I was the least favorite princess. Before my father, the King, kicked the bucket, my eight older siblings were at each other’s throats for the throne. Historians would later call this period “The Nine Dragons’ Brawl for the Harley-Davidson.” And me? I was the wildcard in this royal rumble, operating on the principle of “It’s not the winning, it’s the messing-with-people that counts.” By making a bunch of empty promises to various powerful figures, I somehow got crowdfunded onto the throne. Now, as I gaze at the three women I verbally promised to make my queens, a single drop of cold sweat trickles down my temple. This whole “absolute power” thing is turning out to be a bit of a handful. 1 My father, King Harley, was on his last legs. It was pretty clear he wasn’t going to make it through the winter. And so, my eight beloved siblings kicked off the glorious Nine Dragons’ Brawl for the Harley-Davidson. Oh yeah, my dad’s name is actually Harley Davidson. Seriously. I’m the ninth and least favorite of his kids, basically just here to round out the numbers. But participation is key, and I was enthusiastically participating in the chaos. The most critical piece on the chessboard of this succession crisis was the Queen. King Harley and Queen Beatrice were childhood sweethearts, deeply in love. He consulted her on almost everything. Luckily for the rest of us, she was barren. Otherwise, this whole war would’ve been over before we were even embryos. My siblings weren’t idiots. They swarmed the Queen’s chambers like bees to a honeypot. I rushed over, but I was too late. The place was already packed with my fawning relatives. My eldest brother, Prince Albert, was on his knees, declaring, “If you support me, Mother, I will formally adopt you as my own. I will build you a grand cathedral and serve you day and night!” My second sister, Princess Diana, shoved him aside. “Albert, your own mother is still alive! What right do you have to be adopted by the Queen?” Then she turned to Beatrice, her face a mask of sincerity. “Mother, my own mother has passed. My devotion to you will surely surpass my brother’s. Please, think of me as your own daughter!” I discreetly shuffled to the side, hoping the Queen wouldn’t have a sudden maternal meltdown and start adopting people on the spot. My own mother was also gone, and she’d had a hard enough time birthing and raising me. I had zero interest in calling some other woman “Mom.” The other princes and princesses were just as shameless. Some promised to make the Queen’s nephew a Duke, others offered to marry her nieces. One even offered to marry her entire… extended family of unmarried women. Thank God. For a second, I thought her eighty-year-old great-aunt was about to have a very eventful year. My siblings prattled on, but the Queen just maintained a serene smile, giving nothing away. Suddenly, her gaze fell on me in the corner. “Ellie,” she called out. “Do you have anything you’d like to say?” “Huh?” Every head in the room swiveled in my direction. My first instinct was to just parrot some generic flattery like everyone else. But faced with their hostile glares, my rebellious streak kicked in. It’s not like I was going to win anyway. I might as well go nuts while we were all still candidates. They couldn’t do anything to me yet. So, with an air of supreme confidence, I announced, “If I become Queen, I’ll set you up with ten gorgeous boy toys to keep you entertained.” 2 The room went dead silent. Then, chaos. Prince Albert shot to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Eleanor, have you lost your mind? How can you say such a thing to the Queen? It’s an insult!” The others chimed in. “What do you take her for? She’s not some scandalous historical figure who needs a harem of young men!” “Exactly, Ellie! The Queen is devoted to the King! If he heard you say that, you could kiss any chance of the throne goodbye!” A few of my sisters seemed a little less convincing in their outrage. I rolled my eyes. The old man wasn’t exactly a looker to begin with, and now he was a sickly, wrinkling mess. How was he supposed to hold a woman like Beatrice’s attention? Besides, I wasn’t suggesting she start now. But once King Harley was six feet under, she’d be all alone. Wouldn’t ten handsome companions be a comfort? I was sure the old man’s spirit would appreciate the gesture. The Queen covered her face with her sleeve, trying to hide a laugh. When she’d composed herself, she said, “Now, now. Ellie means well. Don’t be so hard on your sister.” She then turned to me, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “Ellie, no more jokes, now.” “Of course, Mother,” I said with a grin. No one took me seriously, but I had successfully derailed my siblings’ plans. They left in a huff, each one muttering threats as they passed me. “Ellie, you don’t even have a shot. Why are you acting so crazy?” “Just wait until I’m on the throne. You’ll be sorry!” “You? On the throne? Father would give it to Ellie before he gave it to you!” “What did you just say to me?!” Within seconds, they were at each other’s throats again. Mission accomplished. 3 The next morning, the battle resumed in the royal classroom. Our tutor was the brilliant and handsome Julian Croft, a rising star in the court whom the King had appointed to educate his children. He was smooth, never showing favoritism, which made him a key ally to win over. My siblings tried their best. The brainy ones impressed him with eloquent essays and poetry. The less-than-brainy ones tried to bribe him with expensive art and rare books. I was broke and not particularly bright, so I decided my best strategy was to just annoy him to death. If I could make him quit, all their efforts would be for naught. Heh. After class, I was the only one held back. The jealous glares from my siblings could have drilled holes in me. They couldn’t fathom how I’d managed to get such exclusive time with our tutor. Of course they couldn’t. It involved getting my head whacked repeatedly. Julian held a thick bamboo scroll and used it to rhythmically tap my skull. “Ow, ow, ow!” I yelped. He paused, looking thoughtfully at the scroll. “First time I’ve ever heard a scroll cry out.” “I’m sorry, Tutor,” I said, rubbing my head. “I promise, when I’m Queen, I’ll pay attention in class.” Heh, sucker. The first thing I’ll do when I’m Queen is have you executed. Julian sighed. “You becoming Queen would be the greatest insult to my teaching career.” “Tutor, please listen. I’m just so worried about my father’s health, I can’t concentrate.” “If you were truly worried about your father, you wouldn’t have produced a translation like this.” I looked down at my work. The text was a classic proverb: While your parents are alive, do not wander far. If you must, have a clear destination. My translation: Your parents are my hostages. You won’t get far. And even if you do, I have ways of dragging you back. What was wrong with that? The look on his face told me I wasn’t getting his endorsement. My frustration boiled over. I gave him a cold, threatening smile. “Tutor, I suggest you be nicer to me. Otherwise, when I’m Queen, the very first thing I’ll do is make you my personal plaything. And when I’m bored with you, I’ll have you thrown in the dungeon.” Julian’s long eyelashes fluttered. He leaned in close, his voice a whisper by my ear. “And what if I am nicer to you? How will Your Majesty reward me?” He smelled amazing, a scent completely different from the other stuffy courtiers. My mind went a little fuzzy. “I’ll make you my King Consort!” I blurted out. Thwack. Another hit to the head. I whimpered, looking at him pitifully. Yeah, definitely executing him. Julian just smiled his gentle, infuriating smile. “Go copy the Royal Code of Conduct. Ten times.” 4 That afternoon, I left the palace, books in tow. My escort was Captain Marcus Thorne, the head of the Royal Guard. The King, worried about his children assassinating one another, had ordered that a guard escort was mandatory for any royal leaving the palace grounds. This made Marcus, with his control of the military, a very important person. For me, however, who made daily trips to the city’s finest purveyor of trashy romance novels, it was just awkward. It had taken me a month to go from embarrassed to shamelessly proud of my literary tastes. It took Marcus only three days to go from respectful to disgusted. The first day, it was “Your Highness.” By the third, it was “Alright, smut-peddler, had enough yet?” Today, he greeted me with a deadpan expression. “Smut-peddler. I did some recon yesterday. The book you want, Reborn: I Was a Monk in the Royal Palace, is on the first shelf, third row, tenth from the left. Grab it and let’s go.” I hesitated. “But… there are other books I wanted to get…” “Name them.” “My Husband Ran Off With My Bun in the Oven and Gave Birth to Ten Babies.” Marcus’s face twitched. “Third shelf, first row, seventh from the left.” “A Eunuch’s Tale: The Nine-Thousand-Year-Old Virgin’s Conquest.” “Third shelf, sixth row, fifth from the left.” I stared at him, impressed. My first act as Queen would be to appoint him Royal Librarian. At the bookshop, I met up with my two best friends and partners-in-crime: the Prime Minister’s daughter, Clara, and the Grand Tutor’s son, Leo. Under Marcus’s death glare, I quickly made my purchases and we retreated to a nearby tea house. The Prime Minister was backing my third brother. The Grand Tutor was backing my fourth sister. Their delinquent children were backing me. Completely useless. “I really want to be Queen,” I sighed dramatically. “I really want to marry my darling Caspian,” Clara sighed back. “But he’s just an actor…” I couldn’t bear to see her so sad. “Clara, don’t worry. When I’m Queen, I’ll order you two to be married.” “Me too!” Leo chimed in. Clara shot him a suspicious look. “You’re in love with Caspian too?” “No! I’m in love with his co-star, Julian.” That was… also not ideal. But he was looking at me with such hopeful eyes. I couldn’t play favorites. “When I’m Queen, I’ll order you two to be married as well.” Leo dropped to his knees. “Thank you, Your Majesty!” Marcus looked like he was about to have an aneurysm. “I think all these books have rotted your brain.” I suddenly remembered he was there. Everyone gets a prize. “Captain Thorne, is there anyone you have your eye on? I could arrange a marriage for you too.” “There was,” he said grimly. “But then I saw these books.” I guess the Captain was a man of high literary standards. I laughed. “Don’t worry, Captain. I’m quite fond of you. When I’m Queen, I’ll make you my King Consort, and we can read together!” Marcus’s face went through several shades of red, white, and green. He finally settled on green and ground out one word: “Smut-peddler!” 5 I was just joking with my friends, but they took me seriously. They insisted I go see the Royal Seer to pick auspicious dates for their weddings. I was hesitant. The Seer held a special, powerful position in the court. If I was seen consulting him, my siblings might actually think I was a contender for the throne. Which, I mean, I was. I hurried over to the Seer’s temple before it got dark. The Seer himself, a man named Sterling, stopped me at the entrance. “Before you enter, take out what you’re hiding.” I patted myself down. “I’m not carrying any weapons.” Sterling gave me a cool, appraising look. “What you have is more dangerous than any sword.” I pulled out the book from my coat: My Nights of Captive Passion with the Ice-Cold Royal Seer. He didn’t even glance at it. He just turned away. “Burn it.” I reluctantly tossed my beloved book into the brazier. I didn’t get it. What was so dangerous about a book? Finally inside, my first question was, “Master Seer, can you tell me what day would be most auspicious for my coronation?” “Today would be an excellent day for Your Highness to ascend… to the heavens.” That wasn’t the kind of ascending I had in mind! “Fine,” I pressed on. “Then can you tell me when the old man is going to kick the bucket?” Sterling frowned. “Your Highness, the King is your father.” I didn’t say he wasn’t. “Okay, fine. You can’t do that, you can’t do this. Can you at least give me two auspicious dates for a wedding?” “Your Highness, I am the Royal Seer. I only read the heavens for the monarch.” To the dungeon with you! Sterling sat in the courtyard, brewing tea. His profile was elegant, his aura cool and distant. Before he became the Royal Seer, I used to visit him all the time. I’d ask him to tell me when my mother would come back, when my father would remember I existed. He’d done the calculations and told me I was fated for a lonely, difficult childhood, unloved by both parents. I’d thrown a fit and told him he was a terrible fortune-teller. The next day, he was appointed Royal Seer, which just infuriated me more. I sighed. “I’m kidding. But if I made you my King Consort, could you just find me two good dates for our wedding?” His hand, pouring the tea, paused. He stood up abruptly. “Wait here.” He disappeared into his chambers and didn’t return until nightfall. He looked pale and exhausted. He handed me a stack of ten slips of paper. “These are ten auspicious dates for a wedding. Take them. I will continue my calculations tomorrow.” I stared at the stack of dates, bewildered. Okay, now even I’m starting to ship us. Barely two weeks later, the King was fading fast. He summoned all of us to his bedside.

