, Olivia added, “And I’m getting Mom that super-expensive La Mer skincare set. To keep her looking young and beautiful!” My parents swelled with pride. Then, all at once, their gazes shifted to me. It was an unspoken demand. Olivia nudged me with her elbow. “Chloe? What are you getting them? It’s their first birthday since you got your ‘real job.’ You’ve gotta do something good.” Four pairs of eyes, all locked on me. It felt like a tribunal. My answer would determine if I even deserved a seat at this table. I put down my fork, wiped my mouth with a napkin, and met their stares. “I can’t afford anything.” It was the truth. My salary, after rent and bills, left very little. I was trying to save, to build a future that was actually my own. The air didn’t just freeze; it shattered. “What did you just say?” my dad roared, slamming his hand on the table. The dishes jumped. “You have a job and you have the nerve to say you have no money for your parents’ birthday?” My mom’s eyes instantly welled up with tears of profound disappointment. “Chloe, how could you be so heartless? It’s not about the money, it’s the gesture! How can you be so cold?” Ethan scoffed, tossing his phone down. “Classic. Total freeloader. We pay to put her through college and this is the thanks we get. Ungrateful.” Olivia was the most vicious. She pointed a finger at me, her voice sharp. “I always knew you were selfish, Chloe! You only care about yourself! Mom and Dad raised you, and you can’t even spare a few bucks for a gift? Where does all your money go? You’re pathetic!” It was the same script I’d heard my whole life. But this time, I didn’t stay silent. I didn’t try to defend myself. I just let them finish, let them hurl every insult they could think of. Then, very calmly, I pointed to the Apple Watch on Ethan’s wrist. “How much was that watch, Ethan?” I asked. My voice was quiet, but it cut through the noise. He blinked, caught off guard. “Uh, like, a thousand bucks. Why?” My finger then moved to the designer bag sitting on the chair next to Olivia. “And your bag, Liv?” She looked confused, but her instinct to show off was stronger. “It’s Gucci. It was five thousand. It’s a classic.” They still didn’t get it. They looked proud, even. Then my hand dropped, and I gestured to my own simple, unbranded t-shirt and jeans. “This whole outfit,” I said, looking at each of them in turn, watching their expressions shift from confusion to dawning, horrified realization. “Forty bucks. From the Target clearance rack.” I let the silence hang for a moment. “So, if you want to call me ungrateful, go ahead.” My eyes moved from my dad to my mom, to my brother and sister, landing on each of them like a physical blow. “But you two spent thousands of Mom and Dad’s money on yourselves, and now you’re planning to use more of their money to buy them gifts and perform this little show of ‘gratitude’.” I leaned forward slightly. “The difference is, I didn’t.” “Every single cent I have,” I said, my voice soft but clear as a bell, “I earned it myself.” That statement was a slap in the face to every single person at that table. The meal, needless to say, was over. I stood up and grabbed my purse. “I’m finished. Enjoy the rest of your dinner.” No one said a word. I walked out of the restaurant and didn’t look back. The bright lights of the parking lot felt cleansing. The heavy door swinging shut behind me felt like it was sealing off a tomb. I never went back to that house again.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385406”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

In the third year of my hopeless crush on Julian Hayes, he got “truth” in a game of Truth or Dare. Someone asked him his type. “Smart,” he said. My grades were good, so naturally, my name came up. He tightened his grip on his red Solo cup and scoffed. “I’d have to be certifiably insane to like her.” I froze in the doorway, then quietly turned around. I walked home in the pouring rain and spiked a high fever. When I woke up, I was in a place I didn’t recognize. Standing by the bed were two adorable twin boys, their eyes wide and blinking as they stared at me nervously. I sat up, wary. “Who… who are you?” “That’s enough!” A familiar figure strode in from the hallway. “You can pull this crap with me, but now you’re going to pretend you don’t know your own sons?” I stared at Julian Hayes, dressed in a sharp business suit, my mind a complete blank. 1 I just graduated high school. How could I possibly have sons? “A nightmare. This has to be a nightmare,” I muttered. Under the baffled gazes of one adult and two small children, I lay back down and tried to will myself back to my own reality. “Clara, what’s the game now?” Julian’s voice was tight with anger as he hauled me out of bed. I rubbed my wrist where his grip had been too tight. “This jerk,” I mumbled to myself. “Bad enough he’s got a mean streak, but he’s not even a gentleman in my dreams.” The pain felt surprisingly real, though. This didn’t feel like a dream. After a moment of hesitation, I reached out a trembling hand and poked Julian’s stoic face. It was warm. The texture of his skin felt real. My eyes darted around the room again, finally landing on a large, framed wedding photo on the wall. It was him and me. My heart hammering, I fumbled for the phone on the nightstand and checked the date. My brain short-circuited. Overnight, I had somehow jumped eight years into the future. And I was married to Julian Hayes. “What are you doing with the suitcases? Running away again?” The man’s cold voice pulled me back to the present. I followed his gaze. Two large suitcases were packed and standing neatly by the door. This wasn’t just running away; this looked like moving out. My eyes met his, and the sheer pressure in his stare made me flinch. “Why are you looking at me? I didn’t do this,” I said in a small voice. “I…” “Can you just stop for one second?” he cut me off, but his tone had softened, laced with a deep exhaustion. After a few seconds of silence, I tugged on his sleeve. “If I told you I’m from eight years in the past,” I asked tentatively, “would you believe me?” “Clara, that’s enough,” Julian growled. His eyes were burning with anger, a vein throbbing at his temple. I let go of his sleeve and pouted. “Fine, don’t believe me. You don’t have to yell.” The standoff was broken by his phone ringing. He shot me one last glare before stepping into the hall to take the call. When he came back, he grabbed a set of car keys from the dresser. “Something came up at the office. I have to go.” He walked to the door, then paused and looked back, his expression complicated. “Pretend you have amnesia, hate me, do whatever you want. But the boys are innocent. It’ll crush them if you won’t even acknowledge them.” 2 I didn’t know if his sons would be crushed, but I knew I would be if I couldn’t get back. I tried everything I could think of. Nothing worked. Frustrated, I heard a rustling sound from under the dining table. I looked over and caught a glimpse of two chubby little cheeks. Sensing my gaze, they turned. Two pairs of big, grape-like eyes lit up as they looked at me, full of shyness. I forced a weak smile. “Playing hide-and-seek?” I asked. “Don’t mind me, you guys carry on.” I had just turned to leave when one of the little guys scrambled out from under the table and blocked my path. He twisted his little hands together and looked at the floor. “Is Mommy going to leave us again?” he whispered. The word “Mommy” hit me like a ton of bricks. I quickly knelt and covered his mouth. “You can’t call me that, sweetie. Call me… Clara.” A child’s emotions are impossible to hide. He blinked, confused for a second, then his little mouth crumpled, and he burst into tears. “But you *are* Mommy!” he wailed, trying to bury his face in my shirt. No amount of shushing could calm him down. As his cries grew louder, I started patting his back gently. “Okay, okay, fine. You can call me whatever you want.” The crying stopped instantly. His little shoulders hitched as he sniffled, his eyes as red as a rabbit’s. “And Mommy can’t leave,” he mumbled. I figured I’d humor him for now. “Okay,” I agreed. But that wasn’t enough. He pointed to his cheek, his head still bowed. “And… a kiss,” he whispered. He looked so much like a miniature Julian. I wanted to say no, but he started whimpering again. For the sake of peace and quiet, I closed my eyes and quickly pecked his cheek. He touched his face, and his stormy expression immediately cleared. “Mommy’s not leaving!” he cheered. “Mommy kissed me!” As I stood up, I felt a tug on my shirt. “Hmph!” Oh, right. There was another one. I looked down and gently stroked his puffed-out cheek. “Hm? What’s wrong?” His little face was a mask of stoicism. He pointed at his twin, who was now happily running in circles. Then he hooked one of my fingers with his own and gave it a tiny shake. He tilted his head back. “…Kiss!” This one seemed more serious, probably harder to please. I knelt again and gave him a quick kiss too. “Is that better?” He stared at me blankly for a second, then a tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips, and he nodded. He wrapped his arms around my neck and whispered in my ear, “Love… Mommy.” Then he turned bright red and ran off. Honestly, these two little guys were way more likable than their father. I kind of wanted to take them with me and let Julian die alone. 3 After a busy afternoon of trying and failing to get back to my own time, I decided to go outside and see if I could find any clues. I changed my clothes and came out of the bedroom, only to stop short. The two little boys were dressed in pajamas, sitting side-by-side on the sofa, each holding a storybook, looking like they were waiting for something. I wanted to ask, but I realized I didn’t know their names. “The one on the left is Caleb, and on the right is Cody,” the nanny whispered to me as she passed by. “Caleb has autism, and Cody… well, he’s not as carefree as other kids his age.” “Daddy always comes home to read us a story, no matter how busy he is,” Cody explained, carefully placing his book in my hands. “Mr. Hayes has it tough,” the nanny started to say. “After putting the boys to bed, he still has to…” She caught my eye and trailed off. I glanced back at the sofa. Their little heads were drooping with disappointment. Clearly, Julian was late today. I clenched my fists and forced myself to walk to the door. I paused. Took a deep breath. And walked back. I knelt and stroked their faces. “How about I read to you guys tonight?” 4 Two drooping heads shot up, their round eyes shining like stars. They nodded excitedly. They scrambled into bed, pulled the covers up themselves, and obediently closed their eyes. They begged me to read story after story. I was getting sleepy, but they seemed to be getting more and more awake. My eyelids started to feel heavy. The words on the page blurred. My brain started to malfunction. After nonsensically narrating how “the Big Bad Wolf and the three little pigs all went to college together,” I couldn’t fight it anymore and passed out. … In a groggy haze, I felt myself being lifted. Thinking it was just a sleep twitch, I subconsciously rolled over, burying my face into something warm and comfortable. Then I smelled a familiar, clean scent. My mind went blank for a second, then snapped into focus. I opened my eyes and found myself looking up into a pair of dark, smiling ones. Julian. The heat from his hand was seeping through the thin fabric of my shirt, right at the small of my back. I yelped as if electrocuted and scrambled out of his arms. “Who said you could hold me?” I demanded. His suit jacket was gone, leaving him in just a dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, the top two buttons undone, revealing a hint of his collarbone. He looked tired, but his features were sharper, more mature than the boy I remembered from eight years ago. “Then who should?” Julian’s smile vanished. He shoved his hands in his pockets and sneered. “Leo?” That night at the party, after Julian had so cruelly dismissed the idea of liking me, I had run into Leo, our class president, as I was leaving. He’d confessed his feelings for me, his face beet red. Just then, some other friends came out, overheard, and dragged us back inside, teasingly demanding he say it again for everyone. So he wouldn’t be embarrassed, I’d tentatively agreed to go on a date with him. … My failure to deny it back then was, in Julian’s eyes, a confirmation. He grabbed my chin, his gaze dark, his voice turning colder. “You’d better not forget who you are.” I slapped his hand away and laughed coldly. “Who I am? Do I have an identity here? Did I ever have a choice?” I shot back. “Julian, I never did anything to you. If you hate me so much, why did you marry me?” 5 The air went still. Julian frowned. “What are you even talking about? Who said I hate you? I…” “Daddy~” Cody emerged from the bedroom, rubbing his sleepy eyes. He glanced nervously at me, then at Julian. “Are you and Mommy fighting?” Our eyes met. In a flash, Julian’s arm snaked around my waist, pulling me against him. He instantly switched into doting-husband-and-father mode. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “Mommy and Daddy always get along. Your mom has a big debate at work tomorrow, and we were just practicing.” Cody tilted his head, thinking. Then he shook it. “Liar. If you got along, why does Mommy always try to run away?” “That’s nonsense. She’s not running away.” Julian shot me a wounded look. “Your mommy just likes playing hide-and-seek, just like you guys.” His hand on my waist tightened. “Right, honey?” I looked away, refusing to answer. But my eyes accidentally met Caleb’s. He was staring at us, his brow furrowed, picking at his fingers so hard they were turning red. He was on the verge of an episode. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and forced a smile. “That’s right. Your dad is right.” I watched as Caleb stopped picking at his hands, his brow slowly smoothing out. I let out a sigh of relief. “I don’t believe you,” Cody said, looking up at us skeptically. “Michael’s parents are always kissing. You guys never do. Unless… unless Mommy kisses Daddy. Then I’ll believe you.” I was completely cornered. Kids these days were too smart. There was no way I could fulfill that request. After a long, awkward silence, I elbowed the man beside me who was pretending to be a statue. “Well? Say something helpful.” Julian glanced at me, then grunted reluctantly. To my complete shock, he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek. He straightened up and looked at his son matter-of-factly. “There. Now get back to bed. Don’t bother your mom, she’s shy.” 6 I was still in a daze long after the boys had gone back to their room. “I helped,” Julian stated calmly. I took a deep breath, trying to compose myself. “I said, ‘Say something helpful,’ not ‘do something helpful’.” He just shrugged. “What’s the difference? Same result.” Furious, I slapped him across the face. “You took advantage of the situation! You’re shameless!” Before the words were even out, he grabbed my hand, his grip like steel. I struggled, but couldn’t break free. “What?” I said, trying to sound brave. “Am I wrong? Let go of me.” Our eyes locked. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “Can you… say more?” he asked, his voice strangely quiet. “Yell at me. Hit me again. Anything.” I just blinked at him. “Are you sick?” Catching him off guard, I yanked my hand free and fled back to my room. 7 The next morning at the breakfast table, Julian was sporting dark circles under his eyes and kept glancing at me. As soon as the boys went to get their backpacks, he spoke, his voice full of complaint. “You have to let me back in the bedroom tonight. I can’t sleep well in the guest room.” I nodded. “Okay. Then I’ll move to the guest room.” His face fell. “Clara, what is that supposed to mean? Are you just taking advantage of the fact that I let you get away with everything?” I met his gaze. “If that’s what you want to call it, I can’t stop you.” His face was thunderous. He didn’t even finish his breakfast before storming out of the dining room. He met the boys coming out of their room and took their hands. He shot me one last cold look. “Come on. Dad’s taking you to school.” Caleb and Cody didn’t move. They both looked at me. “We want Mommy to take us,” Cody said in a small voice. “Mommy… take us,” Caleb echoed. Julian looked like he’d been hit by a truck for the second time that morning. His glare in my direction was even more resentful than before.

