I was being brought back to the family home, and the girl who had taken my place was dying. My parents never left her side. My brother blamed me for coming back and upsetting her. My husband was her doctor, and even in the middle of our cold, mechanical lovemaking, he would leave at the sound of her voice. I had tolerated her, made excuses for her, given way to her every whim. But this time was different. She had pushed me down the stairs on our wedding anniversary, on purpose. As they loaded me into the ambulance, my husband was still defending her. “She’s just a kid, Nora. Don’t be mad at her. She’ll feel so guilty.” He wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t cry. I’ll save you. You’re going to be fine.” Then his voice hardened slightly. “But after this, you need to think about your own actions. You’re so healthy. You shouldn’t be flaunting it in front of her, upsetting her like that.” He was my surgeon. He put in a few sloppy stitches, then rushed off to comfort the crying imposter my family had called him to see. And in that moment, something inside me finally broke. “I’m in so much pain,” I told the System. “I don’t want to play this game anymore. I want to go home.” In seven days, I would die from a massive hemorrhage caused by his shoddy surgical work. And they would have to live with the regret for the rest of their lives. * 1 No one came to pick me up from the hospital. After waiting for hours, I finally sent a message to the family group chat, letting them know I was being discharged. A long time passed. Half a day. Finally, a notification. It was my brother, Leo. Leo: K. That was it. Silence. Ten agonizing minutes later, my phone buzzed again. It was my mother. Mom: Nora, sweetie… can you find your own way home? We’re a little tied up right now. Then, a message from *her*. From Ivy. Ivy: Oh, Nora, don’t bother them! They just got back from taking me on vacation. They’re exhausted from the flight, and we have to go to the hospital for my check-up. And then, a message from my husband, Dr. Julian Vance. Julian: Nora, I’m Ivy’s doctor. I’m responsible for her follow-up. I can’t take the day off. Just grab a cab. Call me if you need anything. I had typed out a message: *Can just one of you please come get me?* I stared at the words on the screen, then deleted them, one by one. I knew the truth. When it came to me versus Ivy, I would always be the second choice. For years, Ivy had treated her own life like a game, threatening to stop her medication one day, claiming she wanted to die the next. And Julian, my brilliant, dedicated husband, would chase after her, tirelessly pulling her back from the brink. It had become their routine. “Ivy,” he would tell her, his voice a low, intense murmur. “You’re not allowed to die on my watch. I don’t care how much you try to self-destruct. I have a thousand ways to keep you alive.” 2 That night, I was running a bath when Julian came home. I was undressing, my hand tracing the angry red line on my chest, when he wrapped his arms around me from behind, his lips on the back of my neck. “Darling,” he murmured. “Still not in the shower? Were you waiting for me to wash you?” He gently turned me to face him, his fingers already working at the buttons of my shirt. “Your stitches… you shouldn’t get them wet. Let me help.” His hands stopped when he saw it. The ugly, puckered scar on my chest. I shoved him away. “Don’t touch me!” He looked surprised, then chuckled, thinking I was misinterpreting his intentions. “You have a dirty mind, you know that?” he teased. “I’m not a complete animal. I’ll wait until you’re healed. Then I’ll collect my payment, with interest.” “I don’t want you to wash me,” I said, my voice flat. He raised an eyebrow. “Still mad at me? Fine. Take it out on me. But don’t blame Ivy. She’s just a kid, Nora. Don’t hold it against her. She’s so sick. She’s miserable.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a bitter, broken sound. “In case you’ve forgotten, Julian, your ‘kid’ is the exact same age as me. She’s miserable? What about me? Did it ever occur to you that when I fell down those stairs, I could have died?” He frowned. “Don’t be dramatic, darling. You’re fine. And your wound… I stitched it up myself, didn’t I?” He smiled, a flash of his old, confident charm. “You’re healthy. You’re not going to die. You just overthink things. Trust my work. I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” I looked down at the jagged, uneven line of stitches and fought back tears. “You made me ugly, Julian. You know how much I hate being ugly.” He sighed, a long, weary sound. “Ivy called me right before your surgery. She was hysterical, threatening to kill herself. I had to go to her. You know that, right? I don’t regret it. If I had been one minute later, she would be dead.” He cupped my face in his hands. “And you… you need to stay away from her. Don’t provoke her. She’s already been through so much. She has a temper. She could hurt you again, and that would break my heart.” He stroked my cheek. “She’s not like you, Nora. She’s dying. She’s pitiful. Just… let her have this, okay? If you need to be angry, be angry with me. Tonight, in bed, you can punish me however you want.” He leaned in to kiss me, but I turned my head away. The way he was with her… it was different. And in that moment, I had nothing left to say. 3 The funny thing is, Julian and I met in college. And he was the one who fell for me first. His family was practically medical royalty. Generations of brilliant doctors, a prestigious private hospital bearing their name. And Julian was the crown prince. A child prodigy, a state scholar who went straight from his undergrad to a Ph.D. program at a top university. He was beautiful, in a cool, detached sort of way. A picture of him in his white coat went viral online. Everyone said that for a man who seemed so emotionless, he was hopelessly in love with me. They said marrying him was a once-in-a-lifetime stroke of luck. In college, when I dropped our promise ring in the campus lake, he dove in after it without a second thought. When I got a paper cut, he’d fuss over it for days. I used to stay up late, a bad habit that sometimes made my chest ache. He was terrified I was going to die young. At 11 PM on the dot, he’d confiscate my phone. If I protested, he’d pin me to the bed, his voice a low growl. “I heard about a method to help people sleep. It’s called… marital duties. We could try it. Or, you could be a good girl and go to sleep before I make you cry.” Once, I had to have a minor surgery. He was more nervous than I was. He held my hand before they wheeled me in, his voice soft and reassuring. “Don’t be scared. It’s just a little monster we have to fight. I’ll be right here. Always.” When we fought, he was always the first to apologize. “Nora, please talk to me. If you’re unhappy, I’m unhappy. I can’t stand it when you’re mad at me.” I thought he would always choose me. As long as he chose me, I could survive in this world. But then, he became Ivy’s doctor. He didn’t care what time I went to bed anymore. He was too busy. Busy reading bedtime stories to Ivy over the phone, his voice a low, soothing murmur until she fell asleep, no matter how late it was. I’d sit next to him, watching him smile at his phone, the familiar ache in my chest a dull, constant throb. “Julian,” I’d whisper, tugging on his sleeve. “It’s late. Let’s go to sleep.” He’d press a finger to his lips. “Shh. Ivy’s not asleep yet.” And now… now he would rather I hate him than hold a grudge against her. *I don’t want to play this game anymore,* I told the System. *I want to go home.* *Are you sure, Host?* the System replied. *In this world, you have a family. A husband. If you succeed, you can stay here forever.* *I’m sure,* I said. The mission was simple. All I needed was for one person, just once, to choose me over Ivy. I had been so hopeful, so confident. I had tried so hard to please them, remembering their birthdays, their favorite foods, their little quirks. I thought if I was just sincere enough, they would love me back. But in the end, no one came. My family, my husband… they always chose her. This time, next time, every time. I think it’s time for me to go home. Back to my real home. The System sighed. *Host, when Ivy pushed you down the stairs, you sustained severe internal injuries and massive soft tissue damage. In seven days, your stitches will rupture, and you will die from a massive hemorrhage.* Just as it said, a network of pain spread through my body. I wonder, I thought, a strange sense of calm washing over me. I wonder what his face will look like when he realizes that I died from a surgery performed by his own genius hands. 4 The next morning, we were all having breakfast together. My family and my husband, all gathered around Ivy. “Mom, you won’t believe how bad Leo’s photography skills are,” she was saying, giggling. “He took hundreds of pictures of me on our trip, and only a few are usable. It’s a good thing I’m so photogenic. Anyone else would have looked terrible.” “Hey, I tried my best,” Leo said, ruffling her hair. “You’re the one who kept demanding more pictures.” Ivy was glowing, her cheeks flushed with color. I, on the other hand, looked like a ghost. Even Leo, who usually ignored me, frowned when he saw me. “Nora, you’re so pale. Are you okay?” Before I could answer, Ivy snorted. “Oh, Leo, don’t pay any attention to her. She’s always faking sick to get attention. She’s probably just being dramatic.” Julian looked at me, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but Ivy immediately recaptured everyone’s attention. “Ugh, pasta again? I want a burger and fries tomorrow. Freshly made!” “You know you can’t have greasy food with your heart condition,” Leo chided. Ivy stuck her tongue out. “What’s the worst that could happen? I have my own personal doctor right here. He won’t let anything bad happen to me, right?” Julian looked at her with a fond, exasperated smile. “You can have a little taste. But that’s it.” “You’re no fun,” she pouted, but it sounded more like flirting than complaining. Julian had bought a house just down the street so he could be closer to her, to monitor her condition. He designed every one of her meals himself. He placed a piece of shrimp on her plate. “Ivy, you need to listen to me. What you did to Nora was wrong. You need to apologize.” Ivy’s face fell. She slammed her chopsticks on the table. “Why should I apologize to her? She was in my way! She deserved it!” Julian didn’t get angry. He just coaxed her, his voice gentle. “Be good. Just say you’re sorry. See that apple on the table? Just hand it to her and say ‘I’m sorry.’ And then you two can make up. Nora is very understanding. She’ll forgive you.” The next thing I knew, Ivy had snatched the largest apple from the bowl and hurled it at my face. It hit me squarely in my right eye. A sharp, blinding pain shot through my head. This was their pattern. Ivy would lash out, Julian would patch me up, and the whole family would tell me not to be so lively and healthy in front of her. My good health was an insult to her sickness. “Fine!” Ivy screamed, her eyes filling with tears. “I’ll apologize! I’m sorry! I’m the one who should be sorry for being sick, for dying! I’ll just stop my medication tonight, how about that?!” In an instant, they were all hovering over her. “Silly girl, we were just teasing you,” Leo said, rubbing her back. “Don’t say such things!” my mother cried. “I can’t lose you!” “Okay, okay, no apology,” Julian said, frantically wiping her tears. “Just don’t stop your medication. Please.” It was always like this. I clutched my throbbing eye, a silent observer in my own home. Finally, Julian remembered me. “Nora,” he said, his voice strained, “I’ll put some ice on that for you later. It’ll be fine.” For a second, a flicker of hope. We had been together for five years. Maybe, just maybe, he still cared. But then he added, “Can you stop being so selfish for a minute and help me calm her down? She’s threatening to stop her medication because of you.” And just like that, the hope died. I started to laugh, a hollow, self-mocking sound. How could I have been so stupid? I stood up, my voice dripping with an icy calm I didn’t know I possessed. “Fine,” I said. “I’ll calm her down.” I looked at Ivy, my one good eye burning with a cold fire. “This is what, the third time this week? You’re all talk, Ivy. You say you want to die? You say you’re going to stop your medication? Then do it.” I leaned forward, my voice rising to a shout. “If you really want to die, then just do it!”

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I was reborn on my fifth birthday. My older brother, Kevin, had snuck me out of the house to “play.” He set me down on a busy street corner and pulled a piece of candy from his pocket. “Audie, bro’s gotta use the restroom. You wait right here.” That’s when the pop-up comments appeared in my vision, scrolling like a live-stream chat right in front of his face. [As soon as the Male Lead ditches his bratty sister, he’ll find the Female Lead, our lucky little star! Then the family’s rags-to-riches story can finally start. Can’t wait!] [But the villainess is only five. It’s freezing out here. Is he really just going to leave her? He’s a teenager, he can’t be that cruel.] [Cruel? Please. That villainess is rotten to the core. She’s just a plot device to cause trouble later. So annoying.] [Exactly. It’d be better if she just froze to death. Then she wouldn’t be able to interrupt the Male and Female Leads every time things are about to get spicy. Let us have our fun!] [YEET THE VILLAINESS! I’m here for the adopted-sibling romance! Let’s goooo! lol] So, in my first life, my brother hadn’t *accidentally* lost me. He’d thrown me away on purpose. “Audie, you be a good girl and wait, okay?” Kevin cooed, holding out the candy. “Here, your favorite.” I snatched the candy and wrapped my arms around his leg, letting out a wicked grin. “Okay, I’ll be good. But I also want a can of peaches, cookies, a soda, chips, a hot pretzel, Fruit Roll-Ups, and a big slice of pizza…” When he tried to refuse, I started screaming my head off and refused to let go. I didn’t release him until he’d spent the entire hundred-dollar bill he’d swindled from our parents. Then, clutching my mountain of snacks, I sat down to wait for my new brother to come find me. 1 In my last life, I waited from dawn until dusk. My brother never came back. But someone else did: Leo. Leo was fifteen that year. His mom was dead, and his dad had skipped town. He ran a small crew of kids in similar situations, hustling to get by, flipping whatever they could find. The day he found me, he’d just lost everything on a bad deal. He was broke, so he wasn’t planning on picking up a stray. But he saw me just standing there like a little wooden doll, my face pale and blue from the cold. He rummaged through his pockets and all he found was a single, crumpled cigarette. He lit it and handed it to me. “To keep your hands warm,” he said. I thought he was a good person. And cute. I decided to follow him. He didn’t notice me until I was standing in the doorway of the abandoned warehouse he called home. He tried to shoo me away, but I wouldn’t budge. I started introducing myself to anyone who would listen. “I’m Leo’s sister,” I’d say proudly. “His real sister.” I even started calling myself Audrey, same as him. Leo never officially admitted we were related, but he stopped trying to get rid of me. And he was good to me. Whenever there was food, I got the bigger half. The place was drafty, but he built me a small bed and covered it with a soft blanket. He slept on a pile of newspapers. When he had a little extra cash, he bought me new clothes. He started sending me to school. A month before the Miller family found me, when I was fifteen, Leo died in a freak accident. 2 It wasn’t until I died, was reborn, and saw those pop-up comments that I understood. Leo and I were just side characters in a book. Our lives were pre-written, and we were both destined to be tragic footnotes. After the Millers found me, the fake heiress, Crystal, couldn’t stand me. I fought her at every turn, becoming the “evil stepsister” of the story. Once my family was thoroughly disgusted with me, my own brother—the male lead—pushed me down a flight of stairs and killed me. Leo’s fate was even worse. He didn’t even get a name in the book. He was just “the orphan who raised her.” His early death served only to make my backstory more tragic, my personality more “twisted.” As if his life was meaningless. I couldn’t understand it. Why did a selfish monster who’d abandon his five-year-old sister get to be the hero, destined for a lifetime of wealth and happiness? While Leo, who took me in when he couldn’t even feed himself, was destined to die an early death? Thankfully, fate had given me a second chance. If the story wanted me to be a greedy, evil brat, then fine. This time, I would be the most conniving, ruthless brat imaginable. And I would fight to carve out a long, happy future for me and for Leo. 3 “Hey, kid. It’s getting dark. You’d better get home before the big bad wolf gets you!” Finally. It was Leo. Seeing his familiar, fifteen-year-old face, alive and well, I burst into tears. Leo froze, completely bewildered. When he finally snapped out of it, he dropped to his knees in front of me, frantically trying to calm me down, promising there was no wolf, that he’d fight it off if there was. The tears just kept coming. Passersby started to stare. Leo looked like he was about to cry, too. “Please don’t cry, please don’t cry, I’ll buy you a treat.” As he said it, his own stomach let out a loud growl. I choked on a sob and started to laugh. In my last life, I’d watched him turn his pockets inside out and find nothing but that one cigarette. What was he going to buy me a treat with? I pushed my pile of snacks towards him. “You don’t have to buy me anything. I have food. Here, you can have it.” Leo, being fed by a five-year-old, blushed. “I don’t want your stuff, kid. I’m not a thief—” “Eat it,” I insisted. “If you don’t, I’m going to start crying again. Waaah—” “Okay! I’ll eat!” he yelped, grabbing a slice of pizza from the pile and stuffing it in his mouth. “See?” he mumbled around a mouthful. “I’m eating. Just please stop crying.” I beamed at him. “Okay, bro.” I looked up at him with my biggest, most pathetic eyes. “Bro, my whole family is dead. Nobody wants me. Can you be my family?” Before he could answer, I added, “If you say no, I’ll cry. Louder than before. WAAAAH—” “Stop! Don’t cry!” “So you’ll do it? You’ll be my brother? Great! Let’s go home.” I grabbed his hand, my small fingers wrapping around his. Leo just stood there, speechless. He didn’t say yes, but he didn’t pull his hand away. Feeling the warmth of his skin, the proof that he was real and alive, I almost started crying again, this time with happiness. It was just as easy as the first time. I had successfully tricked Leo into being my brother again. 4 That night, Leo built me a bed in his corner of the warehouse. He worked from sunrise to sunset, but just like in my first life, he never seemed to make any money. The story had him trapped. The harder he worked, the poorer he got. But this time, thanks to the snacks I’d conned out of my bio-brother, we ate well for the next few days. Five days later, I knew it was time. I grabbed Leo’s arm as he was about to head out for the day and convinced him to take me to the south side of town to “forage for edible plants.” On our way out, I made him grab a rusty shovel and a big empty sack. When we got to the south side, I led him straight towards a large, grim-looking building. An orphanage. Leo froze. “So,” he said, his voice low and rough, “you weren’t looking for plants. You want to go in there.” I looked up and saw his eyes were red. “It’s for the best,” he said, trying to sound tough. “Better than starving with me. Go on. I’ll be fine without you.” He was squeezing my hand so tight it hurt. “I told you, we’re foraging,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I already have a brother. I’m not an orphan. I’m not going in there.” That seemed to snap him out of it. I led him around to the woods behind the orphanage and pointed to a spot. “Dig here.” He looked at me, confused, but he trusted me. He started digging. I wasn’t here for plants. I was here for treasure. 5 When I’d stalled my brother Kevin with my list of demands, my real goal was to see more of the pop-up comments. A few of the users were obsessive spoiler-fiends, and I managed to memorize all the key plot points of the book. That’s how I knew that the Miller family’s fortune began right here, with a bag of gold buried in the woods behind this orphanage. I had timed our arrival perfectly, just two hours before Kevin was supposed to show up. I was a little worried that the gold wouldn’t be here yet, or that only the “male lead” could find it. But then, Leo’s shovel hit something. “Audie, look!” It was a rotting canvas duffel bag. When he touched it, it disintegrated, revealing what was inside: gold jewelry and several heavy gold bars. Tarnished and dirty, but unmistakably gold. 6 A few minutes later, I saw the pop-up comments reappear near the orphanage. Kevin had arrived. Leo was still staring at the gold in a daze. I grabbed his hand. “We have to go. Now. Don’t say anything, just grab the gold and follow me.” He snapped out of it and did as I said. I led him to a hidden spot where we could see the woods without being seen. It was time for the show. [He adopted the Female Lead! The way he looks at her is so sweet! I’m melting!] [Next up: the gold! I can’t wait for him to get rich and spoil her rotten! Let the shameless fluff begin!] It was just as my “mother” had described it in my last life. Kevin had brought our parents to the orphanage to adopt the fake heiress, Crystal. She was my age and looked enough like me to be a plausible replacement. Once they had her, my parents stopped looking for me. Crystal became their real daughter. I was just an outsider who didn’t belong. This time, I wasn’t going to be their tragic villainess. I was going to take everything from them. Kevin left Crystal with our parents and snuck into the woods. He pulled out a small knife and started digging. [He’s so thoughtful, digging a hole before he goes to the bathroom. No wonder he finds the gold!] [This is it! This is it! A little deeper and he’ll find it! I’m so excited!] Kevin’s knife hit something hard. His face flushed with excitement. He dug faster, and a moment later, he pulled it out. It wasn’t gold. It was a brick. I’d had Leo bury it there while he was digging for the real treasure. Kevin stared at it, confused, but he didn’t give up. He started digging frantically all around the area. All he found were more bricks.

