My mother-in-law treated the whole family—even her pampered poodle—to a lavish, multi-thousand-dollar dinner at the city’s most exclusive restaurant. The only one not invited? Me. Staring at the pictures of their happy gathering on my social media feed, a bitter cold seeped into my bones. Without a second thought, I opened my banking app and deactivated the supplementary credit card she had in her possession. So, when the time came to pay the bill, that piece of plastic—usually so smooth and reliable—was declined. As all eyes in the restaurant turned to her, she scrambled like a cornered animal, frantically trying to call me, only to discover she was already blocked. Without me, let’s see how she’d talk her way out of this one. 1. My original plan for the weekend had been a simple family dinner. I just wanted to get everyone together, talk, and reconnect. It felt like ages since we’d all shared a proper meal. But my mother-in-law, Karen, shot the idea down instantly. My wife, Sophia, didn’t seem interested either. Defeated, I dropped it. I never imagined I’d wake up the next morning to an empty house. It wasn’t until I scrolled through my phone that the pieces clicked into place. Karen was hosting a grand feast for the entire family at The Crestwood, the most opulent restaurant in town. A video she posted showed a table teeming with relatives, laughing and clinking glasses. Uncles, aunts, cousins—even some distant second cousin I’d only met once was there. But the most galling sight was Karen’s poodle, perched on its own chair like a tiny, furry aristocrat, nibbling on a piece of premium abalone. She even zoomed in on it, a deliberate close-up, as if to make sure everyone saw. Every relative was there. The dog was there. But I was not. The image burned itself into my mind, a sharp, painful sting of exclusion. A hot surge of anger rushed to my head. I immediately called Karen. She picked up and hung up in the same motion. I tried again. Straight to voicemail. My stomach clenched. She’d blocked me. She wouldn’t even take my call. Next, I dialed my wife. It rang and rang before Sophia finally answered, her voice dripping with annoyance. “What do you want? We’re in the middle of dinner. Do you have to ruin the mood?” Her words were laced with contempt. My hand tightened around my phone, my knuckles white. “Sophia, what the hell is this?” I asked, my voice low and tight. “Do you people even consider me family? You invite everyone, the whole clan, but leave me at home? What, am I too embarrassing to be seen with you?” Just last night, they’d dismissed my idea of a family dinner without a second thought. Now I knew why. It wasn’t that they didn’t want a family dinner; they just didn’t want one with me. Sophia’s reply was sharp and dismissive. “Leo, what is your problem? So we didn’t invite you to dinner. It’s not a big deal. Why does a grown man have to be so damn petty?” I let out a harsh, disbelieving laugh. Petty? “You invited relatives we haven’t seen in years, Sophia. You even gave the dog a seat at the table, but you left me behind—and now you’re calling me petty?” My voice trembled with a rage I could no longer contain. “In your eyes, in your mother’s eyes, what am I in this family? Am I worth less than a damn dog?” Before she could answer, Karen’s shrill voice cut in from the background. “Sophia, why are you wasting your breath on someone so classless? Just let him throw his little tantrum.” Sophia’s tone turned to ice. “Leo, are you seriously going to make a scene right now? Mom’s right, you have no class. You need to take a long, hard look at yourself.” Then, she hung up. I tried calling back. Blocked. She’d blocked me too. In that moment, a profound silence fell over me. It felt like the world had gone quiet, and a blade was twisting in my gut. This was the woman I’d loved for three years, the woman I’d given everything for. This was the “family” I had fought so hard to be a part of, only to be perpetually treated as an outsider. Honestly, this wasn’t the first time. In this house, I was always the odd one out, deliberately excluded from every family activity. I still remember Sophia’s birthday last year. We threw a big party for her, and everything seemed perfect. But after it was over, Karen posted a group photo to the family group chat and her social media. The caption read: “Happy birthday to my beautiful daughter! May our family be happy forever.” In the photo, Sophia was beaming, her arms linked with her mother and her uncle, surrounded by a constellation of smiling relatives. The only person missing was me. Her husband. Karen had expertly cropped me out, leaving only the blurred edge of my pant leg, a ghostly, out-of-place limb. If she could have removed it without cutting off someone else’s arm, I’m sure she would have. There were countless other humiliations, big and small. Each memory was a fresh stab of cold disillusionment. Just then, my phone buzzed. Karen had posted again. What I saw made my blood run cold. 2. It was another video. The lavish feast was just the backdrop. This time, the camera was focused on Sophia. She was smiling brightly, though she adopted a look of faux humility whenever she glanced at the camera. But it was the caption that hit me like a punch to the gut: “This amazing dinner is all thanks to my wonderful daughter! She even gave me her card and told me to spend whatever I want.” At the end of the video, Karen held up a gleaming gold credit card, waving it for the camera with a triumphant smirk. “Having a daughter is so much better than a son. She’s such a go-getter, supports the whole family. A great job, a big salary, and so good to her mother.” My heart sank into an icy abyss. I knew that card. It was my credit card—a supplementary card I’d given to Karen. Her ex-husband had left her years ago, and she’d raised Sophia alone. Out of respect for her struggle, I’d always tried to be considerate. I invited her to live with us and treated her like my own mother. So when Sophia suggested I get Karen a supplementary card, I’d agreed without hesitation. For years, she used it for everything: designer clothes, fancy dinners, even the occasional luxury handbag. Sometimes the spending sprees made me uncomfortable, but for the sake of peace, and to save Sophia from being caught in the middle, I always bit my tongue. It’s fine, I’d tell myself. We’re family. To fund her lifestyle, I’d been mercilessly frugal with myself. I ate at the office cafeteria every day. My clothes came from discount stores. But I never, ever imagined she would have the audacity to do this—to steal the credit for years of my silent sacrifice and pass it off as her daughter’s success. All to feed her pathetic, bloated ego in front of our relatives. Below the video, a flood of fawning comments appeared. Karen replied to each one. When someone asked about her son-in-law, her response was always the same: “Don’t even mention that loser. My daughter runs this family.” I could practically see her smug grin as she typed. Every word of praise was another slap across my face. In that instant, my heart didn’t just feel cold. It felt dead. “Fine,” I hissed at the gloating face on my screen. A bitter smile twisted my lips. “Since you think this is all your daughter’s doing…” I picked up my phone and opened my banking app. “…let’s see who really owns that card.” My finger descended, and with a single, decisive tap, I deactivated the supplementary card. The moment it was done, a massive weight lifted from my shoulders. I felt a sense of release so profound it left me lightheaded. “Now,” I muttered, “let’s see how you’ll handle the bill.” Let’s see the look on all those relatives’ faces when Karen, the generous matriarch, was exposed as nothing more than a parasite cut off from her host. Meanwhile, back at The Crestwood, the feast was winding down. Relatives leaned back in their chairs, patting their full stomachs with satisfied groans. Several expensive, untouched dishes still littered the table. Even the poodle had two uneaten pieces of abalone left in its bowl. “Sophia is just incredible. So successful.” “Seriously, we’d never get to eat like this if it weren’t for her.” Karen beamed, demurely waving off the compliments. “Oh, it’s nothing, really,” she said, though her face was alight with pride, soaking in every word of praise for her precious daughter. Carried away by the moment, she threw her hands up and announced magnanimously, “Don’t you worry, everyone! From now on, whenever we have time, we’ll do this again! With my daughter around, money is no object!” The relatives erupted in another round of applause and flattery. “We’ll be living the high life thanks to Sophia!” “That’s right! With a daughter like that, Karen, you can just sit back and enjoy!” Floating on a cloud of adoration, Karen grandly summoned the waiter. “Check, please!” The waiter presented the bill. “Certainly, ma’am. Your total comes to $2,570. How will you be paying?” With a practiced, fluid motion, Karen slid the gold credit card across the table. The waiter took the card respectfully and walked away. A moment later, he returned, his expression troubled. “I’m sorry, ma’am… but this card has been declined.” The smile on Karen’s face froze, every trace of her triumphant swagger vanishing in an instant.

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My father’s mistress stormed our home, planting herself on our sofa and smugly demanding my mother step aside. Furious, my mother immediately demanded a divorce. My father agreed in a heartbeat, wrapping his arm around the other woman and ordering my mother to get out. As my mom grabbed my hand to leave, I pulled away and linked my arm through my father’s. “I’m not leaving,” I said. “I’m staying with Dad.” My mother’s family called me an ungrateful viper. I treated the mistress with the utmost respect, and when she became pregnant, I doted on her tirelessly. She loved to tell people she’d gained a devoted daughter for free, that she’d never have to worry about being cared for in her old age. But she had no idea that there’s a certain kind of manipulation, a special kind of trap, known as praise-killing. 1. I was walking home from school, and before I even reached the front door, I could hear shouting. My parents’ voices were sharp and angry, but they were tangled with the voice of a woman I didn’t recognize. The moment I stepped inside, my mother’s voice, stretched to its breaking point, cut through the air. “Since you’ve brought your mistress here to stage a coup, let’s just get a divorce!” My father’s eyes flickered toward me. Seeing me just quietly setting down my schoolbag, showing no reaction, he boomed, “Fine by me! I’ve been putting up with you for years, always nagging, always controlling! Not an ounce of softness in you! And after all this time, you couldn’t even give me a son. Who’s supposed to inherit the family business?” My mother let out a bitter, humorless laugh. She grabbed my arm. “So it’s just me and our daughter who are in your way? Fine! We’ll leave. You can shack up with your little homewrecker and have your precious son!” A flicker of panic crossed my father’s face. “Lara is my daughter! You can’t take her!” Though he’d always wanted a son, I had to admit, my father had always doted on me. If I wanted something, he almost always gave it to me. My mother’s grip tightened. “We’ll see if Lara even wants to go with you. Lara, let’s go!” She pulled at my arm, but I stood my ground, unmoving. That’s when the other woman saw her opening. Her voice was syrupy sweet. “Now, now, you can’t force her. It doesn’t look like Lara wants to leave with you.” Her voice was gentle, her face a mask of innocence. No wonder my father fell for her. My mother shot her a venomous look, her voice rising. “Lara, you tell us. Who are you going with?” I gently pulled my hand from my mother’s grasp, turned, and linked my arm through my father’s. “Mom, I’m not leaving,” I said softly. “I’m staying with Dad.” 2. My father roared with laughter, one arm slung around his mistress, the other pulling me close. “That’s my girl!” My mother’s hand trembled as she pointed at me, speechless. Finally, the words tore from her throat. “Fine. Just fine. Like father, like daughter. Two heartless snakes in the same pit!” She spun around and slammed the door, the sound echoing through the house. I watched her leave, my face a blank mask, my nails digging so deep into my palms that they drew blood. “Dad,” I said quietly, “I’m going to pack a few things for Mom to take with her.” As I was folding my mother’s clothes, my father came into the room with the other woman. He put a hand on my shoulder. “Lara, don’t blame me. You’re too young to understand adult relationships. Eva and I… this is true love. Since you chose to stay, I hope you can accept her. A happy home makes for a happy life, right? I can’t focus on my business if you two aren’t getting along.” Eva stepped forward and took my hand, her touch warm and cloying. “Lara, if you’re not comfortable, you can keep calling me Aunt Eva after your father and I are married. I don’t mind at all.” I smiled inwardly at her magnanimous act. Trying to look like the bigger person so Dad will admire you? I won’t let you have that satisfaction. If this was a game of shamelessness, I could play it better than she ever could. I summoned a brighter, more enthusiastic smile and placed her hand back in my father’s. “Don’t be silly! If you’re marrying my father, you’ll be my mother. Mom,” I said, looking her straight in the eye, “congratulations on your wedding. I wish you and Dad all the happiness in the world.” A cheater and a homewrecker. Better to keep them chained together where they couldn’t ruin anyone else’s lives. Eva was stunned, clearly not expecting this reaction. My father, however, was beaming. He ruffled my hair. “Lara, you’re so grown up. So understanding. I knew I wasn’t wrong to spoil you all these years.” Seeing him in such a good mood, I seized the opportunity. “Dad, I’m starting my junior year soon. You know how tough it gets. I was thinking of taking an advanced prep course over the summer to make sure I can get into a top university.” 