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1 Julian’s jaw twitched. Even the perfectly styled strands of his dark hair seemed to stand on end. He was speechless. “Fine,” he finally ground out. “…In installments.” He pushed the divorce papers towards me. “Can you sign now?” I stretched languidly, not even glancing at the papers, and stood up to walk towards the bedroom. “Blood first, then signature.” [Tonight’s a major plot point! The main couple clears up their misunderstanding, and the female lead is flying back to the States!] [Hah, let’s see how long this bitch can stay smug! Her death clock starts ticking the second the female lead lands!] I paused at the door. Without turning back, I said, “My new Agent Provocateur set arrived. Wanna see?” “Yes—” Julian started automatically, then caught himself. “Not interested.” From the sound of it, he was grinding his teeth down to the roots. As I reached the bedroom door, I glanced back at him one last time before closing it. “I got a collar and a whip, too.” The door clicked shut. It immediately flew back open. Julian ran a hand through his hair, trying to mask the awkward flush on his face. His hands, hanging at his sides, were clenched tightly around the fabric of his trousers. Even in the dim light, I could see the tips of his ears were bright red. “Fine, I’ll take a look…” I smiled. Wrapping him around my finger was just too easy. 2 “No phone tonight. No contacting anyone,” I ordered, staring into his deep, turbulent eyes. My hands weren’t idle; I tightened the rope. “You belong to me.” The distance between us was just enough for him to enter, but not enough for him to take control. Julian was forced to tilt his head back, a choked, muffled sound escaping his throat. “Understand?” He nodded. [What is this, dog training? LMAO] [Come on, Male Lead, have some dignity! Your marriage was just a business arrangement! The female lead is your true love!] [Whatever, I’m here for the spice. Go on, Chloe, give the people what they want.] Only then did I loosen my grip. Like a beast that had tasted blood, Julian immediately flipped me over, pinning my arms. Our sex life had always been… explosive. If there was one thing I was satisfied with over the years, it was his inexhaustible stamina in bed. A real shame. Where else would I find someone so perfectly in sync with me? I pulled the silk sheets over myself, covering the view. The live chat in my vision exploded. [I paid for the premium subscription! Let me see!] [Chloe, I’m begging you, I’ll be your dog! Woof woof woof!] [Get in line, pal! Woof! I was here first!] You guys called me a bitch. You get nothing. After he was satisfied, Julian fell into a deep sleep. I reached for his phone, tentatively typing in the passcode—my birthday. It unlocked. “Dumb mutt,” I whispered, lightly slapping his cheek. Forgetting a detail like this? If his precious “one that got away” ever found out, it would be another week of drama. I did him a favor and changed the passcode to her birthday before opening his messages. Sera: Julian, I’m divorced. Do you still love me? I glanced at the sleeping Julian. One of his hands was tangled in the strap of my lingerie, the other resting on his slapped cheek as he mumbled something about a nice scent. “Do you still love her?” I asked the empty room. “You must. Desperately.” “Willing to agree to my ridiculous demand just to divorce me and run back to her.” I casually blocked and deleted Sera’s contact. Sorry, Sera. It’s nothing personal. I’m not trying to stand in the way of true love, but my life is just a little more important. 3 When I woke up, Julian was lying next to me, an unlit cigarette between his fingers, fiddling with his phone. His brow was deeply furrowed. He must have seen the blocked contact. “Something’s wrong,” he said, his tone grave. “I think we had a break-in.” I shot out of bed. The safe? Secure. My jewelry? Secure. My collection of limited-edition Birkins? All there. What would a thief take, a pair of Julian’s worn-out boxers? “What did they steal?” I asked, returning to the bedside. Julian had lit the cigarette now. He took a long drag, his expression complicated through the haze of smoke. “They didn’t steal anything.” “They changed my phone’s passcode.” I froze for a second. The chat went blank, too. Julian tossed the phone aside. The screen lit up: iPhone is disabled. Try again in one year. “I tried every passcode I could think of. Nothing works,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “It must be someone from Vanguard Corp. Trying to cut me off from my clients to steal the Sterling account. They won’t get away with this.” He was brilliant, sure, but his one-track mind made him an idiot. “Just get a new phone,” I said calmly. “And a new number. The old one has bad juju.” Julian was used to listening to me. He nodded, grabbed his car keys, and bolted out the door. [That vicious woman! I can’t believe she’d stoop so low!] [I kinda… ship it? Don’t @ me.] When he got home that evening, he was sitting on the couch, looking troubled again. I sat down next to him with a blood-drawing kit, pulling a slip of paper from my pocket and waving it. It was Sera’s new contact info. “Looking for this?” I cooed. “Give me some blood, and it’s yours.” [Useless Male Lead can’t even remember his true love’s number!] [Yeah, can’t remember her number, but he remembered every one of her sensitive spots last night, huh?] I put the full blood bag away and casually tossed the note at his feet. Julian snatched it up and immediately dialed. “We’re sorry, the number you have dialed is…” [The female lead is already on a plane! She’s coming back to crush the competition!] [Tomorrow, he’s going to pick her up from the airport, they’ll clear the air, I can’t wait!] [And she’s gonna stay at his place, which is when the bitchy wife storms out and gets herself kidnapped! Yes!] 4 It was the dead of winter, frost feathering the windowpanes. I deliberately left the window open, letting the frigid New York air pour in, then cranked up the AC, aimed it right at Julian, and stole the only duvet on the bed. “C-cold…” he shivered. I lifted his pajama top, exposing his eight-pack to the cold. “I asked the doctor. You need to stay cold for your blood to replenish faster. Don’t you dare pull your shirt down.” Julian just nodded. The next day, he had a raging fever and could barely stand. The pile of used tissues next to him was mountainous. “I… I have to go get Sera…” I snatched his car keys. “I’ll drive you.” JFK was a swirling mass of people. Sera stood by the curb in a stylish cape, her eyes red and swollen. The moment she saw Julian, she threw herself at him. “How could you do this to me!” she cried, pounding on his chest. “Julian, if you don’t love me, just say it! Why block me? Why change your number? Were you planning on never speaking to me again?!” Her tears flowed freely. It was a heart-wrenching sight. Julian, delirious with fever, just blinked. He didn’t seem to process a single word. Instead, he pushed Sera away and stumbled into my arms. “Honey, I feel sick… I wanna go home…” I nodded at Sera, gesturing for her to open the car door. Sera was trembling with rage, her eyes shooting daggers that could kill. I sighed. “Miss Sera, you don’t want to stand out here in the cold, do you?” She shot me one last venomous glare before yanking the driver’s side door open. I helped Julian into the back seat. Shut the door. After a moment, I rolled down the window. “He won’t let go of me. Guess you’ll have to drive.” [There she goes, provoking the female lead again. Enjoy it while it lasts, your days are numbered.] [Yup, the moment she’s alone, it’s curtains for her!] I instantly caught the key word. Alone. Fine. From now on, I was sticking to Julian like superglue. “Thanks for the ride home,” I said, pressing a few hundred-dollar bills into Sera’s hand. “This should cover your Uber. Keep the change.” I hauled the semi-conscious Julian out of the car. A six-foot-three tower of muscle, and he felt as heavy as a sack of bricks. Getting him into bed was an ordeal. “No… don’t…” Julian mumbled in his sleep, looking terrified. Tears welled in his eyes as his hands grasped at the air. “I’ll complete the mission… System, please… don’t hurt her…” I had no idea what he was talking about. I gently took his hand. “No one is going to hurt Sera.” Thinking about my own impending doom, I couldn’t help but sigh. “Julian, if I died… what would you do? Would you be scared? Would you miss me? Or would you just forget me?” He squeezed my hand back, still muttering nonsense. But the last thing he said, I heard with perfect clarity. “I love her. So, so much. If the ending is bad, please… take my life in exchange for her safety and health.” A bitter pang went through my chest. So that’s how much he loved Sera. Lost in thought, a tear escaped my eye and landed on his face, trickling into the corner of his eye as if it were his own. “Sorry,” I whispered, and quickly left the room. 5 I became Julian’s shadow. I went with him to work, on business trips, hell, I even held his hand when he went to the restroom. I was terrified that a single moment apart would be my last. Soon, the gossip columns in New York were buzzing. Julian Vance and his wife were inseparable, attached at the hip. [That’s a savage move. Our poor female lead is probably crying her eyes out at home.] [Tonight, she’s gonna go get wasted. He’ll drive to find her, and on the way back, they’ll run over his wife who has conveniently run away from home. Finally, her exit!] A chill went down my spine. I looked at Julian, who was currently inhaling a steak, and an inexplicable rage boiled up inside me. I shoved his face straight into his plate. “Eat, eat, eat! Is that all you know how to do?!” You’re about to kill your wife, you idiot! Julian was stunned. He shakily picked a piece of arugula off his nose, looked at the messy plate, then at my thunderous expression. “I was hungry…” he mumbled. I snatched his phone, unlocked it, and went to his messages. Just as I thought. Sera: I don’t believe you have no feelings for me, Julian. I’m giving you one last chance. Sera: I’ll be at Midnight tonight. If you don’t show up, we’re over for good. Julian: I’ll be there. “You’re not going,” I said, my voice flat. For the first time, Julian’s expression turned serious. He took the phone back. “I have to.” He pressed his lips into a thin line, his knuckles white where he gripped the edge of the table. A profound, unshakable sadness filled his eyes. “Someone will die if I don’t.” Thinking of his sleep-talking that night, my anger mixed with a sense of hurt. How could I tell him? If you go tonight, I’m the one who dies. But the only person he cared about was Sera. Julian turned his face to the window, his eyes getting a little red. “Wow, this steak sauce is really spicy…” I ignored him. After a long silence, I clutched my stomach and collapsed onto the floor, pinching my thigh hard to make the pain look real. “Julian… my stomach… it hurts so much…” He swept me into his arms and sprinted out of the restaurant. He floored it, running who knows how many red lights. In the passenger seat, I was secretly calculating. Once we were far enough away, I’d sit up and tell him the pain was gone. “I have a couple of things to take care of, you can head home first.” I turned around and got into a police car. Once at the station, I went straight to the officer in charge. “I’d like to report a reckless driver.” The NYPD worked fast. He ran the lights at noon; his license was suspended by the afternoon. If Julian was supposed to hit me with a car, I’d make sure he couldn’t drive one. [Damn, that’s cold-blooded.] [Hah, he’ll just take a taxi. And she’ll still end up getting stabbed by a burglar at home. The end is near!] [The System makes its appearance tonight! The puppet master of the whole story! Kinda excited to see it in human form.] The System again. What the hell was it? If it controlled destiny, maybe it could change my fate. I pulled my hat down low and slipped into the club, Midnight.