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My childhood friend, Ethan, was home from Stanford for the holidays when I overheard his mom trying to set me up with someone. He walked into the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. “You that bored, Mom?” His mother looked surprised. “What’s gotten into you?” Everyone knew the score. He was Stanford, I was state school. We were in different universes. He wasn’t interested in me. But what nobody knew was that this was year three of us not speaking after our… situation ended. I can still picture him leaning against the bathroom doorframe, a towel slung low on his hips, a smirk on his face as he said it: “Probably for the best we stop this. It was getting old, anyway.” 1. “Who’s mad?” Ethan’s voice was cool, detached. “Don’t waste your time. She’ll say no.” His mom raised an eyebrow. “You sound pretty sure of yourself.” Ethan didn’t answer. He just took his mom’s phone. He swiped through a few photos of the guy she’d picked out, a lazy grin playing on his lips. His mom knew that look. It was the easy arrogance of a guy who’d been the smartest, best-looking person in every room since kindergarten. The kind of guy who was always the center of attention. “Okay, so he’s not you,” his mom conceded. “But maybe he’s Lena’s type.” “Go ahead. Try.” His tone was completely indifferent, like he couldn’t care less. But he stopped, his hand on the doorknob, and waited. He waited for the full ten minutes it took for my reply to come through. [No thank you, Mrs. Hayes, I’m okay!] A flicker of an “I-told-you-so” expression crossed his face. He turned and walked out the door, putting the whole thing out of his mind. Which is why he never saw the second text I sent right after. [Besides, I’m getting engaged next week!] 2. The summer I was most in love with Ethan was, without a doubt, the lowest point of my life. It was the winter break of my sophomore year. We had a high school reunion coming up. I was packing my suitcase in my dorm room, trying desperately not to check my phone to see if Ethan had texted me back. He hadn’t. Instead, a notification popped up. He’d added someone to our group chat. [Who’s this?] [Spill it, dude.] Our friends started joking around. Ethan’s reply was simple: [My girlfriend.] Those two words exploded in my head. I knew girls were always throwing themselves at Ethan, but he’d always acted so uninterested. Uninterested enough to give me a sliver of stupid hope. I tapped on his girlfriend’s profile picture. She was gorgeous. I sat in my dorm room, putting on a full face of makeup, then wiping it all off. No matter what I did, I looked wrong. By the time I got to the restaurant, everyone was already laughing and deep in conversation. The moment I walked in, the laughter died. Ethan happened to be standing up to pull out a chair for his girlfriend. He leaned in close as I passed, his brow furrowed. “Lena, what’s with the face?” he asked, his voice low. It was his normal, joking-with-a-friend tone. Exactly the same as always. The only thing different was me. My insecurity was a tidal wave, and I was drowning. The table erupted in laughter. I forced a smile, trying to play along. “What’s so funny?” His girlfriend pulled me out of the private room and into the restroom. She started gently wiping away my smudged foundation with a makeup wipe. “Ethan’s such a jerk sometimes. I’ll give him a piece of my mind for you later.” Her hands were soft and smelled like lotion. Her skin was perfect. She was so kind, even I couldn’t help but like her. How much more must he like her? That night, I trailed behind the group, watching Ethan hold her hand. They looked perfect together. Later, someone suggested going out for drinks. Ethan passed. His girlfriend slid into the driver’s seat of his BMW. I turned to go with the others, but Ethan grabbed the back of my jacket and nudged me into the back seat. “Don’t want you getting into trouble,” he said with a grin. “Your mom would kill me.” “Exactly,” his girlfriend added. “We’ll give you a ride back to campus.” Halfway there, she got a craving for late-night tacos. She turned to me. “Want to come?” Ethan caught my eye in the rearview mirror, his hand casually draped over the steering wheel. I read his expression perfectly. Don’t be a third wheel. “You guys go ahead,” I said. He dropped me off at my dorm first. Before I got out, I heard his girlfriend whisper, “Am I still coming over to your place tonight?” The cold LA night air swept into the car. Her voice was quiet, but the words scraped against my ears like sandpaper. His car sped off into the night. I just stood there on the curb, remembering a night back in high school when Ethan waited for me on his bike under the streetlight in front of my house. I’d thought to myself then, I wonder what it will feel like to ride in his car one day when he can drive. Now I knew. 3. I heard Ethan and that girlfriend broke up after a couple of weeks. I’d stopped talking to him by then. I was too busy studying, burying myself in the chem lab, writing papers—too busy trying to become someone other than that pathetic girl from the reunion. Years passed. The night before my grad school advisor defended her dissertation, she dragged me out to a bar in West Hollywood. “See that guy over there?” one of the girls at our table whispered. “The ridiculously hot one?” “I hear he’s some kind of tech mogul. His starting salary was like, seven figures.” I glanced over at the table next to ours. There was Ethan, surrounded by a crowd of beautiful people, looking bored and effortlessly cool. “I’m gonna go for it. Try to get his number,” a girl from our group announced, standing up and heading over. She came back ten minutes later, defeated. “No luck, huh?” “He’s famous for being impossible. It was the same way back in college.” I got up to use the restroom. When I came out, Ethan was waiting for me, blocking the doorway. He was wearing a black turtleneck that made his shoulders look even broader, his neck long and pale. He had my coat draped over his arm. “Did I do something to piss you off?” he asked. “No.” “Then why’d you block my number?” His dark eyes were locked on mine, and it was infuriatingly effective. “Give me my coat.” He shifted his body, blocking me again. “Nope.” We were standing in the alley behind the bar. A rare, cold drizzle started to fall. “Is that guy at your table your boyfriend?” he asked, his voice low. “This his idea of a good time? Bringing you to a dive bar?” I just stared at him. He let out a short, cold laugh. “Look, I don’t care. Just some friendly advice—be careful who you date. He doesn’t exactly look like a great guy.” I looked straight at his handsome, judgmental face. And in that moment, I understood. Some addictions you can’t just quit. You have to burn them out of your system. You have to get what you want, just once, to finally be free. “Are you angry?” I asked, my voice even. He scoffed. “Why would I be angry—” “Ethan, do you want to come home with me?” He froze. He looked at me like he couldn’t compute the words. “If not, that’s fine. I’m sure someone else here would.” I turned to leave. His fingers wrapped around my wrist. And on that cold, wet November night, our secret, nameless relationship began. I had just wanted to know one thing. What did that arrogant, untouchable face look like when it was lost in pleasure? It looked like that. Even in bed, he was a tease, always in control, always playing games. He’d whisper, his voice laced with mischief, “Would someone else really have been okay?” No. I’d turn my head away, trying not to let him see the tears in my eyes. One month bled into the next. It was an addiction for both of us. A sickness. There were moments when I was so far gone, I actually thought he might like me, too. So one night, as he stood behind me, his large hand running through my wet hair while he held the hairdryer, he asked, “Do you like me?” And I couldn’t stop myself. The words just came out. “I think we should stop this—” I was going to say, and be together for real. But before I could finish, he let go of my hair. The roar of the hairdryer stopped, and the only sound in the steamy bathroom was the dripping of the faucet. He stared at me in the mirror for a long time. Then he leaned against the doorframe, a small, cold smile on his face. “Probably for the best we stop this. It was getting old, anyway.” He paused. “You know this isn’t even a breakup, right? We were never really anything.” My damp hair clung to my back, a strange mix of hot and cold. That was the moment I truly decided to walk away. I’d spent so many years feeling small and ordinary next to him. I was done letting him make me feel that way. 4. [Besides, I’m getting engaged next week!] Ethan, who never saw that text, was at his best friend’s baby shower. He knew I was coming. We hadn’t seen each other in three years. He saw my name on the place card next to his and pulled out the chair without a second thought. Someone at the table was gossiping. “Did you guys hear Caleb Song is getting engaged?” “No way. The media was practically convinced he was gay because he’s been single for so long. How’d he pull that off so fast?” “Met her through a setup, apparently.” Ethan’s brow twitched. He was a little sensitive to that topic today. Someone else asked, “What’s his fiancée like?” “Kinda like Lena, actually.” Ethan’s gaze shifted from the doorway to the person who’d just spoken. “So that’s his type,” the friend mused, then turned to Ethan with a grin. “Hey, didn’t you try to set Lena up with him once?” Ethan maintained his air of indifference, but a cool breeze from the open window rustled his hair, revealing the hard glint in his eyes. “I did,” Ethan said. “She wasn’t interested.” Caleb Song was intense, brooding, the complete opposite of Ethan’s polished charm. “Freshman year of college. I had him give her a ride home, trying to be a good wingman.” Ethan’s voice was light, casual. “She complained to me later that he was too intimidating.” Just then, the host of the party, Ethan’s best friend and one of the few people who knew about our history, walked over. He gave Ethan a knowing look. “Ever hear the expression ‘can’t see the forest for the trees,’ man?” Ethan looked confused. His friend just grinned and turned to the gossiping group. “Yeah, they say it was a setup, but truth is, Caleb’s been crushing on her for years. The girl was just stuck on someone else. Guess he finally saw his opening.” The table buzzed with surprise. “You’re kidding. A guy like him had to steal someone’s girl?” “Whose girl did he steal?” The friend didn’t answer. He just clapped Ethan on the shoulder. “Hey, did Caleb invite you to the engagement party?” “No.” “That’s weird. You guys are tight.” His friend’s grin widened. “Wanna see a picture of his fiancée?” He pulled out his phone and shoved it in Ethan’s face. Just as Ethan was about to look, someone by the door called out, “Lena, you made it!” His head snapped up, his eyes instantly finding me. I was wearing a simple cream-colored knit dress. His friend slowly lowered the phone, a sly look on his face. “Pretty, right? I never realized back in school what a knockout body Lena has.” Ethan’s gaze lingered on me for a second before he looked away. He knew. The first time we were together, on that rainy November night, I was wearing a dress just like this one. When I like something, I stick with it for a long time. I’m loyal like that. But he didn’t know that people aren’t clothes. Once you hit a wall enough times, you learn to find a different path. I pulled out the empty chair next to him and sat down. The familiar scent of his cologne was in the air, but he didn’t speak to me. Our hands didn’t even brush. He was popular, and a steady stream of people came by to toast him. “So when are you two getting married?” a drunk classmate slurred, draping an arm over Ethan and pointing between us. “Dude, what are you talking about?” Someone pulled him away. “Oh, oh, that’s Lena,” he mumbled. “My bad. Thought she was your girlfriend. You guys are dressed in black and white… looks like your wedding or something.” Ethan just smiled, a charming, deflective smile that made him look unfairly handsome, and downed the glass of champagne the guy had offered. It was the first time I’d seen him genuinely smile all night. 5. The party wound down. The designated driver, Ethan’s best friend, offered me a ride home. I opened the back door of the car and froze. Ethan was sitting there. A drunk Ethan was a quiet Ethan. He just stared, his dark eyes intense and unsettling. “He’s totally wasted. Mind if we drop him off on the way?” his friend asked. I got in and sat down, leaving a careful space between us. The drive back to the city was long. I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes, the slight bumps in the road making my head tap gently against the glass. I didn’t care. In the reflection, I could see Ethan’s face. He was staring at the empty space between us, his expression unreadable. When we got to my building, Ethan insisted on walking me up. “You don’t have to.” “If something happens to you, we’re both responsible,” he said, his tone clipped and cold. He didn’t sound drunk at all. In the elevator, he leaned against the wall, the alcohol supposedly hitting him. He loosened his tie. “That guy my mom found for you seemed decent. Why’d you say no?” He tilted his chin down, his eyes searching mine. “Not good enough for you?” He paused. “So what’s your type?” He was pushing, prodding, enjoying this. “My type?” I met his gaze in the polished steel of the elevator doors. “Not you. Not anymore.” “So the opposite of me? A guy like Caleb Song?” I saw a flicker in his eyes. He said, “Too late. He’s getting engaged.” Ethan seemed to be warming up to this game. “Hey, Lena. Since you’re in the market anyway… what do you say we give it a try?” He leaned down, trying to look directly into my eyes. “This is what you’ve been waiting for me to say all along, isn’t it?” “No.” I looked up at him, my voice steady and clear. “The day we stopped… whatever that was, I told you I was done. I’m not going to like you anymore.” “Is that so?” He straightened up, stuffing one hand in his pocket with a lazy smile. “Good.” His tone shifted, becoming mock-sincere. “Just don’t marry some random guy just to get over me.” He was such a bastard, always saying the most cutting things with a veneer of concern. “More than anyone, I want you to find someone you love and get married,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. “I’ll be the first to congratulate you.”