3. “Of course! My daughter is so ambitious, I’ll give you whatever you need!” He didn’t hesitate. He pulled out his phone and, with a grand flourish, transferred ten thousand dollars into my account. “This is a start. If you need more, just ask!” I gave him my sweetest smile. “You’re the best, Dad!” I picked up the suitcase I’d packed. “I’ll just drop this off for Mom. Bye, Dad. Bye, Mom.” As I walked away, I saw their reflection in the glass of the front door. He was holding Eva, kissing her passionately. I caught my own reflection in the car’s rearview mirror and allowed myself a cold, hard smile. This was just the beginning. First things first, I needed to win back my real mother and make sure she was on my side. I drove to my grandmother’s house and rang the bell. My uncle answered, his face a thundercloud. “What is that little traitor doing here? Go on, go back to your father and live the high life!” I held up the suitcase. “I’m just dropping off some of Mom’s things.” He reached for it, but an older, wrinkled hand shot out and stopped him. “We don’t want her charity. As if we can’t afford to buy a few new clothes.” It was my grandmother. She shoved me back, her breath coming in angry gasps. “Get out! You’re not welcome here! As of today, I don’t have a granddaughter!” The door started to swing shut. I dropped the suitcase, wedging my body in the opening. “Mom!” I yelled into the house. “You left! If I leave too, are you just going to hand everything over to them on a silver platter?” My grandmother and uncle froze. In that brief moment of hesitation, I pushed past them and into the house. My mother was sitting on the living room sofa, silently wiping away tears. When she saw me, her eyes turned red all over again. My heart ached. I rushed to her and wrapped her in a hug. “Mom, don’t cry. The only way we can get what we deserve is if I stay with him. You were with him for years, from when he had nothing until his business was a success. You can’t let that woman waltz in and steal it all!” 4. I showed her the banking notification on my phone. “Look, Dad just gave me ten thousand dollars. I’ll transfer it to you. To keep me and that woman on good terms, he’s going to keep giving me money and gifts. I’ll save everything for you. Once I graduate from college, I’ll cut them off and we can start a new life together, just the two of us!” She hugged me tightly, her voice thick with emotion. “But you’ll be miserable, having to see their faces every day!” I smiled. “It’s not a sacrifice. It’s an investment in our future. It’s worth it.” Miserable? Far from it. Leading them step by step into the trap I’d designed, watching them stumble around, blind and self-satisfied… it was going to be incredibly entertaining. All my life, people had been fooled by my sweet, innocent exterior, calling me a good, obedient child. Not even my own mother knew the truth: I have a dark streak. I enjoy the game, the intricate dance of manipulation. And now, a brand-new toy had been delivered right to my doorstep. It would be rude not to play. When I returned home, I made sure my eyes were red and puffy. As I expected, my father saw my tear-streaked face and immediately assumed I’d been given a hard time. He pulled me into a protective hug. “Don’t you ever go back to that witch’s house again. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue. “But she’s my mother,” I sobbed. “It hurts that she’d treat me like that.” He immediately went to his safe and pulled out a thick gold chain. Eva’s eyes widened, but she didn’t dare say a word. He fastened it around my neck. “Your birthday is in a few days. Think of this as an early present. We’ll have a huge party for you.” A few days later, he did just that, throwing me a lavish birthday party and handing me a thick envelope of cash. I made sure to pose for photos with him and Eva, my arms linked through theirs. He was ecstatic, bragging to everyone about his perfect life: a beautiful wife and a devoted daughter. 5. The following months were a blur of studying for my final exams. I told my dad I needed to live in the dorms to focus. Thrilled by my diligence—and no doubt happy to have me out of the house so he and Eva could have their privacy—he readily agreed, setting up a generous monthly allowance for me. After covering my expenses, I transferred every remaining dollar to my mother. The semester flew by. When I came home for winter break, I found my father and Eva had prepared a feast to welcome me. “What a wonderful day! Lara’s home from school, and I have some great news to announce!” My father was grinning from ear to ear. I glanced at Eva’s gently rounded belly and the triumphant smirk on her face. I smiled brightly. “Am I going to be a big sister?” Eva nestled against my father’s side, feigning shyness as she nodded. “Congratulations, Mom and Dad!” I raised my glass to toast them. My father clapped me on the shoulder, his face glowing with satisfaction. “I couldn’t be happier. A smart, loving daughter, and a pregnant wife. What more could a man ask for? If it’s a boy, my life will be truly complete.” Eva rested a hand on her stomach, her chin held high. “Everyone says I’m carrying low. It’s definitely a boy. Don’t you worry, David. The Clark family business will have its heir.” They were so lost in their happy fantasy, they didn’t notice the flicker of ice in my eyes. Talking about a son inheriting everything, right in front of me, as if I didn’t even exist. Fine. If that’s how you want it, then I won’t hold back. But whether that son of yours will ever be born… that remains to be seen. 6. As Eva started to get up to get rice from the kitchen, I gently pushed her back down and took her bowl. “Mom, let me. You’re pregnant now, you should rest.” She watched, a smug smile playing on her lips, as I respectfully placed the steaming bowl of rice in front of her. “You’re such a good girl, Lara.” My father nodded in approval. As I served her food, I said, “It’s perfect timing, with my winter break. I can take care of Mom at home. You can focus on your business trips, Dad. I’ve got everything handled here.” Eva hesitated, her hand instinctively going to her belly. She gave me a wary look, as if trying to figure out my angle. But my expression was one of pure sincerity, impossible to fault. Hearing my father sing my praises, she had no choice but to force a smile and agree. The next day, I was up at dawn. I made breakfast and then slipped out of the house. Eva didn’t wake up until noon. She came downstairs to an empty house and frowned. When I returned, she was sitting on the sofa, looking thoroughly annoyed. She shot me a sideways glance. “Some caregiver you are. First day of break and you disappear. I was starving.” I put on a hurt expression and pointed to the dining table. “Mom, I made you breakfast before I left. You were still sleeping, so I went out to buy a few things…” My father walked in behind me and glared at Eva. “You’re getting spoiled. Lara is a high school student, and she got up at the crack of dawn to make you breakfast. Then she dragged me out to buy you new slippers because she was worried yours weren’t comfortable enough. And you, not a word of thanks, just complaints. She’s my daughter, not your servant.” 7. Eva’s eyes welled up with tears. “I’m carrying your son, a Clark heir, and you talk to me like that!” I saw my father was about to retort. I hid my smile and stepped in to play peacemaker. “Dad, please don’t. Mom is pregnant, her emotions are all over the place. We have to be more understanding. Besides, I did promise to take care of her. It’s natural for her to be a little anxious when she wakes up and I’m not here.” My father muttered under his breath, “Your own mother was never this dramatic when she was pregnant with you…” I scoffed internally. So now you remember how good she was? Pathetic. I pulled a new pair of slippers from my shopping bag and knelt at Eva’s feet. “Mom, these have extra-soft soles. They’ll be really comfortable. Your feet will probably start to swell soon, so I got them a size bigger.” Her expression softened as she watched me put the slippers on her feet. I helped her to the table with a cheerful smile, showing no sign of resentment. Then I went to the balcony to bring in the laundry. My father followed me, pressing a wad of cash into my hand. “I’m sorry you have to deal with this, Lara,” he whispered. I just smiled and gently pushed him toward the door. “It’s okay. Mom is carrying the future of our family. A little hardship is nothing. You should get to the office, Dad. You have a lot to deal with.” He left, beaming with pride. I turned back to look at Eva, sitting at the table like a queen waiting to be served, and my own smile widened. Just you wait. I’ll put you on a pedestal so high, the fall will be spectacular. And it will hurt so much more. Losing everything is far more painful than never having had it at all. 8. In the days that followed, my care for Eva was nothing short of meticulous. I supported her when she walked. I prepared whatever food she craved. I brought her a blanket when she was cold and a basin of warm water to soak her feet before bed. I was like a handmaiden from an ancient imperial court. Under my constant pampering, Eva’s weight ballooned. In less than a month, she gained thirty pounds. Her doctor issued a stern warning about her diet. But I had already stretched her appetite beyond her control. I served her six meals a day. In between the main courses, there was a never-ending parade of fresh fruit, milk, and expensive supplements like bird’s nest soup and sea cucumber stew—all, I claimed, to nourish her baby brother. Faced with such delicacies, her doctor’s orders were quickly forgotten. With my constant attention, it wasn’t just her body that expanded; her temper did too. I flattered her relentlessly, praising the baby in her womb as if it were a divine gift. She began to believe it, carrying herself with an air of immense self-importance, as if she were performing some heroic feat. She stopped being sweet and affectionate with my father. When he came home late from work, she would accuse him of cheating, her voice dripping with suspicion. Their arguments became more frequent. Each time, I would step in to calm my father down. Seeing Eva’s behavior, he became convinced that I was suffering under her tyranny at home. I would force a brave smile and tell him it was fine. Overcome with guilt and admiration, he would transfer thousands more dollars to my account as “compensation.” This cycle repeated itself several times a week. As their fights grew more bitter, my phone would chime with one deposit notification after another, not to mention the constant stream of small gifts my father brought home for me. I would sit in my room, watching the balance in my bank account grow, and laugh. Then I’d transfer every cent to my mother. 9. After weeks of being worshipped like a goddess, Eva finally let her guard down around me. She even started taking me with her when she met her friends for lunch. They were stunned to see me waiting on her hand and foot. Eva would preen under their attention. “This is my stepdaughter,” she’d announce proudly. “She’s just wonderful to me. See? I got a free daughter to take care of me. That ex-wife of David’s is such a loser. She lost her husband, and even her own daughter wouldn’t go with her!” I stood by silently, a placid smile on my face, as she bad-mouthed my mother. One of her friends shot me a nervous glance. “Eva, the kid’s right here. Lower your voice.” Eva waved a dismissive hand, not even looking at me. “What’s there to be afraid of? She’s a pushover. She chose her father, so she wouldn’t dare defend her mother. She knows who pays the bills.” I acted as if I hadn’t heard a thing, calmly refilling her teacup. “You must be thirsty from all that talking, Mom. Have some tea.” Her friends left that day marveling at what a well-behaved and devoted stepdaughter she had. Soon, everyone in her circle knew it. The winter break flew by. I looked at Eva’s swollen, ungainly form as she struggled to walk and smiled with satisfaction. It was time for the next phase of the plan. She was resting comfortably in bed. I placed a fresh set of clothes for her in the bathroom. “Mom, I have to go back to school soon, and I still have some homework to finish. I’m going to go upstairs and work on it. Your clothes are all ready for you when you want to take a shower.” She waved me away without a second thought and rolled over to sleep. I walked calmly to my room and closed the door. My hands were trembling with excitement. I put on my headphones, and the mechanical voice of an English language recording filled my ears, slowly calming my racing heart. The moment was almost here. I just wondered if she would be able to handle it.