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After retiring, my mom became a full-time travel blogger, posting a dozen times a day. One afternoon, scrolling through her feed, I saw my ex-boyfriend. In the video, the two of them were chatting like old friends. My mom was clearly charmed by him. I immediately texted her, trying to be subtle. “You know how you’re always telling me to get out there and date? I think I’d like to date the guy in your video.” She replied instantly. “Date him? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s my son. Your brother.” I died. My ex-boyfriend was apparently the son my mom had with her first husband. Still in denial, I texted back, “So… are you trying to set up some kind of weird family reunion, Mom?” Her response: “No, but it looks like you’re trying to set yourself up for a trip to the emergency room.” 1 The day my mom finalized her retirement paperwork, she booked a solo trip to Italy. No me, no stepdad. My dad and I still had jobs. Before she left, she patted us both on the shoulder. “Don’t worry,” she said solemnly. “I’ll be sure to share all the fun with you two.” My idea of “sharing the fun” involved delicious souvenirs. Her idea of “sharing the fun” involved a twenty-post-a-day, minute-by-minute travelogue on social media. She’d post sixteen updates during a thirty-minute hike. Even the MLM huns in her friends list couldn’t keep up and started unfollowing her. I dutifully liked every single post, because if I missed one, she’d repost it in the family group chat and tag us. “@Me @Dad, why no like on this one? Is the composition off? Hmm?” We’d plead our case. “Mom, it’s not you, it’s the algorithm! It’s hiding your posts from us!” She’d get scammed by a street vendor into buying some ridiculously overpriced bracelet and send us a picture, asking if she should get it. We’d say no. She’d buy it anyway. Her desire to share every moment of her life with us was relentless, but honestly, my dad and I kind of loved it. Her posts were so full of life. On a tough day at work, I’d scroll through her videos and live vicariously through her adventures. One day, I was scrolling through her latest ten-video dump and one thumbnail caught my eye. Not randomly, I’ll admit. I saw the profile of a handsome guy. I grinned. At least Mom was posting some quality content. But when I clicked play and saw his face, my smile froze. It was my ex-boyfriend, Daniel. 2 In the video, my mom and Daniel were eating pasta, talking animatedly. I couldn’t understand what they were saying, but I could understand his face—still handsome enough to stop your heart. I never thought I’d see him again like this. I watched the fourteen-second clip over and over, a knot of complicated feelings in my stomach. The longing for him that I had so carefully suppressed came rushing back. The truth is, the biggest regret of my life was breaking up with him. I’d had a massive crush on Daniel in college. He was smart, gorgeous, and completely aloof. He dealt with any girl who showed interest by immediately blocking her. The first time I asked him out, he rejected me and, true to form, blocked my number. But I had a burner phone. I was young, shameless, and convinced I could win over any guy. Even my friends were on my side. “His last name is Rivers, your last name is Banks,” they’d say. “It’s fate.” I bought into the cheesy poetry of it all and pursued him relentlessly for three years. Finally, in our senior year, he gave in. We interned at the same company in Chicago that winter. It was freezing. We huddled together in a drafty little apartment, kissing, touching, learning each other. He started to open up, his initial shyness melting away. He’d kiss me awake in the mornings and whisper things that made me blush. He learned to cook because I hated takeout, blew my hair dry for me, and even after working late, he’d insist on doing our laundry before bed. He told me about his family. His mom had died when he was young, and his dad was an alcoholic gambler. He had pulled himself up by his bootstraps, a story of strength and resilience that made me cry. I held him tight and promised, “It’s okay. I’ll always love you.” But I overestimated myself. After the internship, I planned to introduce him to my parents. I had a happy, stable family, and I wanted to share that with him. But one night, at dinner, my mom was ranting about some trashy reality show. A girl had cut off her family to marry a guy with nothing, only to be killed by his drunk father. The guy then faked a mental illness to get his dad off the hook. My mom slammed her fork down. “If our Clara ever brings home some guy with no breeding and a dysfunctional family, I swear, I’ll disown her.” I froze mid-chew. Daniel didn’t have a mother. And his father… It wasn’t his fault, but… I meekly raised my hand. “Mom, Dad… what if my boyfriend’s mom had passed away, and his dad was… an alcoholic?” “Then you can get out right now,” they said in unison, their eyes like daggers. I shut my mouth. That night, I couldn’t sleep. The thought of my parents never accepting Daniel was unbearable. I was falling deeper in love with him every day, and I was terrified. So, when we graduated, I broke up with him. 3 Two years hadn’t dulled the memory of him. If anything, the longing had grown stronger. I missed his kiss, his laugh, the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn’t watching. On lonely nights, I hated myself for not being braver. What if we really were meant to be? I snapped back to the present, watching the video again. Daniel looked more mature now, but he still nervously tugged on his earlobe when he was talking. At the end of the clip, my mom asked him if he had a girlfriend. He gave a shy smile, and the video cut off. I took a deep breath and tried to be rational. My mom was clearly smitten with him. She was asking about his relationship status, which meant she was trying to set me up. The fact that she posted this where I would see it was a clear sign. Daniel was destined to be my mom’s son-in-law. Fired up by my flawless logic, I texted her. “Mom, you know how you’re always telling me to get out there and date? I think I’d like to date the guy in your video.” She replied instantly. “Date him? Don’t be ridiculous. That’s my son. Your brother.” I’m sorry, what? My son? Your brother? The words didn’t compute. I didn’t have a brother. She didn’t have a son. Then, a memory surfaced. My dad, during an argument with my mom, shouting, “I don’t even want to talk about your ex-husband!” My mom had been married before. My aunt once told me she’d been married for three years and was even pregnant. But the man had hit her during a fight, and she’d left him immediately, giving up the baby. My parents never talked about it, and I never asked. They were happy now. That was all that mattered. Except now, I wasn’t so happy. If only I’d asked. Then maybe my ex-boyfriend wouldn’t be my mom’s long-lost son. This was a horror story. I had a half-brother I never knew about, and he was the guy I’d slept with, cried over, and dreamed about for the last two years. Was this even legal? Probably not. Still in denial, I forwarded the video to my dad. Who is this? I asked, praying for a different answer. His reply: “That’s Daniel Rivers, your mom’s son. Wow, he grew up handsome. You know, your mom picked out both your names. Pretty cool, right?” I closed my eyes. It was over. I thought Banks and Rivers was a poetic, romantic coincidence. Turns out, they were just matching sibling names. But at least I had broken up with him. As much as it had hurt, it was the right thing to do. I made a vow to myself to take this secret to the grave. 4 Just when I was feeling relieved about my decision, my mom, the prodigal traveler, returned. And Daniel was with her. He looked just as surprised to see me as I was to see him. “Daniel’s on vacation, so he’s going to stay with us for a few days,” my mom explained. “Be nice to him.” She nudged me. “Don’t just stand there. Go say hi to your brother.” I wanted to refuse, but under my mom’s watchful eye, I forced a smile and reached for his suitcase. “Hi… brother.” Daniel’s face was a blank mask. He avoided my eyes and pulled his suitcase away. “Hello,” he said coolly. Thank god. He was just as eager to keep his distance as I was. We could do this. We could pretend to be strangers. For the first few days, it worked. We were polite but distant, and my parents didn’t suspect a thing. I just had to hold on until he left. Then, my best friend Sarah came over to borrow some sugar. She saw Daniel walking out of his room, and her jaw dropped. “Oh my god! Clara! Isn’t that… your ex? The one who was so good in… you know?” she stage-whispered. “You were just crying about him yesterday, and now you’ve got him in your house? You’re my hero!” I lunged at her and clamped a hand over her mouth. “Shut up! He’s my brother! My actual, biological brother!” Sarah’s eyes widened even more. “What? Are you guys into some weird role-playing thing now?” Just then, my mom poked her head out of the kitchen. “What was that about an ex? And role-playing?” 5 My mom’s voice was sharp with suspicion. I wanted to glue Sarah’s mouth shut. Three deadly questions, and I couldn’t answer a single one. I shot a desperate look at Daniel, hoping he would use his signature aloofness to ignore the situation. But he didn’t. He slowly turned his gaze from Sarah to me, a smirk playing on his lips. It was a look that said, “Go on. Lie your way out of this one.” My brain went into overdrive. Just before it short-circuited, I came up with a brilliant, if utterly insane, explanation. I threw an arm around Sarah’s shoulders and gave my mom a winning smile. “Mom, it’s just internet slang.” “‘Ex’ is what you call a guy who’s so hot, you’d marry him and then divorce him, just for the experience.” “And the role-playing thing, that’s just… a compliment! It means my brother is so handsome, looking at him makes you weak in the knees. You might trip and fall and have to go to the orthopedist!” “So when we say he’s ‘good,’ we mean he’s good at sending people to the doctor!” I finished my breathless explanation and held my breath. My mom squinted, clearly skeptical. But Sarah, bless her heart, jumped in. “Yes! That’s exactly it, Mrs. Banks! Your son is so handsome, he’s a walking workplace hazard!” My mom’s attention shifted. She looked at Daniel’s admittedly perfect face and actually bought it. She puffed out her chest. “Well, of course. Look who his mother is.” Crisis averted. I dragged Sarah outside. “You almost got me killed!” I hissed. “What is going on? How is he your brother?” I gave her the whole sordid, soap-opera-worthy story. She listened, her mouth hanging open. “So… half-siblings? For real?” “For real.” “So you guys…” She looked down, her meaning clear. “We’re innocent!” I insisted, then amended, “Legally innocent, anyway.” “Okay, well, legally or not, you need to forget about him,” she said seriously. “Incest is a crime, you know.” I sent Sarah on her way and went back inside, emotionally drained. My parents were showing Daniel old family photo albums, the picture of domestic bliss. “Look, Daniel, this is Clara as a baby. So ugly she was cute,” my mom said, pointing to a picture of me with a runny nose. “Yeah, she was always a little dopey,” my dad added. Thanks, guys. Daniel’s eyes lingered on the photo, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He looked up, his eyes met mine, and then he quickly looked away, his cool mask back in place. “Clara, come look with your brother,” my mom said. I sat down next to her, leaving a mile of space between myself and Daniel. My mom pushed me closer. “He’s not going to bite. Go get your brother a glass of water.” I reluctantly got up. As I passed Daniel, I caught the scent of his mint body wash, the same one he used when we were together. My heart skipped a beat. I stumbled, and he instinctively reached out to steady me, his warm hand on my arm. The touch was electric. I pulled away as if I’d been burned. “Thanks,” I mumbled, not looking at him. “You’re welcome,” he said, his voice flat. The awkwardness was suffocating. I fled to the kitchen and chugged a glass of cold water. Get a grip, Clara, I told myself. He’s your brother. It’s over.