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Julian Wilson was unlike any other titan in New York. When the paparazzi caught him in a fender-bender with his latest lover in the passenger seat, he didn’t get angry. Instead, he flashed a grin and gave the photographers a friendly tip. “Remember, for stuff like this, you call my wife. She handles the checks.” The tabloid reporters would share a knowing smile. “Mrs. Wilson has the patience of a saint. A hundred of them, and she doesn’t bat an eye.” But they also remembered the day Julian Wilson married me in a wedding that was the talk of the decade. They remembered how he’d spoken to them in a low, almost hushed tone, shielding me from the flashbulbs. “My wife… she’s a little shy. Please don’t frighten her.” That was only seven years ago. In that time, the shy Mrs. Wilson had learned to claw and fight with his mistresses, to sign one check after another. Scandal containment: a million. A discarded lover: five million. A life-ending secret, an abortion: ten million. And so, as the world held its breath, waiting for the check that would accompany mistress number one hundred, I pushed open the heavy oak door to the Wilson matriarch’s private study. “We had a deal,” I said. “When he reached number one hundred, I would walk.” 1 When the reporter slid the glossy photo of Julian kissing another woman across the table, I didn’t even flinch. I simply stood, went upstairs, and opened the door. Matilda Wilson turned in her chair as if she’d been expecting me. She watched me with the calm, assessing gaze of a woman who had won this war a generation ago. My feelings for her were… complicated. “Have you made up your mind?” she asked. “Yes.” I pushed the signed separation agreement across her desk, my eyes lowered. “Thank you, Mother, for taking care of me all these years.” She let out a long sigh and shook her head. “Leave whenever you’re ready.” I can still hear her words from seven years ago, the day I first stepped into the Wilson mansion as its new mistress. She had looked at me with an expression that was half-pity, half-knowing. “Loving him is easy, Vivian. Keeping him is the hard part.” I was too young, too in love to understand then. It was only after Julian’s scandals began piling up at my door, one after another, that I finally understood her warning. It wasn’t a prophecy; it was a history lesson. Leaving her study, I took a deep breath. The butler was directing staff to bring in a new delivery of gift boxes. The latest Parisian couture, the ‘Heart of Eternity’ diamond from a Christie’s auction, and a pair of crystal slippers Julian had spent six months commissioning for me. On the sole, etched in his own handwriting, were the words: J, for my only love, V. My only love? What a bitter joke. Every woman in Manhattan envied me the penthouse apartment I used just to store these tokens of his affection. To me, they were nothing but trophies of his infidelity. Each gift marked another betrayal. In the beginning, I believed him every time he apologized. I believed he would change, that he hadn’t inherited his father’s insatiable appetite for women. But the gifts kept coming, and I felt myself withering, petal by petal, until I was nothing but rot pressed into the mud. “Do you like them?” Julian’s arms wrapped around me from behind. I smelled an unfamiliar scent of orchid on his collar. It was the signature fragrance of mistress number one hundred, Isabella Rossi. She fancied herself a rare flower, a stark contrast to me, who, in her words, reeked of the vulgar smell of money and checks. I shifted away from his touch. He stumbled slightly, the smile on his face faltering for a second before he caught my hands, his fingers lacing through mine. “Still not used to it after all this time?” he murmured. “Alright, let me change. We’ll have dinner together.” He leaned in and kissed my cheek, completely missing the small object I held clenched in my palm. I was about to say something. But he had already turned. His polished leather shoe came down, stepping directly on the plastic pregnancy test I’d dropped. The two faint lines on its screen were a secret he would never know. He kicked it aside like a piece of trash. His brow furrowed in disgust. “What is this filth doing in the house? Someone, get in here!” In that moment, I couldn’t tell if he was talking about the test, or about me and the child in my womb. A heavy, crushing pain settled in my chest. I couldn’t even make a fist. Julian noticed nothing. When he sat down again, he brought up an old topic. “Let’s put Isabella on your team. If you’re managing her, I won’t have to worry.” Isabella was the daughter of one of their maids. He’d personally mentored her, brought her into the company, and had been pushing for weeks to place her on my project team. I’d refused every time, not wanting a daily reminder of his affair. But this time, I simply smiled. “Alright.” 2 He looked surprised, but his surprise was quickly replaced by delight. He lifted my hand to his lips, kissing my knuckles. “Darling, I knew you’d be understanding.” The happy curve of his lips should have been familiar, but it felt like I was looking at a stranger. During my four years at Columbia, whenever people whispered that I was the bastard daughter of a showgirl, that I was dirty and cheap, he had always been the one to stand in front of me. He was the one who took me to see the stars from a Brooklyn rooftop, the one who carried me through the streets in the dead of night when my appendix burst, his shirt soaked with sweat and his feet bleeding by the time we reached the hospital. As I lay in the hospital bed, I had asked him, my eyes red, “How can I ever repay you?” He just smiled. “I don’t want repayment. Just be my partner. Just be understanding.” Later, when I was held up at knifepoint during a shopping trip, he’d talked the mugger into taking him as a hostage instead of me. I was unharmed. He took three stab wounds to the arm and chest, yet he was the one wiping away my tears. “Don’t cry. I don’t want your tears. Just marry me. Just be my understanding wife.” I never could have imagined what “understanding” truly meant to him. It wasn’t about being a good partner in business or a supportive wife at home. It was about accepting and cleaning up the endless messes from his affairs. Julian’s initial joy was followed by a flicker of suspicion. “You’ve always said no before. Why the sudden change of heart?” My gaze drifted to the corner where the broken pregnancy test lay in the dust. I gave a faint, empty laugh. “I’m tired,” I said. “I don’t want to fight anymore.” Not for him, not for this family. Whoever wanted the title of Mrs. Wilson could have it. “If only you’d realized that sooner! Which of my friends doesn’t have a girl in every borough? Your own father played the field back in the day, didn’t he? And your mother never said a word!” It was true. My mother never said a word. She and my father met on the mainland. After I was born, he came to New York to make his fortune. When he had enough, he brought us over. For a while, he was the perfect husband, the perfect father. Until my fifteenth birthday. That was the day my mother discovered his other family, his other son who was exactly my age. She had screamed, a raw, hysterical sound, and grabbed my father by his collar. “Why? How could you do this to us?” He shoved her away and pointed a finger in her face. “A cheap showgirl has no right to question me! If you hadn’t given me a useless girl, do you think I would have needed to find other women?” He turned and kicked me hard, spitting in my face. “Useless. What a waste of space.” Later that night, my mother stabbed my father twenty-three times. Then, she killed herself. She died at my feet. The blood was still warm. It has been my nightmare ever since. There was a time when Julian would have threatened to kill anyone who even dared to bring it up. Now, he could toss my trauma out like a casual joke to shut me up. I wondered how many times he’d shared this story with his lovers, with his friends, all of them laughing at my expense. Seeing the look on my face, he finally had the decency to back down, offering a weak apology. “Sorry. My mistake. Slipped out.” The pain came in waves, so intense it made me tremble. I said nothing. I didn’t even look at him. Just as he started to move toward me, his phone rang. He picked it up and walked out of the room. I heard him murmur the word “baby” with a tenderness that used to be reserved only for me. I once thought it was my special name. I later learned he called every one of them “baby.” The sound of their flirting, muffled through the wall, was like a thousand tiny needles in my ears. I remembered my first year at Wilson Industries. I couldn’t make sense of the financial reports. He’d pull me onto his lap and go through them with me, giving me a playful bite on the shoulder for every mistake I made. Back then, we were the golden couple of the New York elite. Then came the first mistress. I fought. I screamed. I threatened divorce. He would promise it would never happen again, but his nights were still filled with parties and other women. I cried until I was empty, and he would stand there, refusing to sign the papers, yelling, “My father was like this! My uncles are like this! Every man I know is like this! What did I do that’s so wrong?” I, a Columbia graduate, became a shrieking harpy, turning our home into a warzone. Finally, his mother summoned me to her study. “It’s useless,” she said, her voice devoid of emotion. “Infidelity is in the Wilson blood.” “But I will give you a choice. Wait until he’s had his one-hundredth affair. After that, whatever you decide to do, I will support you.” She thought I would become like her: numb, resigned, and eventually, accepting. But I became Mrs. Wilson because I loved Julian. I didn’t love Julian because I wanted to be Mrs. Wilson. Without love, I didn’t want the man. I should have been numb by now. But as my eyes fell on the two-meter-long portrait of me in my wedding dress hanging over our bed—a mosaic he’d spent three months piecing together, his eyes red with exhaustion—and I heard him on the phone, patiently coaching his new lover on how to handle tomorrow’s investors’ briefing, the absurdity of it all was overwhelming. I wiped a tear from my eye, pulled a suitcase from the closet, and began to pack. Julian walked back in, a smile on his face. The smile vanished. “Where are you going?” 3 “I was thinking of a trip. Europe, maybe.” He looked me over and nodded to himself. “Good idea. Let Isabella handle things here. You go and relax.” The next day, the annual investors’ briefing was packed. Every partner of Wilson Industries was there. Isabella, dressed in a sharp power suit, commanded the stage, all traces of the timid girl who used to call me “ma’am” gone. Julian sat beside me, beaming with pride. Suddenly, the massive screen behind Isabella went black. A moment later, it flickered back to life, not with charts and figures, but with the unmistakable sounds of a couple in the throes of passion. An image appeared—Isabella, entangled in bed with a man. Although their faces were blurred, everyone in the room knew exactly who that man was. Isabella covered her face and ran from the stage, pushing through the stunned crowd to throw herself into Julian’s arms. She looked at me, her face streaked with tears. “Mrs. Wilson… Vivian… I know you’re angry, I know you look down on me, but how could you risk the Wilson legacy for your own petty jealousy?” With one sentence, she made me the villain. I looked directly at Julian. “Do you also believe I did this?” He didn’t answer me. He just held Isabella, murmuring words of comfort. After a long moment, he finally looked up, his eyes filled with a mixture of disgust and disappointment. “So that’s why you agreed so easily yesterday! You had this planned all along!” he hissed. “You came from nothing, Vivian. How can you be so cruel to her? We’re all selling something in this world. What makes you so much better than her?” He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “Don’t you forget, I made one Vivian Thorne. I can just as easily make another Isabella Rossi!” The air was thick with whispers and mocking laughter. I thought after seven years, I was immune. I thought I had cried all my tears and felt all the pain there was to feel. But his words… they churned something toxic inside me. I opened my hand, wanting to show him I didn’t have the remote, that it wasn’t me. The moment my hand moved, Isabella shrieked and recoiled. “Vivian, no! Don’t hit me! I’m sorry! I’ll never see Julian again, I promise, just please don’t hit me!” Julian’s face darkened. He grabbed her arm and yanked up her sleeve. The crowd gasped. Isabella’s arm was a canvas of ugly bruises and what looked like whip marks. In an instant, Julian’s eyes went red. He pulled the trembling woman into a fierce embrace and barked an order at his bodyguards. “Make her kneel.” I struggled, screaming, “Julian, calm down! It wasn’t me!” He sneered. “I’ve been too calm. I’ve given you too much respect, and it’s turned you into a monster. Today, I’m going to teach you how to be a proper Wilson wife.” As he finished speaking, a bodyguard stepped forward with a riding crop. The whip cracked through the air. The people around us just watched, some of them even starting to count. “One… two… three…” My face and limbs were pinned to the floor. Blood, mixed with tiny flecks of skin, splattered in front of my eyes. The pain on my back was a fire, burning its way straight into my soul. The man who once rode a bicycle with me through Central Park at dawn, the man who once whispered “don’t be afraid” as he shielded me with his own body, the man who knelt outside the library at Columbia and swore he would love me for a lifetime… that man was finally, irrevocably shattered. Tears streamed down my face. When Julian saw my tears, he flinched as if he’d been burned and took a step back. “Mr. Wilson, that’s one hundred,” a guard said quietly. “Any more and you might kill her.” He waved a dismissive hand, his brow furrowed. “Enough! Get her to a hospital.” As they loaded me onto a stretcher, I saw Isabella, still nestled in Julian’s arms, flash me a triumphant smile.

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1 My only wish was to give Anson a complete family. Despite my fear of pain, I mustered the courage to have his child. But a midwife’s error caused a blood vessel in my brain to rupture, and just like that, the brilliant mathematician became a simpleton who couldn’t even count. Everyone urged Anson to move on. But he’d cradle our baby with one arm and gently wipe crumbs from my mouth with the other. “I can’t let this family fall apart,” he insisted. “I’ll care for her for life.” To cover my medical bills, he buried his pride and became the relentless Mr. Hayes, consumed by work. Juggling the office and two dependents at home, he began to gray by thirty. Then one day, I spilled milk all over the floor again. Anson’s frustration finally boiled over. He shoved my head to the ground, snarling, “Lick it up. Why did you survive? Why didn’t you just die?” Terrified, I wet myself. The sight seemed to shock him back to his senses. He staggered away, pale, and locked himself in his study all night. The next morning, he made a call. “Mrs. Davis? About that woman you mentioned… I’m ready to meet her.” … Anson brought a woman home. As always, I tried to throw myself into his arms, but for the first time, he stepped aside, a frown creasing his brow as he told me to stand properly. I just stood there, stunned, watching him offer a smile to the woman he called Mindy. “This is my wife, Sasha, and our five-year-old son, Leo. I hope you’ll be able to help take care of them.” Mindy’s lips curved into a gentle smile. “We’re family now. No need to be so formal.” Leo clutched my leg, baring his teeth at the stranger like a little guard dog. I didn’t understand the strange ache in my chest, but I patted Leo’s head. “It’s okay, sweetie. She’s our new nanny.” We had a new person come to look after us every few months. A flicker of awkwardness crossed Mindy’s face before she pulled a Spider-Man lollipop from her purse. Leo’s eyes lit up instantly. Then, Mindy gently combed my tangled hair back into place. I saw the look of relief in Anson’s eyes, so I bit my lip and didn’t say a word about how hard she was pulling, how much it hurt. I still remembered making Anson angry last time, and I didn’t want it to happen again. I pulled out the little cookie I’d been saving for him and held it out. “Anson, I promise I’ll be good.” But I’d held it too long. It crumbled in my hand, scattering crumbs all over the floor Mindy had just mopped. Anson’s fury mounted in an instant. “Sasha, for God’s sake, can’t you just give me a moment of peace?” He knelt to clean up the mess with Mindy, his voice laced with apology. “I’m sorry. She’s… simple. You’ll have to be patient with her.” My cheeks puffed out. Anson hated it when people called me that. He’d even gotten into a fight over it once. I shoved the rest of the cookie into my mouth. I wasn’t sharing with him anymore. And just like that, Mindy moved in. Leo was the happiest of all. “My clothes smell so nice every day now!” he’d chirp. “And Auntie Mindy’s cooking is delicious!” He bounced in front of me, full of life, and I looked down at myself—at my increasingly stained collar and the sharp angles of my bones poking through my skin. Apparently, Anson noticed too. He asked Mindy about it. She hesitated before answering. “Sasha can be… difficult to manage.” “When you’re not here, she bites me, hits me… I’m honestly afraid to touch her.” As she spoke, she showed Anson the teeth marks on her arm. “You’re lying!” I shot out like a cornered animal, ramming my head into her stomach. I never bit anyone. Anson would believe me. He had to. The next second, a sharp, solid slap landed across my face. “Sasha, we’re doing everything we can for you! Why can’t you just behave?” Anson’s eyes were red with rage. “Do you have to drag us all down with you to be happy?” Seeing his beloved Mindy on the floor, Leo started pounding on me with his tiny fists. “Sasha’s bad! Don’t bully Mommy!” 