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That simple refusal confirmed every wild suspicion in the room. Ignoring his rigid stance, I began to recite the relevant statutes from memory, a skill honed over years of practice, and pointed toward the baby in his arms. “Richard, you have a child. This isn’t just infidelity. This is tantamount to bigamy.” He remained unnervingly calm. “The child was an accident. But now that he’s here, I can’t let a Vaughn heir be cast out on the street. You’re overthinking this, Claire.” That’s when the dam inside me broke. All the composure I’d built crumbled into dust. “You told me you never wanted children!” I stared into his eyes, searching for a flicker of the man I once knew. “You said you hated them!” Finally, his composure cracked. He violently kicked a chair out of his way, stormed over, and grabbed my wrist. “Claire, have you made enough of a scene? We can talk about this at home! I have a perfectly reasonable explanation!” A reasonable explanation? While I was on a three-year assignment for our future, he, my husband, had taken a new wife. The man who swore he was child-free now had a plump, healthy son with a woman named Monica. I couldn’t begin to imagine what twisted logic he considered “reasonable.” The air between us crackled with ice. Suddenly, Monica stood up, inserting herself between us. “Richard, are you giving up on custody?” she asked, her voice a carefully crafted mix of challenge and vulnerability. “Fine. Then I’ll petition for sole, permanent custody. I don’t need a dime from you. I’ll find him a real, responsible father.” In the next instant, Richard’s grip on my wrist vanished. He was gone. The woman, Monica, held their baby, her gaze locked on Richard’s retreating back. It was only then that I truly saw her. She was draped in a diamond-studded couture gown, the very image of the high-society wife Richard had always said he wanted. Then I looked at myself. My severe, practical business suits. In his words, I didn’t have the first clue how to be a proper wife and mother. My chest felt like it had caved in. In eight years of marriage, Richard had never once given me the chance to be a mother. It started with layers of precautions and ended with him moving into a separate bedroom. I had told myself I could live with his choice, that our eight years together meant something. But the welcome-home gift after three years of grueling work in London wasn’t a party or a kiss—it was the sight of him holding the child I had always longed for. In front of a packed courtroom, Richard abandoned me again, chasing after Monica, terrified she might actually find a new father for his son. The Vaughn family was practically royalty in New York; an illegitimate child would be a scandal, but one they could easily weather. The court did not grant the divorce. I remembered my brother, Julian, a captain in the Chicago PD. Years ago, he had pressed the barrel of his service weapon to Richard’s temple. “You can marry my sister,” he’d said, his voice deadly calm. “But if you ever betray her, don’t think for a second I won’t find you.” Richard’s vows echoed in my memory, a ghostly reminder of a bridegroom who no longer existed. I pulled out my phone and dialed my brother in Chicago. “If the court won’t grant me a divorce,” I said, my voice cold as steel, “then let’s have it grant him a prison sentence.” I walked into the home I hadn’t seen in three years, ready to pack my bags and leave this life behind. I didn’t know when Richard had returned, but he met me in the foyer. The first thing I felt was a sharp, stinging slap across my face. “You took this case on purpose, didn’t you?” he snarled. “To humiliate Monica in front of everyone. Did that make you feel good, Claire? Did it make you feel powerful?” I clenched my fists, the nails digging into my palms. I couldn’t speak. Three years apart, and our reunion was this ugly, violent confrontation. Suddenly, it all felt so pointless. “Why did you refuse the divorce in court?” I asked, my voice flat. “I gave you an out.” A flicker of something—was it panic?—crossed his eyes. He ground his teeth. “What the hell is your problem, Claire? It’s just a child! Your own father had a child on the side, didn’t he? He abandoned you and your brother. Your mother put up with it, didn’t she?” He took a step closer, his voice dropping to a low, intense whisper. “Why can’t you?” His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist, the pain sharp and immediate. I stared at him, my eyes burning, the world shrinking to just his furious face. He knew. He knew my father’s affair and my mother’s subsequent death was the deepest wound of my life, a scar I never showed anyone. And he had just plunged a knife right into it. Seeing my silence, he grew more agitated. “It’s always cases, assignments in other countries, spouting legal jargon! For all these years, you’ve worn nothing but these soulless, black suits!” He paused, his lip curling in a sneer. “No man wants a hard-ass like you, Claire.” Then came the final, killing blow. “That’s why I said I was child-free,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Because the thought of being with you… it does nothing for me.” It was like a sledgehammer to the chest, shattering my ribs, my heart, my very soul. The shrill ring of a phone cut through my agony. Richard answered. I could hear Monica’s weak, panicked voice on the other end. “It was your wife, wasn’t it? She cut my brakes! If you didn’t want this baby, you could have just said so!” The line went dead. Richard’s face twisted into a mask of pure fury. He looked possessed. “Claire! What did you do to them? Did you touch them?” I was done with this man, this life. What more could I possibly do? Before I could answer, he was dragging me by the wrist, shoving me into his car. He deliberately prevented me from buckling my seatbelt, then peeled out onto the street, driving like a madman. We swerved through traffic, the tires screaming, until he deliberately smashed through a guardrail. I lunged for the steering wheel, but he threw me back against the passenger-side window with brutal force. “You have the guts to cut Monica’s brakes, but not enough to enjoy a little thrill ride?” he yelled over the engine’s roar. “If anything happens to them, Claire, I swear, this will be the last thing you ever experience!” Blood from a cut on my forehead streamed down my face, blurring my vision. He dragged me from the wrecked car and into the sterile brightness of a hospital, shoving me into a private room where, to my horror, his parents were already waiting. The moment they saw me, they looked at me as if I were a monster. His mother pointed a trembling finger at my nose, her voice laced with hatred. “Claire, I’m the one who begged them to have that child! If you have a problem, you take it up with me!” Her voice rose to a shriek. “Your body was useless for eight years, not a single sign of life! Monica gave this family a child in your place! You should be on your knees thanking her, not trying to kill her!” My heart thudded painfully. So, it was true. Monica wasn’t just his mistress; she was sanctioned by the Vaughn family. Not just Richard, but his parents, too, saw her as the real Mrs. Vaughn. No wonder she could parade around New York with that title, and no one dared to correct her. A wave of suffocating grief and injustice washed over me. A doctor entered, looking awkward after his examination. “Ms. Monica just has a sprained ankle. The baby is completely fine.” But Richard didn’t care. He had them moved to the most expensive suite in the hospital, with a dozen specialists on call. “What if there are internal injuries?” he raged, turning his glare on me. “If something had happened to that baby, you would have been happy, wouldn’t you!” His mother quickly covered his mouth. “Don’t say such unlucky things! This is our precious grandson.” Then, she turned back to me. “What are you standing there for? Apologize to Monica. Now.” His parents had always looked down on my family, my career. They said I was too visible, too aggressive, that I lacked the quiet dignity of a high-society wife. I gritted my teeth, my gaze sweeping over their hostile faces. “I didn’t do it. You can’t convict me on her word alone. You need evidence.” The words were barely out of my mouth when another slap cracked across my face. It was Richard, his chest heaving with rage. “Evidence? Evidence! Do you have any idea how fast I could have you disbarred? I’ll sue you into oblivion, and you’ll never practice law again!” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Eight years of marriage, erased by one woman and her child. As I looked at his enraged face, I was about to give in, to say whatever they wanted to hear, when my eyes caught something around the baby’s neck. A small, familiar chain. My heart seized. I looked at Richard, my voice a disbelieving whisper. “That’s my mother’s locket. You knew it was the only thing I have left of her. You stole it and gave it to him?” He stood there, hands in his pockets, without a trace of remorse. “It’s the only useful thing your mother ever left you,” he said coldly. “She failed to raise a decent daughter, but at least her trinket can protect the Vaughn family heir.” A roar filled my ears. I lost control. I lunged forward, a desperate, primal need to get it back consuming me. His parents shielded the baby. Monica clutched him, her face a mask of tear-streaked victimhood. “Please, just leave my baby alone!” she cried, ripping the locket from the infant’s neck. “Here, take it back!” A glint of silver flew through the air. It hit the marble floor with a sharp crack and split in two. My world stopped. My vision narrowed, my breath hitched. Everything went silent. A heavy shove sent me stumbling backward. “Don’t push it, Claire!” Richard yelled. He glanced at the broken pieces on the floor, his voice dismissive. “It’s a worthless piece of jewelry. Is it really worth all this drama?” Pushing it? Not worth it? I stared at him, my eyes burning with unshed tears, and a wild, broken laugh bubbled up from my chest. “Then agree to the divorce, Richard! Or who knows what I’ll be capable of next!” He froze, speechless. I never imagined that one angry, desperate threat would plunge me into a nightmare far worse than I could have ever conceived. Richard had the broken locket swept up and thrown out with the trash. That night, a torrential rain hammered the city. I was on my knees in a reeking landfill, digging through filth and garbage, searching for the pieces of my mother. My tears mixed with the rain as I screamed my anguish at the storm-blackened sky. “Mom,” I sobbed, “I finally understand the pain you went through.” My fingers were raw and bleeding, caked with mud, when the world finally went black. I collapsed amidst the ruins of other people’s lives. I woke to a splash of icy water. Richard’s face, dark and menacing, loomed over me. “Claire,” he seethed, “I really underestimated you.” “You threatened me yesterday, and today you acted on it. Where is the child? Tell me where you hid him!” He stared at me as if he wanted to rip open my chest and see the blackness of my heart. I curled my bleeding fingers into fists, pushing myself up from the cold floor. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The next thing I knew, one of his bodyguards kicked the back of my knees, and I crashed to the ground. Monica rushed forward, her face a performance of despair. “Claire, please, I’m begging you, just give me my baby back. I’ll disappear, I swear. I’ll never go near Richard again!” Looking at her phony, tear-streaked face filled me with nausea. I couldn’t stop myself. I spat at her, my voice raw with fury. “You hid him yourself! You’re framing me, you understand that? This is a crime!” Richard’s hand struck me again, harder this time. He shoved his phone in my face. A grainy security video played, showing a woman with my build, wearing my coat, carrying a baby away. “Still lying? That’s you on camera. What else do you have to say?” His face was a mask of pure disappointment. “I never thought you were this venomous. To harm a helpless infant…” “That’s not me!” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat. “That’s Monica! She set me up!” My mother-in-law, who had just arrived, rushed at me, pushing me hard. “You can’t stand Monica, can you? Today you kidnap her son, tomorrow you’ll kidnap her, and the day after that you’ll be coming for me!” Richard’s face went completely cold. Before I could say another word, he ordered his men to haul me to my feet. They tied my wrists to a pipe overhead. He picked up a thick leather belt, snapping it in the air with a menacing crack. “Let’s see how long you can keep your mouth shut, Claire.” One. Two. Three. The blows landed on my back and chest, each one a line of fire searing my skin. I could feel the flesh splitting open. By the tenth strike, Richard suddenly stopped. He handed the belt to a bodyguard. “Question her properly,” he commanded, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’m going to look for the baby myself. God knows what this lunatic is capable of.” His back, as he walked away without a second glance, blurred and disappeared from my vision. As Monica followed him, she turned, and in the one spot he couldn’t see, she gave me a triumphant little smirk. My wrists burned from the ropes. Tears streamed down my face. Richard had never trusted me. Not once. Crack. The sound pulled me back. The bodyguard had dipped the belt in cold water, and the next lash felt like being branded with ice and fire at the same time. “Talk! Where did you hide the young master?” Each strike exploded against my skin before the pain from the last one had even begun to fade. “Please… stop…” I gasped. “This is… illegal…” They laughed, the strikes growing more vicious. My agonized screams echoed through the empty warehouse. By the ninety-ninth lash, I had nothing left. I hung like a broken doll, a mass of torn flesh, no longer able to struggle. As my consciousness faded into a merciful gray fog, a man’s furious roar ripped through the air. “ENOUGH!” Through a haze of pain, I looked up and saw Richard, stumbling, running towards me. But just before he could reach me, the doors burst open. The room was flooded with police officers in Chicago PD uniforms. They swarmed him, surrounding him completely. The captain at the front, my brother, slapped a warrant against Richard’s chest. “Richard Vaughn,” Julian snarled, his voice shaking with rage. “Bigamy and aggravated assault. Who the hell gave you the balls?”