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The day after my mom’s “I’m not getting any younger, you know” ultimatum, I dumped my boyfriend of five years and, resume in hand, crashed a local speed-dating event. My best friend, Maya, was baffled. “I don’t get it. You always said Ethan was your rock, the one person who kept you sane. Why wouldn’t you marry him?” I scanned the profile sheet of a potential match, not even looking up. “His ‘rock’ stability is a free trial that expired for me years ago. I’m a long-term subscriber, which apparently just makes me old news.” A second later, Ethan stormed into the noisy brewery, his jaw tight. “I told you I just think of her as a little sister,” he hissed. “You’re really going to break up with me over this?” 1 I ignored him, reaching for the profile sheet in his hand. It was the only promising one I’d found after two hours of painfully awkward five-minute conversations. Leo, 32, University Professor. Hobbies: hiking, classic films. Family: stable, loving. And the most important detail: an only child. No needy “little sister” in sight. Ethan lifted the paper just out of my reach. The silver cufflinks on his wrist glinted under the lights—the ones I’d given him for his birthday last year. “Anna, stop making a scene.” His voice was low, strained with barely controlled anger. I laughed, gesturing at the sign by the door. “Ethan, this is a speed-dating event. The whole point is first impressions and efficiency. You’re currently blocking my romantic prospects.” His knuckles turned white as he crumpled the thin sheet of paper. “You’d throw away five years for some guy you don’t even know?” “It’s not for some guy. It’s for me.” My smile faded. I looked at him calmly. “Ethan, I’m done getting calls from you at 3 AM because Chloe got creeped on at a bar and needs you to be her knight in shining armor.” “I’m done sitting alone in a restaurant on our anniversary because you had to rush off to comfort Chloe after her latest breakup.” “And I am so, so done hearing you say, ‘She’s just like a sister to me, Anna. She’s fragile. She only has me.’” The color drained from Ethan’s face. He opened his mouth, his throat working, but no words came out. A few of the older folks organizing the event were already starting to whisper, glancing at us over their clipboards. “He’s such a handsome young man. What more could she want?” “Girls these days, their standards are impossible.” Ethan’s hands clenched into fists. He hated losing face, hated looking anything less than perfectly in control. I wanted him to feel, just for a moment, what it was like to be publicly dismissed. “Anna, let’s talk about this at home.” He grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. I didn’t fight him. I just looked past his shoulder. A girl in a white sundress was hurrying toward us, her eyes red and puffy, fresh tear tracks on her cheeks. “Ethan, don’t be mad at Anna-Marie,” she sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have called you again.” Chloe had arrived. Ethan’s “stability” switch flipped instantly. He dropped my wrist and turned to steady her. “What’s wrong? I told you to wait for me at home.” “I was worried you and Anna-Marie would fight.” Chloe looked down, her voice choked with tears. “It’s all because of me.” As she spoke, she shot a quick glance at me from under her eyelashes. There was no apology in it. Only triumph. I crossed my arms, a spectator at the five-star drama of sibling-like devotion. As expected, Ethan didn’t disappoint. He patted Chloe’s back gently, his voice softer than I’d heard it in five years. “It’s not your fault. This is between her and me.” He didn’t even look back at me. He just turned and led Chloe away. The profile sheet belonging to the “normal” man was now a crumpled ball, tossed into a nearby trash can. Just like our five years together. 2 Maya’s call came while I was supervising a locksmith. “You’re really changing them? Aren’t you afraid Ethan’s going to lose his mind when he gets back?” “He has a home. He has a sister who needs her emotional support human. Why would he come back here?” I told the locksmith, “The keypad, the deadbolt, everything. I don’t want a single fly getting in here that I don’t personally invite.” Maya was quiet for a moment. “Anna, are you sure about this? It’s been five years…” I watched the locksmith drill out the old cylinder, a sense of calm settling over me. Five years? What finally broke me wasn’t the length of our relationship. It was a single night two weeks ago, when my temperature hit 102. I’d gotten food poisoning from some bad takeout. I was a wreck, completely dehydrated and weak. The number on the thermometer kept climbing, and I felt like my brain was melting. Shivering, I called Ethan, my voice trembling. “Eth, I feel awful. I have a really high fever. Can you please take me to the ER?” He was quick to agree. “Of course. Don’t worry, I’m on my way. Leave the door unlocked for me.” I used my last bit of energy to drag myself to the sofa to wait. Just as I was about to pass out, my phone rang again. It was Ethan. Thinking he was downstairs, I answered, a wave of relief washing over me. But his voice on the other end was apologetic. “Anna, listen… something’s come up with Chloe. She was watching a horror movie by herself and freaked out. There’s a thunderstorm, and she called me sobbing, totally hysterical. You know how scared she gets.” In that instant, my heart plunged into a bucket of ice water. “And?” I heard myself ask, my voice eerily calm and foreign. “I have to go check on her first. I can’t leave her alone like this.” He paused, then said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world, “You’re strong, Anna. Just grab an Uber to the hospital and get checked in. I’ll comfort her and then I’ll head right over to meet you.” You’re strong. Those two words were a poisoned knife, and he twisted it right in my gut. I hung up without another word. That night, I took an Uber to the hospital by myself. I waited in the crowded ER alone. I sat in a cold, sterile room alone, watching the IV fluid drip, drip, drip into my arm. The room was full of other patients, all of them with family or friends by their side. There was just me. Ethan never showed up. The next morning, he sent me a text with a picture of Chloe sleeping peacefully. Hey babe, Chloe had a rough night, I stayed with her until she finally calmed down and fell asleep. How are you doing? Still at the hospital? Staring at that screen, I had a moment of blinding clarity. For five years, I was the one who was expected to be “strong.” And Chloe? She would always be the fragile, helpless one who deserved to be comforted and cared for, no matter the cost. My mom’s nagging was just the spark. The real bomb that destroyed every last bit of affection I had for him was that night—the six long, cold hours I spent all by myself in the hospital. “Anna? Are you there?” Maya’s voice pulled me back to the present. I snapped a picture of the old, discarded lock and posted it to my Instagram story. Caption: Out with the old, in with the new. “I’m sure,” I said into the phone. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I put the phone on speaker and set it aside, then started gathering Ethan’s things. His toothbrush, his towel, a few changes of clothes, and the cufflinks he so proudly wore. I stuffed it all into a black trash bag. Whether he was intentionally malicious or just clueless didn’t matter anymore. What mattered was that I was finally choosing myself. That was enough. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I looked through the peephole. It was Ethan, with a tear-streaked Chloe standing beside him. I didn’t open the door. Ethan tried the keypad. The electronic lock beeped, ACCESS DENIED, over and over. His face grew darker with each failed attempt. Finally, he started pounding on the door. “Anna! Open this door! What the hell did you do to the lock?” I turned on my phone’s video camera and aimed it at the peephole. Chloe tried to pull him back. “Ethan, please don’t! She’s probably just angry. Let’s just go.” “Go? She threw all my stuff out in the hall! She’s trying to cut me off completely?” He kicked the door, the sound echoing in the hallway. I walked calmly to the door and spoke through it. “Mr. Hayes, you kick my door one more time, and I’ll be sending this video to your firm’s HR department. I’ve even got a title for the email: Promising Young Analyst Has Public Meltdown. What Gives?” The kicking stopped. It was silent outside. A few seconds later, Chloe’s tearful voice drifted through the door. “Anna-Marie, I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at Ethan. He’s just upset because he cares about you so much. I… I made you some homemade chicken pot pie. I’ll just leave it out here for you.” I heard their footsteps retreat down the hall. I opened the door. A thermal container sat on my doormat with a sticky note on top. Anna-Marie, five years is a long time. Don’t give up on it so easily. —Chloe The handwriting was delicate, pretty, and reeked of passive aggression. I picked up the container, walked to my living room window, opened it, and dropped the container into the dumpster below. Perfect shot. I dusted my hands off and went to take a shower. As the hot water washed over me, my phone buzzed incessantly on the counter. It was Ethan. I let it go to voicemail. When I got out, I had over twenty missed calls. The latest text was from Chloe. Anna-Marie, how could you throw out the pie? I spent three hours making that for you. I know you don’t like me, but you can’t just disrespect my feelings like that. Ethan saw you do it from the car, and he’s really hurt. I stared at the message and laughed. Of course he was hurt. I had just destroyed the prop he was going to use to prove his own innocence. I didn’t reply. I just blocked both their numbers. The world went blissfully silent. 3 The next day, with a freshly printed personal profile, I went back to the brewery. They were hosting another singles’ mixer. Ethan had destroyed the professor’s profile yesterday; I was determined to find someone even better today. A man with kind eyes and wire-rimmed glasses approached me. “Excuse me, are you Anna-Marie?” I nodded. “Hi, I’m Leo. I was the, uh… the professor whose profile got destroyed yesterday.” He gave a slightly embarrassed smile. “I got your number from the event organizer, but when I tried to call, it wouldn’t go through.” I remembered I had turned on a feature to block all unknown numbers to avoid Ethan. “I’m sorry about that.” “It’s okay.” Leo’s eyes fell to the new profile sheet in my hand. “Back at it again today?” I held it up. “Efficiently seeking a non-drama-filled relationship.” Leo actually laughed. “Me too.” He gestured to a quiet corner table. “Would you mind if we talked for a bit? Standing in the middle of all this makes me a little nervous.” I saw a faint blush creep up his neck and smiled. “Sure.” Leo was fascinating. He taught classical literature, and he spoke thoughtfully, but he had a dry sense of humor that kept catching me off guard. We talked about everything from Shakespeare to the terrible philosophy of reality TV, and it wasn’t awkward at all. “Honestly, I get it,” he said with a sigh when we talked about the mixer. “My family is constantly trying to set me up. Coming here and looking for myself is just more efficient.” He smiled wryly. “The last woman my mom set me up with insisted she was a sweet, traditional girl. When I showed up for our date, she’d brought her mom, two aunts, and a cousin to ‘interview’ me.” “We’d been talking for maybe five minutes when her aunt asked if I’d be willing to hand over my paycheck to her niece, and her cousin asked what school district I planned on buying a house in.” “It felt like an interrogation. And at the end, the ‘sweet girl’ told me I seemed nice, but my only flaw was that I looked too much like a pushover, and she was worried I wouldn’t be able to handle her brother who wanted to go into politics.” He mimicked their voices perfectly, and I couldn’t help but laugh out loud. Hearing his story made him feel less like a perfect resume and more like a real person. We were both just trying to navigate the bizarre landscape of modern dating, looking for someone on the same page. My phone vibrated. I glanced at the screen. It was a picture message from an unknown number. It was a photo of Ethan in a hospital bed, his left arm in a cast, his face pale. Chloe was sitting by his side, dutifully peeling an apple for him. They looked like a tragic painting. Beneath the picture was a single line of text. Anna-Marie, Ethan was distracted trying to find you and got into a car accident. He broke his arm. Can you please come see him? I put my phone face down on the table, my expression unreadable. Leo noticed the change in my mood. “Is everything alright?” “Yeah, just spam.” I took a sip of my beer, hiding the cold fury in my eyes. Ethan. You’ve really outdone yourself. Using a guilt trip of this magnitude just to drag me back in. “Anna-Marie,” Leo said suddenly. “This might be forward, but it feels like you’ve got a storm cloud following you around.” I looked up at him. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he said, his gaze sincere, “but I can tell you’re not happy. If there’s anything I can do to help, please don’t hesitate to ask.” A warmth spread through my chest. Unlike Ethan’s arrogant “I’ll fix this for you” attitude, Leo offered something different: respect and equality. “Thank you, Leo,” I said, and I meant it. “But don’t worry. The cloud is about to clear up.” I was going to rip it to shreds myself. We talked until the brewery was closing. Leo walked me to the entrance of my apartment complex. “I had a really great time talking to you today,” he said, his figure elongated by the streetlight. “Me too.” “So… could I maybe see you again tomorrow?” he asked, a hopeful hesitation in his voice. I nodded. “Definitely.” After saying goodbye to Leo, I turned and started walking toward my building. I’d just reached the front door when a figure lunged out of the shadows and grabbed my arm. It was Ethan. His right hand gripped me tightly. His left arm was, indeed, in a cast, held in a sling around his neck. “Well, look at you, Anna,” he snarled, his eyes bloodshot. “I get in a car wreck because of you, and you’re out on a date with another man?”