2 Anson had told me Leo was the baby I’d risked my life to bring into this world. But he had never once called me “Mommy.” Now, the first time he said the word, it was for another woman. A sour knot formed in my chest. Anson seemed to come to his senses then, staring at his trembling hand in shock. “Sasha, I…” The slap stung, but I knew he didn’t mean it. Anson was a good man, the best man. When the flu hit us hard a while back, both Leo and I got sick. He carried us back and forth from the hospital, refusing to rest even though he was burning up himself. He didn’t collapse until we were both fully recovered. “It’s okay! It doesn’t hurt!” I forced a smile, but the throb in my cheek made me wince. Just then, Mindy approached with a tube of ointment. I slapped it out of her hand. “Bad woman! I don’t want your things!” I’d always been clear about who I liked and who I didn’t. The softness that had just returned to Anson’s eyes hardened again. “Sasha, you are unbelievable!” He grabbed me impatiently and shoved me into the dark, musty wardrobe. “You can come out for dinner when you’ve learned your lesson!” “No! I don’t want to be in here! Let me out!” Anson knew how terrified I was of the dark. We kept the lights on in the house all year round for me. I hammered on the door, my body trembling uncontrollably, but the only response was the cheerful clatter of forks and plates as they started their meal. Realizing that begging Anson was useless, I started screaming for Leo. “Leo, help me! Get me out!” Leo was small, but he was always my sweet boy. I could snatch his snacks and he wouldn’t get mad. If another kid called me a simpleton, he’d find them and punch them. But this time, his voice came back, cold and distant. “Sasha, you’re not being good. I’m not playing with you.” I don’t know how long I screamed. A sweet, metallic taste filled my throat, and my head grew so heavy I could barely hold it up. Suddenly, the door swung open, flooding the darkness with light. Mindy stood there, a bowl of rice in her hand and a saccharine smile on her face. Her words, however, were pure venom. “How does a simpleton like you end up with a rich, devoted husband? God must be blind.” She sneered. “But don’t worry. Everything that’s yours will soon be mine.” With that, she dumped the bowl of rice all over herself, grabbed my hand, and let out a piercing scream. “Ah!” Anson rushed in. Seeing the scene, he sent me flying with a vicious kick to the chest. A sharp pain tore through me, and a spray of crimson erupted from my lips. “I… I was just worried Sasha was hungry,” Mindy sobbed, burying her face in Anson’s chest. “I tried to bring her some food, but she just went crazy… She tried to choke me…” “No, that’s not… that’s not what happened!” I gasped, clutching my chest as I tried to lift my head. But Anson cut me off. “Enough! Sasha, how many times do I have to tell you? You don’t hit people!” I shrank back, terrified. I had never seen this side of him. “Anson, I just… I don’t feel safe here,” Mindy whimpered, her eyes glistening with tears as she looked up at him. “You and Leo are her family, but… I’m all alone.” Anson’s body went rigid. He turned and looked at me, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions too complex for me to understand. Then, he scooped Mindy into his arms and carried her into the bedroom. That night, Mindy was like an opera singer. Her performance went on for hours. 3 From that day on, Mindy’s belly began to swell. Leo told me she was going to have a baby brother for him to play with. An involuntary cramp seized my chest, and I rubbed at the spot. “I want to play with the baby brother, too.” I tiptoed over to where Mindy was napping on the sofa and gently rested my head on her rounded stomach. “Ah!” Her eyes flew open, wide with shock and fear. Suddenly, she clutched her belly, beads of sweat popping on her forehead. They rushed her to the hospital. Anson, already exhausted from a full day of overtime, raced to her side. The baby was fine, but Mindy was hysterical. “Anson! Sasha tried to hurt me and the baby!” she shrieked. “You have to send her away! Please, just until the baby is born. You can bring her back then.” I knew I’d done something wrong. I huddled in a corner, trying to make myself small. Anson raised his hand, his arm trembling with rage, but after a long moment, he let it fall. He sighed, a long, ragged sound, and went to Mindy’s side, whispering something I couldn’t hear. She started screaming and throwing things. Anson led me away. I spoke up, my voice small. “Anson, if you send me away… can you not send me too far?” “I told you, our family is not going to be separated!” His voice was raw, his eyes shot with bloodshot veins. With a gentle push, he backed me into the storage room. Click. The door locked from the outside. “Anson, what are you doing?!” “Just be good, Sasha. You only have to wait until Mindy’s baby is born. Then you can come out.” His voice, muffled and heavy, came through the door. It sounded so, so tired. So I decided to be good. I lay down on the cold floor and waited for Anson to feel better and let me out. But I slept and woke, slept and woke, and the door never opened. My stomach growled, a loud, empty protest. “Shh, tummy, don’t cry. I’ll find you something to eat.” I searched the cluttered room and found only half a piece of stale fruitcake. It was hard and a little bitter. After eating it, I was still just as hungry. “Anson, I’m hungry!” I banged on the door, my voice cracking into a desperate wail. It was late at night when he finally wrenched the door open, his face dark with fury. I just looked at him, my mouth hanging open pitifully. “So hungry…” He seemed to remember then that I hadn’t eaten. A flash of guilt crossed his face. He grabbed a few slices of bread from the fridge and thrust them at me, but my eyes were glued to the pot of chicken soup simmering on the stove. Without a word, he slammed the door shut again. “That’s for Mindy. You can’t have any.” It dawned on me then that the good things in this house were no longer for me first. After eating the dry bread, I remembered I was in the storage room. This wasn’t a place for sleeping. I started banging on the door again. “I’m sleepy! I want to go to bed!” The rhythm of my fists against the wood was like a drum, and I found it strangely entertaining. “Sasha, are you deaf?!” Anson yanked the door open, huge dark circles under his eyes. “Mindy needs to sleep! Can you please just be quiet!” I hiccuped in fear. Just then, Mindy appeared, holding out a small white bottle. “If she takes these, we’ll all get some peace.” Anson hesitated. “She’s just a simpleton, Anson,” Mindy pressed. “She won’t know the difference. It’ll be fine.” His expression hardened. He pried my mouth open and forced several small white pills down my throat. They were bitter, and I wanted to spit them out, but Anson’s fingers pushed them deeper, past my tongue. The world slowly faded to black. I was so, so sleepy. My body went limp, and I collapsed onto the floor. After that, whenever I opened my eyes, they would feed me the little white pills. The periods of darkness grew longer and longer. Finally, even Anson realized something was wrong. He rushed to the storage room and flung open the door. He shook me, slapped my cheeks, but I didn’t respond. Tears, hot and heavy, splashed onto my face. “Sasha, don’t scare me! Please, don’t scare me!” 4 I was rushed to the hospital to have my stomach pumped. Mindy, without a word, packed her bags and went back to her parents’ house, refusing to return. The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was Leo, screaming and crying at my bedside. “You bad woman, give me back my mommy!” Then I felt a warm drop on the back of my hand. Anson was crying. I panicked, not knowing what to do. “Anson, it doesn’t hurt. Don’t cry, please don’t cry.” “Sasha, what am I going to do? What am I going to do?” He was like a caged animal, pacing and frantic, desperate to break free from the invisible bars surrounding him. “My life was just getting back on track. I can’t let you ruin it all over again.” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “Just go to the asylum, okay? Please?” I didn’t know what an asylum was. But if it would make Anson happy, I would go anywhere. The next day, I was taken to a big house with high walls. “Sasha, Leo and I will visit you every week,” Anson promised before getting in his car and driving away without so much as a wave goodbye. So I started counting the days on my fingers. “Hey, simpleton, you even know how to count?” a few of the nurses snickered amongst themselves. I turned my back to them, my cheeks puffed out in annoyance. Anson used to tell me I was once the country’s youngest mathematical genius! But I’d run out of fingers and toes to count on, and Anson and Leo still hadn’t come. Oh no! The thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. What if something happened to them? The fear grew until it was all I could think about. So, when the nurses weren’t looking, I slipped out. I stumbled along, asking person after person for directions, until I finally found my way back to our street. Seeing the familiar building, I beamed with pride. I’m not a simpleton! I found my way home all by myself! But then I saw it. A pile of my clothes, discarded in a trash heap by the curb. I froze, my eyes drifting up toward our apartment. There, on the balcony, was Anson, gently holding Mindy in his arms as they soaked in the afternoon sun. And Leo was making funny faces at a baby in a cradle, trying to make him laugh. I took a few numb steps forward, just close enough to hear their voices drift down. “What are you planning to do about Sasha?” Mindy asked. Anson’s voice was heavy, final. “I’ve taken care of her long enough. Just let her live out her days in the asylum. You and the baby are my future now.” So that was it. Anson didn’t want me anymore. I must have become too much of a burden. I quietly turned around and walked all the way back to the asylum. Three days later, a morning news report sent shockwaves through the city. “A fire broke out late last night at the Northwood Asylum. Authorities report that among the one hundred and ten patients and staff, there were no survivors.” Anson shot up from his chair, the legs scraping violently against the floor. The next second, his phone began to ring. He answered it numbly. A gentle, pitying voice came through the line. “Mr. Hayes, I’m very sorry to inform you… your wife was among the victims of the fire.”

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1 When Larry White became obsessed with the double-slit experiment and missed our wedding for the ninety-ninth time, I didn’t have a hysterical breakdown. Instead, I calmly watched him as he rushed in, still wearing his white lab coat. “The experimental data was fluctuating. I’m late.” I’d heard that line countless times. I thought he might at least offer an apology, but Larry simply grabbed a handful of wedding candy with a completely untroubled expression. “Since everything’s fine, I’ll head out. Nina’s waiting for me to tutor her.” Nina was his junior colleague, his protégé. And for their tutoring sessions, Larry never missed a single one. I turned to see my parents, their shoulders slumped, apologizing to our guests. A wave of exhaustion and weariness washed over me. Suddenly, I realized something. The groom didn’t have to be him. … Larry didn’t care about anything that wasn’t related to physics. He’d even mistaken me for someone else on occasion. I used to think he was just lost in his own world, that he was like that with everyone. But just now, the candies he’d grabbed were all Nina’s favorites. Strawberry-flavored, wrapped in pretty foil. Meanwhile, he’d never once remembered that I was allergic to flowers. An angry rash of red hives was already blooming on my arms. I stared blankly at the yellow roses Larry had brought as a token apology. I thought of all the times I had lost my temper over his carelessness. He never explained, just creased his brow into fine, handsome lines and silently watched me vent until I was done. Then he’d act as if nothing had happened. “Ava!” My mother turned and gasped at the sight of the red welts covering my skin. She and my dad rushed me to the hospital. My consciousness began to fade, my mother’s suppressed sobs echoing in my ears. “It’s all your fault, David! You were the one who insisted on introducing Larry to Ava!” My dad was Larry’s university professor. He had seen Larry’s potential and had been determined to set us up. I, in turn, had been captivated by Larry’s cool, detached aura and chased after him relentlessly. He had sighed once, telling me, “Ava, I don’t know how to be in a relationship.” I had just blinked up at him, my voice bright. “That’s okay! I’ll teach you!” He had smiled then. It’s only now that I can finally read the helplessness and annoyance that were hidden in that smile. My dad couldn’t reach Larry. He called the university lab, his voice tight with anger, but they couldn’t find him there either. “Larry isn’t here. I think he had something important to take care of.” “What could possibly be more important than his fiancée being hospitalized?” Just as my dad roared the words into the phone, I looked up and saw him. Larry. He was supporting a pale-faced girl, helping her walk. Larry, who always kept a respectable distance from everyone, had her tucked right against his side, without an inch of space between them. And this man of few words was fussing over her endlessly. “Nina, the doctor said you have to take the fever medication every day, you can’t…” His words trailed off as his eyes met mine across the hallway. So, Nina’s minor fever was a crisis of epic proportions to him. Important enough to pull him away from his precious experiments. I remembered the time I was harassed by a group of thugs on the street. I had frantically called Larry for help. His voice came through the phone, as cool and dispassionate as the clinking of glass beakers. “It’s no use calling me, Ava. The person you need to call right now is the police.” In Larry’s eyes, I was no different from any other nameless stranger on the street. “What’s wrong with you?” he asked, walking over, as if bestowing a great kindness. Nina was still clinging to his arm, looking weak and apologetic. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I can’t believe I bothered him so much on your wedding day.” I curved my lips into a smile. “Oh, don’t worry. You can bother him as much as you want from now on.” “Because I’m not marrying him anymore.” 2 The straight, firm line of Larry’s mouth suddenly slackened. My parents, on the other hand, looked at me with a mixture of shock and relief. They knew I was stubborn as a mule; once I made up my mind, I never backed down. And when I was done with something, I never looked back. Larry, apparently, hadn’t realized that yet. He pressed his fingers to his temples, a weary gesture. He assumed I was just throwing another jealous tantrum. “Ava, you’d better mean that.” He said it because every time I’d broken up with him in the past, I’d come running back within two days. He thought this time would be no different. But when he finally returned home after finishing his long, complicated experiment, he was greeted by silence and an empty, cold apartment. Larry’s exhausted mind stuttered to a halt. He frowned, thinking for a moment before pulling out his phone to call me. “Ava, I’m hungry.” I froze on the other end of the line, stunned that this was the first thing he had to say to me after our standoff. Then, a dry, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. Larry was hailed as a genius in the world of physics. He could solve the most complex problems, conduct the most intricate experiments. But that same man had zero life skills. I was young then, and my world revolved around him. I willingly moved into his place and became his caretaker, his maid, his everything. I thought my devotion could thaw his icy heart. But just a moment ago, Nina had unblocked me on social media, and her latest post had appeared on my feed. [Day 100 of bringing lunch for my mentor. Today is eggplant with minced pork!] The picture showed a brightly colored lunchbox. I instantly recognized the long, elegant hand in the corner of the frame. It was Larry’s. [He said it was delicious and ate every last bite!] Reading that sentence, my eyes stung so badly I thought tears would fall. Because the one food Larry absolutely despised was eggplant. My fingers pressed hard against the screen, zooming in desperately until I saw it. The nutritious, meticulously prepared meal I woke up at 6 a.m. every single morning to make for him. Tossed in the trash can in the corner. I fought back the wave of nausea and rage, my voice low and steady. “Larry, do you just think I’m that easy to push around?” He heard the tremor in my voice. His breath hitched, and he started to say something else, but I had already hung up and blocked his number. He’s a smart man, I thought. He should understand that when an adult refuses to communicate, it means the relationship is over. But Larry was clearly missing a crucial piece of common sense. The rain was pouring down in sheets when he appeared at my door, holding a cake box. “Nina said girls like cake when they’re upset, so I went all the way to…” “Enough!” I shoved the cake out of his hands, sending it splattering onto the wet ground. The dam of my emotions finally broke. “Larry, you’re not Nina’s lapdog! You don’t need to ask her opinion on everything you do!” “I’m so sick of it! Just go be with Nina! I sincerely, truly wish you two the best!” I slammed the door in his face. Through the glass, I saw his long eyelashes, beaded with raindrops, his expression utterly stunned. It was only then that it seemed to slowly dawn on him that this time was different. Before he could process it, his professor called. There was a problem with the experiment’s data. Larry had no choice but to leave. We didn’t speak for two weeks. From the bits and pieces my dad told me, I gathered he was preparing to compete for the Buckley Prize, one of the most prestigious awards in physics. Then, one evening, my phone rang. It was him. “Ava, what are you doing?” His voice was hoarse with exhaustion. I paused for a beat before answering truthfully. “I’m trying on wedding dresses.” 