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A month into my first semester, I was already financially independent. Fetching water: $500. Grabbing packages: $500. Changing a duvet cover: $1,000. Providing emotional support for the queen bee: $2,000. So when the campus king and his scholarship-case girlfriend showed up looking for a fight, I was the first one to step up. You can insult me. But you will not insult my boss. For my troubles, the queen bee gifted me the latest iPhone 17 Pro Max. After graduation, while my classmates were clawing their way through recruitment season, I walked right into the Weasley Corporation headquarters by her side. Then, the Weasley family found their real, long-lost daughter. The party they threw to welcome her was the talk of the town. I found Victoria Weasley huddled in a dark corner, lighting a cigarette with a self-mocking laugh. “I guess I’m not a Weasley anymore,” she said, her voice laced with bitter humor. “You don’t have to stick around.” I just nodded and pulled a bank card from my pocket. “Thanks to you, these past few years, I’ve bought a car, a condo, and I’ve got a little saved up.” I met her gaze. “So… want to burn it all down?” … Victoria’s head snapped up. Her usually cool, imperious face was, for the first time in the seven years I’d known her, completely stunned. Victoria Weasley was like most heiresses: beautiful and imperious. The first time I saw her, during freshman orientation seven years ago, I was carrying a kettle of hot water. The queen bee acknowledged my friendly hello with a slight, regal tilt of her chin before thrusting another empty kettle into my hands. “Fill this one up for me, too.” I blinked, then rolled my eyes. I was about to tell her she was out of her mind when she pulled out a wallet, thumbed through a stack of crisp bills, and held out five hundreds. “For your trouble.” The thousand insults on the tip of my tongue vanished. I grabbed both kettles and scampered off like my life depended on it. From that day on, it was $500 for water, $500 for takeout, and $1,000 for changing her duvet cover. Victoria was so lavish with her money that I sometimes felt guilty taking it. She’d just raise an eyebrow and say coolly, “You do the work, I pay you for it. That’s how the world works.” And so I became her most loyal lackey. Correction: her most loyal assistant. But Victoria was different from the other trust-fund kids. She’d gotten into Auden University as a state scholar. While others were at fashion shows and shopping sprees, she was already interning at her family’s company. In just a few years, she had propelled Weasley Corp to new heights—so successful that her own family began to see her as a threat. Suddenly, fireworks exploded over our heads, forming the name “Lily” in the night sky. The name of the newly found “true” heiress. The Weasleys were putting on this extravagant show to legitimize her. Victoria and I exchanged a look. We both saw the same irony in each other’s eyes. Weasley Corp had just poured over a billion dollars into the new Northwood Project, and finances were tight. A city-wide spectacle like this had to have cost at least half a month of the entire company’s budget. After a moment of silence, Victoria stubbed out her cigarette and strode purposefully towards the brightly lit mansion. A small smile played on my lips as I hurried to catch up. I’d been to the Weasley mansion many times, but in the half-month since I’d last been here, it had been completely transformed. The courtyard, once filled with the vibrant roses Victoria had planted, was now home to rows of delicate, fragile gardenias. Very fitting for the new princess. My gaze fell on Lily, the center of attention. She was wearing a French-style princess gown that looked awkward on her, flanked by two men who once belonged to Victoria: her brother and her fiancé. Now, they looked more like Lily’s personal knights. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she gathered her skirts to walk over. “Avery! I’m so happy you could make it!” she chirped, her tone intimate, as if she wasn’t the same person I’d yelled at until she cried three years ago. “I know how amazing you are at your job. Don’t worry, you’ll have a place at Weasley Corp, just like when my sister was here.” She then covered her mouth with a theatrical gasp, her eyes wide with mock innocence. “Oh, Mason… did I overstep?” Mason Weasley, the eldest son, just ruffled her hair affectionately. “Of course not. You’re the rightful heir of this family. You can say whatever you want.” He then looked down his nose at me, as if bestowing a great favor. “Lily has a kind heart. You should be grateful she’s willing to keep you on.” Lily blushed and looked down. I had to physically restrain myself from rolling my eyes. As a senior executive at Weasley Corp, my employment was subject to a vote by the board of directors, not the whims of these idiots. Standing beside them, Blake Harrington looked thoroughly annoyed. He pulled Lily into his arms. “When is this ceremony going to start? I can’t believe Victoria occupied your place for so many years. I almost had to marry her. What a nightmare.” Lily tugged on his sleeve, whispering, “Don’t say that. It wasn’t my sister’s fault.” Blake was about to say more when a commotion at the entrance cut him off. I heard the murmurs of the crowd, followed by Blake’s voice, suddenly sharp and loud. “Victoria? Who let you in?” 2 Every head in the room turned towards the entrance. Victoria stood under the glittering crystal chandelier, a simple, elegant black velvet gown clinging to her frame. She effortlessly outshone every bejeweled woman in the room. Her expression was neutral. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting second before settling on Blake. “Blake,” she said, her voice calm and cutting, “I’ve been walking through this door for twenty years. Since when do I need your permission?” Blake was speechless, his face flushing with anger. Lily immediately peeked out from his embrace, her voice soft and trembling. “Sister, please don’t be angry. Blake didn’t mean it like that… He just… he just wasn’t expecting you…” As she spoke, her eyes welled up with tears. Mason, ever the protector, stepped in front of her. “Victoria, this is a welcome party for Lily. It’s not appropriate for you to show up uninvited.” “Uninvited?” Victoria let out a soft laugh as she glided forward. “Brother, have you forgotten? This party is being paid for by Weasley Corporation’s public relations budget. And I,” she paused, her gaze sweeping over the room, “am still a 5% shareholder in this company. As well as the original head of the Northwood Project. Do I need an invitation to see how my money is being spent?” Mason’s face froze. The guests began to whisper amongst themselves. “She’s right, she still has shares…” “And the Northwood Project was her baby…” Sensing the shift in the room, Lily forced a sickly-sweet smile. “Sister, I’m so happy you’re here! You lived in this house for over twenty years. We can be sisters, the daughters of the Weasley family together. We’re all family!” She even tried to take Victoria’s hand. Victoria sidestepped her without a second glance. Lily’s hand hung awkwardly in the air. She looked at Mason and Blake, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. Blake wrapped a protective arm around her, snarling at Victoria, “Don’t be so ungrateful, Victoria! Lily is trying to be nice, and you’re still putting on your queen bee act? Look around! Who do you think you are anymore?” Mason’s expression darkened. “Victoria, those shares were a gift from Grandpa to his most beloved granddaughter. Since you’re not his biological granddaughter, those shares aren’t rightfully yours.” He offered a condescending smile. “Of course, for the sake of our years as siblings, and for all you’ve done for the company, I won’t cheat you. I’m prepared to buy your shares back at market value.” He looked down at Lily, his eyes full of adoration. “And return them to their rightful owner.” Lily looked up at him, her eyes shining with tears of gratitude. Victoria simply nodded. “Fine. We can discuss the details at the office on Monday.” The whispers grew louder. “Is she crazy? Everyone knows Weasley Corp is on the rise. Selling her shares now is like throwing money away.” “Well, she’s not a Weasley anymore. It’s smarter to take the money and run…” A sleazy voice cut through the chatter. “Well, well, what’s all the commotion?” I looked up to see a man in a flashy pink suit swaggering over, champagne flute in hand. It was Tristan Vance, a notorious playboy and one of Victoria’s former suitors. He leered at Victoria. “Well, if it isn’t the great Victoria Weasley. Oh, my mistake, the former great Victoria Weasley. Kicked to the curb and still putting on airs? I hear you’re in a tight spot. How about you consider my offer? I may not be a Weasley, but I can certainly take care of you…” He didn’t finish, but his eyes raked over her body, leaving no doubt as to his meaning. A few stifled snickers echoed through the crowd. Blake and Mason did nothing, clearly enjoying the show. Victoria didn’t say a word, just shot me a quick, pointed glance. I inwardly cursed. The queen bee had caught me enjoying the drama. I cleared my throat and stepped forward. Lily’s face paled. “Avery, you…” I ignored her and walked straight up to Tristan. “Mr. Vance, if I recall correctly, your father still hasn’t covered the thirty-seven million you lost in Vegas last month. I hear all your credit cards have been frozen. Are you planning on taking out a loan shark’s money to ‘take care’ of our Ms. Weasley?” 3 Tristan’s face turned a shade of beet red. “You… What nonsense are you spouting?” I kept my smile in place, pulling a business card from my clutch and tucking it into the pocket of his stiff suit jacket. “This is for the venture capital firm under Ms. Weasley’s name. We specialize in assisting small to medium-sized enterprises facing temporary financial difficulties. Given your current situation, perhaps you could apply for our distress fund? The interest rates are very reasonable.” A dead silence fell over the room, followed by a wave of poorly suppressed laughter. Tristan, trembling with rage, crumpled the card in his fist. He shot me a venomous glare. “You’re nothing but a dog on Victoria’s leash. She can’t even save herself now. What gives you the right to bark here?” I just shrugged, completely unbothered, and stepped back to my position just behind Victoria. Through it all, Victoria’s expression hadn’t changed. She turned her cool gaze back to the stone-faced Mason and Blake. “It seems I’m not welcome here after all. Fine.” She gave a slight flick of her hand. I immediately understood and handed her the file I’d been holding. Victoria casually tossed it onto a nearby table. “A few of my humble suggestions for the future development of the Northwood Project. Consider it a… welcome gift. For the company, and for the new heiress.” Without another word, she turned and walked out. I smiled, following her, but paused as I passed Lily. “Miss… oh, I suppose I should call you Miss Weasley now,” I whispered, my voice low enough for only her to hear. “That dress you’re wearing? It’s last season’s couture. Victoria donated it because she was tired of it.” The color drained from Lily’s face. Outside, the night air was sharp and cold. Victoria didn’t look back once at the house she had called home for over twenty years. “What did you say to her?” she asked. “Nothing much,” I shrugged. “Just reminded her she’s wearing your hand-me-downs.” A genuine smile finally broke through Victoria’s composure. “Let’s go.” I looked up and saw the familiar fire reigniting in her eyes. “Didn’t you say something about burning it all down?” I pulled out my phone and brought up a business proposal I had prepared weeks ago. “The Northwood Project,” I said. “We’re going to do it ourselves.” Victoria looked surprised. “You were already planning this?” I just gave a slight nod. Someone had been digging into the switched-at-birth story for a while. As Victoria’s right-hand woman, I was an obvious target for them to try and flip. They had offered me a contract that would have set me up for life. But all I could see was an image from seven years ago: me, a poor student, being pushed into a corner by bullies. And Victoria, walking out of the sunlight, extending a hand to me. So now, seven years later, I was walking back into the darkness to pull her out. Victoria was quiet for a moment. Then she reached out and messed up my hair. “You’re a good dog,” she said, her voice rough with emotion. I laughed, ducking away. “Assistant, boss. The word is assistant.” She dropped her hand, her gaze fixed on the glittering lights of the Weasley mansion in the distance. Her voice was calm, steady, and filled with a cold fire. “Then let’s show them,” she said. “Who the real heir is.”

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My mother-in-law was in acute kidney failure and needed dialysis, but my husband, the head of nephrology, let his intern—and mistress—handle the procedure. The intern fumbled with the machine. “Dr. Wright,” she cooed, “there are so many tubes and buttons. I don’t know what to do~” My husband, Toby, patiently spent ten minutes teaching her, ignoring the nurse’s warning about the incorrect parameters. He insisted it was good practice for her. The result? The intern set the flow rate wrong, causing a fatal air embolism. My mother-in-law convulsed and died on the spot. To comfort his crying mistress, Toby wrapped his arms around her and walked out of the ER. He shot me a cold, dismissive glance. “Go,” he ordered, “get your mother’s body out of here. And sign this waiver. It was an equipment malfunction.” “Your mother didn’t have much time left anyway,” he added, his voice devoid of emotion. “Maggie is just starting her career. We can’t let some old woman ruin her future.” I froze. He actually thought the woman lying in that room, the one he had just used as a teaching tool, was my mother. A cold smile spread across my face. “I’m afraid I’m not the right person to sign that.” 1 Toby’s face immediately darkened. “What’s that supposed to mean? You refuse to sign?” His brow furrowed, his impatience palpable. “Audrey, I’m warning you, don’t even think about suing for malpractice. It won’t end well for you.” Maggie peeked out from his arms, her voice a timid whisper. “Audrey, your mother was such a kind woman. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to make things difficult for Dr. Wright. Just sign it. It’s for the best.” I ignored her saccharine performance and raised my phone, activating the voice recorder. “Of course, I understand,” I said, my voice as calm as if I were discussing the weather. “It was an equipment malfunction. These things happen.” I paused. “But I’m not sure the hospital administration will just take my word for it. Why don’t I record you saying it, too? Just so I have something to show them.” Toby looked at me like I was an idiot. “Are you insane? It’s your mother who died, not mine. What do I care?” Then I remembered. Last month, I had taken my mother-in-law for a check-up. The results showed early signs of kidney failure. She had begged me not to tell Toby, worried it would distract him from his career. But he had found the report. My mother-in-law had been there, her eyes pleading with me. So I had lied. I told him it was my mother’s report. I finally understood the strange, unreadable look in his eyes that day. It was gloating. Seeing me just standing there, holding my phone, Toby’s patience snapped. “Fine, fine! I, Toby Wright, agree that it was an equipment malfunction. Happy now?” he snarled. “Now get lost. Can’t you see Maggie is traumatized?” He shoved past me, his arm around his precious intern, and strode towards his office without a backward glance. Maggie, nestled in his arms, looked back at me, a triumphant, mocking smile playing on her lips. I watched them go, slowly lowering my phone. I sincerely hoped he could maintain that same arrogant swagger in a little while. 2 The hospital’s risk management department soon called me in for a meeting. They looked uncomfortable; Toby was both the doctor involved and a family member of the deceased. It was a messy situation. Before they could even start, I handed them the waiver and the recording. “This is what my husband wants,” I said calmly. “He said that at her age, accidents are bound to happen. We can’t blame the hospital, and we certainly can’t blame the doctors.” The committee members exchanged stunned glances. After the meeting, I went to the morgue to handle the paperwork. And there they were again, Toby and Maggie, hand in hand, looking sickeningly sweet. Toby immediately blocked my path, shoving another piece of paper in my face. “Sign it.” It was an organ donation form. The temperature in the room dropped. “His mother was a devout Buddhist,” I said, my voice cold. “She wanted to leave this world whole, just as she entered it. I will not agree to this.” Maggie let out a snort of laughter. “Audrey, you’re so old-fashioned. What does it matter once she’s ashes?” She smirked. “With a disease like that, she must have done some pretty terrible things in a past life. This is what you call karma. She deserved it.” Toby nodded in agreement. “Audrey, your mother didn’t contribute much in life. Let her do some good in death. Maybe she’ll earn enough good karma for a better reincarnation. It’s like produce at the market; it’s only valuable when it’s fresh. Let it sit too long, and it’s worthless. Understand?” I was trembling with a rage so profound it made me nauseous. Was this man I married a monster in a white coat, or the devil himself? “Toby! That was your mother, too! Have you no soul?” I cried. “I will never agree to this!” I tried to leave, but he grabbed my wrist, his grip like a vice. “You ungrateful bitch. I’ve been too nice to you.” He raised his other hand. I stared him down. “You lay a hand on me, and I swear, my parents will destroy you.” CRACK! The slap was so hard my ears rang, and stars exploded behind my eyes. The stinging pain was nothing compared to the agony in my heart. The humiliation and shock were a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. “Your parents?” he sneered. “What are they going to do? Without them, you’re nothing.” He forced my hand down onto the form, pressing my thumb into the ink pad and then onto the signature line. He shoved me, and I fell to the floor in a heap. I clutched my cheek, staring up at him in disbelief. This was the man who once couldn’t even bear to speak a harsh word to me. 3 Maggie immediately clung to his arm. “Don’t be angry, honey. She’s not worth it. Your hands are too precious.” Toby’s fury melted away as he looked at her. “You’re right, my love. She’s not worth it.” He looked down at me, his eyes like chips of ice. “Let me make this clear, Audrey. If you donate the body, your mother earns some good karma. If you don’t, she’ll be disposed of as medical waste. Your choice.” He turned to leave, but Maggie stopped him. “You must be exhausted after your surgery, Dr. Wright. Why don’t you go rest? I can handle this. It’ll be good practice, right? You always say practice makes perfect.” He tweaked her nose affectionately. “Clever girl. Go on, then. Think of it as a preview for your anatomy class.” The moment he was gone, Maggie’s sweet smile vanished. She walked over to the gurney and ripped off the white sheet. She picked up a scalpel, brandishing it near my mother-in-law’s eyes. “Old bat was half-blind anyway. These corneas are useless.” She then picked up a bone saw, waving it over the corpse’s head. “And her brain is probably so shriveled up, no one would want it for a specimen.” I retched, a silent scream building in my throat. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t protect you. Just a little longer, I told myself. I will make them pay in blood. She began to cut, pulling out organs and tossing them onto the floor with disgust. She even took out her phone, snapping pictures of her gruesome work and sending them to Toby. His voice message came back, full of praise and affection. “My Maggie is so talented and brave. Don’t worry about making a mess on your first dissection. It’s not like Audrey’s mother has any valuable organs anyway. Just think of it as practice. A worthy end for her.” Maggie grinned at me. “Your mother’s body is in worse shape than the cadavers in the lab. What a waste of my time.” I took a deep breath, forcing down the bile and rage. I lunged forward, my fingers trembling, and snatched the phone from her hand. A tear I couldn’t hold back splashed onto the screen. I held the phone to my mouth and said, each word a shard of glass, “Toby. I want a divorce.”