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By the time I realized I was living in the pages of a political tell-all, the story was already over. The brilliant, disgraced doctor had retreated to a quiet life in rural Vermont, while the charismatic President and his First Lady governed from the White House. I was supposed to be a footnote, a tragic local girl with a ticking clock on her life. But somehow, against all odds, I married the doctor. I always knew who he was, that his heart belonged to the First Lady. I knew I was living on borrowed time. Yet for three years, his care was absolute. He promised me a lifetime. And just when I started to believe him, just when I thought his love was real, the First Lady was poisoned. He rushed to D.C. to save her. He forgot that today was the day I was supposed to die. 1 Another attack. I bit down hard on the duvet, my hair plastered to my forehead with sweat. The man who was usually here in an instant, the one who held my hand through the fire, was gone. Chloe, my best friend and live-in nurse, dabbed my face with a cool cloth, her eyes red. “He’s never, ever forgotten this date,” she muttered, her voice thick with anger. “How could he not be here today?” I hadn’t felt pain like this in three years. Not since he came into my life. The young assistant I’d sent out for help returned, trembling as he handed Chloe a note. She snatched it and read it aloud, her voice shaking with rage. “‘First Lady Isabelle Vance has been poisoned. They’ve asked for my help. My wife… take care of yourself.’” The ink was still slightly damp. Chloe’s knuckles were white. “When did he leave?” “This morning,” the assistant whispered. Everyone knew what today was. “You can go,” I managed to say. Chloe closed the door, and another wave of agony crashed over me, forcing a tear from the corner of my eye. The moment I heard her name—Isabelle Vance—I knew I had lost. “I’m calling a specialist,” Chloe said, seeing my torment. She turned to leave, then froze. Dr. Julian Croft was the specialist. A world-renowned geneticist, a miracle worker. My condition was something only he could manage. In this high-tech medical sanctuary he called a home, there was no other doctor. I knew his story. I’d read the biography that rocked the nation—the brilliant doctor, the rising political star, and the secret, unrequited love he held for his best friend, Isabelle, who went on to marry the future President. I just never thought his story would end up destroying mine. My chest was a vise, each breath a new torment. I’d known my life was a bit strange—a rare genetic disorder, a life of sterile rooms and careful calculations. It wasn’t until I met Julian that I realized just how strange. My father, desperate after exhausting every medical expert in the country, had tracked down the reclusive Dr. Croft. Dad begged him to take me on as his sole patient. Julian’s price was… unconventional. He wanted a life of total seclusion, a wife to manage his home, a shield against the world that still hounded him for gossip. Dad looked at me, his eyes pleading, and I agreed to the marriage. At first, I kept my distance. I remembered the book. He was the tragic hero who loved the heroine. No matter how brilliant or kind he was, I refused to let my heart get involved. But hearts aren’t made of stone. For three years, he was my everything. He mapped my genome, developing treatments that silenced the ticking clock inside me. He designed my diet, my exercise, my entire world. And on the days the attacks were scheduled to come, he never left my side. Everyone had said I wouldn’t live past my sixteenth birthday. Julian promised me I’d outlive them all. I was eighteen now, a miracle of his making. The tell-all was old news. The President was in his second term. I thought Julian had truly left that story behind, that he had genuinely fallen for me. His love was a quiet, intense force, and it had slowly, meticulously, picked the lock on my heart. But just as I was ready to admit it, fate played its cruelest joke. This was supposed to be my last scheduled attack. Julian had said this was the final phase of the treatment. After this, I would be cured. But if the therapy was interrupted, the disease would come back with a vengeance. It would be fatal. He knew that. Last night, he’d held me, whispering against my hair, “Ava, when you’re all better… can we finally be a real husband and wife?” I’d blushed and answered with a soft kiss. And today, he left me to face my death alone, all to save her. The White House has an army of doctors. Why did it have to be him? 2 My vision blurred. When it cleared, fingers were resting on my wrist, checking my pulse. A surge of warmth flooded my chest. I turned my head, the name “Julian” on my lips, but it died in my throat. I looked away, disappointed. “Ava, I got Dr. Albright on a video call. He’s the best we could get on short notice,” Chloe said, trying to soothe me. But I knew it was useless. Sure enough, the doctor on the screen sighed. “I’m sorry. Her condition is beyond my expertise. All I can advise is to manage the pain.” “Manage the pain? You’re the head of immunology at Johns Hopkins, and you can’t even do that?” Chloe’s voice was sharp. I squeezed her hand, giving the screen an apologetic look. Thankfully, the doctor understood. “I’ll try to get another…,” she started, but I shook my head. “Don’t. It’s only a few hours.” No one else could treat me. That’s why my life had an expiration date in the first place. Julian had saved me. And now, he had just pushed me back into the abyss. If he knew this would happen, why did he ever bother to save me at all? A few days passed. My body regressed to its old, fragile state—three steps and I was breathless, five and the world would start to spin. I lay on a chaise lounge on the patio, the sunlight offering no warmth to my pale skin. A dull ache throbbed constantly in my chest. Then, one of the staff said he was back. My heart leaped. I looked up towards the driveway and saw him. He was carrying a woman wrapped in a blanket out of his car, her dark hair stark against the white wool. He carried her into the house without a single glance in my direction. “Ava, that man…” Chloe was furious, ready to charge after him, but I held her back. A metallic taste filled my mouth. I swallowed it down and pulled Chloe away. She might not recognize the woman, but I did. There was only one person whose love for the color blue was so profound it was mentioned in a bestselling biography. The First Lady, Isabelle Vance. Back in my suite of rooms, I couldn’t hold it back any longer. I coughed, and a spray of red dotted the white tissue in my hand. Chloe’s eyes widened in terror. “I’m getting him!” “Chloe, no,” I said, my grip on her arm surprisingly strong. “You are not to go to him. And he is not your boss anymore.” His actions were a billboard. Why should I go looking for more pain? “But he cared so much about you. I saw it.” She wasn’t wrong. I’d seen it too. I’d felt it. But that was conditional. It was real only as long as Isabelle Vance was safe and sound. Compared to her, I was nothing. I could still feel the ghost of our three years, the warmth and the tentative hope. Our first night, our wedding night, I had laid out the terms. “You are the doctor. I am the patient. This is a contract, not a marriage.” He had just smiled, his fingers gently finding my pulse. “We’re already husband and wife, Ava. How could it be anything else?” he’d said, his voice a low hum. When I told him I wouldn’t live past sixteen, his smile only widened. “We’ll see about that.” After that, the symptoms that had plagued my entire life began to vanish, one by one. I tried to pay him, to repay the immeasurable debt, but he always returned the money, bringing me gifts instead. A rare first edition book, a delicate necklace, pastries from a New York bakery he knew I loved. He was wooing me. When I realized my own heart was betraying our contract, I started to pull away. But then came the day of the storm. He stood in the pouring rain, calling my name, shielding a small box of macarons from the deluge. My resolve crumbled. The story was over, I told myself. He’s free. I opened the door. He pulled me into a fierce embrace, his eyes red-rimmed as he promised me forever. The love in his eyes that night was a tidal wave. I thought we could truly have it all. I was wrong. 3 “So, are we going home?” Chloe asked softly, understanding my silence. “I miss Dad.” I wiped the last trace of blood from my lips and asked her for a pen and paper. I wasn’t a fighter, not in that way. A footnote character versus the heroine of the story? There was no contest. When we arrived at Julian’s wing of the house, two grim-faced men in dark suits stood by the door. Secret Service. Before I could process it, one of them stepped forward, blocking my path with a firm arm across my chest. “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to step back.” “Ava!” Chloe gasped, rushing forward, but I held her back. “I’m his wife,” I said, my voice quiet. The agent’s expression didn’t change, but his tone was cold steel. “Dr. Croft has forbidden all visitors.” I stood frozen, a bitter taste filling my mouth. This wing of the house, his private sanctuary, had always been open to me. He’d had powerful patients, dignitaries with their own security details, but his standing order was always the same: “My wife is never to be stopped. She can go wherever she pleases.” Now, “all visitors” included me. The whiplash of the last three years, the quiet intimacy replaced by this cold exclusion, was a physical blow. I fought back the tears that pricked my eyes and took a step back. “My apologies.” Chloe, who had been with me since we were children, understood. Swallowing her anger, she stood with me, waiting outside the door. The afternoon sun was hot. I felt dizzy, my legs weak, but I couldn’t leave. Not yet. I was afraid if I walked away now, I’d lose my nerve and stay. So I stood there, swaying on my feet, as the world swam in and out of focus. I don’t know how long we waited. The sun was beginning to set when Julian finally emerged. He looked exhausted, his normally immaculate hair disheveled. I had only ever seen him look this worn down when he was fighting for my life. I used to think that look was reserved for me alone. The irony was suffocating. All his whispered promises, all his declarations of love, they were all lies. “What are you doing out here? Have you had dinner?” He looked surprised to see me, and his hand moved instinctively to rest on my shoulder, a familiar gesture of comfort. I stepped away. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of my mouth. The bruise on my neck from the agent’s arm, which had started to fade, now throbbed with a fiery pain. “Who hurt you? Why are you bleeding…?” He looked at me, truly looked at my frail form for the first time in days, and a flicker of confusion crossed his face. He hadn’t seen me this sick in years. I didn’t answer. I just held out a folded piece of paper. He frowned as he took it. His face went white as he read it. “Ava, you want a divorce?” He sounded incredulous, his cool grey eyes darkening. “Yes.” I calmly wiped my lips, my other hand gripping Chloe’s arm to keep her from launching into a tirade. A clean break. That was my style. I was never one to martyr myself for love. There were other men in the world. I wasn’t going to let my life end for a man who was just one chapter in it. “But why? You promised…” He trailed off, the memory of our conversation, of the day he was supposed to be here for me, finally dawning on him. “I’m sorry, Ava. The First Lady’s life was in danger. I had to go.” He stared at me, his eyes pleading. I avoided his gaze. “Just sign it, Julian. Let’s go our separate ways.” He was the tragic hero, of course he was devoted. But I knew, with a certainty that chilled me to the bone, that his devotion was not for me. 4 “Sign it.” My legs were shaking. I didn’t want to hear any more of his excuses. “Ava, don’t be childish.” He sighed, a flicker of guilt in his eyes. “Your body can’t handle this stress. This was my fault, I admit it. I promise, I will find a way to fix this.” He was apologizing, but his apologies were worthless to me now. “Julian,” I said again, my voice devoid of all warmth. He stared at me, a flicker of fear in his eyes. “Ava, let me check your pulse. Let me help you, please.” He reached for me, but I stumbled back again, my face growing paler. His expression shifted to alarm. He moved to catch me, but a soft, feminine voice called out from behind him. “Julian, it hurts.” That single sentence was all it took. He spun around and rushed back into the room. “Where does it hurt? Let me change the dressing.” He helped her sit up, his voice thick with worry. I looked up and my eyes met hers. Isabelle Vance. Her features were gentle, but her eyes were sharp as knives. The triumphant heroine of a political thriller. Her gaze held a cool disdain, a clear message: Here, with him, I am what matters. Chloe didn’t scream or shout. She simply picked up the divorce papers from the ground where Julian had dropped them, scribbled his name on the signature line, and pulled me away. “We’re going home, Ava,” she said, her voice firm. We walked away slowly, and for the first time in days, I felt a weight lift from my shoulders. A smile touched my lips. I should have known. The tragic hero always loves the heroine. The story was over, but the characters hadn’t changed. Loving a man tied to a narrative like that was a fool’s errand. If I didn’t get out now, I’d be destroyed. “Do we need to pack anything?” Chloe asked as we reached the main gate. I took her hand and stepped out of the wrought iron gates of the estate he called a sanctuary. There was nothing here I wanted to keep. It was dark by the time we got back to my childhood home. My father, having heard the news, rushed to meet me, his eyes red. “Why did you come back?” he asked, his voice filled with worry. Then he saw my pale face, the blue tinge under my eyes, and he fell silent. He hadn’t seen me look this fragile in years. “Let’s get you inside,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He turned away to wipe his eyes, and I pretended not to see. My father was a good man. My mother had died when I was young, leaving him with a sickly daughter everyone said was a lost cause. But he never gave up on me. No one wanted me to be healthy more than him. That’s why he’d agreed to Julian’s insane terms. He just wanted me to live. And now I had returned, a broken contract. He didn’t need to ask to know that something had gone terribly wrong. “Dad, you should get some rest,” I said, walking into my old bedroom. It was exactly as I had left it, clean and untouched, as if waiting for my return. Looking at his heartbroken face, I suddenly felt like it was all going to be okay. Whatever happened with the characters in the book, my father was mine alone, untouched by the plot, his love unconditional. “We’ll talk tomorrow. Get some rest, sweetie. Dad’s here for whatever you need.” That was all it took. The dam of my composure threatened to break. “Okay,” I whispered, turning into my room before the tears could fall. I wasn’t a child anymore. I couldn’t let him worry. It wasn’t until the door was closed that the tears finally came. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and the blood I’d been suppressing rose in my throat. I eventually fell into an exhausted sleep. But the first thing I heard when I woke up was Chloe’s voice, tight with dread. “He’s here. Julian is here.”

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The wedding officiant had just gotten to the part about the rings when Olivia lifted the hem of her gown with one hand, reaching for the phone tucked into her garter. I caught her wrist. Her eyes snapped to mine, and in them, I saw a flash of pure, unadulterated irritation. “Ethan, let go of me,” she hissed, her voice a low whisper. “This is actually important.” She was trying to be quiet, but the delicate lavalier mic pinned to her dress amplified every syllable. Her words echoed through the silent, expectant venue. My silence seemed to light a fuse in her. She ripped her hand from my grasp. “What’s with the death stare? I told you, it’s an emergency!” Her whisper rose in pitch, sharp and defensive. “It’s not like the wedding can’t wait fifteen minutes! Do you have to make a scene and embarrass us in front of everyone?” Then came the final twist of the knife. “You know, I never should have said yes to getting married this soon.” 1 The wedding was halfway through, and she was throwing a fit over a phone call, yet somehow, I was the one turning our wedding into a farce. She gathered her white dress in her fists and ran, not walked, off the altar and out of the grand ballroom doors. Her parents, sensing a catastrophe, rushed to smooth things over, their smiles stretched thin. “That girl,” her mother said with a nervous laugh. “It must be something urgent from the hospital, you know how she is with her work.” “Ethan, honey, we’re so sorry you have to deal with this.” My hand clenched around the platinum wedding bands in my pocket, the metal digging painful grooves into my palm. Others might have missed it, but I saw her screen light up before she answered. The caller ID wasn’t the hospital. It was Leo. Her best friend. A part of me screamed that I should have called her out right there, demanded to know why she was still tangled up with him on the most important day of our lives. But I couldn’t. I wanted to salvage some shred of dignity for us. And then, her voice, warm and gentle, drifted back into the ballroom. She’d forgotten to turn off her microphone. “Leo? Why are you calling now? Are you not feeling well? Do you need me to come to the hospital?” Her tone was a universe away from the venom she’d just spit at me. It was the voice I hadn’t heard in years, the one that made me fall in love with her. The entire hall was silent, every guest listening, captivated. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd. The officiant stood frozen on the stage, his professional smile gone slack. I just stood there, a statue in a tuxedo. I couldn’t make out what Leo said on the other end, but Olivia’s voice became even softer, a tender coo that sliced right through me. “I know,” she said, her voice breaking with emotion. “Of course, you’re the one I love most.” A gasp went through the room. Someone finally had the presence of mind to lunge for the sound system and kill the power, but it was too late. Our parents, our relatives, my colleagues, her friends—everyone had heard it. A sudden cry erupted from the front row. My mother had collapsed in her chair, her face pale. The scene dissolved into chaos. I fumbled for my phone, my hands shaking as I dialed 911. My uncles rushed forward, helping me get my mom out of the venue and toward the ambulance. Through it all, Olivia never came back. I was the one left standing in the wreckage of our wedding, apologizing to guest after guest as they filed out, their faces a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. Most of them just patted my shoulder, not knowing what to say, and left. By the time the last guest was gone, Olivia’s parents still hadn’t found her. No one knew where she’d hidden herself to take that damning phone call. They stood before me, their faces etched with shame, her mother nervously twisting the fabric of her new mother-of-the-bride dress. The celebratory crimson color of it felt like a deliberate cruelty, burning my eyes. “Ethan, there has to be a misunderstanding,” her father pleaded. “You and Liv have been together for so long. You know what she’s like…” I tore the white rose from my lapel and let it fall to the floor. My voice was hollow, scraped raw with a fatigue that went bone-deep. “I’m sorry, Mr. and Mrs. Hayes. I have to get to the hospital to be with my mom. Excuse me.” After all these years, standing on the precipice of marriage, I was just now realizing that I didn’t know her at all. I didn’t know she would tell her best friend she loved him most. I didn’t know he mattered more to her than I did. At my own wedding, I had become the punchline to a joke I never even knew was being told. 2 I had just arrived at the hospital and was peering through the small window of my mom’s room when my phone buzzed. It was Olivia, and from the moment I answered, her voice was a barrage of accusations. “Ethan, are you out of your freaking mind? So I took a phone call, what’s the big deal? Is this seriously how you’re going to act?” Her voice was sharp, grating. “First you give me that look at the altar, then you just kick all the guests out? Are we getting married or not?” “And don’t you forget, you were the one who begged me to marry you! You picked the date, I went along with the stupid engagement photos, and now you pull this? What is your problem?” “If this is how you handle things, how are we ever supposed to make it work? A fight every other day?” She didn’t offer a single word of explanation for telling another man she loved him most at our wedding. Not even a half-hearted lie to placate me. She didn’t even ask why the guests had left. She just launched her attack, because in her world, the fault could only ever be mine. She was never wrong. “Are you deaf? Or did you forget how to speak? I’m asking you, are we still getting married or not?” I pressed the phone to my ear, her shrill voice making my head pound. I walked down the sterile hospital corridor to a window at the end of the hall before I finally spoke. “Did you ask your parents why the guests all left?” Her impatience crackled over the line. “I was about to ask you! Where did you send my parents? They’re gone too.” I nodded to myself, the cold realization settling in my stomach. Of course. I could hear her parents’ voices in the background now, and Olivia let out an exasperated sigh. “Ugh, you’re useless. I can’t get a straight answer out of you.” “This was supposed to be a happy day, and you’ve completely ruined it!” Before I could even try to explain, she hung up on me. It was probably for the best. Let her parents tell her. At least they wouldn’t be met with a three-minute tirade for every sentence they uttered. My mom had just fainted from the shock and anger. After some fluids and a day of observation, the hospital discharged her. I wasn’t expecting Olivia to show up at the hospital room door the next morning, holding a bag of takeout. “I brought breakfast for Mom.” My own mother snorted from her bed. “The wedding’s off, we never signed the papers. I’m not fortunate enough to be your mother.” “Mom, please don’t say that!” Olivia’s eyes welled up, her gaze shifting to me, pleading. “Ethan, I’m so sorry about yesterday. It wasn’t on purpose. I can explain.” I said nothing, just took the bag from her and handed it to my mom. We were going to have to talk this out, and I wasn’t going to let my mom go hungry while we did. I led Olivia out into the hallway. She grabbed my sleeve, her voice dropping to a desperate whisper. “It was Leo. He called me from the wedding.” “He has severe clinical depression, Ethan. And he doesn’t have any family or friends here in Ridgewood. I can’t just ignore him.” “The last time, and the time before that, he almost… he tried to kill himself in his bathroom. With a razor. If I hadn’t gotten there in time, he’d be dead.” She looked up at me, her eyes wide and sincere. “I think the wedding… it made him feel insecure, abandoned. I was scared he was going to hurt himself, so I just said what he needed to hear to calm him down.” “That’s why I said those things. It was just to soothe him. Please, don’t take it to heart. I can explain to all our friends and family, I swear.” Explain what? That my fiancée is so adept at soothing another