3 Maybe it was my imagination, but Larry’s tone suddenly sounded much lighter. “When’s the date?” Even though the wedding had nothing to do with him anymore, I told him. “A week from today.” “Okay. I got it.” Just as he was about to hang up, I heard a sweet, playful shriek from his end of the line. “Larry, where did you put my pajamas?” Clatter. The phone slipped from my grasp, and my head started to buzz. They… they were sleeping together? The thought alone was enough to make my eyes burn. A memory I had tried so hard to bury came rushing back. It was shortly after Larry and I had started dating. I begged him to introduce me to his colleagues and juniors. Unlike the others, who were all worn down and lifeless from their experiments, Nina was a constant ball of sunshine. That night, everyone was teasing Larry, pressuring him to drink. They kept asking him who the person he loved most in the world was. The alcohol had flushed his face, his eyes glassy behind his rimless glasses. He was drunk. And his subconscious answered for him. “It’s Nina…” The entire room fell silent. I twisted my fingers together in my lap, forcing a smile. I tried to convince them, and myself, “He meant Ava! He said Ava!” The awkward moment passed, but I stubbornly clung to Larry’s side, believing that time would prove everything. But after eight years of chasing him, I was just so tired. Now that I was no longer in the way, it was only natural for them to get together. So, I prepared myself to forget him. I started by throwing away all the complex LEGO sets he’d given me. I never actually liked those brainy puzzles; what I loved was the process of building them with him. But Larry was always too busy. So I would secretly hide a few pieces, hoping it would make him stay with me a little longer. His sharp eyes, however, saw right through me. “You hid the pieces, didn’t you,” he stated, not asked. “Ava, I don’t have time for your games. Nina is waiting for me to run some test data.” Nina had always been a thorn in my side. The moment I heard her name, I would become sharp and bitter. “Are you like this with Nina, too?” He seemed to pause for a second before stating a simple fact. “Nina isn’t boring like you.” That casual remark shattered my defenses. Three days before the wedding, my dad left an important file at home and asked me to bring it to the university. I took a shortcut through the physics building. I had barely stepped inside when Nina blocked my path, her face set in a stern expression. “Ava, Larry is busy with his experiment right now. You should stop harassing him.” Nearby students started whispering. “Wow, that’s Larry’s doormat fiancée.” “Such a shame. I totally ship him and Nina.” I frowned. Hadn’t Larry told them we broke up? My phone was buzzing nonstop with calls from my dad. I didn’t have time to explain. “I’m in a hurry,” I said, trying to move past her. “No!” Nina shoved me. My feet tangled, and for a heart-stopping second, I realized I was at the top of a three-story staircase. A strong arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me back from the edge. I turned, my fear instantly replaced by a joyful surprise. “What are you doing here?” 4 “If I hadn’t come, you’d be a pancake on the floor right now.” Leo held me securely, his arm familiarly around my waist. He was my childhood best friend, and also the man I was going to spend the rest of my life with. Before I could say anything, a glacial voice cut through the air from behind me. “What are you two doing?” Larry stood there, his safety goggles pushed up on his forehead, revealing eyes red-rimmed with fatigue. His gaze slowly traveled down, locking onto Leo’s hand on my waist. A crowd was starting to form. I felt a flush of embarrassment and muttered, “It’s nothing. Just an accident.” Larry wasn’t the type to press for details. But this time, he was different. As I walked past him, he grabbed my wrist, his voice intense. “You haven’t answered my question.” Just then, a series of soft sobs broke the tension. No one had blamed Nina, but she had started crying anyway. Larry’s expression changed in an instant. He dropped my hand without hesitation and rushed to her side. “Who bullied you?” Nina just looked up at me silently, tears streaming down her face. Larry followed her gaze, his brow furrowing in displeasure when he saw me. “Why are you picking on Nina again?” I was the one who had almost been hurt, but Larry didn’t give me a chance to speak. Maybe a man so devoted to logic didn’t actually care about the truth. “Can you just stop making trouble?” He placed all the blame on me. “I told you not to drag other people into our problems.” “I’m flying out for the competition tomorrow, but I promise I’ll be back in time for the wedding. Just relax, okay?” Leo let out a soft “tsk” and was about to step forward, but I stopped him. I was perfectly calm. “First of all, I never touched Nina. Her tear ducts are her own problem. Secondly, the groom isn’t you, so you don’t need to rush back.” “Right, right. It’s not you,” Larry said, but it was clear he didn’t believe a word. He took Nina’s arm and led her away through the crowd. That night, Nina’s social media updated. [He said it’s responsibility, not love. He said he and I are the ones on the same path.] The picture was of a spectacular fireworks display over a mountaintop. I had told him more than once how much I wanted to see fireworks. But Larry always had an excuse, always too busy. It turns out that when someone truly cares, they can always find the time. Larry had said he’d be back in two days. But because Nina suddenly came down with a stomach ache, he delayed his return by a full week. His colleagues were worried. “Larry, what about your wedding?” “Ava might not forgive you so easily this time.” Larry just pushed his glasses up his nose, unconcerned. “It’s fine. She’s easy to please.” But when he finally arrived at my parents’ house, laden with gifts, he was met with cold, stony silence. He asked, “Where’s Ava?” My mother, finally getting her moment of vindication, smiled brightly. “Ava? Oh, she’s on her honeymoon.”

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I found out my wife’s grandfather was in the ICU, fading fast, while I was on a road trip with her parents. To give them a chance to say one last goodbye, I drove for six hours straight through the night. I pulled into a service plaza halfway there, figuring the old couple could use a bite to eat. The lot was packed, so I took one of the exclusive reserved spots near the entrance. I made sure to leave my number on the dash with a note. We were halfway through our meal when I overheard the table next to us talking about some guy smashing up a car outside. I walked out to see the front end of my Lincoln crumpled like a tin can, the windshield a spiderweb of shattered glass on the pavement. A man was still there, swinging an axe, hacking at the car’s body with a wild frenzy. As I got closer, I realized the universe had a sick sense of humor. The man with the axe was Kevin Shaw, my wife’s personal assistant. 1 Seeing my car, a gift from my parents for my 25th birthday, completely mangled… it hurt. I never asked what it cost, only that it was a custom state-commissioned model, one of only a hundred in the world. I walked up to him. “Are you done?” He recognized me, a cold smirk spreading across his face. “Well, well, if it isn’t Mr. Kane. What brings you out here? Enjoying the show?” I keep this car in a private garage. I rarely drive it, only bringing it out for this trip with my in-laws. Very few people would even know it was mine. I figured he must have seen the contact info I left on the dash. “Don’t tell me this car is yours,” Kevin sneered, his tone dripping with disdain. “Nah, a man of your… status… wouldn’t be caught dead in a domestic.” As a junior assistant at the company, his arrogance was fueled entirely by my wife, Isabelle. No matter what mistake he made at the office, she was always there to cover for him. I managed a small smile. “Some domestic cars you can afford to smash. Others, not so much.” Kevin just scoffed. “Is that a joke, Mr. Kane? I pull in over thirty grand a month, plus a two-hundred-thousand-dollar bonus last quarter. There isn’t a domestic car on the planet I can’t afford to wreck.” Ignorance is bliss, I guess. Spoken like a small man who’s never seen the real world. “I left my number on the dashboard. You didn’t see it?” “Did you? Maybe you forgot.” I knew this was personal. He was always pulling petty stunts at the office, spreading rumors that I was just a pretty-faced freeloader who’d married into the Ross family fortune without an ounce of talent to my name. “Does Isabelle know you act like this in public?” Kevin laughed. “What’s Isabelle got to do with this? You’re the one who parked in my spot.” This service plaza, if I remembered correctly, was leased by the Ross family. They’d paid for a three-year contract and hired a private firm to manage it. At every plaza they controlled, there were two exclusive parking spots. One was for Isabelle. The other was always kept empty. The realization that the empty spot now belonged to Kevin Shaw confirmed a suspicion I’d had for a long time. Isabelle was cheating on me. Kevin’s grin widened. “Oh, that’s right, you wouldn’t know, would you, Mr. Kane? There are only two reserved spots here. I’ve earned Ms. Ross’s high regard. Not like you, who married in three years ago and can’t even get a parking spot to your name.” He was right. It sounded pathetic. Three years of marriage, three years of bending to her every whim, and in the end, I was worth less than the dog at her heel. I was done talking. “I suggest you come up with a solution, right now. I’d rather not call the police.” “A solution? You want me to pay for it?” He burst out laughing. “Fine. I’ll wire you a hundred grand. Consider the car bought.” Seeing his absolute confidence, I sighed. “It’s 2025, man. What century are you living in?” “Then how much do you want?” “We can discuss compensation later,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “But if you make me late, you’ll have to live with the consequences.” Isabelle’s grandfather was on his deathbed. My in-laws were desperate to see him one last time. If we were delayed because of this… well, I could only do so much. If a person was determined to stand in my way, what could I do? 2 Kevin still didn’t grasp the gravity of the situation. He thought I was making empty threats. He just raised an eyebrow. “You take my spot, and now you’re blaming me? Smashing your car was a warning. Next time, it won’t be so simple.” “Oh? You planning on smashing me next?” He shrugged. “Who knows? But you’re definitely not leaving tonight.” “You’re mistaken. I’m just the driver.” My father-in-law, wondering what was taking so long, came out to find me. He saw the wrecked car and froze. Kevin had never met Isabelle’s father and assumed he was mine. He couldn’t resist a parting shot. “Actions have consequences. Figure it out yourselves.” As he turned to leave, I stepped in front of him. “That old couple is in a hurry to get home. You’re playing with fire.” Kevin shoved me aside without a second thought. “What the hell do I care where they’re going?” My father-in-law was frantic. We were less than a hundred miles from home. If we left now, we could still make it. He came over to me, his voice trembling. “Alex, this young man is completely out of line. It was just a parking spot. Did he really have to destroy the car?” I threw my hands up. “Kids these days. Short fuses.” “So what do we do? How do we get home?” Kevin chimed in, his voice dripping with schadenfreude. “Plenty of ways. You could walk. ‘Course, at your age, you’d probably croak after a few steps.” “How dare you speak like that?” my father-in-law sputtered. “Don’t you have parents? Elders in your own family?” That struck a nerve. Kevin was the product of a messy divorce, raised by an aunt. The topic was a raw wound. “What did you say, you old fossil? What business is it of yours if I have family? Do I eat your food? Wear your clothes? Live in your house?” “We can compensate you! We’ll pay you for the spot! Why did you have to smash the car?” my father-in-law pleaded. Honestly, this whole trip had been a nightmare. The old couple treated me less like a son-in-law and more like a servant. But the worst part was when someone would ask if I was their son or son-in-law, and they’d just mumble and evade the question before finally saying I was their “helper.” It was laughable, but I was too tired to argue. My marriage to Isabelle was already a sham. “Smashing the car was me being nice,” Kevin sneered. “The old me would’ve broken your legs.” That terrified my father-in-law. He hid behind me. “Alex, maybe we should call the butler to come pick us up?” “Right now? I don’t think he’ll make it in time. That’s hours of driving.” I was just being honest, but my father-in-law was practically jumping out of his skin. He was ready to buy a car on the spot if he had to. A hundred grand to see his father one last time? To him, it was worth it. I didn’t object. I turned to the small crowd that had gathered. “Anyone willing to sell their car? Two hundred thousand, cash transfer right now! As long as it can drive a hundred miles, I’ll take it!” People looked at me like I was crazy. But one guy with a beat-up minivan tentatively raised his hand. “Uh… you’d buy my old Astro van?” “Absolutely. Drive it over here. We’ll do the transfer.” Seeing I was serious, a few other drivers rushed to get their vehicles. But before anyone could make a deal, Kevin reappeared with a bullhorn. “LISTEN UP!” he blared. “ANYONE WHO SELLS A CAR TO THIS GUY TONIGHT ISN’T LEAVING THIS PLAZA! YOU’VE BEEN WARNED!” A couple of guys scoffed. Who would turn down 200k for an old junker? They were quickly proven wrong. A group of thuggish-looking security guards dragged them away. It was clear Kevin was in charge here. At this service plaza, he was king. 3 There was no police substation here. When someone tried to dial 911, Kevin had his goons surround them, ordering them to snatch the phone out of anyone’s hand if they tried to make a call. It was late, the security guards looked menacing, and most people decided it was better to just mind their own business. I was amazed at Kevin’s audacity. This wasn’t a rest stop; it was a bandit’s hideout. Of course, Kevin also promised everyone that if they waited thirty minutes, they could leave, and all their food and drinks would be on the house. “Free?” I challenged him. “Do you have any idea how much that will cost? Did you clear this with Isabelle? If this is your call, you won’t be able to afford the losses.” He just shrugged, completely unconcerned. His only goal was to screw me over. My father-in-law suddenly asked, “Isn’t this the plaza Isabelle’s company leased a while back?” When I nodded, he pulled out his phone to call his daughter. Before he could dial, Kevin slapped it out of his hand. “Are you deaf, old man? Didn’t you hear what I said? Anyone makes a call here, they answer to me!” “This place belongs to my daughter!” he roared back. “I’m calling her to deal with this!” The clock was ticking. Every second we wasted felt like a lifetime. Kevin just laughed. “Getting bolder in your old age, aren’t you?” “You dare insult me? My daughter is Isabelle Ross! You must know her!” Even hearing her name didn’t faze Kevin. He was convinced the old couple were my parents. “You do this now,” I warned him, “and you’ll regret it when she gets here.” “Ha! Don’t try to use her to scare me!” he shot back. “Even if Ms. Ross shows up, you’re the one in the wrong. What’s it got to do with me?” Seeing his absolute lack of fear, I finally understood just how much power Isabelle had given him. Enough to let him run this place like his own personal fiefdom. “You sure about that?” I pulled out my own phone and dialed Isabelle. Kevin watched me, a defiant look in his eyes. She picked up almost immediately, her voice flat and cold. “I’m in a meeting. Make it quick.” I told her my car had been smashed. “Okay,” she replied without a moment’s hesitation. “So it’s smashed. We’ll buy a new one when you get back.” Before I could say another word, she hung up. 4 Isabelle’s indifference was a cold slap in the face. Kevin roared with laughter. “That’s it? She hung up? What’d she say? Let me guess: ‘figure it out yourself’?” My father-in-law looked at me, his eyes wide. “Alex, is that really what she said?” I could see the anger starting to burn in his gaze, not for my sake, but at his own daughter’s callousness. “Dad, Isabelle said she’s in a meeting. She’s busy.” “That’s no excuse!” he boomed. “She just can’t be bothered with us!” “He’s right. Ms. Ross doesn’t want to be bothered with you,” Kevin gloated. He then turned to me with a smug grin. “I bet you I can get her here with one phone call.” “She’s in a meeting,” I repeated, realizing how naive I sounded even as the words left my mouth. “She won’t come for anyone.” Kevin was already dialing. He put the phone on speaker. It rang once before she picked up. “Kevinnnn,” she cooed, her voice now a playful, sugary purr. “I’m in a meeting, you know.” The same words, but a universe of difference in tone. The cold indifference was gone, replaced by a flirtatious warmth. “I know, Ms. Ross,” Kevin chuckled. “I just missed you. Wanted to hear your voice.” “Oh, stop it. Call me Isabelle. Don’t be such a stranger.” Hearing my wife’s syrupy voice made me want to laugh. In all our years of marriage, I had never heard her speak like that, never once seen her act playful or coy. The Isabelle I knew was a powerhouse, a force of nature. Apparently, that was just for show. My father-in-law stared at the phone, his face a mask of disbelief, as if he couldn’t process that the voice belonged to his daughter. Before he could speak, Kevin cut in. “Isabelle, I’ve run into a little trouble here. Can you come down?” “Of course,” she said instantly. “Send me your location. I’m on my way.” In a meeting? No time? I let out a bitter, silent laugh. I couldn’t imagine a more humiliating moment. Whose wife was she, exactly? Kevin turned to me, his chest puffed out. “You hear that? Isabelle’s on her way. Anything else you’d like to say?” He looked so triumphant. I had lost, completely and utterly. But I had been preparing myself for this. The disappointment was real, but now I was more curious to see the look on Isabelle’s face when she saw her parents. Forty minutes later, a news alert popped up on my phone. Leo Ross, former chairman of Ross Industries, has passed away due to illness at the age of 89. My father-in-law saw the notification over my shoulder. His face went from confusion to rage, and finally, to utter despair. They knew. Even if we left now, it was too late. The chance to see his father one last time was gone. A wound that would never heal. Just then, a sleek sports car pulled up. Isabelle stepped out. So much for being “in a meeting”—she was perfectly made up, dressed not in her usual power suit, but in a sexy, form-fitting knit dress and stilettos that drew stares from everyone around. “Isabelle, over here!” Kevin waved her over. She saw him and broke into a smile I had never seen before—warm, tender, and undeniably intimate. The old me would have been consumed by jealousy. The new me felt nothing. When she finally saw me, the smile vanished. “Why did you park in Kevin’s spot?” she demanded. “You deserved to have your car smashed.” “There was a reason,” I started. “I was with—” “I don’t want to hear your excuses,” she cut me off. “Fine. Then pretend I never said anything.” “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you blaming me?” Faced with her irrational anger, I simply turned away. She was about to erupt when my father-in-law emerged from the restroom. The first words out of his mouth when he saw her were, “You unfilial child! You finally decided to show up!”