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The police called me to the scene. When I arrived, his secretary was still on her knees beside the body, wailing my husband’s name. She was a wreck. But I wasn’t looking at her. I was looking at the shimmering ghost of Chris, hovering in the air just above them. Perhaps some betrayals are so vile, not even hell will claim the soul. 1 The officer beside me cleared his throat, a touch of awkwardness in his voice as he broke the silence. “Mrs. Quinn.” That single sound was enough to halt the secretary, Molly, in the middle of a desperate sob. Maybe Chris really had loved this woman down to his very bones. He’d lost his life in the crash, yet she had walked away with nothing more than a few minor cuts and bruises. But Chris’s love… I glanced at the translucent figure of the man watching the scene unfold and couldn’t help but let out a soft, contemptuous sound. Chris’s love changed colors more easily than a chameleon. When Molly turned to look at me, her face was a mask of shock, which quickly morphed into rage. She scrambled to her feet, her face flushed a deep crimson, and launched herself at me. The ghostly version of Chris reacted just as the living one would have. He tried to step between us, to shield her, terrified that I might lay a hand on his precious Molly. But he was nothing but air. He could only watch in frustration as she passed right through his incorporeal form and lunged for me. “Molly, be careful,” he muttered, his brow furrowed in concern. Then his gaze snapped to me, a silent, furious warning. “Vivian, I’m warning you. Don’t you dare touch her.” It was a scene that had played out a dozen times before. Except this time, it seemed I was the only one who could hear him. Molly’s hands clawed for my shoulders, her expression twisted with malice. She was clearly not here to offer condolences. I instinctively recoiled, my brows knitting together. An officer caught her just before she could tackle me, preventing her from tumbling to the floor. “Ma’am, you need to calm down,” the officer said firmly, his voice layered with professional patience. “Mr. Quinn’s final arrangements are the responsibility of his wife, Mrs. Quinn.” He emphasized the word “wife,” and it was clear he’d already pieced together the sordid little triangle. Molly froze, her expression turning monstrous, like something out of our son Leo’s nightmares—ugly and repulsive. “Officer, I want to file a report!” she shrieked, pointing a trembling finger at me. “His crash—it was her! It had to be! It was no accident!” The officer let out a weary sigh. Seeing she was completely unhinged, I took another step back, seeking refuge behind him. The last thing I needed was to get scratched up by a madwoman. Chris had already drifted to Molly’s side, his cold, spectral eyes fixed on me. I couldn’t read his expression, but I didn’t have to. I was certain he suspected me, too. 2 The lead officer looked helpless. Just as he was about to speak, I cut him off, my gaze fixed on Molly. “Without any evidence, that’s slander. I can sue you for it.” Molly ground her teeth, her fury barely contained. Finding the whole display tedious, I offered her a piece of advice. “I suggest you go home and start packing up all the little gifts Chris gave you.” I paused for effect. “After all, everything he bought you was marital property. My son Leo and I are his sole legal heirs. What do you think the odds are that I’ll be coming to collect every single penny he spent on you?” Molly’s theatrical sobbing stopped dead. Her face went pale. Seeing she’d finally quieted down, the officer gestured for a policewoman to escort her out. As Molly was led from the room, Chris tried to follow. But the frustrating part? He reached the doorway only to be snapped back by some invisible force, pulled back into the room with me. I shot him a vicious little smile. Serves you right. “Mrs. Quinn, we’ll leave you to handle Mr. Quinn’s affairs,” the officer who brought me here said gently. I assumed they’d done their due diligence before contacting me. The crash was a genuine accident. On the drive over, they’d asked a few routine questions about Chris’s life and left it at that. I had no desire to look at Chris’s face, especially not after a car wreck. I didn’t need the image of his mangled features haunting my dreams. I made a quick call to my assistant and my lawyer to handle the arrangements and prepared to leave. I’d rushed here, and while I’d asked our nanny, Mrs. Gable, to pick up Leo from preschool, I was still worried. Leo had never been close to his father, which made him incredibly attached to me. I was afraid he wouldn’t go to sleep without me there. After signing the necessary paperwork and confirming with the police that my assistant was on his way, I headed straight for the airport and booked the next flight home. 3 And just like that, it was confirmed. Chris, or what was left of him, was tethered to me. I watched his translucent form drift near the ceiling of the airplane cabin and narrowed my eyes. Well now, this could be fun. The moment I landed, a video message from Mrs. Gable popped up on my phone. In it, Leo was dressed in his adorable dinosaur pajamas, his big, innocent eyes blinking slowly. He refused to sleep, calling for me over and over. It was only when Mrs. Gable told him I was watching through the camera that he sat up, managed a wobbly smile, and spoke to the lens. “Mommy, I wanna sleep with you. Can you come home, please?” He was five, almost old enough for elementary school, but his voice was still thick with that sweet, babyish lisp that could melt any heart. I hurried my steps. My assistant had a car waiting, and in less than an hour, I was home. Mrs. Gable was reading a picture book with Leo in the living room. The moment he heard the door, he scampered over to greet me. I scooped him into my arms, murmuring comforting words as I carried him to his room. I tucked him in, read him his favorite story, and finally, his breathing evened out into the soft rhythm of sleep. While I was tending to Leo, I noticed Chris sitting on the cushioned window seat in the corner of the room. He’d never shown much interest in Leo, probably because the boy was a product of a marriage he’d grown to resent. The few times he was home, he rarely spent time with our son. It was no surprise, then, that Leo hadn’t mentioned his father once. I heard Chris’s faint, ghostly whisper. He was muttering to himself, asking why Leo never asked for his dad. I found it laughable. After placing a soft kiss on Leo’s cheek, I quietly left his room and went to the master bedroom. 4 I wasn’t about to play games with him. I sat down on the edge of the bed and spoke into the empty air. “Leo is five years old. In those five years, how many times have you actually been there for him?” “Did you ever take him to the park? Ever read him a bedtime story? Hell, our driver knows him better than you do. What exactly do you expect him to remember?” I stared at the space where I knew he was standing. We had been married for ten years. He had been sleeping with his secretary for three. The translucent figure suddenly met my gaze, his form wavering slightly. The usual composure of the great CEO Chris Quinn was gone, replaced by sheer astonishment. “You can see me.” I didn’t answer, just gave him a look one might reserve for a complete idiot. Chris sighed, a sound like rustling leaves, and drifted over to my vanity. He sat down, staring at the mirror, and seemed to freeze for a few seconds when he saw no reflection. I let out a cold laugh, crossing my arms. “So, Mr. Quinn. It seems even in death, you can’t get away from me.” The moment I discovered his affair with Molly, I had filed for divorce. He refused, citing all the classic excuses: he couldn’t live without me, Leo needed a father. He fought every petition, every motion. At one point, I took him to court, but I lacked concrete proof of the affair. Since Molly was his secretary, their constant proximity could always be explained away as work. After countless failed attempts, I had temporarily given up. But I’d found a silver lining. An invisible ATM who never came home, never caused trouble, and always paid the bills. It was a pretty sweet deal, actually. So, I began quietly purchasing real estate in Leo’s name and focused on rebuilding my own career. I had to be prepared for the day he would inevitably blindside me with his own divorce papers. I never expected to be planning his funeral instead. Chris had no siblings, and his parents had passed away years ago. This meant that every asset, every stock, every last penny to his name now belonged to me and Leo. His legally protected wife and his biological son. What a generous man he turned out to be. 5 We didn’t speak for the rest of the night. I fell asleep surprisingly quickly. The next morning, my assistant sent me the cremation certificate, along with a short video of Chris’s body being moved into the incinerator. Chris, who had been brooding in a corner, drifted over, curious about what I was watching. His eyes widened as he saw his own mortal shell sliding into the flames. “You’re not even a little sad, are you?” His voice was muffled, heavy with disbelief. He watched as I calmly took a sip of my coffee, his ghostly brow knitting into a tight knot. I ignored his question, finished my coffee, and went to wake Leo for preschool. Receiving no answer from me, Chris began to lose his composure. He floated closer, his voice rising in anger. “Vivian!” Leo, still drowsy and blissfully unaware of the spectral tantrum, giggled in my arms. “Mommy, I’m gonna bring lots of snacks to share with my friends today!” he announced, his sleepiness replaced by excitement. He chattered happily all through breakfast and while brushing his teeth, his little hands gesturing wildly. A real smile touched my lips. I helped him pack his favorite treats into his little backpack. 6 After dropping Leo off, I had a quick online meeting with my lawyer, then headed to Chris’s company headquarters. Chris seemed to be in the middle of a silent, sulking protest. He floated along beside me, arms crossed, saying nothing. Or perhaps he was just eagerly anticipating his reunion with Molly. He was in for a disappointment. Men are often so much slower to see the truth about certain things. Especially about certain women. When we arrived at the office, Molly was nowhere to be found. Chris’s other secretary, a professional and discreet woman named Ms. Hayes, was already aware of the situation. My lawyer had called ahead, so she knew why I was there. She had efficiently scheduled a board meeting for two o’clock. Ms. Hayes led me into Chris’s expansive office. “You can wait in here, Mrs. Quinn. I’ll bring you the relevant files.” She paused, hesitating for a moment before walking over to a large filing cabinet. She slid it aside, revealing a hidden door. “There’s a small suite in here if you need to rest.” Behind the door was a bedroom, complete with a large bed, a wardrobe, and an en-suite bathroom. My stomach clenched. The thought of what Chris and Molly might have done in here was enough to make me want to leave immediately. In fact, the entire office felt contaminated. The more I thought about it, the more nauseous I became. “This place is filthy,” I said, taking a half-step back and subtly wiping my nose, avoiding Chris’s gaze. “I think I’ll wait in your office, Ms. Hayes.” The silent ghost of Chris finally stirred, his gaze burning into me. I ignored his fury and gestured for Ms. Hayes to lead the way. Left with no choice, she quickly showed me to her own, much smaller, office. 7 I spent the morning reviewing documents and consulting remotely with a specialist my assistant had found. By now, Chris understood exactly what I was planning. As Ms. Hayes and I headed to the corporate cafeteria for lunch, Chris trailed behind me, his ghostly voice a venomous stream in my ear. It was almost funny. We met at seventeen, started dating at eighteen, married at twenty-three. In all that time, I had never once seen the great Chris Quinn lose his cool like this. “Vivian, how could you sell my shares?!” “You bitch!” “This is all mine! What right do you have?!” Chris had come from a modest, middle-class family. He’d built this company from the ground up, a true prodigy among his peers. He had proposed to me when we were twenty but insisted on waiting until he was twenty-three to marry, all because he wanted to give me a better life. And then, in our seventh year of marriage, he cheated. While Ms. Hayes went to get our food, I finally responded to him. “It’s mine now.” I offered no further explanation. He froze, his translucent eyes turning a furious, blood-red. “Vivian! I hope you rot in hell!” After lunch and a short break, it was time for the meeting. I hadn’t even reached the conference room when I heard a familiar voice from inside. It was Molly. I leaned against the doorframe, glancing back at Chris. The flicker of hope in his eyes was so pathetic it was almost comical. What a foolish, foolish man. “To all the board members,” Molly’s voice drifted out, trembling slightly. Chris desperately wanted to go inside, his gaze darting back and forth to me. But I remained right where I was, forcing him to listen from the hallway. “With Mr. Quinn’s passing…”