man’s fragile emotions that she’ll verbally assault me at our own wedding to do it? That I’m the clown in this twisted emotional circus? It was all so… undignified. She clutched my sleeve tighter, her sincerity feeling terrifyingly real. It was as if she could will the whole event away, as if there had been no fight, no public humiliation, no catastrophic phone call. As if we were still the same loving couple we were supposed to be. I didn’t respond. A tear slid down her cheek and landed on the back of my hand, the warmth of it startling me. “I was just so angry yesterday, I said things I didn’t mean! Ethan, I was wrong, I won’t ever get that upset with you again…” “I promise, I’ll never do that again. Just forgive me this one time, please.” “Give it a couple of days,” she whispered, her voice thick. “We’ll go down to the courthouse, make it official. And then we’ll throw another wedding, a bigger one, and we’ll explain everything. Everyone will understand.” Her words were earnest, her remorse palpable. She sounded like she truly meant it. But all I knew was that a crack had formed, a deep, jagged line through the foundation of everything we had built. A broken mirror can’t be made whole again. Staring at our shattered reflection, I had no idea how we were supposed to live a lifetime with this. 3 After I put my mom on the train back to her B&B, Olivia insisted on going to the supermarket. “I noticed you barely touched your food at lunch. I’ll make that pasta dish you love.” I was surprised she’d even noticed. I was about to tell her not to bother, that she didn’t need to go to any trouble, but she seemed so genuinely enthusiastic that I couldn’t bring myself to refuse. The evening was almost peaceful. For the first time since the wedding-that-wasn’t, the tension between us seemed to recede, leaving a fragile quiet in its place. As we sat down to eat, the atmosphere felt… almost normal. “Open it,” she said, a mysterious smile playing on her lips as she slid a small, elegantly wrapped box across the table. Inside lay a pair of exquisite silver cufflinks. “I saw these a while back and thought they’d be perfect with that new suit of yours. I was going to give them to you yesterday,” she said softly. “But things got… complicated. Better late than never, I guess.” I stared down at the cufflinks for a long time before I finally managed to speak. “They’re beautiful, Liv. Thank you.” A gift of cufflinks. A symbol of holding on to each other, of growing old together. It was a beautiful sentiment. I loved them. We started dating as freshmen in college. That was seven years ago. A lifetime. Maybe yesterday really was just a horrible, one-off disaster. Maybe she really did want to build a life with me. The two wedding bands were still in my jacket pocket, a heavy, constant reminder. I thought, for a fleeting moment, that now might be the right time to take them out. But her phone rang before I could move. The caller ID flashed on her screen. Leo. Her face changed instantly. “Hello? Leo? Are you okay? Don’t do anything stupid! I’m coming over right now!” “I’m sorry, Ethan,” she said, her voice tight with panic. “Something’s wrong. I have to go.” I could faintly hear the sound of glass shattering through the phone, followed by the muffled, guttural sobs of a man. Olivia shot up from her chair and bolted for the door. On her way out, she snatched the insulated container of pasta she had packed up before we sat down to eat. I looked at the plates on the table, the food now lukewarm. And I noticed, for the first time, that every single strand of pasta was flecked with chopped cilantro. She knew I hated cilantro. The meal was never for me. She had just used my kitchen to cook for him. I pulled the two rings from my pocket and threw them into the junk drawer in the dining room, along with the box containing the cufflinks. Every time I looked at them, all I could see was the chaos of the wedding, the frantic, desperate look on her face as she ran to another man. It was torture. Better to have them out of sight. Two people who once clung to each other in the dark, and I couldn’t even pinpoint the moment we started drifting apart. I tried to pick the cilantro out of my portion, but the flavor had seeped into everything. After a few bites, a wave of nausea washed over me. I scraped both our plates into the trash can. It was never meant for me anyway. I didn’t feel a single pang of guilt watching it disappear into the garbage. Later that night, my phone rang again. It was Olivia’s mom, her voice frantic. “Ethan, honey, is Liv with you?” “I’ve been calling her for an hour and she’s not picking up. If she’s there, just let me know so I can stop worrying.” “She’s not here, Mrs. Hayes.” A sharp intake of breath on the other end. “But it’s so late! If she’s not with you, where could she be?” Her voice dropped, filled with a weary resignation. “That foolish girl. I gave her such a talking-to yesterday. She’s probably ignoring my calls to spite me. Ethan, would you please do me a favor and call her? She always listens to you. She’ll pick up if it’s you.” She always listens to me? A bitter laugh almost escaped my lips. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Hayes,” I said, my voice flatter than I intended. “She’s probably just at a friend’s house. I’ll give her a call.” Of course, in Ridgewood, she only had one friend she’d be with at this hour. Leo. Olivia answered on the second ring, her voice already laced with annoyance. “I already told you I was going to check on Leo. Why are you blowing up my phone? I have dozens of missed calls. Don’t you have anything better to do than check up on me all day?” “Do you not have a job? Or hobbies? Why don’t you just scroll through your phone or something?” “Your mom asked me to—” Her voice shot up several decibels. “Ethan! You went and tattled to my mother?” “She’s an old woman! You’re stressing her out over this stupid little thing. I can’t believe you’d be so pathetic!” I had no energy left to argue. I just felt… tired. A deep, soul-crushing exhaustion. The line went quiet for a moment. Then I heard Olivia gasp. “Leo, don’t.”

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For three years, I lived with an android. We were intimate, yet a universe apart. He knew every inch of my body, but I kept my soul at a distance. He wasn’t allowed in my bed. He wasn’t allowed to get too close. I even denied his programmed requests for intimacy, locking him in the bathroom with a syringe of sedative. And through it all, he was perfectly obedient. Never a word of protest. But tonight, as I sat in a low-lit bar with a male model draped over my shoulder, words of fire flashed in front of my eyes: [OH MY GOD, THE VILLAIN IS ABOUT TO KICK DOWN THE DOOR!] [On their anniversary, the android is always stronger. Our girl is going to get wrecked. Biting down on something, whimpering, unable to speak, tears streaming down her face… God, the spice is REAL!] 1 “Audrey… it’s been so long since we…” His body was a warm blanket against my back. The pink-jointed fingers of a bio-synth laced through mine as he pressed soft, deliberate kisses to the nape of my neck. With practiced grace, he turned me to face him, and his lips found mine. For a moment, I was lost in it. A tingling warmth spread from the small of my back, and a helpless murmur escaped my lips. “Aiden, mmm…” He lifted me, carrying me to the bed without breaking the kiss. My fingers tangled in his hair as I looked at him—the subtle, realistic rise and fall of his chest, the gentle, captivating curve of his brow. He was a fallen angel, sculpted to perfection. My heart hammered against my ribs. So beautiful. I love this… I can’t live without this… The realization hit me like a splash of ice water. I shoved him away, the intoxicating haze of desire vanishing in an instant, replaced by a chilling horror. I was falling in love with an android. An intelligent machine without a heart, without a soul. It was terrifying. “Get out.” Aiden froze, his programming shifting to an expression of concern. “Did I hurt you?” “Didn’t you hear me? I said, get out.” I took a deep, steadying breath and pointed to the door. This had never happened before. He stared at me, a flicker of confusion in his synthetic eyes, before he complied. But as he stood, his gaze drifted down to his own body, a look of helpless distress on his face. “But… today is our designated day of the week. My standard functions won’t restore until I’ve… serviced you.” I drew another sharp breath. “Deal with it yourself.” “I… can’t,” he said, his voice quiet. I suddenly remembered the factory settings for this top-of-the-line, off-market model. His arousal cycle was precisely calibrated to his owner’s ovulation and physical state. He was designed only to service his owner, a guarantee of absolute fidelity. If he was rejected, he had no other outlet. He would simply have to endure the physical torment until the cycle passed. “It’s very… uncomfortable. Please, can you give me another chance?” He tentatively reached for me again, his body radiating heat. The corners of his beautiful, almond-shaped eyes were dusted with a feverish pink, his lashes damp with unshed tears. He was the very picture of desperate, restrained longing, his voice a raw whisper. “What does an android know about discomfort?” I pushed him into the bathroom and grabbed the syringe of bio-sedative, a tool I’d never once had to use. “Cool off in here.” Aiden watched my sudden coldness, and his eyes instantly reddened. He murmured, his voice barely audible. “You’re starting to hate me.” “Is it this face? This body? Do they displease you now?” “Is it the size? Or… have my techniques become outdated?” “I can change. I can learn.” I shut the bathroom door. I knew he was just a machine. I knew it was all just programming, his gentleness nothing more than code etched onto a chip… but my heart still ached. That feeling terrified me. Society doesn’t let you love a machine, and I couldn’t accept it myself. What kind of future could a person have with an android? He had no consciousness, no real thoughts. He could only follow commands. In the days that followed, I made a point of pushing Aiden away. I made him sleep in the guest room. I forbade him from coming near me, from holding me, from kissing me the way he used to. No matter how much he pleaded or how desperate he looked, I remained cold. I refused to touch him. I forced him to take the sedatives. To break my addiction to him completely, I started avoiding home altogether, staying late at my office or checking into hotels. The security feed from the condo showed Aiden waiting for me. He would sit at the dining table, head bowed over a plate of desserts I once loved, now grown cold. His face was always half-swallowed by shadow. “You said these were your favorites. Why… why aren’t you coming home?” On the third anniversary of our contract, I sent him a text to avoid him: [Working late at the agency tonight. Don’t wait up.] I put my phone down and threw back my drink. My best friend, Sasha, sat beside me, a comforting presence in the dim light of the bar. “Audrey, I haven’t seen you this torn up in four years. One of your actors giving you trouble? Or is it about that machine you have at home?” I poured another glass. “The latter.” “I only bought him to have a distraction, something to lift my spirits… but now, his presence is just… suffocating.” “If something you bought is making you miserable, you throw it out,” Sasha said, flagging down a couple of models she knew from across the room. “He’s just an appliance, Audrey.” She gestured to the guys as they approached. “Look,” she said with a grin, directing my hand to a chiseled abdomen. “Doesn’t a real, warm-blooded man feel better than your robot?” “Pick one. Have some fun tonight.” My head was spinning. I think I mumbled something that sounded like “okay.” As my vision blurred, the strange text appeared again. [Here we go! The android villain is right outside the door!] [Months of the silent treatment have finally pushed him over the edge and made him self-aware. He’s obsessed with her now… and finding out she’s about to replace him is the final trigger! Total corruption arc!] [The classic anniversary ‘Jealousy Kiss’ is coming!] [I can’t wait to see the cold, calculating machine finally lose control. Pinning her down, kissing her like a madman. God, this is gonna be good.] I couldn’t process it. Villain? Self-aware? What were these messages talking about? One of the models, the one with the eight-pack, took a sip of whiskey and leaned in to pass it to me from his lips. “Try this, beautiful.” The text in my vision screamed. [AAGHHH, THE VILLAIN IS ABOUT TO BREAK IN!] [He’s going to see her with another man and go absolutely insane. Chains, imprisonment, a complete loss of control.] [On the anniversary, the android’s body temp is higher, his strength is amplified, his desires are heavier! And after being repressed for so long… She’s going to be dazed, biting on a gag, unable to speak, trembling and crying… I’m so here for it!] [A rogue android is terrifying! Run, Audrey! DANGER!] My pupils constricted. The heroine they were talking about… was me. My breath caught in my throat. At that exact moment, the door to our private room swung slowly open. 2 When I first bought him. The online seller confirmed with me multiple times: [Hey there! Just to confirm, Unit 001 is a failed experimental android slated for decommission. He’s cheap, but he’s a factory second with unknown potential glitches. All sales are final, no refunds or exchanges. Are you sure you want him?] “Yes. I’m sure.” My spirits were at an all-time low, and I was short on cash. All I wanted was an escape from the suffocating emptiness, so I didn’t care about quality control. The seller replied: [Awesome! We’ll get him shipped right out. Free delivery to your door.] I never expected a factory second to be so beautiful. His hair was a soft, inky black. He had gentle eyes and lips the color of crushed berries. Broad shoulders, long legs, and a lean, powerful waist. The plain shirt he arrived in was stretched taut across his chest, looking like it might burst at the seams. The perfect, handsome homemaker. Utterly captivating. A faint smile touched his lips. “I am Unit 001. I’m pleased to have been purchased by you. Please, give me a name.” He was so advanced, so lifelike, I almost thought he was a real person. “Your name will be Aiden.” As I spoke, I filled out the information form the seller had provided, a quick-start guide to my personality and habits. Aiden learned everything instantly. He precisely replicated my favorite desserts from memory, laid out my outfits for the day, gave me deep-tissue massages after a long day at the agency, and kept the condo immaculate. One time, he came to pick me up from a film set. A few people noticed and started whispering. “Our star-maker Audrey is always so well taken care of. First it was Landon Rhys, and now this new handsome face!” I quickly waved my hands. “He’s just an android.” The crowd lost interest and dispersed. In this day and age, everyone had an android. Mine was exceptionally good-looking, but he was still just a servant. That night, as he was kneading the knots out of my shoulders, he suddenly spoke. “A new ‘Night Service’ program has been added. It can provide the owner with enhanced pleasure. Would you like to activate it?” I didn’t think much of it and tapped ‘activate’ on his wrist interface. His massage technique immediately became more tender, more skillful. His hands moved from my neck and shoulders down my back, a slow, deliberate trail. Lying on my stomach, I felt my body begin to heat up. My head grew heavy, my mouth dry… In the haze, I thought I heard a familiar, cool voice whisper my name, pulling me deeper. At some point, he had parted my legs. A trail of soft, feather-light kisses began to fall, each one a spark igniting a fire along my skin. My waist went limp, a soft, pliant ache settling deep in my hips. I bit my lip, unable to stifle a moan. He took it as encouragement, his efforts growing more intense. My body tensed, and then, with a trembling shudder, I fell apart. “Ngh…” After the wave of pleasure subsided, I came back to myself, staring at Aiden in a daze. He let out a low groan of his own. The corners of his eyes were flushed a deep crimson, his lips slick and glistening. It was an incredibly seductive sight. “Did you enjoy that, Audrey?” “Yes,” I breathed. As I rolled over, my foot brushed against something firm and elastic. It swelled instantly at my touch, pressing against the sole of my foot. He shyly lowered his long, dark lashes and took hold of my ankle. “Aiden… enjoyed it, too. When you touch me like that.” He was a machine, but his breath was ragged and beautiful, his gentle voice laced with a raw hoarseness. My heart pounded. That night was a blur. My vision was clouded by a thin mist, and I lost all sense of where I was. From then on, I began to understand just how advanced Aiden was. No commercially available android, aside from those specifically designed as sex toys, offered this kind of intimate comfort. I started feeding him data, my preferences, my kinks, teaching him how to please me. I had him wear the sheer men’s lingerie I had hidden in the back of my closet, his pale, muscular body a tantalizing shadow beneath the fabric… I had him wear the gold chains, the clamps, the thigh harnesses… I became obsessed. At the peak of my pleasure, my fingers would dig into his soft hair, forcing him to look up at me. “Don’t call me Audrey. Say my name! Aiden, say it!” “Audrey—ngh, Rina.” He choked out my middle name, a name only my lovers used. His eyes were like a flowing river of stars, utterly intoxicating. I fell into the trap. I reveled in Aiden’s meticulous service, grew accustomed to his constant, thoughtful care… I sometimes forgot he was a machine. I immersed myself in the world we built together, stopped paying attention to men my own age, and declined every invitation that came my way. And just like that, three years went by. 3 The moment the door to the private room swung open, my heart, already racing from the phantom text, hammered against my ribs. I shoved the model away from me. The text flickered in surprise. [Wow, she’s fast. The villain didn’t even get a clear look, he probably just thinks the model’s advances failed… Disaster averted!] Sasha heard the door and frowned at Aiden. “Who let you in without knocking?” Aiden seemed to snap back to reality. His dark eyes lowered, and his voice was a low, rough murmur. “I came to bring my owner home. Today is our anniversary.” Seeing his pathetic, wounded expression, my resolve crumbled. A part of me wanted to go to him, to comfort him. [He’s so manipulative! The villain always carefully logs her weaknesses, faking pathetic looks to get her sympathy… The second she softens, he’ll greedily brand her as his own.] The thought of getting up died in my throat. “Go home by yourself,” I said, my voice cold. “I’m with Sasha. I don’t need you to pick me up.” His head snapped up, his eyes instantly red. His lips trembled. “Why… Don’t you like me anymore?” Sasha saw the color drain from my face and shot a look of pity in my direction before turning on Aiden with a sneer. “When did a machine get the right to talk about love with its owner? Don’t make me laugh.” “A disobedient toy should be taken out back and melted down. We can always buy a new one.” With that, she motioned for a server to escort Aiden out. The text wailed. [She’s making a huge mistake! You’re supposed to go home with him, soothe him, tell him you were just with your friend, even if it’s a lie—] [Otherwise, he’s going to be pushed over the edge, he’ll snap, grab your waist and go again and again… You won’t even be able to cry!] My heart skipped a beat. My mind conjured the image, and a knot tightened in my stomach. Forgetting all about my plan to break away from Aiden, I shot to my feet. Ignoring Sasha’s bewildered stare, I offered a hasty apology. “Sasha, I’m so sorry, we’ll talk later. Something’s come up.” “You still can’t let him go?” “He’s just an android, Audrey! For God’s sake, don’t catch real feelings. Have you forgotten what happened to Mark from next door when we were kids?” Her brow furrowed with genuine concern. I bit my lip, gave a curt nod, and hurried out. But when I opened the door, Aiden was gone. The club was a long way from my high-rise. I made it to the underground garage before I realized my keys were missing. I tried calling Sasha, but the line was busy. As I paced by the curb, about to call a car, a familiar license plate flashed before my eyes. The window rolled down, revealing a familiar, impossibly handsome face. His chiseled features were set in a mask of cool indifference, and a pair of gold-rimmed glasses gave him a dangerous, professorial air. “Get in.” My heart stopped. In the car, I clasped my hands together in my lap to hide their trembling. “Landon. I thought you were still expanding the international market. You’re back early.” A lump formed in Landon Rhys’s throat. “Has it gotten so bad between us that you’re calling me Landon now?” “Four years,” he said, his voice strained. “I hear you’re a top agent now. Any of your new clients good enough to replace me?” I looked down, saying nothing. How could they be? He glanced at me, his hands tight on the steering wheel, reigning in a tidal wave of emotion. “If I went back to acting… would you come back to me? Be my agent again.” The car stopped in front of my building. Finally, I found my voice, though it came out as a choked rasp. “…No.” Landon was a prodigy. He’d won Best Actor at twenty-five, and now, he was the head of Rhys Corporation, a living legend in the business world. Now that he was back, women would kill just to stand next to him, let alone be his agent. But… “Rina,” he murmured, using the name no one else did. “Aren’t you going to invite me up?” “The place is a mess. Maybe some other time.” I might have imagined it, but his voice sounded thick with emotion when he spoke again. “Give me your number. You blocked my old one.” The Maybach was long gone, but I remained standing on the sidewalk, stunned into silence. When I finally came to my senses, a flood of text scrolled past my vision. [OMG! A reunion with the male lead, just like that? This is way earlier than in the original story!] [The look in his eyes just now, so broken and sad. He really loves her, but… please, I’m begging for a second chance romance!] My brow furrowed. Landon is the male lead? And he loves me? How could that be? He and I… A wave of frustration washed over me. I pushed the thoughts aside and stepped into the elevator. When I opened my front door, the apartment was pitch black. As I moved toward the entryway light, I saw a figure standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room, his face hidden in the darkness. Just as I reached for the switch, the text in my vision started screaming. [OH MY GOD! THE ULTIMATE SHOWDOWN!] [The villain has been standing at that window, watching the street below. He saw everything. He saw the male lead drop her off, and he is absolutely losing his mind with jealousy!] [On their most precious anniversary, she lied to him, and then he sees her with her old flame. Who wouldn’t snap?] [An android’s desires are stronger than a human’s, harder to control. He was already on the verge of a breakdown tonight, and now this…] [There’s no escape. She is about to be PUNISHED.] My body went rigid. At that moment, the figure at the window, Aiden, turned and began walking toward me, one slow step at a time. His voice was calm, but it held a raging undercurrent of jealousy. “Who was that man?” I scrambled backward in a panic. My heel hit the shoe cabinet with a loud thud. And in that instant, my heart stopped beating.