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I was publicly crucified on Instagram by my boss’s wife. She tagged me by name, accusing me of seducing a married man. “Sliding into his DMs late at night, and you still pretend to be so innocent?” Her next story was a picture of me walking into the office. “Just an intern, carrying a fifteen-thousand-dollar bag to work. I wonder where that money came from?” When I confronted my boss, he just laughed. “My wife is just… passionate. She loves me a lot. You shouldn’t be so sensitive, kid.” The next morning, when he was handed his termination notice, I smiled sweetly. “Don’t take it to heart. My dad just loves me a lot.” 1 It was 11 PM on a Tuesday. I was doing a final review of the “Project Apex” contract when I found a fatal flaw someone had overlooked. The payment terms. They had been extended by a full sixty days from the initial draft. A tiny change in a single number. It was enough to completely derail the company’s cash flow down the line. I immediately sent the file to my direct supervisor. [Mark, urgent issue with the Apex contract. Please call when you see this.] A minute later, my phone lit up with an unknown number. I answered. It wasn’t my boss, Mark Thompson. It was a woman’s sharp, angry voice. “Who is this? What kind of shady business do you have with my husband in the middle of the night?” I frowned. “Hello, this is his colleague from the office, Gra—” She cut me off. “I don’t care who you are! Texting a married man this late? Are you trying to sleep with him? Have you no shame?” I lowered the volume on my phone. “There’s a critical issue in clause 7.3 of the contract. It’s a Category A risk. If Mark is unavailable now, I will report this directly to the CEO’s office in the morning.” The line went silent for a few seconds. Then, her voice returned, dripping with scorn. “You think I’m stupid? How many little homewreckers use ‘work’ as an excuse to lure a man out at night?” “You just wait,” she hissed, and hung up. 2 The next day, I had barely sat down at my desk when a woman stormed toward me. Her eyes were bloodshot. She slammed her hand on my desk and pointed a finger in my face. “It’s you! You’re the one! The little tramp sending my husband suggestive texts at midnight.” “You look all sweet and innocent, but does your mother know you spend your days trying to seduce your boss?” Her shrill voice cut through the office chatter, and everything went dead silent. My face burned with embarrassment. I quickly composed myself. “Ma’am, you’ve misunderstood. Yesterday was about the contract—” “Misunderstood what?” Her eyes raked over me, full of malice. “I hear you’re just an intern?” “Where does an intern get the money for a fifteen-thousand-dollar bag to come to work? It’s not clean money, is it?” Every eye in the office was on me, a mix of morbid curiosity and office gossip. Mark finally showed up, an expression of artful distress on his face. He grabbed his wife’s arm. “Jessica, please, not at the office.” She yanked her arm away, her voice rising to a shriek. “Am I making a scene? Or are you just trying to protect her?” She shot a venomous look at me. “Let me tell you something, little intern. My husband is not for you.” Mark sighed and let her go. He walked over to my desk and patted my shoulder, a little too familiarly. “Grace,” he said, his voice low, a fake smile plastered on his face. “My wife is just… passionate. She loves me a lot. Don’t be so sensitive.” I brushed his hand off my shoulder and looked coldly at the couple. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady. “If being ‘sensitive’ is the term for having a normal human reaction to public slander and workplace harassment, then I suggest you reread the company’s HR policies.” I paused for a beat, adding, “And for the record, my bag was a graduation present. From my father.” 3 Mark’s face turned purple. He dragged his still-fuming wife away. The silence in the office lasted for three seconds before erupting into a flurry of whispers. “That bag… is it real? I just looked it up. It’s a limited edition Céline. Fifteen grand.” “For an intern? Tsk, I guess Mark’s wife wasn’t lying.” I glanced up, and the colleagues who had been whispering furiously bent their heads over their keyboards, pretending to work. No one spoke to me for the rest of the day. When someone needed a stapler, they walked all the way across the office to avoid asking me, as if I were contagious. Just then, a hot cup of coffee was placed gently on my desk. It was Lily from Accounting, her face a mask of concern. “Grace, don’t listen to them. I know Jessica.” Her voice was soft and soothing. “She’s not a bad person, she just has a quick temper.” She continued, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “And… people aren’t trying to be mean about your bag. They’re just curious. I mean, we all know what the intern salary is… Ugh, I shouldn’t have said anything.” She slapped her hand over her mouth in mock-regret. I looked at her. Her eyes were full of fake pity, but underneath, I could see a flicker of satisfaction she couldn’t quite hide. I didn’t touch the coffee. “Thanks,” I said coolly. “But I don’t drink instant.” A crack appeared in her sweet, friendly facade. 4 I stood up and walked straight to Mark’s office. When he saw me, a glint appeared in his eyes. “Grace! Come in, have a seat.” I walked up to his desk, my voice like ice. “Mark, I expect a public apology from your wife, Jessica Thompson.” His smile faltered for a second before returning. “Grace, come on. Why take it so seriously? You know how women are. They get jealous.” He got up and walked around his desk toward me. I instinctively took a step back. He reached past me and locked the office door. He turned back, his eyes roaming over my body. “Grace, you know, my wife has a point. An intern with a bag like that…” “Instead of some old rich guy, why not bet on a winner like me? You know?” He leaned in, and the greasy smell of his cologne washed over me. I fought back the urge to gag. “Mark,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “I suggest you show some respect. Otherwise, I can’t be responsible for what happens next.” He paused, then a smug, knowing smile spread across his face. “Grace, you need to think carefully.” “Stick with me, and you’ll go far. Much further than some little intern who might not even get a full-time offer at the end of this.” I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm. “Mark, is that a threat?” He shrugged. “I’m just giving you an opportunity. A chance to change your life.” I looked at him, and a slow, cold smile spread across my face. “Okay, Mark. You’ve given me a lot to think about. Let me consider your… generous offer.”