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It was supposed to be my wedding day, but my fiancé, Cade, stood in front of the limousine, blocking my way. “I’m not here for you today.” I froze, completely lost, as his groomsmen erupted in laughter behind him. “Game over, boys,” Cade announced, a triumphant smirk on his face. “I won.” “Damn, Cade, you actually did it. You tamed the ice queen.” “Pay up,” Cade said to his friends. “Bet money and wedding gifts. I want every cent.” Then, my sister, Lily, appeared. She was wearing a wedding gown identical to mine. Cade took her hand and helped her into the limousine. The car sped away. I tried to run after it, but my family swarmed around me, forming a human cage. My brother, a top-tier actor, blocked my path. “Cade is in love with Lily. He’s marrying her. This is their wedding day, so you will behave.” My mother, a famous actress, clasped my hand. “Audrey, darling, your sister suffers from severe depression. She’s suicidal. Cade is the only one who can keep her stable. Just… let her have this.” My father, a billionaire tycoon, just snorted. “You’ve already had eighteen years of the life that should have been hers. Letting her have one man is the least you can do. It’s a bargain, really.” Then, they had their security drag me back to the house and lock me inside to prevent me from causing a scene at the hotel. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. In fact, I could barely contain the smile spreading across my face. 1 As the bodyguards shoved me into the mansion, a calm, digital voice echoed in my mind. Host, do you confirm you wish to exit this world via death? “Confirm.” Please select your method of death. “I want to leap from a building. I want to die right in front of Cade and the Blackwood family. I want to scar them for life.” Generating method of death… Method confirmed. Upon successful death, Host will be rewarded with one hundred million dollars. This selection cannot be changed. “Confirm.” This was my twenty-first year in this world, and the third year since Lily, the real heiress, had been found. I’m a transmigrator. In this life, I was the “fake” daughter of a billionaire, swapped at birth with my “sister,” Lily. I was an orphan in my previous life, so when I first arrived here, I thought I’d won the lottery. I had a loving mother and father, and a brother who protected me from everything. But that all shattered on my eighteenth birthday, the day my father brought Lily home. Now, every door and window in the mansion was locked. They’d posted guards to watch me. “Miss Audrey,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, sneered, brandishing a baseball bat. “You’d best stay put. For your own good.” Her expression was menacing, like a wolf guarding a hen house. I took two steps toward the door, and a searing pain exploded in my leg as she swung the bat. I collapsed, crying out. “Miss Lily gave me specific instructions,” she said, looming over me. “If you misbehave, I am to break your legs.” Suddenly, she screamed at the top of her lungs. “She’s trying to escape! She’s going to ruin the wedding! Stop her!” Several burly security guards immediately advanced on me, clubs in hand. 2 I scrambled backward in terror. “What are you doing? I’m not running! You can’t just attack me!” “Oh, we know what you’re thinking, Miss Audrey,” one of them growled. “Even if you’re not running now, you will be later.” “It’s easier to just break your legs now,” Mrs. Gable added with a vicious smile. “That way, we know you won’t be crashing Miss Lily’s big day.” “My parents will hear about this!” I yelled, my voice shaking. “And what will they do?” she laughed. “I’ll just tell them you were trying to escape and fell from the second-story window. They won’t lift a finger.” “Do it!” They swarmed me, their clubs rising and falling. I heard the sickening crack of my own bones. My white wedding dress blossomed with crimson, a horrifying sight. But they didn’t stop. It was as if their goal wasn’t just to stop me, but to kill me. “If I die here today, the Blackwoods will destroy you!” I gasped. “You still think you’re their precious daughter?” Mrs. Gable spat. “You’re just some stray they took in by mistake! They wanted to throw you out the second they found Miss Lily. It was your brother who begged them to keep you. Said they could just treat you like a stray dog!” “Trying to steal Miss Lily’s fiancé? You don’t deserve to live!” A horrifying realization dawned on me, and I started to laugh, a broken, hysterical sound. “So this isn’t about the wedding. You’re trying to murder me.” “An accidental fall during an escape attempt… entirely plausible, don’t you think, Miss Audrey?” Panic seized me. I could die, but not like this. This wasn’t the death I had chosen. What if the system didn’t count it? What if I couldn’t go home? Fueled by a surge of adrenaline, I lunged forward, tackling the guard in front of me. I crashed into a small altar where my mother had lit a candle for Lily’s well-being. The candle tipped over, its flame instantly catching on the heavy drapery. The room went up in flames. “You little bitch! You set the house on fire!” In the chaos, I dragged my shattered body out of the mansion. The estate was covered in security cameras; they wouldn’t dare follow me past the gates. I stumbled onto the main road, a gruesome sight in my blood-soaked wedding dress, dragging my broken leg. I tried to hail a cab, but car after car swerved around me, the drivers horrified. Finally, a young woman pulled over, her eyes wide with concern. “Oh my god, do you need help?” I begged her to take me to the hotel. The hotel was owned by my father; the staff all knew me. The security guards and front desk clerks stared in shock but didn’t dare stop me. When I reached the entrance to the grand ballroom, my family was there, greeting guests with brilliant, happy smiles. The moment they saw me, those smiles froze and shattered. 3 This was the wedding of the year, crawling with reporters. The second they saw me, a frenzy of camera flashes blinded me. My brother stalked toward me. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “Useless guards, can’t even watch one girl! Look at you! Did you do this to yourself just to ruin this for us? Is this how desperate you are for a headline?” My mother rushed over, her face a mask of worry. “Audrey, what happened? Is that… is that blood on your dress?” “Yes, it’s blood. My blood. Lily’s people beat me half to death. I barely escaped.” My father slapped me, hard. The taste of copper filled my mouth. “You shameless brat! You just can’t stand to see your sister happy, can you?” My mother grabbed my arm. “Audrey, you said Lily’s people did this?” My brother pulled her away. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s paint. She’s always been a drama queen, pulling stunts for the cameras!” He seized my wrist and started to drag me away. I stumbled and fell. As I hit the marble floor, my broken leg was exposed to everyone. A collective gasp rippled through the crowd. The bone of my shin had pierced the skin, a jagged white shard against the bloodied flesh. I had dragged myself here on that leg. A normal person would have passed out from the pain. But the system, in its mercy, had activated a pain-dampening protocol. I felt nothing. My mother covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face. “Audrey… oh god, you’re so badly hurt!” For a second, I saw a flicker of pity in my father’s eyes. “How did you let this happen to yourself?” Even my brother, who had been spitting venom just moments before, was speechless. Cade pushed through the crowd and saw me lying there. “Audrey?” I lifted my blood-streaked face to look at him. “Perfect timing. I have a few questions for you.” Lily arrived, a vision of angelic purity in her white gown, her face stained with tears. “Audrey, this is the most important day of my life. Must you destroy it?” she sobbed, her body trembling. “Why do you hate me so much? You’ve already stolen everything that was mine! All I wanted was Cade! Can’t you just let us be happy?” My brother reached for me. “I’ll take you to the hospital.” “Brother!” Lily’s voice was a desperate wail. “The ceremony is about to start! You’re leaving?” She looked at me, her eyes full of poison. “This is just one of her tricks. Do you really believe I would do this to my own sister?” My brother dropped my hand as if it were on fire. “Audrey, you are sick,” he spat. “To frame your own sister, you would mutilate yourself like this. Go to the hospital on your own. And don’t worry, the Blackwood family has no use for a cripple. We’ll pay for the best doctors to fix your leg.” I knew then that nothing I could say would matter. I gritted my teeth and pulled myself to my feet. “I just have a few things to say. Then I’ll go.” My eyes found Cade. “Our entire relationship… it was just a bet with your friends, wasn’t it? You never had any real feelings for me. Yes or no?”

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After my fiancé canceled our wedding for the ninth time—losing another bet to his gorgeous assistant—I set an ultimatum: if the tenth wedding was called off, I’d marry someone else. He just chuckled. “Hanna, you gave me a kidney. Who else would marry you?” Then he smirked, “Besides, who’d want a walking hospital bill?” On our tenth wedding day, his assistant Rianne sent him a one-way ticket to New York. The bet: find her at the airport in an hour, and she’d stay for the ceremony. Richard’s face fell. He tore off his boutonnière and ran. An hour later, Rianne posted an Instagram photo of them embracing at JFK, caption: “Someone who truly cares will find you in a crowd of thousands.” Standing frozen in my lace gown, I began unbuttoning it, then called a number I hadn’t dialed in years. “Ian Glover,” I said, voice steady. “Is that offer to marry me still open?” A sharp breath. “Yes. For you, Hanna? It’s a lifetime offer.” 1 A wave of awkward silence washed over the grand ballroom. The cream of the city’s high society, all dressed in their finest, exchanged uncomfortable glances. A few whispers of support started to ripple through the crowd. “This is the tenth time! Richard is being utterly absurd. How can he keep ditching Hanna West for some assistant?” “Exactly! After everything she’s done for him. She gave him her kidney, for God’s sake. Her own father, Harrison West, practically disowned her for it.” Their sympathetic gazes felt like tiny needles on my skin. Even strangers could see how far past a joke this had gone. Richard’s mother, Amelia, rushed over, her face a mask of frantic composure. “Hanna, darling, you need to tell everyone,” she urged, grabbing my arm. “Just say there was an emergency at the office, a major crisis he had to handle. For now, just invite the guests to start dining.” I looked at the woman who had always claimed to love me like a daughter, a suffocating tightness seizing my chest. “Amelia, do you really think these people are fools? I’ve made that excuse nine times. You want me to say it a tenth?” Her expression hardened instantly. “You’ve said it nine times already. What’s one more?” she snapped, her voice low and sharp. “You claim to love my son, yet you won’t even do this one small thing for him? That doesn’t sound like love to me.” She said it so matter-of-factly, as if she were commenting on the weather. The past two years flashed before my eyes. Ever since Richard had hired Rianne Vance, the brilliant Ivy League Ph.D., as his executive assistant, our wedding had become a recurring nightmare. He always accepted her ridiculous bets on our wedding day. And he always, always lost. The first time, he lost a game of dares and had to give the entire wedding venue to Rianne for her birthday party. Our guests arrived to see a giant screen flashing “Happy Birthday, Rianne!” Their jaws practically hit the floor. The second time, he lost a game of dice and had to down an entire bottle of scotch, landing himself in the emergency room. The third time… Each time, he’d put on a pained expression. “Hanna, I’m doing this for the company. Rianne is a genius, an incredible asset. I have to keep her happy. It was a bet, and I lost. I can’t go back on my word, or she’ll think I’m a dishonorable boss.” A sharp pain lanced through my heart. They always played their games on our wedding day, and he never once won. Did he really think I was that stupid? I remembered the last time, the ninth time. The bet was a hundred-meter dash to my wedding dress, which was displayed on a mannequin. Richard, a towering six-foot-one with the build of an athlete, was feet from the finish line when he suddenly tripped, collapsing dramatically just short of the goal. Rianne, barely a step ahead, snatched the gown. “Well, Richard,” she’d chirped, a triumphant glint in her eyes. “You lose to me every single time. Are you sure you’re not doing this on purpose? Maybe you just don’t want to marry Hanna.” She held the dress against herself. “Tell you what, let me try this on. I bet I’d look stunning.” A flicker of something—admiration, desire—had crossed Richard’s face. He smiled indulgently. “Fine. You won. The dress is yours.” His excuse to me later was pathetic. “We can’t have a wedding without a dress, can we? A bet’s a bet, Hanna. I’m a man of my word.” He had been so close. His hand could have reached it in a second. One more second, and I would have been his wife. That was the closest I had ever come to happiness. Amelia was still whispering frantically in my ear when the grand doors of the ballroom burst open. Richard strode in, Rianne clinging to his arm. “Hanna, I lost again,” he announced, his voice carrying across the silent room. “Took me an hour and one minute to find her. You know me, I’m a man of my word. You wouldn’t want me to look bad, would you?” “The timing is all off for today’s ceremony,” he continued breezily. “We’ll just have to reschedule.” Right there, in front of Rianne, he walked over to our huge wedding portrait, lifted it off its easel, and tossed it into a nearby trash can along with his crumpled boutonnière. A collective gasp echoed through the hall. The sheer contempt in that gesture turned every eye on me, their pity curdling into disdain. The heiress of the West fortune, reduced to a pathetic joke. I saw the smug, victorious gleam in Rianne’s eyes and felt a bitter smile touch my lips. “Richard,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “How about we make a bet? Let’s see if you’ll lose on the eleventh try.” 2 Richard’s face tightened with irritation. “Hanna, I only make these bets with Rianne. Don’t butt in.” I slowly raised my hand, the massive diamond on my ring finger catching the light. “I bet,” I said, my voice ringing with newfound strength, “that by the time we schedule our eleventh wedding, Thorne Industries will be bankrupt.” The color drained from his face. He lunged forward and shoved me hard in the chest. “Hanna, what the hell is wrong with you? You’ve become so venomous. Just because I didn’t marry you today, you’re going to curse my family’s company?” “Rianne was right,” he sneered. “You’re all beauty and no brains, just using that kidney to guilt-trip me.” A wave of fury, hot and sharp, finally broke through my numbness. I stumbled back, catching myself on a table. “If you’re sleeping with her, Richard, then just marry her!” I shouted, my voice trembling. “You don’t have to keep staging these pathetic, humiliating games to torture me!” Rianne’s face flushed a theatrical red. “Ms. West, how could you say something so disgusting?” she cried out. “Richard and I are just trying to foster a positive and fun work environment! Your vulgar accusations are completely uncalled for.” She turned to me, her voice dripping with faux pity. “Look, if you’re that desperate to get married, I’ll be sure to let Richard win the next bet. Okay?” She stepped closer, linking her arm through mine as if we were friends, and hissed into my ear, “Have you no shame, Hanna? Jilted ten times and you’re still here, barking like a pathetic stray. If I were you, I’d have crawled into a hole and died by now. Let me spell it out for you: Richard is sick of you. He wants me.” She pulled back just as quickly, her expression one of innocent exasperation. “Richard, remember that bet you lost last time? The one where you promised to cut off Hanna’s hair to make a wig for Gigi? I didn’t even hold you to it. Why is she making such a scene now?” Richard’s face softened into a look of dopey adoration. He pulled a pair of scissors from a nearby floral arrangement kit and handed them to her. “A bet’s a bet,” he said with a helpless shrug. “I can’t lose face in front of my staff.” My blood ran cold. I stared at him in disbelief. I remembered him stroking my hair, his voice full of admiration. “Hanna, your hair is like black silk. Promise me you’ll always keep it long, for me.” After the transplant, my health had deteriorated. My hair started falling out in clumps. Richard had brewed special herbal remedies for me every day to help it grow back strong. And now, for Rianne’s dog, he was going to let her cut it off. He placed the scissors in her hand, then looked at me as if explaining something to a child. “It’s just hair, Hanna. Poor Gigi lost all her fur after her last treatment. Dogs have pride too, you know. She’s so depressed she won’t even eat. Just let us make a little wig for her.” Before I could even speak, Rianne grabbed a handful of my hair. A vicious light flashed in her eyes as she brought the scissors close to my scalp and, with a sharp, cold snip, severed a thick lock. The tip of the blade scraped my skin, a stinging pain that shot through me. I tried to push her away, but in my weakened state, I was no match for her. Snip. Snip. Snip. She hacked away, leaving my hair a ragged mess. She held up the shorn locks with a look of disgust. “Richard, you said her hair was beautiful. It feels like dried straw. Gigi wouldn’t be caught dead in this.” With a flick of her wrist, she tossed my hair into the trash can. Richard just patted her hand consolingly. “It’s okay. If you don’t like it, we’ll buy something better tomorrow.” Gasping for breath, I stared at them. A primal rage I never knew I possessed surged through me. With the last of my strength, I lunged, snatching the scissors from her hand and plunging them into her chest. The blood bloomed instantly, staining my hands. Rianne gasped, clutching her chest as she staggered backward into Richard’s arms. The ballroom erupted into chaos. “She stabbed her! Oh my God, Hanna West just tried to kill someone!” My body trembled uncontrollably, but my grip on the bloody scissors was firm. “Are you satisfied with this bet, Richard?” I asked, my voice a ragged whisper. 