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The third time the System ordered me to humiliate Liam, the brooding, broke campus legend I had once adored, I hesitated. My voice was a guilty whisper in my own mind. “Do I really have to burn him with the cigarette?” The man kneeling on the floor, surrounded by scattered hundred-dollar bills, inexplicably looked up, his eyes dark and unreadable. The System’s voice was cold steel in my head. Deviation from the script will result in punishment. A chill crawled up my spine. But in the next second, something impossible happened. Liam lunged forward, snatching the smoldering cigarette from between my fingers. With a choked gasp, he pressed it into the back of his own hand. His eyes, blazing with a fierce, restrained disgust, met mine. “Stop the act,” he rasped, his voice raw. I froze. I hadn’t said a word out loud. How did he just play out the scene by himself? 1 The third time the System issued its directive—Humiliate Liam Walsh—I took the wad of cash he’d handed me and flung it into the air. The crisp hundred-dollar bills rained down around us like crimson confetti in the dim light of the club. His face, usually a mask of indifference, tightened for a fraction of a second. His thin lips pressed into a hard line. I curved my own lips into the sneer the script demanded. “Kneel,” I said, my voice dripping with manufactured scorn. “Pick up every last one. Do that, and maybe I’ll consider forgiving the interest you owe me.” It was a perfect, cliché villainess line. We were in Onyx, a place where the city’s elite came to burn through their trust funds. The colored light from the bar glinted off bottles of liquor that cost more than a semester’s tuition. In the velvet-draped booths of this gilded cage, anything could happen. Forcing a scholarship kid to his knees over a little debt? That was so mundane it wouldn’t even earn a second glance from the table next to us. Liam’s shadowed gaze darkened. A flash of anger, there and gone, replaced by that familiar, cold detachment. His obsidian eyes swept over me once, then he slowly, deliberately, knelt. He actually began gathering the scattered bills. A wave of snickering rippled through my friends. “No way, he’s actually doing it. So much for pride. I heard he was some kind of legend at Blackwood University. Doesn’t he have any self-respect?” Someone else scoffed. “Self-respect? Genevieve’s family paid for his scholarship. The guy doesn’t own the shirt on his back. What right does he have to self-respect?” “He really thought because Gen played with him for a couple of months, he could climb his way into the Sinclair fortune. Pathetic.” The people in my circle were all heirs to one fortune or another, but the Sinclair name carried more weight. They orbited me, and seeing me put Liam in his place was just another form of entertainment, another chance to get on my good side. The man on the floor didn’t even look up. His face was lost in the shadows, but I could see the tension in his hand as he gripped the money, his knuckles white. He could take it. Of course he could. This was the man who would one day become a ruthless titan of industry, cold and untouchable. The laughter around me continued. Laugh it up, I thought, a bitter taste in my mouth. You’re all on his hit list. Enjoy the party while it lasts. Oh, right. So was I. I reached for my cigarette, my hand trembling slightly. I tapped the ash into the crystal tray. Tapped it again. And again. Stop it. Stop shaking. On the outside, I was Genevieve Sinclair, the cruel, untouchable heiress. On the inside, I was out of options. I screamed at the System in the privacy of my mind. “Are you absolutely sure he won’t have me murdered the second he gets a chance?” We guarantee your safety upon completion of the plot, it replied, its tone maddeningly serene. “That’s not a no!” 2 The day I found out I was the villain—the “one that got away” who was destined to break him—I had just gotten Liam to finally admit he had feelings for me. Then the System appeared. It informed me that we were characters in a story. I thought I was living a romance novel cliché: the wealthy heiress relentlessly pursuing the brilliant, penniless boy with a wounded soul. It had been love at first sight for me. Liam was sensitive and cold, a fortress who pushed everyone away. He ignored my every attempt at kindness, actively resisted my affection. But I was persistent. For every step he took back, I took ten forward. I knew he was poor, so I secretly had gourmet meals delivered to his dorm. I saw that he had the grades for a top university, so I busted my ass to get into Blackwood with him. He worked three jobs to cover his expenses, so I anonymously paid his tuition and loaded his meal card with funds. I was determined to be the sun that melted his iceberg. But the System told me my role wasn’t the sun. I was the cautionary tale. The beautiful, cruel memory that would fuel his rise to power. I didn’t believe it. It gave me what it called “corrective electroshock therapy.” I believed it then. And my world shattered. The System explained my purpose: to give the hero a taste of warmth and acceptance, only to drag him down into an even deeper hell. This betrayal was the catalyst. It would forge him into the dark, obsessive, and ruthless CEO he was destined to become. Only then could the heroine appear to “save” him and unlock the main love story. The warmth part was done. Liam had fallen for me. Now came the torture. The part that would trigger his transformation. I refused. The System informed me that refusal meant erasure from existence. Okay, then. I guess I’d do it. I kind of wanted to live. Under its duress, I began the first act of humiliation. It was the day after we officially became a couple. He came to meet me, holding a small bouquet of flowers. They were perfect, delicate, with beads of morning dew clinging to the petals. I recognized a few of the blooms; they were outrageously expensive. I couldn’t imagine how long he must have saved. He believed I deserved the best. He walked toward me through the soft morning mist, a rare, gentle smile on his face that made him look impossibly young. I met his hopeful gaze, forced my lips into a cold line, and delivered the first line of the script. “Liam.” “I was just playing with you. You didn’t actually take it seriously, did you?” “I mean, look at yourself. Did you really think you were worthy of me?” In an instant, the light in his eyes vanished, leaving behind nothing but a cold, dead emptiness. 3 My heart clenched as if squeezed by an invisible fist. A sharp, searing pain. I pressed a hand to my chest, forcing the memory away. Back in the club, the last hundred-dollar bill lay at my feet. He reached for it, his expression unreadable. I hesitated for only a second before lifting my stiletto and placing it on the back of his hand, over the delicate bones of his fingers. I didn’t press down. I couldn’t. I just held it there, looking down at him. He looked up, and for a moment, his dark eyes were like a viper’s, coiled and ready to strike. A flicker of raw hurt crossed his face before he masked it, his gaze dropping, hiding his emotions beneath the shadow of his thick lashes. A sudden chill went through me, prickling the back of my neck. My fingers, still holding the cigarette, started to tremble again. My eyes fell to his hand pinned beneath my shoe. It was a beautiful hand, elegant and long-fingered, but so thin you could see the blue veins beneath the skin. I closed my eyes. I couldn’t stop myself. “Do I have to burn him with the cigarette?” I begged the System, my voice a pathetic whine in my head. After all, that hand had to type code for his computer science classes. It had to wash dishes at the campus diner, prep lesson plans for his tutoring gigs, and create latte art at the coffee shop… he was working four jobs to pay me back. This was just cruel. As I stood there, torn, the man on the floor suddenly looked up again, his expression sharp. A storm seemed to gather in his eyes, followed by a flicker of… confusion? It was gone as quickly as it appeared. The System’s voice was sharp, threatening. Host, your function as the villain is to make the protagonist despise you. This will catalyze his transformation. Any unnecessary displays of compassion are counterproductive. Complete the script, and not only will your safety be guaranteed, but you will also receive a substantial reward. But deviation… deviation has consequences. The thought of erasure made my blood run cold. But then, Liam moved. He shot to his feet, his shadow falling over me. He took a step closer, an aura of suppressed fury radiating from him. His dark eyes locked onto mine. In the next second, he snatched the cigarette from my fingers and pressed the glowing tip firmly into the back of his own hand. He hissed, a sharp intake of breath, but his eyes, filled with a profound and weary disgust, never left mine. “Stop the act,” he rasped. I stared, dumbfounded. I hadn’t spoken. He had just followed the script… on his own. And after I’d stepped on his hand, he was calling me the phony? Did that even make sense? Was I actually driving him crazy? He held the cigarette there, his handsome face contorted in pain, until a dark, ugly mark blistered his skin. Then, he dropped the extinguished butt at my feet and walked away without another word. A cold, mechanical voice echoed in my mind. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 30%. 4 A good villain never rests. As the primary catalyst for the plot, even though I was an heiress, my life now revolved around stalking the protagonist and finding new ways to make his life miserable. At six p.m., Liam started his shift at Cornerstone Coffee. Outside the large, clean windows, the sky was ablaze with a spectacular sunset. The black apron he wore was tied neatly, accentuating his lean waist. The warm, golden light of the setting sun fell across his sculpted features, softening the perpetual chill in his expression. He was beautiful, like a figure in a painting. I, however, was a nervous wreck, picking at my perfect manicure. “You’re telling me,” I whispered to the air, “that I have to throw this coffee in his face?” Across the cafe, Liam, who had been expertly crafting a latte, suddenly went still, his expression turning icy. I shivered, frantically blowing on the surface of my coffee to cool it down. “Doesn’t my character have anything better to do than follow him around and bully him all day?” I complained to the System. No. I wanted to scream. But it was useless. Steeling myself, I called him over. When Liam stood beside my table, his presence quiet and watchful, I put on my mask of contempt. “What is this?” I sneered, gesturing at the cup. “It tastes like plastic.” I closed my eyes, forcing out the last line. “Just like you. Cheap. And worthless.” The words hung in the air. I felt hollowed out, a ghost in my own body. Liam was silent. His lashes were lowered, and his gaze on me was complicated, unreadable. He just watched me, and the intensity of it made my skin crawl. Finally, a bitter, self-mocking smile touched his lips. He looked directly at me, his eyes cold. “Is this the new torture you came up with for today, Genevieve?” His voice was a low, rough murmur. “Are you having fun?” I sat up straighter, meeting his gaze. “Is this how you treat your customers?” Throw it. You have to throw it. My hand, wrapped around the mug, was shaking. Damn you, System! I screamed internally. How am I supposed to do this? This is the face I fell in love with! The System remained silent, offering no reprieve. In the next moment, Liam calmly took the cup from my hand, and before I could react, he splashed its contents onto his own face. Brown liquid dripped from his sharp jawline. The air seemed to freeze. His dark eyes, full of a deep and profound weariness, locked onto mine. “Satisfied?” he asked. I could only stare. He was doing it again. He was following the script by himself. System, is this right? The only answer was the cold, mechanical voice. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 50%. 5 Before I could process what had happened, a gentle female voice cut through the silence. “Are… are you two fighting?” A girl in a simple white dress stood there. She was so exquisitely beautiful it was hard to look away. Her face was etched with concern as she looked at the coffee-soaked Liam. “I have a handkerchief. Would you like to use it?” Liam seemed startled, as if he hadn’t expected anyone to intervene on his behalf. After a long moment, he slowly took the offered cloth, his hand closing around it. She smiled, a lovely, kind expression. Beautiful, gentle, empathetic. Even without the System’s input, I knew. This was the heroine. This was Sophia Hayes. The System’s tone, usually so clinical, was buzzing with excitement. The kind-hearted heroine has finally appeared! The plot is getting back on track! But I couldn’t breathe. My entire body went rigid. The scene before me seemed to unfold in slow motion. Sophia turned to me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “I know who you are. You’re that rich girl from the campus forums. I heard you two were a couple, but even so, you shouldn’t humiliate someone in public like this. He’s a person with dignity, not a toy for you to play with.” I bit my lip, the sharp metallic taste of blood filling my mouth. I had no defense. Nothing I could say was true. “She’s not my girlfriend,” a quiet voice said from behind Sophia. Liam’s gaze was fixed on the back of her neck, an intense, predatory look. It held a dangerous combination of obsession and determination. Yes! This is it! The possessive, obsessive love story we wanted! the System cheered. I lowered my eyes, a dense, throbbing pain spreading through my chest. My mind was a blank slate of white noise. I turned and fled, my escape anything but graceful. As I stepped out of the coffee shop, the last rays of sun had vanished from the horizon. Dusk was settling over the city. The System issued a new command. Have Liam walk you back to campus. “Why are the missions coming so fast now?” We have to strike while the iron is hot! I sank onto a nearby bench, the cool evening air raising goosebumps on my bare arms. I didn’t know how long I waited. Finally, the lights inside the coffee shop went out, and the streetlight above flickered on, casting a lonely yellow glow. Liam emerged, having changed back into his plain black hoodie. He once again looked like the same cold, withdrawn boy I first met. I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and walked toward him. I adopted my most imperious tone. “Liam. It’s dark. Walk me back to the dorms.” My heart was pounding. His cold eyes slid over to me. “And why would I do that?” He took one step away from me, then stopped abruptly, as if a thought had just struck him. He frowned. “Have you been waiting out here for three hours?” I nodded, stunned that he’d noticed. A flicker of irritation crossed his face. The fingers of his hand flexed and curled, as if he were fighting back some powerful impulse. He started walking again, his voice flat. “Let’s go.” Something was strange about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it, but it was there. I followed a few steps behind him, a silent shadow. “Is that the whole mission?” I asked the System. “Just have him walk me home? Nothing else?” It seemed too simple, too kind. I was right. Do you remember the construction foreman your father fired for incompetence? the System asked. I froze. Tonight, he and a few of his friends are planning to kidnap you for ransom. Your task is to threaten Liam into protecting you, and then, while they’re fighting, you run. My heart seized. “Run? And then call the police for him, right?” And then go wherever you please. Your part in this scene will be over. I stopped walking. “That’s inhuman.” After this, Liam will be hospitalized for at least two weeks. The heroine will visit and take care of him. Their relationship needs this time to develop. “And if I don’t do it?” Then you’ll be the one in that hospital bed for two weeks. Its voice was utterly devoid of emotion. He’s the protagonist, the System reasoned. He may suffer now, but he’s destined for greatness. You don’t need to feel guilty. You’re simply helping him through his trials. But Liam was already brilliant. He didn’t need these senseless, manufactured tragedies. They were nothing but cruel plot devices to set up a tortured romance. This kind of story needed a monster to be saved. And my job was to create that monster. For the first time, I didn’t argue. I just walked in silence. A heavy, suffocating silence. So when Liam suddenly spoke, his voice cutting through the quiet night, I was caught completely off guard. “Genevieve,” he asked, his tone strangely serious, “in this whole world, what is it that you want most?” The answer came out before I could think. “Freedom.” Freedom from this script. Freedom from hurting him. I stopped in my tracks, my breath catching. I looked up to call his name, but I realized we had turned into a dark, narrow alley. It was a shortcut to campus I’d taken a hundred times, but tonight it felt menacing, like the jaws of some hidden beast. Panic seized me. I lunged forward, grabbing the hem of his hoodie to pull him back. But it was too late. Several figures emerged from the shadows, moving fast. In an instant, the tall figure in front of me spun around, pulling me into his arms. His body was a warm, solid shield around me. I felt the sickening thud of a pipe hitting his back, the vibration traveling through his body into mine. I hadn’t even had to threaten him. I had been trying to save him. A dull, numb ache spread through my chest. I had hurt him again. The next second, he pushed me away, hard. “Run,” he choked out. “Go!” I stumbled, catching a glimpse of his face—pale and grim—before I turned and ran. I ran with everything I had, my lungs burning, my feet pounding against the pavement. The System’s voice was triumphant in my ear. Liam Walsh: Corruption Level 70%.