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My best friend of eight years, drunk off his ass, blew up my phone with five consecutive calls in the middle of the night. When I finally called back, he confessed his undying love for me through a series of blubbering sobs and asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend. I said yes. The next day, he took me out to lunch and, with a completely straight face, tried to set me up with one of his friends. “My buddy is rich, handsome, and a little socially awkward. You two would be perfect for each other.” I squeezed my chopsticks, a slow, cold smile spreading across my face. “Liam,” I said. “Are you fucking with me?” 1. The fifth time my phone vibrated across my desk, I was deep in the throes of writing my senior thesis. The name “Liam” flashed on the screen like a bad omen. I was annoyed. He had to call now? Right when I was in the zone, my fingers flying across the keyboard? I silenced the call, figuring I’d get back to him when I finished the chapter. Liam was a goofball, but he wasn’t usually this persistent. Five calls in a row meant something was probably wrong. By the time I finally finished my thought and picked up my phone, it had been half an hour. Five missed calls stared back at me. A knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. What if something had actually happened? Alcohol poisoning? A bar fight that landed him in jail? The guy had a history. The more I thought about it, the more I panicked, and I quickly called him back. The phone rang, each ring echoing my frantic heartbeat. Just as I was about to hang up and drive to his apartment, he answered. “Hello?” His voice was a slurred, nasal mumble. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and immediately launched into a tirade. “Liam, are you trying to give me a heart attack? What’s with all the calls? I thought you’d been kidnapped and sold for parts!” “…Chloe?” His voice was small, hesitant. “Who else would it be? Your mom?” I snapped. He giggled, a dopey, drunken sound. “I knew you’d call me back.” I could tell he was completely wasted. “Were you out with Matt and the guys again? How much did you drink? Where are you?” “I’m not anywhere… I’m just at home…” he stammered. “I just… I just missed you…” My heart did a little flip. Liam and I had been friends for eight years. We’d gone from awkward freshmen in ill-fitting school uniforms to jaded seniors, just trying to make it to graduation. We were best friends, partners in crime, a platonic dynamic so solid it was practically bulletproof. I’d helped him through breakups; he’d helped me cram for finals. I could show up at his place with no makeup and my rattiest sweatpants, and he could complain to me about which sorority had the hottest girls. Our friendship was clean. At least, that’s how he saw it. Only I knew when the lines had started to blur for me, when I started having trouble looking him in the eye, when my breath would catch in my throat if he stood too close. “…Chloe…” he mumbled again. “Why did you call me five times?” His voice was thick with emotion, like a lost kid. I was stunned. What? Who called whom five times? Was he hallucinating? Before I could correct him, he continued, his voice cracking. “Did you know I was drunk? Were you worried about me?” “Oh, Chloe, I’m so touched…” “That’s it. You definitely like me too. You should be my girlfriend.” My brain short-circuited. All I could hear was that last sentence, ringing in my ears. Was this a drunken confession? Or just another one of his stupid jokes? I clutched my phone, my fingers cold, my breathing shallow. “Chloe? Are you there?” His voice was laced with a new vulnerability. “You don’t want to, do you? I knew it…” “I do.” The words flew out of my mouth before I could stop them. My face flushed. I knew he was drunk. I knew he probably wouldn’t remember any of this in the morning. I knew this was probably just wishful thinking on my part. But I couldn’t help it. Eight years of a secret, one-sided crush, suddenly watered by his drunken confession, had burst through the surface. I took the gamble. I bet that this wasn’t just the alcohol talking, that somewhere deep down, he felt the same way I did. The line went silent. So silent I thought he’d passed out. My courage started to waver. I was just about to take it all back when he finally spoke. “…Really?” His voice was a whisper. “Really,” I said, my own voice trembling. “Say it again.” I took a deep breath. “Liam,” I said, each word clear and deliberate. “I want to be your girlfriend.” He giggled again, that same dopey, happy sound that made my heart feel like it was going to burst. “My girlfriend…” he murmured. “Chloe is my girlfriend…” And then he hung up. I just stood there, holding my phone. Had that really just happened? Was I officially in a relationship with my best friend of eight years? I pinched myself. Hard. It wasn’t a dream. I didn’t sleep at all that night. I listened to the five-minute call recording at least fifty times, memorizing the sound of his voice, his ridiculous accusation, his bold confession, his happy, drunken giggle. I couldn’t stop smiling. So this is what it felt like. Not one-sided, but a real, mutual thing. It was sweeter than I ever could have imagined. 2. The next morning, I woke up with massive dark circles under my eyes, but I was buzzing with energy. I looked in the mirror and saw a girl who was glowing. The first thing I did was text my new boyfriend. I spent a good ten minutes agonizing over the perfect message. “Good morning, boyfriend?” “Hey, handsome.” A simple kissy-face emoji? It was all so mortifyingly cheesy. Finally, I settled on a cool and casual, “You up?” He replied almost instantly. “Up. Head is killing me.” Followed by a skull emoji. I laughed and typed back, “Serves you right for drinking so much.” “Chloe, I’m sorry,” he texted, with a sad-puppy-dog gif. He’d always called me by my full name when he was being serious. But today, it sounded different. Sweeter. We texted back and forth, a stream of meaningless nonsense. But he never mentioned the night before. My anxiety started to creep back in. No way, I thought. He didn’t actually forget, did he? I decided to test the waters. “Do you… remember what you said to me last night?” The three dots on his end appeared, then disappeared. My heart leaped into my throat. Oh god, he forgot. I was an idiot for believing a drunk guy. I was just about to text him back, to say it was all a joke, when his message came through. “I do.” “I remember every word.” “So, to celebrate our glorious friendship leveling up, can I take you to lunch?” I felt like I was floating. “Sure,” I texted back. I jumped out of bed and ran to my closet. A date! Our first official date! What should I wear? Should I do my makeup? Perfume? He always said he liked me in dresses. I dug out a white sundress I’d bought for my birthday last year and had never worn. I did my makeup, a shimmery, peachy look I thought was irresistible. I looked in the mirror and saw a completely different girl from the usual t-shirt-and-jeans Chloe. I smiled. Liam, you’re not going to know what hit you. We met at a trendy brunch spot near campus. He was already there, looking impossibly handsome in a crisp white t-shirt and a light blue button-down. The afternoon sun streamed through the window, making him look like he was glowing. He saw me and his eyes lit up. “Chloe! Over here!” I took a deep breath and walked towards him, trying to look graceful in my heels. “Have you been waiting long?” I asked, sliding into the booth across from him. “Nope, just got here,” he said, pushing the menu towards me. “My treat.” “Oh, feeling generous?” I teased. “Of course,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “It’s a historic day, after all.” He was looking at me with such a bright, open expression that I had to look down at the menu to hide my blush. My heart was doing backflips. He remembered. And he was happy about it. The whole meal was a blur. I kept waiting for him to say it, to make it official. But he talked about our thesis projects, about our post-graduation travel plans, about the latest campus gossip. He talked about everything except us. I was starting to get antsy. Was he just going to leave it like this? Were we in some kind of secret relationship? As we were finishing up, I decided to take matters into my own hands. “Liam.” “Hmm?” he said, currently engaged in a fierce battle with a piece of bacon. “Are we…” He suddenly looked up, as if he’d just remembered something important. “Oh, right. Chloe, I need to talk to you about something.” This is it! I thought, sitting up straighter. He’s finally going to say it. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and leaned forward, his expression serious and sincere. “I have this buddy, Nick. He’s in the computer science department.” Nick? Who the hell was Nick? “He’s a really great guy, just a little shy around girls. Top of his class, got into a great grad program already.” “…And?” I was confused. “Well, he’s seen you in the library a few times and thinks you’re really cute. He’s been wanting to meet you, but he’s too nervous to ask.” Liam grinned, a conspiratorial glint in his eyes. “He begged me to set you guys up. And I was thinking, you’re both single, your personalities would be a good match. You’re outgoing, he’s quiet. It’s perfect.” “So… what do you think? Should I give him your number?” The smile on my face froze. The sounds of the restaurant faded away. All I could see was Liam’s enthusiastic face, and all I could hear was the word “perfect” echoing in my head. Perfect? So this was his big, historic announcement? He’d dressed up and taken me to a nice lunch to set me up with his friend? What was I? What was last night? A cold dread washed over me. I gripped my fork, my knuckles white. I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “Liam,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “Are you fucking with me?” The smile on his face vanished. He looked at me, bewildered. “Chloe? What’s wrong?” “What’s wrong?” I laughed, a harsh, humorless sound. “You’re asking me what’s wrong?” “Are you getting some kind of sick pleasure out of messing with me?” “No, Chloe, I’m not messing with you…” He looked panicked, reaching for my hand. “I just thought Nick was a great guy, and I wanted to introduce you…” “Enough!” I stood up abruptly, knocking over my chair. The other diners stared. I didn’t care. I felt like the world’s biggest fool. Last night, I was on cloud nine. Today, I was crashing and burning. “Do you have any idea what you said to me on the phone last night?” I demanded, my voice shaking. He looked from panicked to confused to… guilty? He avoided my eyes. “I… I was pretty drunk last night,” he mumbled. “I don’t really remember.” He didn’t remember. Of course. “Fine,” I said through clenched teeth. “You’re unbelievable.” I grabbed my purse and stormed out of the restaurant. I couldn’t stand to be in the same room with him for another second. “Chloe!” he called after me, grabbing my arm. “Don’t be mad. Did I… did I say something I shouldn’t have?” I shook him off. He looked so genuinely concerned, so innocent. It was all an act. A cruel, elaborate game to make a fool out of me. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. The person in front of me was a stranger. “Liam,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “You are the biggest asshole I have ever met.” I walked away, ignoring his calls. The tears finally came, hot and fast. I wandered the streets, my mind a chaotic mess of humiliation, anger, and a crushing sadness. My phone buzzed in my bag, Liam’s name flashing on the screen. I didn’t want to talk to him. What was there to say? I finally collapsed onto a park bench, sobbing into my hands. Why? If he didn’t like me, why would he do this? Just as I was about to turn off my phone, a text message from an unknown number came through. It was short, but it made my blood run cold. “Stay away from Liam.” “What he said to you last night wasn’t a drunken confession.” “It was a cry for help.”