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In our world, everyone knew the score: Old Man Mantel had decreed that I was the key to his family’s empire. Whoever married me would inherit it all. At the engagement party, I stood poised in a custom-made gown, ready to take the stage and announce the union of the Mantel and Vance families. But then my fiancé, Caleb Mantel, strode into the center of the glittering ballroom, his fingers intertwined with my stepsister, Dahlia Vance. He pulled her to his side, a defiant set to his jaw. “Dahlia and I are in love,” he announced, his voice ringing through the sudden silence. “She is the only one I will ever marry.” He shot a cold glance in my direction. “Keira is too headstrong. She is not fit to be Mrs. Mantel.” Just like that, my engagement was transferred to my stepsister. A sea of faces turned towards me, their expressions a mix of pity and scorn. What Caleb didn’t know, what almost no one knew, was the real reason Grandpa Arthur had chosen me. My mother is the matriarch of the Thorne family, a reclusive and powerful dynasty, and one day, I will inherit everything. Since Caleb had made his choice, it was time for the Mantel empire to find a new heir. 1 Caleb’s grip on Dahlia’s hand was ironclad as he positioned her before the stunned crowd. She let out a small, theatrical gasp, trying to pull away. “Caleb, we can’t,” she whispered, loud enough for those nearby to hear. “Your engagement to my sister… it was arranged by your grandfather himself.” “You’re the one I love,” he declared, lacing their fingers together more tightly. “I won’t marry anyone else.” He looked up at Grandpa Arthur, who sat enthroned on the main dais, his face a granite mask. “Grandfather, I’ve always loved Dahlia. She is the only woman I will have as my wife.” The air crackled with whispers. Everyone here knew Caleb and I had grown up together, that I was Grandpa Arthur’s handpicked choice for his grandson. But now, in front of everyone who mattered in our circle, Caleb was publicly tearing my dignity to shreds. His tone was absolute. “Keira and I may have grown up together, but I’ve only ever seen her as a sister. Nothing more.” He continued, his voice hardening, “Dahlia and I are in love. We’ve been together for some time. In my heart, my wife can only be her. No other woman will do.” I saw Caleb’s parents flinch, their eyes darting nervously toward the old man on the dais. Caleb wrapped an arm around Dahlia’s waist and finally looked at me, his eyes glinting with a strange sort of triumph. “Keira, you have to know I never saw you that way. Surely you don’t want to be chained to a man who doesn’t love you for the rest of your life?” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Besides, Dahlia and I are already together. You wouldn’t use my grandfather’s affection for you to stand between us, would you?” I held their gaze for a moment before turning to Grandpa Arthur and offering a slight, respectful bow. “Grandpa Arthur, if they truly love each other, who am I to stand in their way? Please, let them be happy.” I raised my glass. “To my sister and Mr. Mantel. May you have a long and happy life together.” A flicker of annoyance crossed Caleb’s face at my composed response. Dahlia, however, played her part perfectly, clutching his arm with a worried expression. “Caleb, darling, your engagement was your grandfather’s wish. What if he’s angry?” Caleb patted her hand, his voice softening into a gentle murmur. “He won’t be. He adores me. He won’t stay mad over someone like her.” He then added, with a dismissive wave in my direction, “Besides, you’re the true daughter of the Vance family, the real heiress. This was always meant to be a union between our families. Why would we care about an outsider?” An outsider? Only my father and Grandpa Arthur knew the truth of my identity. My mother, the head of the Thorne dynasty, had entered a strategic marriage with my father. I was destined to inherit the Thorne empire, which is why I carry her name. And he really thought Dahlia was my father’s biological daughter? How little he knew. Grandpa Arthur’s brow furrowed at Caleb’s words. “Caleb, don’t be a fool. Are you certain you want to marry Miss Vance?” Caleb’s response was to dramatically slip the engagement ring onto Dahlia’s finger and press a devout kiss to her knuckles. “Grandfather, my mind is made up. I will marry Dahlia and no one else.” A wave of disappointment washed over Grandpa Arthur’s face. If this had just been about swapping fiancées, perhaps he would have overlooked it. But for Caleb to orchestrate this public humiliation, to intentionally drag me through the mud in front of everyone… it proved he was unreliable. Unworthy. “Fine,” the old man said, his voice flat and cold. “Have it your way.” With Grandpa Arthur’s reluctant blessing, a collective sigh of relief rippled through the room. The titans of industry invited to witness the merger of two great families had been holding their breath, waiting to see how the scandal would unfold. Amidst the cacophony of hushed gossip, Caleb led Dahlia to the microphone. “Thank you all for coming today to celebrate the engagement of myself and Miss Dahlia Vance.” The guests exchanged glances, their faces a canvas of shock and intrigue. No one had expected the Mantels and Vances to pull a stunt like this. My father, who had been blindsided by the whole affair, saw his face darken with fury. I felt a cold knot tighten in my stomach, but I forced my spine to remain ramrod straight, raising my glass high as if offering a toast to their union, a final, grand gift. “Can you believe he switched fiancées on the spot? He didn’t even try to save Keira Thorne’s reputation.” “I thought Old Man Mantel was dead set on her. What made him change his mind?” “To be jilted at your own engagement party… how utterly mortifying. She must have done something to make Caleb despise her that much.” The whispers weren’t quiet. My father shot Dahlia a withering glare before turning on Caleb. “Do you have any idea how much gossip your sister will have to endure because of this? And you,” he seethed, turning to his other daughter, “you’re old enough to know better. Did you think for a second about the consequences, or were you just trying to humiliate me?” Dahlia flinched under his tirade and meekly tried to pull the ring from her finger to hand it to me. Grandpa Arthur waved a dismissive hand, stopping her. He turned to me, his eyes filled with a genuine, heavy guilt. He gently patted my head. “Keira, my dear, don’t you worry. Grandpa will make this right. If you’re willing, there are other fine young men in the Mantel family.” Caleb’s parents overheard, but they dismissed it as a comforting platitude, nothing more. They never expected my next move. I pointed toward a shadowed corner of the room, where the black sheep of the Mantel family was watching the drama unfold with a lazy smirk. “Actually,” I said, my voice clear and steady, “the one I’ve always admired is Silas. I hope you’ll grant us your blessing, Grandpa.” Every head swiveled to Silas, then back to me, eyes wide with disbelief. Silas was the illegitimate son of Caleb’s late uncle. After his father’s death, he was ostracized by the family, his life a constant struggle for relevance. Grandpa Arthur, not wanting to be accused of mistreating his own blood, had begrudgingly taken Silas in to live under his roof. My father looked at me, utterly aghast. “Keira,” he whispered urgently, “I know you’re upset, but he’s an illegitimate son. The Mantels don’t take him seriously.” I nonchalantly swirled the wine in my glass and raised it in Silas’s direction. “He didn’t choose his circumstances. I think he’s quite impressive. I’m willing to give it a try.” Silas’s dark eyes met mine from across the room, his expression unreadable, almost mocking. “If Miss Thorne insists,” he called out, his voice smooth and detached, “then let’s give it a try.” The gazes fixed on me were now heavier, laced with a new, profound meaning. The news of the Mantel family’s chaotic engagement party spread through our social circles like wildfire. The moment the event ended, a text from my mother buzzed on my phone. In a private suite at a downtown hotel, my mother wrapped me in a fierce hug, her eyes shooting daggers at my father. “Jonathan,” she said, her voice dangerously low, “how dare you let my daughter be humiliated like this? Are you tired of your position?” I squeezed her hand, steering the conversation back to the matter at hand. “Grandpa Arthur offered me another match. His name is Silas Mantel. I quite like him.” My father wiped a sheen of sweat from his brow and sighed. “He’s a nobody, Keira. An outcast. Why would you choose him?” I met my parents’ confused stares, a small smile playing on my lips as I laid out my plan. “Grandpa Arthur and my grandfather arranged this union. I was always going to marry into the Mantel family, one way or another.” “And Silas, despite his status, is the most capable of all the young Mantel men. From a purely business perspective, he is the most suitable partner.” I let that sink in before delivering the final, crucial point. “Besides, he’s an illegitimate son. If I marry him, the Thorne family becomes his foundation in the Mantel empire. He’ll have no choice but to treat me well.” Now, Dahlia was the toast of the town, a figure everyone fawned over and desperately tried to connect with. The merger of the Mantel and Vance families was a titan in the making, and everyone wanted a piece of the action. I had no time for such trivialities. I was abroad, focused on a critical project my mother had entrusted to me. Then came the invitation for Grandpa Arthur’s birthday. Dahlia sent it personally, following up with a string of phone calls until I had no choice but to accept. The moment I stepped through the grand doors of the Mantel manor, every eye was on me. I felt no shame, only a cool sense of purpose as I smiled and handed my gift to the butler. “What is Keira Thorne doing here? I thought Caleb was with her sister now.” “You haven’t heard? After Caleb insisted on breaking the engagement, she threw a fit and chose that illegitimate son, Silas.” “She’d even marry a bastard just to get into the Mantel family? That woman has no shame.” As the whispers swirled, Dahlia made her grand entrance on Caleb’s arm. Gone was her usual understated, gentle attire. Tonight, she was draped in a haute couture gown and so many layers of opulent, flashy jewelry that she looked less like high society and more like a gaudy chandelier. Spotting me, she glided over, reaching out to take my arm with sickeningly sweet affection. “Sister! Isn’t it just wonderful that we both get to marry into the Mantel family? Out of sisterly love, I’ll be sure to have Caleb help your… husband… move up in the world.” I almost laughed. She still thought this was about marrying into the Mantel family, didn’t she? Caleb clearly thought the same. In his eyes, I was a desperate social climber who would do anything to cling to his family name. He looked at me as if I were something he’d scraped off his shoe. I had no interest in engaging with them. I turned to leave, but my eyes caught on a piece of jewelry on Dahlia’s wrist: a magnificent emerald bracelet of unmistakable quality. It was the Mantel family heirloom, a piece passed down through generations, always kept in Grandpa Arthur’s private safe. I couldn’t believe it was on Dahlia’s arm, nearly lost amidst the three or four other gaudy bracelets she had stacked on. The Mantel heir hadn’t even been officially named. What was that bracelet doing on her? I pointed to it, my voice sharp. “Where did you get that?” Caleb stiffened for a split second, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. Dahlia, however, simply stroked the emeralds, her expression shifting into one of practiced innocence. “Sister, I know this was supposed to be yours. But I’m the one marrying Caleb now, so naturally, it’s mine.” Caleb nodded, his defensiveness returning full force. In his mind, he was already the heir apparent. What was the harm in letting his beloved wear the family jewels a little early? “This is a Mantel family heirloom,” he snapped. “I can give it to whomever I please. What business is it of yours?” He looked me up and down, then took a deliberate step back as if I were contagious. “And don’t think you can use this as an excuse to get my attention. I’ll never be interested in you. My heart belongs to Dahlia.” His voice was loud, attracting even more attention. “Look at her, still trying to get between them. You’d think she’d have some self-respect.” “She seems so poised usually, but I guess she’s just as desperate as anyone to marry into money.” Dahlia blushed, playfully tapping Caleb’s chest. “Darling, don’t be so harsh. We’ll all be family soon. You have to promise you’ll help them out.” Caleb glanced at me, then back at Dahlia, his expression softening into one of doting affection as he pinched her cheek. “Alright, for you, I’ll let it go. But if you ever have any improper thoughts about me again,” he warned me, “don’t expect me to be so merciful.” They were lost in their nauseating display when a new voice cut through the air from behind them, cool and sharp as ice. “My fiancée? Why would she have any ‘improper thoughts’ about you? Caleb, that’s a terribly rude way to speak to your future sister-in-law.” Silas entered, supporting Grandpa Arthur by the arm. A faint smile played on his lips, but his eyes, fixed on Caleb, were full of challenge. Grandpa Arthur’s gaze landed on the bracelet encircling Dahlia’s wrist, and his face instantly turned to stone. “Who gave you permission to wear that?” he boomed, his voice radiating an authority that made the air tremble. “Take it off. Now!” Dahlia, terrified, fumbled with the clasp and hastily removed the bracelet. Caleb muttered under his breath, “Grandfather, I just let her borrow it. It’s going to be hers eventually anyway, what’s the big deal?” The old man didn’t respond. He simply shot Caleb a look that could freeze fire before leading Silas to the front of the room. He cleared his throat, commanding the attention of every guest. “Tonight is not just a celebration of an old man’s birthday,” he announced. “We have another joyous occasion to share.” He placed a hand on Silas’s shoulder. “This is my grandson, Silas Mantel. In a few days, he and Keira Thorne will be officially engaged. We hope you will all join us to celebrate.” The room erupted in stunned silence. Eyes darted between me and Silas, trying to process the tectonic shift that had just occurred. Caleb stood frozen, his face a mask of disbelief. “Grandfather, what are you talking about? Why would Keira be engaged to him?” He gestured wildly at Silas. “He’s just an illegitimate son, he’s—” “Silas is my grandson,” Grandpa Arthur cut him off, his voice like cracking granite. “He is a Mantel.” After that first, disastrous engagement party, I had arranged a private meeting with Silas. In the quiet of a private club, he had watched me with a knowing, almost playful look in his eyes. “I’m just the family bastard,” he said, a smirk dancing on his lips. “The Mantels have plenty of golden boys. Why choose me?” I slid a file across the polished table toward him. “Because you need me. And I need you. Together, we are the optimal solution.” He glanced at the file but made no move to open it. “And what kind of ‘solution’ would that be?” I pushed the file a little closer. “Let’s be honest. I’ve done my research on you. You’re brilliant, far more capable than anyone gives you credit for. I want to partner with you.”