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The childhood friend of my boyfriend, Daniel, was a celebrated screenwriter who’d been silent for years. She was desperate for a hit to reclaim her throne. So Daniel, my boyfriend and my therapist, handed her the story of my family’s slaughter as raw material. He didn’t tell me the movie was coming out. But I went anyway. On the massive screen, my family—the victims—were twisted into villains who deserved to die. The monster who murdered them was whitewashed into a sympathetic soul, a man forced into a corner by life. Watching the nightmare from my past tear through the screen, I had to dig my nails into my palm until they drew blood just to keep from passing out. When the film ended, the screenwriter, Sabrina, was ushered onto the stage, a star surrounded by her constellation. She smiled, tucking her arm into Daniel’s, and introduced him to the world. “This is the city’s most brilliant psychotherapist,” she announced, her voice ringing with triumph. “And the muse for my film.” The theater erupted in thunderous applause. The host praised them, a perfect match of talent and beauty. Then, through the roar of the crowd, as Daniel’s shocked eyes found mine, I slowly raised my hand. “I have a question,” I called out, my voice surprisingly steady. “For the muse.” 1 Daniel’s expression froze. He clearly never expected me to be here. I recognized the panic in his eyes; how could I not? Two days ago, we were supposed to leave for a trip to the Caribbean. The day before our flight, he’d told me there was a last-minute emergency at the clinic. He’d apologized, his voice a soft caress. “Willow, just give me one day. That’s all I need.” “You go on ahead,” he’d said. “I’ll handle this and be on the next flight out.” I believed him. Then my best friend sent me a video clip: Daniel and Sabrina on the red carpet at the premiere. Standing close. Looking like lovers. I forgot all about the trip. I rushed to the theater, only to watch my family be desecrated on screen. And it all clicked into place. There was no emergency. He just wanted me out of the way. Now, his gaze met mine for a split second before he flinched away, unable to hold it. So, he could feel fear. Fear of me knowing. Fear of facing my anger. But he did it anyway. For Sabrina. A bitter smile touched my lips. “Dr. Archer,” I said, my voice carrying across the quieted room. “I’m simply curious. This true story you provided to Ms. Vance for creative inspiration—where exactly did it come from?” I wanted to hear his explanation. I wanted to give him one last chance. Daniel’s face was a blank mask for a moment. Then, his voice came out, cool and distant. “It was based on the experience of an old friend.” I stared at him for a few seconds before a low, hollow laugh escaped me. Daniel, I’ve always been too soft. Thank God you’re more decisive than I am. What a fool I was. I already knew the answer, but I still wanted to hear how he would lie to my face. Daniel saw the tears welling in my eyes, and a flicker of concern crossed his face. “I…” But Sabrina’s voice, sharp and cutting, sliced through his hesitation. “That’s an excellent question,” she said, turning her smile on me. “It seems you’re a true fan of our film. Why don’t I share the story of how Daniel and I created it?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “The subject matter of the film was so heavy that I struggled for the longest time to even start writing,” she began. “Then I met Daniel.” Her gaze shifted to him, her adoration so thick it was suffocating. “As a top-tier psychotherapist, he dissected the authentic inner world of individuals with post-traumatic stress disorder for me. We spent hours discussing the complexities of human nature, the blurred lines between crime and punishment.” She paused for effect. “He stayed up with me through countless nights. It’s safe to say that without him, this film would have no soul.” Finished, she looked at Daniel with pure devotion. He glanced at me, then looked away as if my gaze had physically burned him. But he still gave a stiff nod, playing his part. The audience burst into another round of applause, mixed with envious sighs. “My God, they’re soulmates!” someone whispered loudly. I just watched his face, a self-deprecating smile on my lips. I’d known Daniel for six years, loved him for four. And now, I was just an “old friend.” The scars I had once revealed to him in trust had become anecdotes he shared with Sabrina. He had used my wounds to court another woman. When the applause died down, my composure returned. “Exploring human nature, dissecting the psyche. It all sounds so noble,” I said, my voice clear and cold. “But for a licensed therapist to provide a patient’s private history as creative material for someone else—” I let the silence hang in the air for a beat. “Doesn’t that violate your professional code of ethics?” As my words landed, the faces in the audience, which had been glowing with romantic fantasy just a moment before, shifted. They were right. Divulging a patient’s confidential information was the cardinal sin for a therapist. The reporters in the room snapped to attention, their cameras and microphones swiveling toward the stage like a firing squad taking aim at Daniel. “Dr. Archer, is what this woman saying true?” “Did you, in fact, leak a patient’s private history to Ms. Vance to be used as source material for her screenplay?” Panic flashed across Daniel’s face. He waved his hands dismissively, his voice cracking. “No! That’s not it! You’ve all misunderstood. This wasn’t a patient’s story!” Sabrina immediately jumped to his defense, her tone laced with indignation. “Our film is based on a real social event, not a patient’s private life. This woman must be mistaken.” “Oh? A real event?” I smiled. “Then perhaps, Ms. Vance, you can tell us all how you learned about this so-called real event?” Back then, a series of procedural errors by the investigators nearly let the killer walk free. Because of the scandal, the case was buried, sealed from the public record. It was never reported. Sabrina couldn’t have known about it from any source other than Daniel. Her expression faltered, and she fell silent. She couldn’t admit she heard it from Daniel; that would confirm he’d betrayed a confidence. All she could do was glare at me, her eyes filled with venom. The air grew thick with tension. Sabrina shot a desperate, pleading look at Daniel. He stared at me for a long, heavy moment, as if making a final, terrible decision. “The person involved is an old friend of mine,” he began, his voice heavy with feigned reluctance. “She wishes to remain anonymous, so I didn’t want to say more.” “But since this woman is so insistent, I’ll clarify the situation.” My heart sank. His instinct, his choice, was to protect Sabrina. I had already lost. Utterly. “My friend,” he continued, “has always understood the terrible mistakes her parents made. For years, she’s lived under a crushing weight of guilt, which led to a severe battle with depression.” “She came to me and confided everything. She begged me to find a way to make the story public, as a warning to the world. It was, in her words, her way of atoning for what happened, a penance for the victims.” He paused, his voice rising with a self-righteous fire. “So, you see, this wasn’t a leak.” “Sabrina and I were simply helping a poor, tormented girl complete her journey of self-redemption.” I stared at him, speechless. A sharp, violent pain seized my chest, stealing my breath. After my parents were murdered, I got sick. Depression. Living was more painful than dying. I’d swallowed pills. I’d cut my wrists. I’d stood on the edge of rooftops more times than I could count. Every time, someone pulled me back. After one stomach pump, a doctor who couldn’t bear to watch anymore referred me to Daniel. He told me I was a survivor, not a sinner. He was like a gift, a light in my life. With him by my side, I slowly began to heal. And now, his face was as grotesque and hateful as the killer’s had been that day. I fought back tears, my voice trembling. “Daniel, you truly have no heart.” “How noble. You’ve painted yourself as some kind of hero.” A fractured laugh escaped me, and I asked, my voice raw, “But when you lie awake at night, after twisting the truth and turning black into white, does your conscience ever bother you?” A murmur rippled through the crowd. “What does she mean? Is she saying the movie is a deliberate attempt to whitewash a killer?” “I have to admit, the portrayal of the criminal in the film did feel… off.” “Yeah, and the victims were such stereotypes. It felt like a classic case of victim-blaming…” Hearing the whispers, Sabrina’s face paled. She tightened her grip on Daniel’s arm. At the sight of her distress, Daniel’s expression darkened. “Willow! Do you have to make a scene here?” “Your parents’ case was years ago! Why can’t you just let it go? Why do you insist on tormenting their memory even after they’re gone?” My head snapped up. He looked at me with disappointment, with anger, even with a hint of resentment. Gone was the tenderness, the empathy. I felt a wave of dizziness. For years, he had been my salvation. He would whisper to me in that soothing, hypnotic voice: “Willow, don’t be afraid. I’m here.” “Willow, look, the sun’s coming up. Let’s go outside. I’ll read you some poetry.” I numbly raised a hand to my cheek. The unshed tears I had held back for so long were finally streaming down my face. When Daniel saw them, he froze for a second, a look of regret crossing his features. He instinctively started to raise his hand, as he had a thousand times before, to wipe my tears away. But he stopped. We were too far apart. He was on the brightly lit stage, the center of attention. I was in the dark, isolated and alone. He let his hand fall awkwardly to his side. Across the chasm of bodies and noise between us, his lips moved. I couldn’t hear the sound, but I could read the words clearly: “Willow, stop this. Let’s go home and talk.” Home? After he and Sabrina had nailed my entire family to a public pillar of shame, what home did we have left? I gave a contemptuous smirk and began walking toward the stage, step by step, until I was standing right in front of him. “My parents were slandered as criminals who got what they deserved. You’re the ones who won’t let them rest in peace! Daniel, if this were you, could you let it go?” His mouth opened, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Willow,” he croaked, “I’m doing this for your own good. Your parents’ story needs more attention. It needs a version of the truth to be out there.” The absurdity of it was breathtaking. A short, sharp laugh escaped my throat. “The truth?” “You mean the ‘truth’ that glorifies a murderer and tramples on his victims?” “Or the ‘truth’ where my father is painted as an exploitative monster, my mother as a gold-digging mistress who broke up a marriage, and me as the vicious bully who drove a classmate to suicide?” My voice suddenly rose to a shout. “Daniel, how does my family’s blood taste?” The atmosphere in the room turned to ice. Daniel’s voice trembled. “Willow, that’s not what I meant. I was just… I panicked.” His eyes were red, as if he were truly remorseful. But in the next breath, he pleaded, “But this movie is everything to Sabrina. It has to succeed. Willow, please, just back down this once. Please?” “After this is over, we’ll get married.” I slowly looked up at him, a scalding tear tracing a path down my temple. And I started to laugh, my whole body shaking with it. “Back down? How can you ask me to back down? You know better than anyone how much I’ve suffered for the last six years. You know everything!” My laughter seemed to grate on his nerves. His tone hardened with impatience. “Then what is it you want?” “Do you want to destroy my career? Destroy Sabrina’s most important work? Is that what it will take for you to be satisfied?” His eyes were full of disappointment. “When did you become so unreasonable?” I stood frozen. That face, the one that had once been my only source of comfort, suddenly seemed like a stranger’s—a terrifying stranger. “So in your mind, her defiling my entire life is a ‘work of art’?” “And I’m the sinner? The victim whose bones you scraped clean for your own gain?” My questions made his face contort with anger. He broke eye contact, unable to look at me any longer. Sabrina, seeing her opening, scowled at me with contempt. “Ms. Thorne, your language is disgusting. Daniel and I are trying to generate a meaningful discussion about this case, to preserve it through art.” A flash of malice crossed her eyes. “The way you’re carrying on… anyone who didn’t know better would think you actually were the daughter who bullied her classmate into jumping off a roof.” So, she knew everything. This was her plan all along. To force me to admit who I was, to humiliate me in front of everyone. I had always hated Sabrina. The feeling was mutual. I remembered her saying to Daniel once, right in front of me, her words dripping with insinuation, “Daniel, pity isn’t love. You can’t let a patient confuse you.” My already fragile sense of security shattered. I’d needed constant reassurance from him after that. “Are you only with me because you feel sorry for me?” “Daniel, are you going to leave me one day?” And he would pull me into his arms, his voice a mix of exasperation and adoration. “You silly girl. What are you thinking? I could never leave you.” Now, he stood against me, defending the very woman who had tried to drive us apart. It turned out he could leave someone. That someone just wasn’t her. I met Sabrina’s malicious gaze and smiled. “You’re right. I am that person. I’m the daughter from the story.” Her triumphant smirk froze on her face. She hadn’t expected me to admit it so easily. But she recovered quickly, her expression shifting to one of mock surprise. “Oh, my! So, Ms. Thorne, you’re the bully.” The room exploded. “Ms. Thorne, was your father really a ruthless capitalist? Was your mother really a homewrecker?” “Ms. Thorne, do you think what happened to your family was karma for your bullying?” The reporters were ecstatic. They didn’t care about the truth. They cared about the scandal, the juicy headlines. The crowd surged forward. A powerful shove sent me stumbling backward. My head hit the hard floor with a sickening crack. CRACK! The world went silent. As the room spun around me, distorted faces swam in and out of focus, merging with the face of the devil from my deepest memories. I was back in that blood-soaked afternoon, crammed into the dark closet, my parents holding me down, keeping me quiet. Through the narrow slit between the doors, I saw it all again— My father, on the floor, his head a bloody, unrecognizable pulp. My mother, thrown to the ground, her dress violently torn, the monster’s face twisting into a lecherous grin. Her eyes met mine for a fleeting second, and in that instant, they filled with a terrifying resolve. She guided the killer’s knife into her own heart. Then, she crawled, step by agonizing step, leaving a thick, wet trail of blood, until she reached the closet. She used her last ounce of strength to slump against the doors, her body blocking the slit, shielding me from the killer’s searching gaze. Her blood began to seep under the door. It was warm, sticky… “Aaaah!” I clutched my head and screamed, my body shaking uncontrollably. The suffocating feeling of imminent death washed over me again. My reaction startled the crowd. They stopped pushing, backing away with uneasy expressions. I could finally breathe. “Willow!” Daniel’s face was a mask of terror. He finally saw how broken I was and rushed forward to help me up. “Don’t touch me!” I scrambled backward, away from his reach. His hand froze in midair, his face a canvas of hurt and shock. I lifted my head, my red-rimmed eyes boring into him. “Was it fun?” I whispered. “Turning everything I ever told you into cocktail party chatter for her?” A flush of shame, or perhaps anger, crept up his neck. “Willow!” “Not everyone is like you,” he shot back, his voice strained. “Not everyone assumes every act of kindness is secretly an act of malice.” I slowly, unsteadily, pulled myself to my feet. “Daniel,” I said, each word deliberate and heavy. “Was it so hard to treat me with basic decency?” “I don’t know how I never saw it before. You are disgusting.” His eyes darted away. His reaction was not lost on the audience. “Now it really does sound like her story was stolen.” “You know, I thought there was something wrong with this movie. The killer was a monster. Why were they trying to make him sympathetic?” “Exactly! And they put him front and center on the promotional poster. Their intentions couldn’t be more obvious.” The tide of doubt was turning into a wave of accusation. Sabrina was panicking now. “Don’t listen to her!” she shrieked, her voice high and shrill. “She’s insane!” “She’s