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My water broke on Halloween night. My mother-in-law blocked the front door. “Hold it in! Having a baby today is a bad omen! It’ll curse the whole family for a year. It’s bad luck!” Later, when she was sick with a stomach bug, puking her guts out and desperate to go to the hospital, I pulled up a horoscope app on my phone. I showed it to her with a sweet smile. “Oh, shoot, Carol. What a shame. Mercury is in retrograde. The stars say it’s a terrible day to travel.” 1 When I was pregnant, my mother-in-law, Carol, insisted on coming to the city to “take care of me.” She was a quiet woman, with a simple, salt-of-the-earth vibe. I’d always thought she was just a sweet old lady from the country. After she arrived, our apartment was suddenly spotless. I’m not exaggerating—even the succulents I was slowly killing on the balcony started thriving. I completely re-evaluated my opinion of her. I even told my husband, Mark, that he was too hard on his mom. Mark just said I was falling for the same act he did as a kid. He went ahead and hired a part-time nanny anyway, and insisted my parents and my brother come stay with us through the holidays. I laughed and told him he was being paranoid. She was just a little old lady. What kind of trouble could she possibly cause? He looked at me, dead serious. “You have no idea what she’s capable of,” he said. “The only reason I let her through that door is because she showed up with a bottle of weed killer and threatened to drink it if I didn’t.” 2 Carol kept up the sweet-old-lady act perfectly. Until Halloween. The last of the trick-or-treaters had gone home, but you could still hear the occasional firecracker go off down the street. Our family was bustling around happily, the air thick with the savory smell of chili simmering for our late-night meal. I tried to push myself up off the couch to stretch my legs. As soon as I was on my feet, I felt a sudden, uncontrollable gush of warmth. Splash. It wasn’t like the little leaks I’d gotten used to. This was a flood. It soaked through my sweatpants instantly, puddling on the hardwood floor. I froze, staring down at my feet, my mind a complete blank. “What’s wrong, honey?” My mom was the first to notice. “Mom… I think… I think my water just broke,” I stammered, my voice trembling. The living room exploded into action. My mom yelled, “Oh my God!” and dropped the ladle she was holding, grabbing the go-bag we’d packed weeks ago. My dad’s face went pale. He snatched his car keys off the hook and bolted for the door, not even bothering to tie his shoes. My brother, Leo, was a blur, sprinting to the elevator and mashing the “down” button like his life depended on it. Mark was the calmest of all. He dropped the cheesy ghost decoration he was taping to the wall and rushed to my side. He wrapped one arm around me to steady me, and with his other hand, he dialed our doctor. His voice was urgent but clear. “Yes, first-time mom, 39 weeks and 2 days. Her water just broke. It’s clear, no contractions yet…” The real pain hadn’t started, but a dizzying panic and the sticky, out-of-control feeling made me grip his arm for dear life. My mom had already managed to get my winter coat on me as Mark guided me toward the door. Just as Mark hung up the phone, ready to get me out of there, Carol—who had been standing silently by the kitchen counter, her hands still dusted with flour from the cornbread she was making—shot forward. She planted herself in front of the main door like a stone gargoyle, blocking our exit. Her arms were spread wide, and the simple, folksy look in her eyes was gone, replaced by a wild, fanatical glare. Her voice was a shriek. “You can’t go! Hold it in! A baby born on Halloween is cursed! All that fluid, it’s a bad omen! It’s letting a dark spirit into this house! No one is leaving this apartment tonight unless they walk over my dead body!” I was so shocked, my stomach clenched, sending a dull, powerful ache through me. “Mom! What the hell are you talking about?!” Mark’s face was instantly flushed with rage, his voice booming. All the organized chaos of the last minute shattered against the wall of his mother’s insanity. “I know what I’m talking about! A baby born on Halloween, especially when the water breaks like that, brings a curse! It’ll bring bad luck to this whole family for a year!” She gripped the doorframe, the veins on her bony hands popping out. Her cloudy eyes were filled with a stubborn, vicious light I’d never seen before. “You can’t go! You have to wait until tomorrow!” Wait? The contractions were starting to roll in, each one stronger than the last. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I could barely stand. Was she serious? Mark was beyond furious. He kept me tucked safely behind him, his voice a low growl. “Mom, get out of the way. That’s your grandson in there, and he’s coming now.” “It’s because he’s my grandson that he can’t be born today! Mark, listen to me for once! I’m doing this for your own good!” she wailed, beating her chest, spittle flying from her lips. Seconds were ticking by. The car horn from downstairs grew more insistent. Mark’s eyes narrowed. He was done talking. He passed me to my mom, took a step forward, and as Carol shrieked, “Don’t you dare!” he simply bent down and hoisted her over his shoulder. She thrashed and kicked in his arms, screaming curses I wouldn’t repeat. His face was like stone. He marched her straight to the guest room, unceremoniously dropped her inside, and slammed the door. We heard the click of the lock. Suddenly, the world was quiet, except for the muffled sound of her pounding and yelling from behind the door. “Let’s go!” Mark said, turning back to me. His forehead was slick with sweat, but his eyes were clear and determined. He scooped me up into his arms and sprinted for the elevator. 3 The hospital was a blur of controlled chaos. They rushed me into the delivery room as the contractions hit me like tidal waves, threatening to pull me under. But Carol’s twisted, stubborn face and her insane words were like a thorn in my side, sparking a defiant fire in me. I gripped the rails of the hospital bed, focusing on the doctor’s instructions, pushing with everything I had. Mark never left my side. I was squeezing his hand so hard his knuckles were white, but he didn’t make a sound, just kept wiping the sweat from my brow and whispering words of encouragement. I don’t know how long it was, but just when I felt I had nothing left, a loud, healthy cry cut through the tension in the room. “It’s a boy! Six pounds, eight ounces. Mom and baby are doing great!” the nurse announced with a smile. I let out a long, shuddering breath. I was completely drained, but my heart was overflowing with a joy so immense and tender it felt like it would burst. Mark leaned down and kissed my forehead, his eyes red. “You did it, Chloe. You were amazing,” he choked out. When they wheeled me out, my parents and Leo swarmed around us, their faces shining with relief and happiness. “You’re a rock star, sis!” “Oh, sweetie, you rest now. You’ve been through so much.” Back in the recovery room, I stared at the little wrinkled, red-faced creature beside me and felt my heart melt. Mark held our son, beaming like a goofy idiot. The dark cloud from our apartment seemed to have been washed away by the joy of this new life. But right in the middle of this perfect moment, Mark’s phone rang. His smile vanished. His brow furrowed as he glanced at me before answering. “Hello? Yes, this is Mark. What?” His expression turned ugly, a mixture of disbelief and fury. “Yes, my wife just gave birth. No, there was no assault, just a… a family misunderstanding. Okay, I understand. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll be there to sort it out.” He hung up and took a deep breath, his voice tight with anger. “My mom called the cops. She’s telling them we held her against her will. She filed a report for false imprisonment and elder abuse.” The room went dead silent. My mom’s face turned white with rage. “How dare she! After what she did!” My dad just shook his head, his face grim. “This is madness.” Leo looked like he was about to punch a wall. “I’m going down there, Mark. I’ll set them straight.” Lying in that hospital bed, looking at my sleeping son, I thought about Carol’s snarling face as she blocked that door. A hot, slow-burning anger started to rise in my chest. She had risked my life, and my baby’s life, for some insane superstition, and now she had the nerve to play the victim? I looked at Mark, who was practically vibrating with anger, and gently tugged on his sleeve. He looked down at me. I forced a smile. “Go. Go to the station. And make sure you explain everything to them. Don’t leave a single detail out.” His eyes hardened. He knew exactly what I meant. He nodded firmly. “You get some rest. I’ll handle this.” After he left, the mood in the room was still heavy. I was learning a hard lesson. With some people, being kind and understanding only gets you taken advantage of. She wanted to play dirty, to poison this incredible day? Fine. From now on, this daughter-in-law was done playing nice. I just never imagined the situation at the police station would be even crazier than I thought. When Mark came back hours later, his face was grim. He looked at me, struggling for words. “Chloe… Mom’s at the station. She’s refusing to leave. She wants to press charges.”

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On my 60th birthday, I clicked “accept” on the $9.99 Amazon gift card my daughter-in-law sent me. A minute later, my son blew up the family Facebook group. “Mom, I’ve noticed you have a real habit of nickel-and-diming people,” David wrote, for all our relatives to see. “My other aunts and uncles get it. They never take money from their kids because they understand how hard we work. But you? You’ll take anything you can get, and you even seem happy about it.” The group chat went dead silent. Soon enough, a few relatives who had no idea what was going on tried to smooth things over. “David, honey, you’re being a little harsh. Your mom’s just trying to save it for you, so you don’t spend it all.” “That’s right! You’re her only son, and with your sister living so far away… who else is she going to leave her money to? It’ll all be yours someday anyway.” David’s reply was cold and immediate. “My sister chose to move away. And it’s not like she doesn’t come back every few months to raid the place. She always brings her kid, too. I bet it’s just an excuse to get a birthday check from Grandma. No shame at all.” “My wife, Jessica, is a saint for putting up with it. If Sarah’s freeloading pushes her to divorce me, I don’t know how my mom could ever make it up to her.” “Let’s be honest, when she’s old and can’t get around, she’s counting on me to take care of her. That’s why you have a son, right?” “Look, we’re not trying to be mean. We just wish our own mother had some boundaries and understood who the king and queen of this castle are.”