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Three days ago, Paul bought me an engagement ring. Last night, at the birthday party of the woman he never got over, he knelt and slid that same ring onto Crystal’s finger. It was too loose. When she curled her fingers, it fell and clattered to the floor. In the video, Paul’s face flushed with embarrassment. He picked it up, voice thick with rehearsed emotion: “Crystal, I’m still waiting for you. Come back to me.” He even squeezed out a few pathetic tears—a performance worthy of an award. My drama-loving best friend spammed me with the videos, adding: “Lol, isn’t it hilarious? The guy you chased for eight years is acting like her lapdog.” Her words were pure salt in the wound. She wasn’t wrong. The boy I’d have shielded from any harm was groveling at another woman’s feet. Every year I loved him, he spent begging for her. That ring was my last hope for us. Now, he’d used it to propose to her. I took a slow breath, and the knot in my chest finally loosened. I typed back calmly: “Who’s Paul? I don’t know him.” … Paul and I grew up together. He was my ideal—quiet, steady, grounded. Chasing him for eight years had been an exhausting marathon. Then, three days ago, he came home reeking of whiskey, pulled me into an uncharacteristically tight embrace, and whispered in my ear, “Let’s get engaged. We’ll pick out a ring tomorrow.” To say I was ecstatic would be an understatement. Tears streamed down my face, hot and unstoppable. That night, Paul was different. The usual rough, perfunctory intimacy was replaced with a slow, lingering tenderness. As his breathing grew ragged against my neck, he began to murmur a name, over and over. “Crystal… Crystal…” My heart seized. My body, which had been moving in sync with his, went completely still. My eyes flew open in the darkness. He thought I was her. In the most intimate moment a couple can share, the man I loved was calling out another woman’s name. There is no greater humiliation. The love was a lie. The tenderness was a lie. In his eyes, I was nothing more than a convenient stand-in, a body to use when the one he truly wanted was unavailable. I spent the rest of that night with cold, silent tears tracking into my pillow. The next morning, Paul was in high spirits, completely oblivious to the arctic chill emanating from my side of the bed. He went about his routine—showering, dressing, whistling a tune. Before he left, he leaned in, a bright smile on his face. “Aria, meet me after work. We’ll go pick out that ring.” He sealed the promise with a lingering kiss on my forehead. Looking at him then, he was still the man I had loved for so long. Time had been kind to him, leaving no trace of the years on his handsome face. Maybe getting engaged means he’s finally ready to move on, I told myself, a desperate internal monologue. He’s trying to let go of Crystal, right? I forced a smile onto my face, trying to inject some life into my numb features. But reality has a way of slapping you back to your senses when you least expect it. Watching that video now—Paul’s adoring gaze, the ring on Crystal’s finger—the whole thing felt like a sick joke. That ring was a one-of-a-kind custom piece, registered to his ID. A man could only ever order one. I remembered him leaning over the counter, meticulously discussing details with the jeweler. At the time, it had looked like pure devotion. I had even tried to haggle over the price, but Paul had waved it off with uncharacteristic ease. “No need. We’ll take it.” Of course he was quick to pay. It was never meant for me. I started packing a suitcase, my mind replaying our history. Except, it wasn’t my suitcase. It was his. The apartment was in my name. For years, he had been a freeloader, never contributing a dime to rent, utilities, or groceries. He’d been shameless, and I’d been a fool. It was time for him to go. I threw all of his belongings into a cardboard box and left it by the door. On top, I tossed the cheap teddy bear he’d won for me at a carnival five years ago for my birthday. It had cost him maybe five dollars. It’s strange how love works. When you’re in it, even the most worthless trinket feels like a treasure. When it’s gone, the most precious memories just look like clutter. Paul hadn’t sent me a single message. My friend, on the other hand, had sent dozens, each one a little jab of pity-laced schadenfreude. I ignored her and sent Paul one final text: “Engagement’s off. We’re done.” Then, I began the purge. Block on social media, delete contact. Block number, delete from call history. I even changed my privacy settings to prevent him from adding me again. If I was going to be ruthless, I was going to do it right. Wednesday. A normal workday. As a seasoned corporate drone, the crushing pressure and frantic pace of my job were a welcome distraction. There was no time to wallow. The office was buzzing with unusual energy. My colleague and best friend, Chloe, saw me and expertly slid her chair over to my desk, handing me a beautifully wrapped box of chocolates. “Wedding favors from the marketing team next door,” she said. “Everyone got one.” Then she nudged her phone toward me, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “You have to see this.” Chloe and I had been through college and the corporate trenches together. We were battle-hardened best friends. She knew every sordid detail of the Aria-Paul-Crystal love triangle. I opened the message. It was a photo of Crystal getting into a Porsche with an older, balding, and distinctly sleazy-looking man. They looked very familiar with each other. Chloe explained that she’d snapped the picture last night. The man was nouveau riche, his family having made millions when their neighborhood was bought out for redevelopment. He was a known quantity in their old neighborhood. The implication was clear: Crystal was a gold-digger, playing the innocent maiden to keep Paul on a string while she chased after real money. “Paul is such an idiot,” Chloe seethed, fiercely protective. “He can’t tell a good person from a snake.” I just smiled, closed my phone, and handed her the work files I’d prepared. “Forget it. Let’s get to work.” A month ago, this news would have sent me into a spiral of vengeful glee. The irony of Paul making a heartfelt declaration to a woman who was simultaneously being wined and dined by her sugar daddy was almost poetic. But now… I didn’t care. Her life was her problem. Our company had just landed a massive client, and the entire marketing department was drowning in overtime. The only break we got was a brief lunch. On my way to the restroom, I ran into Crystal. In college, she was a year below me in the same program. Paul first saw her when he came to find me at a networking event. He’d told me then, with a desperate, pleading look in his eyes, that he had never felt this way about anyone before. He begged me to help him, or he would regret it for the rest of his life. So, in a moment of noble, self-sacrificing stupidity, I gave him her number. A few days later, they were “official” on social media. Now, we worked in the same building. I was on the fifth floor, she was on the second. For her to come all the way up to my floor to use the restroom… her motive was painfully obvious. The moment she saw me, her neutral expression sharpened into a look of smug superiority. As I stepped toward the restroom door, she shoved past me. “I was here first,” she sneered. “Get out.” I couldn’t be bothered to argue with an animal. But then she brought up the ring. “Paul gave me a ring at my party yesterday.” She pulled it from her pocket, her smile twisting into something ugly. “It’s a little loose, though. I can’t really wear it. You want it?” She dangled it in front of my face. “The quality is a bit cheap, but for you… it’s probably just right.” This was her victory lap. It wasn’t the first time she’d gloated. I remained calm, about to deliver a retort, when a voice boomed from the doorway. “Did someone take a dump in here? Why does it smell so bad?” It was Chloe. She marched right up to Crystal, theatrically sniffing the air around her. Then she turned to me with a look of mock discovery. “Aria, I found it! It’s the smell of two-faced bullshit!” Crystal’s face contorted with rage, and she raised a hand to strike Chloe. I caught her wrist in a vise-grip, my voice dropping low and sharp. “You want to get physical? You’re not even worth the effort. Since you clearly never learned any manners, let me teach you a lesson.” I leaned in close to her ear and whispered, “By the way, that ring? It is trash. And trash is the perfect accessory for a girl like you.” Her wrist turned red under my grip, but I didn’t let go. Mercy to your enemies is cruelty to yourself. Crystal, accustomed to always getting her way, was stunned by my aggression. She struggled, calling me a psycho, a monster. I just thought to myself how exhausting it was to always be the bigger person. Sometimes, being the villain was so much more fun. Chloe snorted, linked her arm through mine, and we swaggered out. “I can’t stand her,” she fumed. “That felt so damn good! One minute she’s playing the innocent victim with Paul, the next she’s letting some old creep paw at her. Girl’s got an appetite, I’ll give her that.” I laughed, a real laugh this time. “My appetite’s pretty good too,” I quipped. “But for eight years, I chose to eat garbage.” Crystal must have run crying to Paul. The second I walked out of the office building that evening, he was there, blocking my path, his face a thundercloud. “Aria, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded, his fingers digging painfully into my arm. I almost laughed. What a devoted knight in shining armor, rushing to defend his damsel’s honor. It was pathetic. And even more pathetic was the fact that I had loved this man for eight years. Eight whole years. “I have nothing to say to you,” I said, my voice devoid of the warmth he was used to. “We’re done.” The ring had been the final straw. Paul’s brow was furrowed, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. A rough stubble was starting to appear on his chin, a sign of neglect for a man who was usually so meticulously groomed. His grip on my arm didn’t loosen, and my patience snapped. “Paul, we’re adults,” I said, my voice sharp. “You have the right to chase your own happiness. And so do I. I’ll admit, you gave me hope. But do you know what’s worse than having no hope? It’s the crushing despair that comes after it’s snatched away. If you don’t love me, stop pretending!” The words poured out of me, eight years of frustration and quiet humiliation finally given a voice. I had followed him, worshipped him, made him the center of my universe. Even when Crystal came along, I had maintained my dignity, my respect. I remembered his birthday, how I’d shown up at his dorm with a cake I’d spent all day baking, only to find him locked in a passionate embrace with Crystal. He had pulled away, his face glowing, and rested his forehead against hers. Crystal had seen me, and with a sickeningly sweet smile, took the cake from my hands. “Wow, Paul always said you were an amazing baker, Aria! I’m so lucky. I’m so clumsy, I can’t do anything right.” I don’t remember much else, except for the adoring look in Paul’s eyes as he gazed at her, gently stroking her hair. He never once thanked me. Instead, he looked at Crystal and said, “If you like it, I’ll have Aria make you one every day.” The jealousy had been real. The feeling of being worthless had been real. He had treated me like a personal chef, a maid, someone who should be grateful for his scraps of attention. I was done with that life. Paul looked as if I had physically struck him. His face went pale, the light in his eyes dimming. His lips parted, but no words came out. We stood there in a tense stalemate for several minutes until Crystal emerged from the building. “Paul, darling! You came to pick me up!” she trilled, loud enough for everyone in the vicinity to hear. Marking her territory. How amusing. When she saw me, her sunny expression clouded over. She sagged against Paul’s shoulder, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate, practiced motion. “Paul, Aria was so horrible to me today. She said the ring you gave me was ugly… that it was trash… It hurt my feelings so much, knowing it was a gift from your heart…” For a moment, I was struck by her sheer stupidity. She knew it was a gift from him, but she had no idea it was supposed to have been my engagement ring. At the mention of the ring, Paul’s head snapped up. A flicker of realization crossed his face, and the hardness in his eyes softened. “Aria…” he began, his voice trembling. “I… I…” He only ever called me by that nickname during our most intimate moments. It used to make me feel special. Now, it just sounded grating. If it weren’t for those videos, I might still be lost in the fantasy of our life together. Paul, I thought with a grim sense of finality, you really took me for a complete fool. Crystal tried to continue her performance, but Paul was unresponsive, lost in his own thoughts. She tugged at his sleeve, desperate for his attention. I turned to leave, just as a black Mercedes G-Wagen pulled up smoothly to the curb. The passenger window rolled down, and a two-liter bottle of iced green tea came flying out, thrown with considerable force. It missed Crystal’s head by inches. What a pity. Amidst Crystal’s shriek of surprise and Paul’s stunned silence, Chloe, sitting in the driver’s seat with a pair of dark sunglasses, yelled, “Get in!” After only a moment’s hesitation, I grinned. “You got it!” I hopped into the passenger seat, buckled up, and with a roar of the engine, we sped away. In the rearview mirror, I saw Crystal stomping her foot in fury. And Paul… Was he watching me?