3 For the first time, I saw a crack in Richard Thorne’s arrogant facade. Pure, unadulterated panic. He clutched Rianne tightly, his other foot lashing out to kick me away. “Somebody call 911!” he roared. His eyes, when they met mine, were filled with a chilling, absolute loathing. “You’re insane, Hanna,” he spat. “No wonder your father wanted to beat you senseless. No wonder your mother threw herself off a building. You’re a heartless, toxic viper.” His words struck me like a physical blow, plunging me into an icy abyss. My body trembled so violently I could barely stand. He knew my deepest wounds, and he had just ripped them open with relish. He was terrified for the woman in his arms, so he tore my soul to shreds to even the score. My hair, a butchered mess, framed my pale face. My body finally gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor in a heap of torn silk and broken pride. The paramedics arrived. He lifted Rianne into his arms and rushed her toward the ambulance. Just before he left, he threw one last, venomous look over his shoulder. “Hanna West, this isn’t over. You’ll pay for this. Assault with a deadly weapon, in front of all these people.” The guests began to file out, shaking their heads in pity and disgust. My tenth wedding had ended in a spectacle of blood and violence. I remained on the stage, a lone figure in a ruined gown, until the last person had gone. Then, the police arrived. “Are you Hanna West?” an officer asked, his tone professional but wary. “We’ve received a report of an alleged assault. We need you to come with us.” My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Was it Richard Thorne who called you?” The officer nodded. I swallowed the metallic taste of blood and bile rising in my throat and followed them to the squad car, my entire body shaking. In the interrogation room, they asked me about my motive, about the sequence of events. I told them everything, my voice a monotone drone. A female officer looked at me with a flicker of compassion, taking in my mangled hair and the dried blood on my dress. “Ms. West,” she said gently, “he’s clearly moved on. Why are you still hanging on to a man like that?” Why? Her question echoed in the sterile room. Was it because he offered me a single piece of candy when I was drowning in a sea of misery? My parents’ marriage was a business merger. To save his failing company, my father had abandoned the woman he’d loved for five years to marry my mother. Not long after, his ex-girlfriend secretly gave birth to his son. My father didn’t find out until the boy was six. Consumed by guilt, he began dividing his life between our home and hers. My proud, elegant mother froze him out. She threatened divorce, but their family businesses were too deeply intertwined. It was impossible to untangle them. Finally, when I was twelve, she succumbed to her depression and jumped from a skyscraper. In an instant, I was motherless. Six months later, my father remarried. Just like that, they were a happy family of three, and my hatred for him grew with every passing day. I started skipping school, hiding out in internet cafes. When my stepbrother, three years my senior, slapped me and called me an uneducated brat, I grabbed a kitchen knife and slashed his arm. “I’m an orphan,” I screamed at him. “At least I’m not a bastard like you.” That night, my father tied me up and took a cane to me, beating me until my skin was raw before locking me in the basement to “reflect.” I was barely conscious when Richard Thorne found me. He snuck me out, carried me on his back. He was the one who comforted me, who told me I had a reason to live. From that day on, he became my entire world, the sole pillar supporting my fragile existence. My love for him was more than just romance; he was my lifeline. Hours later, Richard arrived at the station, a solicitous Rianne leaning on his arm. When the police asked about a resolution, Richard’s gaze was glacial. “We will not be settling this out of court. She needs to be prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law. She was violent as a child, and she’s violent now. If she doesn’t learn her lesson, there’s no telling what she’ll do next.” Rianne tilted her chin up, her eyes burning with righteous indignation. The female officer sighed and pulled me aside. “Ms. West, he’s still your fiancé. Just go apologize. Show some remorse. We can probably make this go away.” Seeing the unyielding look in my eyes, she sighed again. “Look, I get that you’re angry, but if he presses charges, you could be looking at a year in prison. With your health… are you sure you’d make it out of there alive?” Her grave expression sent a chill through me. With a high-class manipulator like Rianne pulling the strings, it was a real possibility. I walked back into the room and bowed my head. “I’m sorry, Ms. Vance. I acted impulsively. Please, forgive me.”

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After my divorce, I disappeared. I changed my appearance and identity, remarried, had a child, and built a quiet, ordinary life. Everyone, including him, likely thought I’d eventually come back defeated. Seven years later, I returned to Sebastian Murray’s city, expecting him to have married Sophie Reed—the woman he’d promoted at my expense. But at a gala, I saw him. Still strikingly handsome, still single. He didn’t recognize me, yet whispers followed him: “Sebastian, still hung up on his ex-wife. Who will inherit his fortune?” The words confused me. If he loved me, why did he leak my most private photos the night I won my career’s top award? Why did he let my reputation be destroyed until I had to flee in disgrace? … Seven years ago, on the day I was supposed to fly to Cannes to accept the award for Best Actress, my private photos exploded across the internet. Overnight, I went from being a celebrated actress to a pariah, a target for public scorn. I remember staring at the vile comments, my fingertips trembling, before racing home to demand an explanation from Sebastian. But the conversation I overheard from behind his study door froze me in my tracks. “Mr. Murray, isn’t this a bit too harsh? Mrs. Murray has fought her way up in this industry for years. This could destroy her career. She might never work again.” Sebastian’s voice was calm, chillingly detached. “This award was meant for Sophie. For the future of Sophie’s career, what’s sacrificing her once?” My back was pressed flat against the cold wall, a bone-deep chill seeping into my soul. An assistant’s fawning voice continued, “You’re a true visionary, sir. It only took three steps to have Joanna Wells wrapped around your little finger.” “First,” the man gushed, “when she was just starting out, you had the agency trick her into signing doctored contracts designed to trap her.” “Second, you used the fifty-million-dollar penalty clause to force her into those compromising photoshoots.” “And for the third act, you swooped in like a white knight to ‘save her.’ Of course, she fell right into your arms, loyal and obedient, working herself to the bone to become the biggest earner for your company.” “She’s more loyal than a puppy, and you don’t even have to pay her a real salary!” Sebastian’s next words were like a sword through my heart. “This industry is a filthy place. With Joanna clearing the path, breaking the ground, Sophie’s journey to the top will be smooth and clean.” The assistant, noticing the uncharacteristic softness in Sebastian’s eyes whenever he mentioned Sophie Reed, asked, “Then why did you marry Joanna, sir? Did the act become real?” Sebastian swirled the red wine in his glass and scoffed, as if his hand had been forced. “Three years ago, Sophie had just gotten her license. She… she accidentally hit Joanna and her mother. The three-month-old baby Joanna was carrying, and her mother… neither of them made it.” “It wasn’t Sophie’s fault,” he added quickly. “She was terrified. It was Joanna and her mother who didn’t get out of the way in time.” My legs gave out from under me. I bit down on my hand, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth, just to stop myself from screaming. Three years ago. I had been pregnant, taking a walk with my mother, when a speeding car slammed into us. When I woke up, it was to the sight of my mother’s cold, lifeless body. I had shattered, and Sebastian had been there to hold me, to comfort me. “Joanna, my love,” he had whispered, “I will turn this city upside down to find the monster who did this. I swear I will get justice for our baby and your mother.” A month later, he came to me with a look of defeat. “The police said all the surveillance cameras in the area were malfunctioning that night.” “But it’s okay, Joanna,” he’d said, pulling me close. “I’m all you have now, and I’m all you need. I will protect you. I will love you forever.” “Marry me.” I looked down at the wedding band on my finger. This marriage, this life I thought was my salvation, was built on the blood of my mother and my unborn child. Inside the study, Sebastian’s voice continued. “I was afraid Joanna would press the issue and drag Sophie into it. So I offered to marry her. The title of Mrs. Murray was… compensation.” “And as for my Sophie, if I can’t give her my name in this lifetime, then I will give her the world in her career. I will stop at nothing to lift her up.” The brutal truth crushed the last bit of air from my lungs. I fled, scrambling away from that house, that cage. I didn’t stop running until I was blocks away, collapsing in an alley where I finally let out the sobs I had been holding back. When the tears ran dry, my hands shaking, I scrolled to the very bottom of my contacts and dialed a number that had burned in my phone for years. He answered on the first ring. My voice was a raw, trembling whisper. “Does your sister still need my kidney?” “I’m willing to donate it. But I have one condition.” “I want Sebastian Murray and Sophie Reed utterly and completely destroyed.” A low chuckle on the other end. “Done.” After hanging up, I immediately called my lawyer and had him draft the divorce papers. My heart hammered against my ribs when I saw the settlement clause: I would receive half of all Sebastian’s assets. It was a promise he’d made to me years ago, a promise he never dreamed I would be the one to invoke. I had just finished reviewing the documents when he came home. “You’re back? Why didn’t you call me?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. “Security said they never picked you up, and you weren’t answering your phone.” I said nothing. He probably assumed I was still reeling from the photo leak. He scooped me into his arms and carried me to the sofa. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, his face buried in my hair. “I thought those photos were destroyed years ago. I never imagined they kept copies.” “I promise you, I’ll take care of this as quickly as possible.” I looked into his eyes, those clear, dark pools, and saw not a single flicker of guilt or deceit. How many lies had he told me over the years? I felt exhausted, hollowed out. “I’m tired,” I said, pushing him away gently. “I’m going to take a shower.” The next morning, Sebastian was already gone when I woke up. I opened my laptop. The top trending story was still about my scandal. But right below it were several new headlines, all about Sophie Reed. #POPULAR STARLET SITS ON DIRECTOR KING’S LAP, PAIR LATER ENTER HOTEL, WOMAN LEAVES DISHEVELED IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT# #A-LIST ACTRESS IN HOTEL SCANDAL, SUSPECTED TO BE ‘S. REED’# #SOPHIE REED’S WHEREABOUTS LAST NIGHT UNKNOWN# I clicked on the article. The woman in the grainy photos was wearing a mask, but I recognized her instantly. It was Sophie. No wonder Sebastian had left so early. He was already in crisis mode, doing damage control for her. I let out a bitter laugh, printed the divorce agreement, and slipped it into the middle of a thick stack of contracts on his desk. I knew his habits. He never double-checked paperwork, just flicked the corner and scrawled his signature. Then, I started to pack. When I opened the door to my walk-in closet, a chilling realization hit me. Every single gift Sebastian had ever given me—a dress, a necklace, a handbag—Sophie had an identical one. Even my wedding ring had a counterpart on Sophie’s finger. Hers, I now noticed, was a much better match for Sebastian’s own band. I ripped the ring from my finger and threw it into a drawer, slamming it shut. Just then, my agent called, her voice frantic. “Joanna! Did you know Mr. Murray just called a press conference?” “You have to watch the livestream! He’s going to clear your name, I’m sure of it!” I clicked the link. The conference was just beginning. Sebastian stood at the podium, adjusting the microphone as camera flashes strobed across his handsome face. The camera pulled back to reveal Sophie standing beside him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Good morning, members of the press,” Sebastian began. “I’m here today to address the recent online speculation regarding an artist from my company.” He paused for dramatic effect. “The rumors that one of our actresses was involved with a director to secure a role are, I can confirm, true.” A wave of gasps and frantic murmurs swept through the room. I gripped a sofa cushion, my brow furrowed. Why would he admit it? My eyes darted to Sophie. As she lowered her head, I caught a fleeting, triumphant smirk on her lips. A cold dread washed over me. “However,” Sebastian continued, his voice ringing with authority, “the woman in those photos was not Sophie Reed. At the time the pictures were taken, she was at the office with me, discussing a script.” The reporters and the live chat exploded. “Then who was it?” someone shouted. Sebastian’s gaze found the camera, his voice clear, each word a hammer blow. “It was my wife, Joanna Wells.”