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For the company retreat, I was in charge of booking the restaurant. To save some money, I chose my family’s place, then posted it in the group chat to get everyone’s approval. Just as the chorus of “looks goods” was rolling in, the new intern, a Gen Z kid named Chloe, dropped a voice memo in the chat. “Hey, Sarah,” her voice dripped with condescending sweetness. “No offense, but I was just wondering… how big of a kickback are you getting for this?” “I mean, it’s our bonus money paying for this retreat. So, that kickback you’re getting? You should probably give it back to us, right?” One by one, my coworkers started liking her message. Fine. I immediately dropped the responsibility and passed the whole task over to her. The day of the retreat, from the senior VPs down to the interns, everyone was either puking their guts out or sprinting to the bathroom. The client we were trying to impress went into anaphylactic shock and ended up in the ER. Just like that, the company lost an eight-figure contract. 1 The task of planning the company retreat had once again landed on my desk. My boss, Mr. Harrison, had been very clear. “The company’s expenses are tight right now, Sarah. Let’s not go overboard.” As the company accountant for the last ten years, I knew exactly what that meant: make it look good, but spend next to nothing. I scrolled through Yelp until my eyes glazed over. Everything was either way too expensive or had questionable reviews about food quality. To cut costs and guarantee freshness, I decided to book my family’s restaurant. It was a nice little Italian place my parents ran. They offered to do it at cost—fresh, delicious, and cheap. After confirming, I dropped the details in the company-wide Slack channel: *【Hey everyone, here’s the plan for the retreat dinner. Let me know if you have any objections.】* A lot of my coworkers had eaten there before and loved it. The channel quickly filled with a sea of 👍 and “Sounds great!” emojis. Just as I was about to finalize the booking, Chloe, the new intern, dropped her little bombshell of a voice memo. “Hey, Sarah, no offense or anything, but I was just wondering, since we’re going to *your* family’s restaurant… how big of a kickback are you getting?” “Because, you know, it’s our bonus money paying for this. That kickback you’re pocketing? I think you should probably give it back to us, don’t you?” … I felt a migraine coming on. Chloe was the new intern in the sales department. She had walked in on her first day and announced she was here to “disrupt the corporate grind.” Any time a late night or extra work was mentioned, she was the first one to pipe up, quoting labor laws and talking about “quiet quitting.” She was a walking HR nightmare. It’s not that people didn’t complain about her. But every complaint sent to management just seemed to vanish into a black hole. The general consensus was that for a rookie to be this bold, she had to have some serious connections. And now, she was accusing me, the accountant, of embezzlement. That was the kind of accusation that could get my CPA license revoked. I quickly typed back in the channel: *【The expenses for the retreat are fully transparent and itemized. No one’s bonus money is being used, and I am not receiving any kickback.】* 2 I thought that would be the end of it. But the next morning, as soon as I walked into the office, all eyes were on me. The second I looked up, everyone immediately averted their gaze. My gut told me something was up. Sure enough, the moment I sat down, the Slack channel started blowing up my notifications. It was Chloe again, spamming the chat. *【@Sarah, you said you’re not getting a kickback, but I found a Groupon for your family’s restaurant. The party menu is $19.99 a person.】* *【I thought Mr. Harrison said the budget was $300 a head?】* *【Still want to say you’re not skimming off the top?】* *【If you don’t want us to report you, you should probably just refund us the difference. Kthxbye!】* She ended it with a cutesy, tongue-out emoji. Combined with the weird vibe in the office, I finally understood. And I was trapped. On paper, the budget was $300 per person. But Mr. Harrison had quietly told me to keep it under $50. The company was struggling, and this whole retreat was a dog-and-pony show for a major potential client. If we landed this contract, the bonuses and raises would come. We had to look impressive without actually spending any money. If the deal fell through, it would be my head on the chopping block. If it succeeded, all the credit would go to the sales team. It was a thankless, impossible task, which is why it always fell to me. I was caught between my boss’s orders and my coworkers’ suspicions. I spent a long time at my desk, trying to figure out a way out of this mess. Finally, I decided the only option was to talk to Chloe in private and tell her the truth. 3 I found her in the breakroom during lunch. I explained the real budget, the client, everything. By the end of it, my throat was dry. “So, you get it now, right?” Chloe’s brow was furrowed, and I thought I had finally gotten through to her. But as I turned to leave, she let out a cold, cynical laugh. “Wow, Sarah. You’ve really put a lot of thought into this, haven’t you?” I froze. Her tone was dripping with sarcasm. “Making up some story about the company being broke just to cover up your little scam.” “You don’t really think I’m that naive, do you? I’m not just some dumb intern.” “You accounting types… you might not make a huge salary, but you know all the tricks for lining your own pockets.” She looked at me like she was the smartest person in the room. “Everyone knows the company is about to close an eight-figure deal. And you’re telling me we’re broke?” “Couldn’t you have come up with a more believable lie?” My head was spinning. Chloe stepped closer, stilettos clicking on the linoleum, and looked down her nose at me. “As long as I’m here,” she said, her voice low and menacing, “I won’t let corporate parasites like you get away with anything.” In that moment, something in me snapped. I hadn’t actually done anything wrong. Why was I bothering to explain myself to her? When the lunch break was over, Chloe decided it was time for a public spectacle. 4 She shot up from her desk and shouted, “There are a hundred and twenty people in this company! The budget is three hundred dollars a person!” “That means someone is pocketing over thirty thousand dollars in kickbacks!” “Think about it! With that money, how many lattes could we buy? How many cupcakes? Why should we let one person steal that from us?” A few people, emboldened, started to murmur their agreement. “She has a point. We’re the ones grinding out here, and someone in accounting is making a thirty-grand bonus in one day?” “That’s messed up.” Once one person spoke up, others followed. Fueled by Chloe’s righteous crusade and the rumors of her powerful connections, the office turned into a mob. And of course, Mr. Harrison was out of the office, meeting with the client. There was no one to control them. Or, more likely, no one wanted to get involved. “Sarah, don’t you think you owe us an explanation?” someone called out. Great. Now I wasn’t even “Sarah” anymore. I had already said what I needed to say. If they didn’t believe me, there was nothing more I could do. Mr. Harrison signed my paychecks, not Chloe. I didn’t care what connections she had. “I’ve already explained everything. If you have a problem, take it up with Mr. Harrison,” I said, turning back to my monitor. My dismissal clearly enraged her. She stormed over to my desk and slammed her hands down on it. “What’s wrong? Did you get caught and now you’re scared?” “I can’t stand old-timers like you who think you can just push everyone around because you’ve been here forever!” She was practically vibrating with self-righteous anger, casting herself as the office savior. “I can’t stand people like you!” “Sarah,” she declared, “I am your karma!” 5 I really didn’t get it. I’m an accountant. All I do is crunch numbers. How did I become the office villain? My expression hardened. I’ve been in this business for a long time, and I can be intimidating when I want to be. One of my coworkers finally spoke up for me. “Chloe, I don’t think Sarah is like that. Maybe there’s just been a misunderstanding?” I gave Chloe a look that was anything but friendly. She knew exactly what was going on. Why she was so determined to crucify me was a mystery, but she wasn’t ignorant. Seeing someone defend me, Chloe looked betrayed. “I’m fighting for all of you! Are you really going to stab me in the back?” The coworker who had spoken up immediately fell silent. I was done with this drama. “What is it you want, Chloe?” 6 My question, in Chloe’s mind, was a sign of surrender. She looked down at me, a triumphant smirk on her face. “It’s simple. Give us back the money you were going to steal.” She held up her phone, her Venmo QR code displayed on the screen. She shoved it in my face. “You can start with me.” I pushed her phone away with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “Like I said, I didn’t take a single cent from this company. Believe it or not.” With that, I grabbed my purse from my desk and walked out. With Mr. Harrison gone, there was no way I was staying in that toxic environment for another minute. I went to a coffee shop and sent Mr. Harrison a quick email detailing the mutiny that had just occurred. While I waited for his reply, I scrolled through my social media. And there it was. Chloe’s victory post on Instagram. *【Called out the corporate accountant for embezzling funds and she literally ran out of the office. Just another day of being a brave little lamb fighting for justice! 🐑 CorporateLife Disruptor】* I laughed out loud. I immediately changed my profile picture to a wolf. Wolves eat little lambs for breakfast. I didn’t expect that changing my profile picture would be the thing that sent her completely over the edge.

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My hatred for my mother peaked the moment she forced me to strip down to a black sports bra, hold up a box of tampons, and pose for a picture she then sent to our entire family group chat. In the photo, my face is blank, my eyes are empty. Her caption, however, was sickeningly cheerful: “Girls will be girls, and sometimes they make questionable choices. But don’t worry, as her mother, I’m here to guide her back to the right path! 😊” In that moment, I smiled. You know, Mom? The perfect little bird you raised in this cage? She’s about to go insane. 1 The latest crisis started when she saw me wearing lace underwear again. Over a video call, my mother burst into tears. On the other end of the screen, she started slapping her own face, her voice a choked sob. “Why won’t you wear the black sports bras I bought you? Why?” she repeated, over and over. “Are you trying to provoke me, just like those other women out there?” Conditioned by a lifetime of her control, I folded. I apologized and promised I would only wear what she wanted me to wear from now on. But this time, it wasn’t enough. Citing a “breach of trust,” she announced a new policy: random, unannounced video spot-checks. She gazed at me through the screen, her expression soft and loving. “I know you can do this for me now, sweetheart.” That was the moment that something inside me, something I had been holding down for a very long time, finally broke. 2 “Clara, you’re not wearing the outfit I laid out for you today, are you?” The cold, flat voice on the other end of the line made my eye twitch. “Go home. Now. And change back.” “In ten minutes, I want a video call. I want to see you in the gray pantsuit. Full body. Front, back, and both sides.” I clutched my phone, frozen in place, watching the morning commuters rush past me. The train was pulling into the station. If I got on, I wouldn’t be late for work. I closed my eyes, trying to reason with her. “Mom, I have an off-site meeting with a colleague this afternoon. The pantsuit is really not practical…” “You now have nine minutes,” she said, her voice like ice. “And this colleague. Is it a man or a woman?” “A woman,” I lied, my lips feeling numb. She let out a short, sharp laugh. “Then when you meet up, I want you to start a video call so I can say hello. And Clara, I want to see her company ID badge and make sure your surroundings match.” I was stunned. “Mom, I can’t do that. It’s…” Her voice sharpened, rising to a shriek. “Is it that you *can’t*, or are you *lying* to me? Clara, are you lying to your mother?!” The train doors hissed shut. I had missed it. I looked down, my chest feeling tight, like it was stuffed with wet concrete, pulling me down. “Mom…” I struggled to keep my voice steady. “My colleague… she’s very shy. She’s not comfortable with video calls. Can’t you just let it go this one time?” “Really?” she sneered. “In that case, give me her phone number. I’ll call her myself to verify.” I tried to argue, but she cut me off. “If you don’t give me her number, I will call your company’s main line this afternoon. I will speak to the receptionist, and I will have her inform your manager that you are forbidden from attending any off-site meetings with male colleagues.” Tears pricked my eyes. Defeated, I quickly texted my one work friend, Emily, begging her for help, while I started running back to my apartment. Thankfully, Emily was a lifesaver. She immediately sent me a picture of her ID badge and told me she’d cover for me if my mom called. My tears blurred the screen as I tried to wipe them away. After a brief, stilted phone call with Emily, my mother was finally satisfied. “You see?” she said with a soft laugh, as if she knew everything. “It was just a simple phone call. Was that so difficult, sweetheart?” I stood in front of my full-length mirror, the video call active, and forced a smile. I turned mechanically, showing her every angle of the drab, gray suit. Just when I thought the inspection was over, she spoke again. “Wait.” My heart stopped. Her face loomed closer to the camera on her end, her eyes narrowed. “Why aren’t you wearing the bra I bought for you?” 3 The sharp accusation short-circuited my brain. I just stood there, completely baffled. How could she possibly know? I had changed in my bedroom, with the door closed. She was on the phone with Emily. The suit jacket was thick and buttoned. How… But it didn’t matter how. Her face was a dark storm cloud, her lips slowly curling into a strange, unsettling smile. “Clara. Take it off.” She stared at me, each word sharp and terrifying. “Right now, right here, you will take off your clothes for me.” A chill ran down my spine. “Take it off!” she screamed. On the screen, she raised a hand and slapped herself, hard, across the face. “Take it off now!” Another slap. I closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper. “Mom, please, I’m going to lose my job. Can we not…?” *SMACK.