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While I was overseas burying my father, my daughter’s desperate texts flooded my phone: Mom, save me. I don’t want to give Seraphina my kidney. I just want to live. I took the first flight back. I arrived to find my cherished daughter locked in the cellar—while the two bodyguards I’d raised since childhood were upstairs spoon-feeding my adopted daughter, Seraphina Vance, like a princess. They had the nerve to act righteous. “Mrs. Kaling,” one said, “Seraphina’s immune system is weak. We only asked Aurora to donate a kidney. Her refusal is shockingly cruel.” The other added, “She has a spare. Seraphina’s life matters. If she stays stubborn, she can rot down there.” “We’ve also made Seraphina CEO. Aurora can start from the bottom… after she agrees.” I saw my daughter—chains cutting into her wrists and ankles, eyes hollow—and tasted blood in my throat. In three months, these fools thought they could take the Kaling family and torture my child. They didn’t know who they were dealing with. I am Lorelei Kaling. They will suffer. 1 In the elite circles of our city, the Kaling family is an anomaly. For generations, our power has been passed down from mother to daughter. When my daughter, Aurora, was born, she was frail. To ensure her safety, I went to an orphanage and carefully selected two boys to be her companions, her protectors. When she was thirteen, my husband brought home an orphan girl he’d found on the streets. She was all skin and bones, and my heart went out to her. I thought it would be good for Aurora to have a sister. So, I adopted Seraphina Vance. I never imagined that these playthings, these companions I had provided for my daughter’s amusement, would one day conspire to destroy her. … I rushed to unlock the chains. The raw wounds on her wrists were crusted with rust. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise as I lifted her limp body, preparing to race to the hospital. Suddenly, Seraphina threw herself in front of the doorway, her eyes red-rimmed as she knelt before me. “Mrs. Kaling, if you’re going to blame anyone, blame me,” she sobbed. “The boys were just worried about me. That’s the only reason they locked Aurora up.” “Maybe I’m not worth saving. That must be why she won’t help me. It’s okay. I’m grateful for every extra day I get to live.” She tried to push herself up, only to collapse back onto the floor in a delicate, theatrical swoon. Before I could react, the two bodyguards, Caspian and Julian, rushed to her side, gathering her into their arms. They flanked her, murmuring words of comfort. “Don’t say that, Seraphina. After all these years, Mrs. Kaling surely sees you as her own daughter. She’ll give you anything you want.” “That’s right. Even if it took both of Aurora’s kidneys to guarantee your health for a lifetime, what would it matter?” “You’re so pure-hearted. When you inherit the Kaling empire, we’ll be right here with you. We won’t let anyone bully you ever again.” At their words, Aurora, small and fragile in my arms, tightened her grip on my sleeve, terrified that I too would be swayed by their poison. I knew, all too well, that her feelings for Caspian had long ago blossomed into a teenage crush. To be humiliated like this, in front of him… I had no patience for their games. My only focus was the pain in my daughter’s eyes. “Enough!” I roared, my voice echoing in the cavernous room. “I’m taking Aurora to the hospital. Get out of my way. Now.” My shout made Seraphina shrink back into Caspian’s arms, trembling. Julian glared at me, his face a mask of indignation. “Mrs. Kaling, have you even spared a single thought for Seraphina since you’ve been back? She hasn’t even eaten dinner!” He reached out and grabbed my daughter’s injured arm. “Aurora Kaling, get down here. How long are you going to keep up this act? Seraphina is in tears because of you. How can you be so wicked?” I didn’t hesitate. I lifted my knee and drove it into Julian’s groin. How dare a piece of trash like him even touch my daughter? He crumpled to the floor, howling in agony. “Caspian, stop her! Don’t let them leave until she agrees to the donation! We promised Seraphina we would always protect her!” Caspian settled Seraphina gently before rising to face me, his calm eyes simmering with rage. “Mrs. Kaling,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “I’m sorry it has to be this way.” I was the one who had sent them to learn martial arts, to ensure they could protect Aurora from any threat. I never dreamed I would be the first to test their skills. I studied him. At six feet tall, his presence was undeniably intimidating. His fists were clenched, the veins standing out on his arms as he stared me down. It was clear that if I took one more step toward the door, he would not hesitate to strike. But as the head of the Kaling family, what kind of matriarch would I be without a security detail that had seen real combat? I let out a short, sharp whistle. In an instant, Caspian was slammed to the ground, pinned and unable to move. His pathetic little martial arts display could be saved for a street fight. Every second they wasted was a second my daughter’s treatment was delayed. They would pay for this. As I stepped over the threshold, Caspian’s furious voice followed me. “Mrs. Kaling, if you walk out that door today, I will never marry your daughter!” He saw me pause, and a triumphant smirk spread across his face. “You brought us into your home, called it charity… but wasn’t it all so you could groom us as a potential husband for your precious Aurora? Well, I’m telling you now, I love Seraphina. I’ve had enough of Aurora and her pathetic, self-important crush on me.” At Caspian’s dramatic confession, Seraphina launched herself toward him. “Let him go!” she cried, her small hands trying in vain to pry the guards’ fingers from his arms. When she realized it was useless, she turned and knelt before me again. “Please, Mrs. Kaling, let them go,” she pleaded. “It’s my fault. My immune system is so weak, the doctor said it could lead to kidney disease. The boys were just trying to help. The Kaling family has so much money. Even if she donates a kidney, with the proper care, she’ll be fine. If she doesn’t want to, I’ll leave. Just please, don’t hurt them.” Watching her performance, the tears streaming down her face, Caspian struggled against his restraints. “You win,” he spat. “Money always wins. Fine. If Aurora Kaling agrees to donate her kidney to Seraphina, I will consider marrying her. Nothing is more important than Seraphina’s safety.” I almost laughed. As if entry into the Kaling family was something he could negotiate. I ignored him and turned my gaze to Julian. “Is that how you feel, too?” If Caspian had been like an older brother to Aurora, Julian had been her best friend, her confidant. The sadness of a failed test, the joy of a delicious meal, even the first flutterings of her crush on Caspian—she had shared everything with Julian first. And now, this boy, who had always stood by her side, who had protected her without question, looked at me with a face twisted by loathing. “I should have known,” he sneered. “Aurora’s cruelty is inherited from you. You’ve controlled our lives for years, trapped us in this gilded cage. Did you think you could control who we love, too? Well, I’m telling you, just like Caspian said: Aurora isn’t worthy. She isn’t worthy to even compete with Seraphina.” I had my answer. I turned, settled my daughter more comfortably in my arms, and walked to the car. “Take off your socks,” I instructed my guards, “and stuff them in their mouths.” How foolish of me to have held out even a sliver of hope. I knew my daughter. Caspian’s rejection would wound her pride. But Julian’s betrayal… that would break her heart. They had feasted on my family’s generosity, grown strong on my family’s wealth, only to turn and bite the hand that fed them. Love? Affection? My daughter didn’t need it from them. Her future would be filled with something far more reliable: money. More money than she could count in a dozen lifetimes. I held her close, stroking the damp strands of hair from her face. I’m so sorry, my love. This is all my fault. Thankfully, her wounds were superficial. She had fainted from a combination of shock and hunger. The doctor cleaned her cuts, started an IV, and told me to let her rest. I gently stroked her hair, my heart aching, before stepping out of the room. I dialed my husband, a man I hadn’t seen in two years. Before I left the country, I had explicitly told him to look after our daughter. Now, after all this, he hadn’t even called to check on her. My relationship with Sebastian Croft was never a love story. For generations, the men who married into the Kaling family did so by taking our name. I was drawn to his face; he was drawn to my money. For years, we had an understanding: we lived separate lives, never interfering with the other’s affairs. I called him several times. No answer. So I cut him off. Every single one of his credit cards, frozen. It seemed that in my three-month absence, he had forgotten where his money came from. … The next afternoon, I returned to the hospital with a flask of chicken soup our cook had prepared. Aurora was awake. “My love,” I said, rushing to her side and wrapping her in a hug. “Are you feeling okay?” At the sound of my voice, she broke down, her body wracked with sobs as she clung to me. “Mom, they all said you didn’t want me anymore,” she cried. “They tried to force me to sign the consent forms. When I refused, they locked me in the cellar. I tried to escape, but they caught me and chained me up. Mom, I was so scared… it hurts so much.” Her body trembled uncontrollably. I held her, stroking her back and murmuring reassurances. “Don’t be afraid, my love. I would give up the whole world before I gave up on you. And the people who hurt you… I won’t let a single one of them get away with it.” She finally calmed down, sipping the soup I’d brought. In that moment of peace, the hospital room door was thrown open. It was my husband, the man who had been unreachable all night. “Lorelei, on what authority did you freeze my cards? Do you have any idea how humiliating it was to have my payment declined in front of everyone last night?” Of course. The only thing that would get his attention was a lack of funds. I met his gaze calmly, trying to gesture for him to take the conversation outside. He ignored me. “You come back and turn the whole house upside-down. It was just a little spat between kids, and you had to escalate it and bring in your guards. Look at her, it’s just a few scratches. A private hospital, a private room… she’s not that fragile. Aurora was acting out, and Caspian was just teaching her a lesson. It’s no big deal. Drop it. And leave the kids alone.” That’s when I noticed Seraphina standing behind him. She was wearing the same white dress, her eyes were just as red, and the bruises from kneeling on the stone floor were still visible. Tears welled in her eyes, threatening to fall, a picture of perfect, pitiable innocence. I glanced at her for a second before turning my attention back to my husband. “Sebastian, the girl in that bed is your daughter,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Your daughter was locked in a cellar and chained like an animal. You don’t care, fine. But now you’re siding with the people who hurt her? Do you have a single shred of conscience left?” My voice rose, and he flinched. It was Seraphina who spoke. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Kaling. I’m sorry, Uncle Sebastian. I just wanted to apologize to Aurora. Since she doesn’t want to see me, I’ll just go. It’s all my fault. Maybe you never should have adopted me.” With that, two perfect tears rolled down her cheeks, and she turned and fled. Just then, Caspian and Julian appeared as if from nowhere, carrying a plastic bag with a few sad, shriveled apples. They saw Seraphina run past them in tears. Julian’s face contorted with rage as he glared at me. “What did Seraphina ever do to you? Why can’t the two of you just leave her alone? We came in good faith to visit Aurora, and here you are, tormenting her again.” Caspian slammed the bag of apples onto the floor. “Mrs. Kaling, if you’re going to continue to blindly side with your daughter and bully Seraphina, then don’t be surprised when we stop playing nice. When this family needs a man to take charge, don’t say I didn’t give you a chance.” I looked at these two arrogant, delusional boys. I walked up and slapped them both, hard, across the face. “You think you’re even worthy of speaking to me?” They clutched their faces, their shock quickly turning to fury. Caspian strode forward and knocked the thermos of soup to the floor. Julian grabbed Aurora’s arm—the one with the IV—and started dragging her out of bed. “Stop faking it,” he snarled. “Get up. You’re going to go kneel before Seraphina and apologize. And you’re not getting up until she forgives you.” I saw the blood start to back up in Aurora’s IV tube. “Guards!” I screamed. “Get these animals out of here! If my daughter is hurt again, I swear I will destroy you all!” Fearing my shouts would bring my security team, Caspian clamped a hand over my mouth. “Uncle Sebastian, what are you waiting for? Help us! If her guards get here, we’re all finished!” The room descended into chaos. Sebastian, jolted into action, saw me struggling and helpless. He walked up and struck me across the face. The force of the blow snapped my head back, and my cheek instantly began to swell. “You dare freeze my cards?” he spat. “You think you’re so powerful? You’re just a woman, parading around, pretending to do business when everyone knows you’re sleeping your way to the top. You’re a whore, just like your mother.” The thought of my supposed infidelities seemed to enrage him further, and he hit me again, on the other side. “You gave me a useless daughter, and I’ve had to endure my friends’ mockery for years. Just hand over the company to me and stop making trouble. This is a man’s world. What can a bitch like you possibly do?” Aurora, pinned beneath Julian, saw what was happening and fought with all her might. “Don’t you touch my mother! Let her go!” As she was about to break free, Julian wrapped a hand around her throat and squeezed. “You’re both sluts. If anything happens to Seraphina because she ran out of here upset, I’ll make you pay.” My daughter, already weak, gasped for air and passed out. My face was numb, swollen. I didn’t have the strength to speak. Seeing I was no longer a threat, Caspian released me. I slid to the floor in a heap. As he moved toward my unconscious daughter, I forced myself up, holding up my phone. The screen showed an active call. “You’d better let my daughter go,” I rasped. “My private security detail will be here any second. When they arrive, none of you will walk out of here.” As if on cue, the sound of screeching tires filled the air. Outside the window, a convoy of black SUVs pulled up, and a team of highly trained operatives began pouring out, heading for our room. I spat out a mouthful of blood and looked at their three ashen faces, a slow, grim smile spreading across my own. “I’ll give you back your own words. Kneel and apologize now. It might not be too late for you.”

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