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After twenty years of marriage to Jason, I found out he was missing a kidney. The other one was nestled safely inside the body of Olivia Preston, the one that got away. “Don’t tell Olivia,” he’d said. “I’m afraid it’ll stress her out, and that’s not good for her health.” His friend, Mark, had laughed at him. “If you’ve been carrying a torch for Olivia all this time, and now her husband’s dead, why not just divorce your wife and marry her? Wouldn’t that be easier?” Jason lowered his gaze, coughing softly into his fist. A self-deprecating smile touched his lips. “In my condition? What good would marrying me do her? I don’t want to be a burden. Besides, she’s not like Claire. I couldn’t bear to see her tied to a kitchen sink for me.” My vision blurred. I looked down at the two large paper bags in my hands, filled to the brim with herbal remedies and expensive supplements. I turned on my heel and threw them straight into the nearest trash can. 1 The click of the front door opening brought the conversation in the living room to an abrupt halt. Jason glanced at my empty hands. “Weren’t you supposed to be picking up my prescription from the clinic? Where is it?” He asked it so casually, not even waiting for my answer before gesturing to his friend. “Mark drove all the way out here. Go whip something up in the kitchen. We’re going to have a proper lunch.” I stood frozen in the doorway, a chill seeping into my bones. My throat felt clogged with something thick and sticky, a scream I couldn’t force up or swallow down. My eyes were fixed on his abdomen as I took one mechanical step after another toward him. “Claire, did you hear a word I said…?” “Claire!” Jason’s pupils constricted as he shoved me away, his voice sharp. But I clung to the hem of his shirt. There it was. The pale, thin scar I’d seen for nearly two decades. Now, it gaped at me like a monstrous mouth, mocking my ignorance, my stupidity. I vaguely remembered eighteen years ago, when his mother had fractured her ankle. We’d wanted to bring her to the city to stay with us, to make it easier to care for her. But she was stubborn, insisting she wouldn’t be comfortable and wasn’t used to city life. She demanded to go back to her home in the country. So, we drove her back. The very next day, Jason left for a work trip. I, on the other hand, had taken a month off from my job. It wasn’t until his mother was fully recovered and I returned to the city that I learned Jason had been hospitalized. I’d rushed to the hospital, frantic with worry, and that’s when I first saw the scar. But back then, it was fresh and raw, a testament to a vulnerability that had washed away all my questions. My lips parted, but the sound that escaped was dry and raspy. “What did you say this scar was from?” Jason swatted my hand away, irritated, and smoothed his shirt down. He ignored me, turning to Mark with an apologetic look. “Sorry about this, man. You had to see that.” “She’s not usually like this…” I wouldn’t be dismissed. I stepped in front of him again, tears streaming down my face against my will. “Jason! You tell me right now, how did you get this scar!” Mark, sensing the volatile atmosphere, awkwardly rose from his chair. “Hey, I just came by to catch you up on some old friends. Mission accomplished. We’ll get together again some other time.” He practically fled. The moment the door clicked shut, the forced smile on Jason’s face vanished, replaced by a mask of pure exasperation. It was as if his patience had finally snapped. “Claire, are you done yet?!” Before I could answer, a frantic pounding echoed from the door. Mark was back, his voice urgent and panicked. “Jason! Olivia—she’s on the roof at the funeral, she’s going to jump!” 2 The color drained from Jason’s face. I watched, paralyzed, as his expression became a canvas of pain, panic, and desperation. Any lingering sliver of hope I’d clung to, any desperate wish that this was all a misunderstanding, evaporated into nothing. My hand fell limply from his arm. I summoned every ounce of strength I had left to ask him one last time. “Jason, you told me the scar on your stomach was from appendix surgery. Was that… was that the truth?” He frowned, his mind clearly elsewhere. “I have to go. We can talk about this when I get back.” And just like that, he turned and left without a second glance. After he was gone, I made a phone call. To his cousin’s husband, Dr. Mason—the very surgeon who had supposedly performed Jason’s “appendectomy.” In less than a minute, a secret buried for eighteen years was unearthed. Dr. Mason tried to smooth things over on the phone. “Look, Claire, Jason just said he wanted to help someone. There was nothing else between them. To this day, the woman doesn’t even know who her donor was.” “You’ve been married for so many years; you know him better than anyone. If he’d really wanted something with her, he would have used the kidney as leverage to get tangled up with her long ago.” “Think about it. Other than this one person he’s held a candle for, he’s been good to you, to your family. He doesn’t smoke, he doesn’t drink, he gives you his whole paycheck to manage. He talks over every big decision with you.” He ended with a piece of paternalistic advice: “Claire, trust me on this. You could marry another man, and he likely wouldn’t measure up to Jason…” In a few short sentences, he had twisted Jason’s basic marital duties into bonus points, painting his profound betrayal and infidelity as some kind of noble, self-restrained virtue. I was so furious I hung up on him. I sat alone on the sofa as the day bled into night. Jason didn’t come back. He didn’t even call. I looked around at the home I had painstakingly built and maintained for twenty years, and a wave of defeat and self-doubt washed over me. I couldn’t understand it. I felt so wronged. Jason and I had met after being set up by mutual friends. At the time, he was just a math teacher, fresh back in town, and I was a clerk at a small company. After a few dates, we decided we were a decent match and got married at the end of that year. Over the years, while our marriage wasn’t built on a foundation of passionate love, we had both worked hard to maintain our little family. Just as Dr. Mason said, Jason was a model husband on the surface. No drinking, no gambling, no vices. On holidays and anniversaries, he’d buy me a small bouquet or a piece of jewelry to make me happy. He’d bring me to work functions, where his colleagues would praise his clean-cut lifestyle and tell me how lucky I was to have a husband like him. But was I really supposed to feel lucky? Did I not also abstain from drinking, gambling, and all the rest? Did I not return the favor on Valentine’s Day and his birthday with equal effort and sentiment? The salary he “handed over” was never truly mine to control. For any significant expense, I had to provide a detailed explanation and justification for any discrepancy in our savings he hadn’t anticipated. In layman’s terms, I was merely his custodian. He’d essentially hired a free accountant, burnishing his own image in the process. And what about me? Ever since that “appendectomy,” Jason’s health had taken a nosedive. His mild diabetes worsened to type 2. That, combined with the chronic gastritis and herniated discs that came with his profession—ailments that might seem minor to others—became the central focus of my life. On top of my own job and the endless list of household chores, I had to constantly monitor his diet and lifestyle. For his diabetes, I memorized the doctor’s list of forbidden foods until I could recite it in my sleep. I prepared his breakfast and lunch every single day, packing them for him to take to school. He complained that the weekly physical therapy sessions were a waste of money, so I secretly spent months learning massage techniques from a professional so I could treat him at home. When his mother fell gravely ill, I was the one who had to make the sacrifice and take a leave of absence from work to care for her, so as not to jeopardize his chances for a promotion. Didn’t all my sacrifices earn me the right to his loyalty in this marriage? Why should I feel grateful and content simply because he hadn’t physically cheated?! The sound of a key in the lock broke through my thoughts. Jason, who had been gone for a full day and night, appeared in the doorway, weariness etched into every line of his face. He looked surprised, almost flustered to see me awake, like a man caught in the act. My heart seized. A second later, a woman’s silhouette emerged from behind him. As if to shield her from my questions, Jason’s tall frame almost completely enveloped Olivia. “Olivia… creditors have been staking out her place. She has nowhere else to go…” Seeing no reaction from me, Jason took a defensive step back. “If you mind, she can sleep on the couch…” I cut him off with a cold laugh. “And if I didn’t mind, were you planning on sharing our bed with her?” His face flushed a deep crimson, his embarrassment quickly morphing into righteous anger. “Claire, there’s nothing sordid between us! Stop being so disgusting!” 3 I stared at the two of them, my teeth clenched so hard my jaw ached. “Jason! You bring a widow into our home and you have the nerve to talk to me about decency?!” Before Jason could respond, Olivia, who had been hiding behind him, stepped forward. Ignoring his attempts to stop her, she walked right up to me. I studied the woman before me. She had a gentle, graceful air, a delicate frame. Though she was about my age, she looked a decade younger. Every gesture exuded a scholarly refinement that matched Jason’s. No wonder he’d never forgotten her. Olivia stood before me, her demeanor poised and calm. “You misunderstand. In fact, I should thank you.” I eyed her coldly. “Thank me?” She nodded, her voice as soft as silk, a stark contrast to my own hysteria. “When you think about it, he’s saved my life twice.” “You’re his wife, so thanking you is the same as thanking him.” She paused, then glanced at Jason with a look of profound gratitude. “I only found out today that he was the one who saved me back when my kidneys were failing.” “And today… if he hadn’t lent me that fifty thousand dollars, I don’t know what I would have…” “Olivia!” Jason cut her off sharply, his eyes darting nervously toward me. “It was an emergency, I…” My mind went completely blank. I stumbled back into our bedroom and frantically searched through the drawers. The two bank cards and the emergency cash we kept were all gone. I looked up at the man before me, my body shaking uncontrollably. I grabbed the water glass from the nightstand and hurled it at him. Jason didn’t flinch. The glass struck his forehead with a dull thud before falling to the floor and shattering. A trickle of dark red blood oozed from a cut above his eyebrow. Olivia gasped and rushed to dab at the wound with a tissue, her tone toward me hardening. “You don’t have to be so dramatic. I’ll pay you back the money. If you’re worried, I can write you an IOU. We can even add interest, at the market rate…” She pulled out a pen and paper, ready to write then and there. Jason snatched them from her hand and glared at me, his face a mask of fury. “Her husband just died, and she’s being hounded by creditors for her house! How is she supposed to pay it back? Are you trying to push her over the edge?!” “Claire, I always thought you were a reasonable person, but you’re acting like a shrew! You have no compassion at all!” “I’ve been too compassionate, Jason!” I roared, the blood rushing in my ears. “That’s why you felt you could donate a kidney to another woman behind my back, leaving me to deal with your lifetime of health problems!” “You want to talk about decency? Tell her to give you your kidney back, and then we can talk!” “Claire!” Jason’s voice cracked, his brown eyes staring at me as if I were a madwoman. He took a deep, steadying breath, and when he spoke again, his voice was chillingly calm. “You’re being irrational. We’ll talk when you’ve calmed down.” With that, he turned and started to lead Olivia out. He even used his foot to carefully sweep the shards of glass aside, clearing a safe path for her. The sight sent another jolt of rage through me. I lifted a small wooden stool and threw it with all my might. “Jason! I want a divorce!” He instinctively pulled Olivia into a protective embrace, taking the full impact of the stool on his back. He didn’t turn around, didn’t argue. He just said, flatly, “Fine. As you wish.”

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