* Another slap, louder this time. It was always the same. In any standoff with her, I always lost. Biting my lip until I tasted blood, I backed away from the mirror, and in front of the unblinking eye of her phone, I began to undress. Piece by piece, until all that was left was a pale pink, lace bra. “Why aren’t you wearing the black sports bra I bought you?” Her smile widened. “Tell me why, Clara.” “I’m sorry, Mom…” I mumbled, over and over. But she wasn’t listening. Before I even realized what was happening, she was dialing another number. “Hello, is this Clara’s manager? Yes, this is her mother. I’m calling to inform you that Clara is unwell and will be resigning to focus on her health… Yes, it is her decision. I can provide any necessary documentation…” I stared at her, horrified. After she hung up, her face was once again serene, her voice gentle. “I’m saving you, Clara. I am instilling in you the virtues of a good, decent woman. You dress like that to attract men, don’t you? I was a young woman once. I know your tricks. I will not allow you to become a slut.” “And from now on, your daily outfit photos will include your underwear.” “And I will be conducting spot-checks. At any time, on any day.” She looked at me with what she probably thought was love. “You disappointed me today, sweetheart. How can I ever trust you again?” 4 I don’t know how she got my manager’s number. Everything happened so fast, I didn’t have time to think. Years of obedience had conditioned my body to follow her commands before my mind could even protest. “Get a pair of scissors. Cut it up. And that one. And that one.” Holding her phone like a scepter, she directed me as I destroyed every piece of clothing she deemed “vulgar.” She inspected every corner of my bedroom via the camera, leaving no drawer unopened, no hanger untouched. For two hours, she digitally ransacked my apartment. I felt like a dying bird, letting a predator rip out my feathers, one by one. Any slight twitch of resistance only seemed to excite her cruelty more. “Where are your pads? I don’t see any.” “I used the last of them a few days ago.” She scoffed. “Impossible. I counted them during my last inspection. There were fifty. You couldn’t have possibly used them all.” I paused. “It’s been so hot this summer,” I explained. “I switched to tampons. I gave the rest of the pads to the cleaning lady in my building.” The line went silent. My mother stared at me, her face unmoving. “Why didn’t you consult me? Why would you make that decision on your own?” I looked down, saying nothing. “I’ve never used one of those things,” she said, her voice filled with righteous indignation. “But I know what they do! They make you *feel* things!” “Clara, you are shameless!” A bitter smile touched my lips. I didn’t have the energy to argue anymore. “I’ll get rid of them right now.” “Bring me the box,” she commanded. “I need to take a picture.” I didn’t understand why, but I obeyed. After she took a screenshot, she held up her own phone to her camera, showing me her screen. “Look, Clara,” she said with a giggle. “All your aunts and uncles in the group chat are laughing at you.” The group chat? My hands started to shake. I fumbled for my phone, my fingers like ice. I opened the app and found the family group. There were dozens of new messages. Pinned to the top was the photo my mother had just taken of me: standing in my black sports bra, holding a box of tampons like a trophy of my own shame. Her caption read: *“Girls will be girls, and sometimes they make questionable choices. But don’t worry, as her mother, I’m here to guide her back to the right path! 😊”* Below it, a stream of emojis from my cousin, trying to bury the post. A private message from her was blinking on my screen. *“Clara, I’m not an admin, I can’t delete it! I’m so sorry, I’m just trying to flood the chat.”* *“Your mom has gone too far this time! How could she… you’re not a child anymore…”* A deep, profound cold seeped into my bones. No, I wasn’t a child anymore. But when I was, she had done so much worse. 5 I remember one night in the fourth grade. My father hadn’t come home the night before. I had been kept after school for not finishing my math homework. That night, my mother unleashed all her fury on me—fury at my father for his infidelity, fury at herself for losing control of the perfect family she had built. She called my math teacher and forced her to listen over the phone as she beat me and I screamed. My teacher was young, new to the school, and she was horrified. She begged my mother to stop, but my mother wouldn’t listen. I don’t know how long it went on. I just remember that by the end, my teacher was sobbing, and my mother was laughing. “Are you satisfied now, Ms. Davis?” she asked, her voice light and cheerful. “Our Clara is a very good girl. She’ll always listen to you now.” … I never saw that teacher again. And the next day, my father filed for divorce. Through the screen, I could see my mother smiling, still scrolling through the family chat. “Look, Clara, your aunts and your uncle all think you’re being ridiculous, hahaha. I’m helping you, sweetheart. Helping you see your mistakes so you can correct them.” I stopped what I was doing and just looked at her. For so long, I had pitied her, trusted her, needed her. Now, all I felt was disgust. And a deep, burning hatred. Sensing my stare, she finally looked up. “What are you looking at me like that for?” She frowned. “I just had a thought.” “Where do those… tampons… go? You’ve never even had a boyfriend…” She paused, her eyes narrowing again, scrutinizing me. “Clara… is your virginity gone?” I said nothing. She shoved her face up to her camera, her features twisted into a mask of rage. “Tell me! Tell me right now!” I remained silent. “Fine! Fine!” she shrieked, laughing hysterically. “I have the numbers for all your friends, all your colleagues! If you won’t tell me, I will call every single one of them until I find out who it was!” “And if no one confesses, I will call the police! I will make them pay!” I took a step back. In that moment, she didn’t look like my mother. She looked like a demon wearing her skin. “You’re doing this to punish me for making you lose your job, aren’t you?” she said, her voice suddenly calm again. “Clara, everything I do, I do for your own good.” I smiled, a real smile this time. “I know, Mom. And don’t worry. I’m not in a relationship.” She visibly relaxed, the frantic energy draining from her face. I wasn’t in a relationship. But… now, I really, really wanted revenge.

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My parents gave my brother all three of the family properties. A week before Thanksgiving, my younger brother, Leo, called. He wanted to bring over a pie from his company’s holiday gift basket. I said no. I tried to keep my voice steady, but I refused everything he offered. He was confused. “Chloe, what’s the deal? I gave you one last year. Why the change of heart?” Leo couldn’t understand why I wouldn’t just let things be, why I had to rock the boat and make Mom and Dad upset. I didn’t answer him. For years, family togetherness felt like a Thanksgiving pie that was sickeningly sweet. And I was always the one who had to break off a piece and swallow my half, bitterness and all. 1 After I’d turned down his company’s free pecan pie for the third time on the phone, he showed up at my apartment building anyway. My phone buzzed. A text from Leo. “Hey, you home? I’m downstairs with the pie.” As if he knew I was about to say no again, he followed up with a barrage of texts: “Mom and Dad are getting older, they can’t handle all this sugar.” “Jessica’s on a health kick, so it’ll just sit around at my place.” “And it’s that fancy one from the downtown bakery you love. You said it was your favorite last year.” I stood at my living room window, watching two autumn leaves detach from a branch. A gust of wind blew them in opposite directions. “Just take it back, Leo. I told you, I don’t want it.” I texted back. “Chloe, what is going on with you? Just take it. If I go home empty-handed, Dad’s going to say I don’t care about my big sister.” Even from five floors up, I could see my brother—all six feet of him—pacing on the sidewalk like a kid waiting to be picked up from school. He looked anxious. It reminded me of the year he graduated high school. That was the year Dad got hurt at the construction site and Mom had a major health scare. We didn’t have the money to send him to the state university he’d gotten into. I quietly gave up my spot in a fully-funded grad program and got a job right after graduation. Leo had paced outside my bedroom door back then, too. “Chloe, you can’t do this. Your major is one of those where you need an advanced degree to get a good job, right?” My mom, who couldn’t stand to see her son distressed, barged into my room. “You tell your father’s side of the family that you chose to do this,” she’d ordered. “I don’t want them thinking we sacrificed our daughter just to pay the bills.” Leo, bless his heart, stood up for me like he always did. “Mom, lay off. She’s already been sending me money from her part-time jobs. Giving up on her dream is hard enough.” Seeing him being so sweet made me swallow the bitterness I felt. I forced a smile. “Don’t overthink it. That’s what big sisters are for, right?” I told myself it was okay. So Mom played favorites a little. But Dad always said he’d work his fingers to the bone to make sure I finished college. And Leo and I had been close since we were kids. We were a happy family. I had my little room in their house, a place I dreamed of whenever I was homesick at college. But the three properties—all of them—shattered that balance I’d so carefully maintained. Suddenly, I couldn’t lie to myself anymore. I couldn’t pretend we were still that close-knit family. 2 I dug in my heels. Leo, who was usually so easygoing, finally got frustrated. “Fine. I’m texting Mark. I’ll leave it with the doorman.” He left. When my husband, Mark, came home, he was carrying the festive-looking bakery box. The words “Happy Thanksgiving” printed on the side felt like a cruel joke. He saw my red-rimmed eyes, didn’t say a word, just put on an apron and went into the kitchen to make my favorite dinner: seared salmon with roasted asparagus and lemon pasta. I could barely manage a few bites. There was a giant lump in my throat. Mark didn’t push. He just covered the leftovers and put them in the fridge. “It’ll be here if you get hungry later.” I stared out the window at the crisp, bright moon and felt a chill that had nothing to do with the November air. What was I so upset about, really? Everything I did for them, I did willingly. After Dad’s accident, his old injuries flared up constantly, and he couldn’t work anymore. After Mom’s surgery, her back was never the same; she was always crying about her bad luck. Whenever they needed money for a hospital stay, or when they started collecting cans to help with Leo’s tuition, I stepped in. I was used to giving without expecting anything in return. When Mark and I got married, his parents gave us a generous check for eighteen thousand dollars to help us get started. My mom, who was usually so domineering, sat me down, her voice uncharacteristically soft, and asked if they could use it to pay off my dad’s lingering medical debts. My father, who had always been my rock, looked at me with such shame in his eyes, his shoulders slumped. I held back tears and talked it over with Mark. We gave them all of it. Thankfully, Leo made us proud. He didn’t have a fancy degree, but he landed a stable job right out of college and married Jessica, a wonderful girl from a well-off family. My parents sold our childhood home and used the money, plus their savings, to buy Leo and Jessica a new condo. I didn’t complain. I even chipped in five thousand dollars for their closing costs. Leo was grateful. He took on the responsibility of looking after our parents. He always sent me thoughtful gifts for my birthday and Christmas. They weren’t expensive, but it was the thought that counted. But now, with the reality of the three properties—the two rentals and my grandparents’ old house—all signed over to Leo, I woke up. I realized I couldn’t let myself be pacified by a pecan pie anymore. 3 That night, I tossed and turned. I remembered when the news came that our old neighborhood was being bought out by developers. My mom, who usually called me for the smallest things, suddenly became a master of bureaucracy, spending days in the city planning office, getting all the transfer paperwork done. My dad, who always preached that “you’re both my kids,” signed the agreement without a moment’s hesitation, putting Leo’s name on every single line. They never even thought about telling me. I found out by accident, when Jessica let it slip during a family dinner. The shock and hurt on my face must have been obvious. It felt like my own family had stabbed me in the heart. Jessica knew she’d messed up and kept apologizing. Leo pulled her into the other room to calm her down. What did my mom say then? I remember it clearly. “Chloe, you’re a married woman now. You have your own family with Mark. It’s tradition that the family assets stay with the son.” “Your brother is about to have a baby,” she continued. “That child will need a good school, a future. I have to plan for that.” I looked at my dad, pleadingly. Just a month before, he had fallen and broken his hip. Leo was swamped at work, trying to get a promotion. Jessica was pregnant, and Mom was hovering over her 24/7. It was me who stayed at the hospital day and night, who dealt with the doctors, who paid all the bills. But in that moment, my dad just lit a cigarette and took a long drag. “Chloe, you’re the successful one in this family,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “You already bought your own place. You’ll have no problem buying another one.” I don’t even remember how I walked out of their house that day. Leo ran after me. “Chloe, don’t be upset. Mom and Dad must have had their reasons for not telling you. But listen, no matter what, wherever I am, you always have a home with us.” A dull knife hurts the most. Now I understood what that meant. 4 The evening before Thanksgiving, my phone rang. It was Leo. “Hey, so, same plan as usual? Dinner at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow around noon?” I was about to say no when my mom snatched the phone. “Chloe, are you done with this childish tantrum? It’s a holiday!” she snapped. “Your cousins dropped off pies three days ago! Your brother is more thoughtful than you are—the first thing he did when he got his gift basket was think of you. He’s about to become a father, and you, his sister, haven’t shown an ounce of interest.” Mark and I both get nice holiday bonuses from our jobs. In past years, I’d take the gift cards and stock my parents’ pantry with organic groceries and fancy olive oil. I’d go to the specialty market and buy a case of craft beer for Leo and a box of artisanal cheeses for Jessica and drop them off. But this year… I was just so tired. A deep, bone-weary exhaustion had settled over me. My mother-in-law, who has been a saint helping us with our daughter ever since my father-in-law passed, always tells me to save things for my own family, that she doesn’t need much. This year, I had Mark take everything to her house. She kept saying, “Oh, this is too much, we’ll never eat all this!” But the genuine gratitude in her eyes didn’t lie. It turns out, everyone likes to feel chosen. I was the fool for listening to my mother for so long, for believing that my parents’ house was my only true home. The slap of reality stung. So, I took a breath and said to my mom, “Mom, when you gave the houses to Leo, you told me that a married daughter has her own family. I think you were right. So from now on, I need to focus on my husband’s family. The holiday bonus, the gifts, I gave them all to Mark’s mom this year. She’s worked so hard helping us with our daughter. Tomorrow, I’m taking her for a spa day to thank her. So we won’t be coming over.” The other end of the line was dead silent. Feeling a sudden drain of energy, I hung up. 5 A second later, my phone screen lit up. It was a flood of messages from Leo. “Chloe, Mom’s been helping Jessica so much with the pregnancy, she’s so stressed her blood pressure is through the roof. Did you have to provoke her?” “You know Mom has always been a little insecure that Mark’s mom was a teacher with a good pension. Why would you rub it in her face that you’re doing nice things for her?” “It’s just a few houses! Don’t you think they had their reasons for the decision? Are you really going to cut us all off over this?” I felt too exhausted to even argue. I typed back one sentence. “Leo, stop. I don’t want to hear a single word of it.” I didn’t know what else to say. Mark came over and handed me a glass of warm milk. “Drink this. Get some sleep tonight. I have a feeling you’re going to need your strength for the battle ahead.” “A battle? Don’t be so dramatic.” He gave me a wry smile. “Do you remember our wedding day?” I did. I remembered my mother practically on her knees, begging me to let them keep the eighteen-thousand-dollar wedding gift from his parents. I hadn’t wanted to, but she brought in an army of relatives to pressure me. My own mother-in-law, not wanting to see me torn, told Mark to respect my decision. I glanced at my phone. The screen lit up again. And again. Looking at the string of angry, accusatory messages, you’d think I’d just committed a federal crime.

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Three years into my life on the run with a baby. My son, Leo, has yet to blossom into the genius hacker from the novels, the kind who crashes stock markets from his high chair. I finally caved, cupping his chubby cheeks in my hands. “Listen, you’re drinking the most expensive organic formula on the market. When are you going to make your mom rich so we can go home in style?” Leo just blinked his big, innocent eyes. “Mommy… what’s a hacker?” Right on cue, the comments started scrolling across my vision. [LOL, the villainess is really dreaming big, huh.] [You know exactly how you got that kid, sweetie. Don’t play dumb.] [Seriously shameless. The girl tried to trap the male lead and still thinks she deserves a happy ending.] The live-chat was a waterfall of hate. They blamed me. Because of me, their precious male lead was no longer the “pure, untouched hero” reserved only for the female lead. I sighed and rubbed my forehead. But a second later, the chat exploded for a completely different reason. [OMG?? WHO is that gorgeous guy in the black trench coat at the door?!] [What is HE doing here?] [No way… don’t tell me he’s here for her.] 1 During the peak of my obsessive teenage crush phase, I fell for Ethan Hayes. I did this knowing full well that he was the Male Lead of our story, and I was just the Side Character. I was seventeen the first time the live-chat appeared. It happened on the basketball court, right after Ethan took the water bottle I offered him. The words just materialized in the air, a transparent overlay on reality. And they were all aimed at me. [Great, just my luck. The first thing I see today is the annoying side chick sucking up to the male lead.] [And he actually took the water from her… gross.] [He was probably just swarmed and didn’t see who handed it to him.] [God, I can’t stand this girl. So shameless.] [Always hanging around him just because they grew up next door.] [Too bad our female lead doesn’t show up for another two years.] [It’s fine. He’ll never fall for anyone but her.] [The female lead is his first love, after all.] [He’s going to be completely, 100% pure for her, body and soul.] [This girl can hang around him for ten years and it won’t compare to the female lead showing up for one day.] 2 That was how I learned. The world I lived in wasn’t real. It was a story with a fixed plot. Ethan Hayes, the boy who lived next door, was the hero of this story. And I, Avery, was the designated tragic side character. The one who would waste her time and love on him, only to get absolutely nothing in return. Worse, once the female lead arrived, I was scripted to become a jealous monster and do a bunch of horrible things. The year I found all this out was the same year I realized I was starting to have a major crush on Ethan. 3 Knowing the script, any normal person would have backed off. They’d have cut their losses, gotten over the crush, and stayed far, far away from the main couple to avoid their own miserable ending. But my teenage brain was full of romance novels and a stubborn, rebellious streak. I was going to like him anyway. I even had the ridiculous idea that I could win him over completely before the “real” heroine ever showed up. So, I started showing up in his life even more. I stopped hiding how much I liked him. When he played basketball, I brought him water. When he studied, I sat with him. I even made sure to grab the seat directly across from him at lunch every day. In the cafeteria, Ethan once again picked up the piece of fried chicken I’d put on his tray and placed it back on mine. “What is your deal lately, Avery?” he asked, his brow furrowed. “Are you broke again?” I looked him straight in the eye. “You really haven’t figured it out yet?” Without waiting for an answer, I said it, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear. “I’m trying to ask you out, dummy.” The words dropped. The noisy cafeteria went silent for a beat. Ethan, sitting across from me, actually froze. And the live-chat came roaring to life, a tidal wave of comments calling me shameless and delusional. 4 Back then, I didn’t understand the power of the plot. I stared at the screen full of angry text and felt a smug sense of victory. I didn’t believe in love at first sight. Ethan and I had known each other for over a decade. How could that lose to some “destined glance” with a girl he hadn’t even met? And yet, for the next two years, I pursued him relentlessly. He never said yes. Ethan wasn’t mean to me. In fact, he had this weirdly patient, tolerant attitude towards my antics, which always seemed to drive the live-chat insane. But after nearly 600 days of very public pursuit, I still couldn’t figure out where I stood with him. 5 I asked him countless times, “So, when are you finally going to be my boyfriend?” Before senior year finals, he’d just push my head towards my textbook. “Focus on your grades first.” “Do you really want to get another lecture from the principal about being a distraction before graduation?” he’d say. I’d grumble, frustrated. “I’m getting all the grief for being your girlfriend without any of the benefits.” I’d pout. “It would be better if it were official, you know.” For a second, I thought I saw him smile. A faint, warm curve on that perpetually cool, unreadable face. He gently patted the back of my neck. “Wait until after graduation,” he said softly. But after graduation, he changed his story. He said the promise was just a way to keep me calm and focused on my exams. It was a rainy night when he told me. I was on my tiptoes, holding my umbrella over both of us to keep him dry. His words were so casual, so devoid of emotion. Suddenly, my arm felt too heavy to even hold the umbrella. 6 I looked up, staring at him. “What did you just say?” “The rain’s too loud,” I lied. “I didn’t hear you.” Ethan looked down at me, his gaze cool, but mixed with a strange, distant pity. He took the umbrella from my hand. “You heard me,” he said. “I’m not going to be with you, Avery.” I just stared at him, my mind blank. “Why?” The live-chat was laughing at me. [I have never seen someone so shameless in my life.] [The male lead is a class act. He’s trying to let her down easy.] [But you can’t fix someone who has zero self-respect.] [Is it really that hard to guess why he won’t date you?] [IT’S BECAUSE HE DOESN’T LIKE YOU.] [If he was into you, do you really think you’d have to chase him this hard?] [Just stop embarrassing yourself already.] 7 Ethan’s next words came at the same time as the comments. His dark eyes were fixed on mine, his expression serious. But what he said was, “Avery, because I don’t like you.” And then, the day after he rejected me, the female lead arrived. Right on schedule. She just appeared in his life, without giving me any time to brace myself. I suddenly realized that two years had gone by in a flash. My defiant plan to win Ethan before she showed up had ended in total failure, just one day before her grand entrance. From there, the story of Ethan and the female lead—Lily—unfolded like a speed-run. Their first meeting was a clumsy, cute mix-up. Their “coincidental” run-ins were frequent and romantic. Their connection deepened at an impossible pace. It wasn’t just the live-chat that kept me updated on their progress. My own friends, the people around me, were suddenly all buzzing about Lily. About her, and her budding romance with Ethan.

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