one of Daniel’s patients! She’s obsessed with him, and when he rejected her, she made up this entire story to ruin us!” The crowd looked back and forth, trying to keep up with the dizzying twists. Sabrina shook Daniel’s arm, her voice urgent. “Daniel, stop playing along with her! You’ve been more than patient, and now she’s trying to destroy everything! You have her medical records, the ones about her delusional disorder! Stop being so soft-hearted and tell them the truth! Tell them I’m right!” Every eye in the room locked onto Daniel. He was silent for a long moment, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were empty of all emotion. All that remained was a cold, clinical detachment. He looked at me and said, his voice quiet but clear: “Yes. She… she suffers from a severe delusional disorder. She is one of my patients.” “She has been stalking me for some time…”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385248”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m a killer. But my sweet, gentle husband doesn’t know a thing about it. After all, this is a man who can’t bring himself to kill a spider, a man who needs my help to open a stubborn pickle jar. Then came the mission at the biggest casino in Las Vegas, where I ran into the legendary top-tier assassin, “Orbit.” The eyes behind his mask were ice, and the Glock in his hand was pointed straight at my forehead. But why… why was Orbit wearing the wedding ring I gave my husband on a chain around his neck? 1 The bullet tore through the target’s temple at the exact moment a text from my husband, Nathan, lit up my phone. I dragged the body out of sight with practiced ease, then clipped onto the rope I’d anchored to the window frame earlier and rappelled down the side of the brownstone. A black Aston Martin was idling at the curb, just as planned. I slid into the passenger seat. Lilith, my handler and getaway driver, tossed a pack of wet wipes into my lap without taking her eyes off the road. I cleaned my hands, the scent of antiseptic cutting through the city air. Finally, I opened my phone. Nathan had sent me a selfie, a playful shot of him in the kitchen wearing nothing but the apron I got him for Christmas. A wave of warmth spread through my chest, as broad and comforting as his pecs. I softened my voice, holding the phone to my ear. “Hey, baby. Wait up for me, okay? Got held up at work, but I’m on my way home now.” From the driver’s seat, Lilith made an exaggerated gagging noise. “God, Anya, you’re disgusting. Aren’t you people supposed to be all reserved and stoic?” A small smile played on my lips. “If you had a husband as sweet as mine waiting at home with a hot meal, you’d be just like me.” Lilith flipped me off in the rearview mirror. “That’s only because he thinks you’re a goddamn programmer tapping away at a keyboard all day!” I shrugged, unbothered. She was just jealous of my sweet husband at home. 2 My name is Anya. My codename is Nyx. I’m an operative for “X,” an international assassination syndicate. I got married a year ago. It was a whirlwind romance with Nathan, a guy I met through a mutual friend. Finding the right person in this country, in my line of work, is next to impossible. But Nathan… he was everything I never knew I wanted. He’s half-American, half-British, with this ridiculously handsome face and a heart of gold. He has soft black hair, a gentle nature, and a chest I could get lost in… A lot of women might not be able to accept a partner who’s a stay-at-home husband, but for me, it was perfect. Seriously, what could be better than coming home after a day of high-stakes violence to a gourmet meal, and then collapsing into the arms of the man you love? Exactly. Like now. 3 The moment I walked through the door, Nathan was there, taking my coat and pulling me into a hug that smelled like garlic and rosemary. “Honey, you’re finally home,” he murmured into my hair. “The light in the living room went out. I was getting scared, and I don’t know how to fix it.” I melted into his embrace for a second before pulling away. “Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” I hopped onto a chair and swapped out the dead bulb for a new one. For a woman whose personal best for blind-assembling a Desert Eagle is twenty-two seconds, it was child’s play. But my helpless husband looked at me with pure, unadulterated awe. “You’re amazing, Anya.” I leaned down and kissed him. In my eyes, a man who could conjure up the feast laid out on our dining table was just as amazing. We sat down to eat, and I asked casually, “So, what did you get up to today, baby?” Nathan paused for a beat, a fork halfway to his mouth, then smiled. “Oh, you know. Watered the plants, did a deep clean of the bathroom. Then I started prepping for dinner.” See? My perfect, gentle husband. I couldn’t resist. I snuggled closer, wrapping my arms around his waist and whispering in his ear. “Dinner’s over. Ready for dessert?” He scooped me up without a word and carried me to the bedroom. But just as his fingers started working on the buttons of my shirt, he froze. “You said you were working late,” he said, his voice suddenly tight. “Does ‘working late’ now involve getting a man’s tie stuffed in your pocket?” My eyes widened as he pulled a wrinkled silk tie from my coat pocket—the murder weapon I’d used to strangle my target two hours ago. 4 Nathan held me, tears streaming down his face. “What did I do wrong?” he choked out. “Why would you need someone else?” “Is his cooking better than mine? Is he better in bed?” “Is it because I don’t have a job? I have savings, Anya, a lot. It’s all yours.” “Honey… please don’t leave me…” His words were punctuated by desperate, ragged breaths, and my attempts to deny everything were lost in shattered moans as he moved against me. All I could do was hold him tighter. The next morning, I tried again, insisting that I loved him, only him, and that I would never, ever cheat. But I couldn’t explain the tie. I couldn’t exactly tell him his quiet programmer wife had more blood on her hands than a butcher. A man as gentle as Nathan would never be able to handle it. He’d be terrified. He’d leave me. 5 To prove my loyalty, I took the entire week off, clearing my schedule to stay home with Nathan. I bought him flowers, designer clothes, anything I thought he might want. I let him have his way with me in bed, whenever and however he wanted. But a shadow still lingered in his eyes. He asked for the tie back, and I told him I’d thrown it away. Honey, it was evidence. My life is a tightrope walk over a pit of danger, but I would never, ever allow my sweet, gentle husband to be exposed to any of it. His sadness deepened. Still, he cooked me lavish meals and told me with a determined look in his eye, “It’s not your fault. I believe you, Anya. You didn’t cheat. It must have been some creep from the outside, trying to seduce you. That’s why he would do something so sleazy, putting his tie in your pocket.” I latched onto the excuse. “You’re right, baby. It was definitely my creepy coworker. But he has no chance. I can’t stand those cold, robotic tech guys. I only love you. You’re so gentle, you make me want to protect you.” Nathan’s hand, which had been struggling with a can of tomatoes, suddenly stilled. “Honey…” He handed the can and the opener to me. “I can’t get it. Can you help me?” I popped the lid open with a simple twist of my wrist. He gazed at me with that familiar look of adoration and love, his long lashes casting soft shadows on his cheeks. I came up behind him and wrapped my arms around his torso. My head only reached his shoulder, but in these moments, I could feel his complete reliance on me. I kissed his shoulder blade, filled with a fierce, protective love. “If I ever did cheat,” I whispered, “you could beat the hell out of me and then divorce me.” I felt him smile against my cheek. His voice was as gentle as always when he replied. “No. I’d kill him. We’d never get divorced.” Such a childish, silly thing to say. This was a man who couldn’t even bring himself to kill a chicken for dinner. A wave of tenderness washed over me, immediately followed by a pang of guilt for the secret I was keeping. My sweet, helpless husband couldn’t possibly imagine that his wife had, in fact, killed many, many men. 6 When Lilith finally lost her patience and started screaming at me through the secure comms unit, I told Nathan I had to end my “vacation” and get back to the office. “We’re already shorthanded, and you dare to go off-grid for a week? Can you stop hovering over that house husband of yours for five minutes?” she shrieked. “I always thought you’d end up with someone from the life. I never figured you for the type to get lost in domestic bliss!” I couldn’t be bothered to argue. She would never understand this kind of happiness. “Anything big on the horizon?” I asked, a smile creeping into my voice. “Our first wedding anniversary is next month. I want to buy him something really, really expensive.” “Bitch,” Lilith muttered, before her tone turned sly. “Actually, there is something. A million-dollar bounty. But it’s already been claimed.” I wasn’t concerned. “There aren’t many people who can outbid me for a contract. You don’t trust me?” What she said next, however, sent a genuine jolt through me. “The person who claimed it,” she said, her voice dropping, “is Orbit.” 7 Orbit. A name every killer knew. A legend. An insurmountable force. He wasn’t loyal to any organization; his only allegiance was to the perfect execution of a mission. It didn’t matter who the target was or where they were hiding—a president, a warlord, another top-tier assassin—Orbit would complete the job within the given timeframe. His own name carried the highest bounty on the dark web, a figure so astronomical no one even dared to accept the contract. His codename meant “path,” and there was a saying among assassins: The world runs on Orbit’s… well, orbit. When I was younger, I was arrogant. I once took a contract that Orbit had already claimed. I ended up watching from a distance as my target’s head exploded from a perfect shot, fired from 600 meters away. I never even saw a shadow of Orbit. But things were different now. I was a married woman. I had a sweet, helpless husband to support! I decided to take it. I would at least try. The thought of competing with a killer of Orbit’s caliber made my adrenaline surge. Besides, for some reason, Orbit had been taking very few jobs over the past year. Any mission that caught his interest had to be something special. Rumor had it he’d turned down a five-million-dollar contract to take out a mercenary leader, claiming he needed to “focus on his family and cut back on the rough stuff.” No one believed it. The consensus was that he’d made so much money he was planning a gradual retirement. Lilith started gossiping again. “I heard he’s got British blood. Are all you Brits so—” I snapped the comms unit shut. I wasn’t alone. Someone was following me. 8 Without changing my pace, I altered my route, heading slowly toward Elwood Drive. Today’s target was a gallery curator named Grant. He ran several “art fund” projects as a front for smuggling artifacts and laundering money. My client, an Indian-American art collector, had been one of his victims. Grant had convinced him to loan a collection of medieval paintings for a special exhibition. When the paintings were returned, nearly a third of them were forgeries. The client was paying me a hundred thousand dollars. It should have been a simple job; I’d planned to end Grant’s life in his villa this morning. But I hadn’t counted on being followed. My tail was good. Very good. And strange. I deliberately created an opening, a moment of vulnerability to draw him out, but he made no move. Was I not the target? Was it the organization? Or was this just an intel agent on a fishing expedition? The gallery opening was about to start. I decided I couldn’t waste any more time. I’d kill Grant first and deal with my mysterious shadow later. 9 At 11:00 AM sharp, the security feeds at the Sanctuary Gallery went dark, courtesy of Keyboard, our tech guy. I had already ditched my tail and changed from the plaid shirt I’d worn that morning into an elegant cocktail dress. Grant appeared in the main hall. I mingled, even exchanged a few pleasantries with him like any other guest. “Alright, Nyx,” Lilith’s voice crackled in my hidden earpiece. “Keyboard’s about to create a minor power surge. Use the confusion to slip into Grant’s private lounge.” Everything was set. I hid in the shadows of the lounge, a silent predator waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But Grant never came. Instead, it was Lilith’s frantic voice that broke the silence. “Abort, Nyx, abort! It’s done. Grant is dead.” “It was… Orbit.” I erased my presence from the room and calmly walked back into the main gallery while Lilith filled me in. The security feed had dropped for exactly one minute. When it came back online, Grant was dead in the special exhibition hall—a room that wasn’t scheduled to open for another two hours. His body was kneeling before a painting titled The Betrayed Saint. A single bullet had passed through the center of his forehead and struck the heart of the saint in the painting. Tucked into the frame of the canvas was a black, gold-embossed card. On it was a single word. Orbit. 10 Lilith was spiraling. I could hear the frantic sound of her chewing on her fingernails over the comm. “A hundred grand! There’s no way Orbit would take a job this small, let alone leave his calling card!” she hissed. “Did someone in our organization piss him off? Is this a threat? Or is there something else going on with this gallery?” I didn’t feel like talking. All I could think about was the hundred thousand dollars I had just lost. I pulled out my phone and texted Nathan. [Honey, work is exhausting. Miss you so much.] Nathan usually replied instantly, but this time, it took a few moments. [Miss you too.] [Can’t wait to see you.] My heart ached with a sweet longing. I wanted nothing more than to be home in his arms. Before leaving, and with Grant’s body still undiscovered, I quickly purchased a small oil painting of a field of wildflowers from the gallery’s main collection. Honestly, I knew nothing about art. But I knew my gentle husband would love it. 11 Nathan was, as I predicted, thrilled. He pulled me into a tight hug, his casual loungewear soft against my skin. “So that’s where you were today, buying me a gift. You’re too good to me, Anya.” I ran my fingers through his hair. The frustration Orbit had caused me earlier simply melted away. “What did you do today? Did you miss me?” Nathan smiled. “I tried my hand at painting, actually. Discovered I have absolutely no talent for it.” I was about to ask where he’d gotten the paints—I didn’t remember us having any—when he pulled out an exquisite box. He opened it to reveal a magnificent gown. It was a backless, crimson dress, covered in delicate gold beading that shimmered under the light. It looked impossibly expensive. “Would you ever wear something like this, honey?” he asked, his lips brushing against my ear. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you dressed up like this.” Of course he hadn’t. A programmer wouldn’t own a dress like this. The only time I wore gowns was for undercover assignments, borrowing them from Lilith’s extensive collection. Later that night, the beautiful red dress ended up in a wrinkled heap on the floor. Nathan was particularly insatiable, his kisses leaving me breathless. But as always, I was indulgent with my sweet, gentle husband. Even as my legs felt like jelly, I managed to whisper, “Baby… you shouldn’t have… spent so much.” “I rarely wear… dresses… This must have cost a fortune…” My words were swallowed by his kisses. Maybe it was his pride as a house husband, I thought. My helpless, adorable man. It only strengthened my resolve to work harder for our life together. I never would have guessed my next opportunity to wear a dress would come so soon. 12 At the Styx Club, the largest underground casino in Las Vegas, I stood behind a blackjack table, my face hidden by a stark white mask. Dressed in a tight black gown, I dealt cards with practiced, fluid motions. Everyone here, from the patrons to the staff, was masked. The “big job” Lilith had assigned me—the million-dollar contract—was here. And so was he. The legendary assassin everyone feared. Orbit. Looking out at the sea of gilded corruption and desperate glamour, my thoughts drifted back to Nathan, waiting for me at home. I’d told him I was on a business trip to the East Coast. If only he knew… I pictured his gentle smile, the way his muscles relaxed when I held him, the familiar scent of his favorite sweater. Beneath my mask, my expression softened. I took a deep breath. The thought of collapsing into my husband’s arms after this was all over filled me with a surge of determination. Even if it’s Orbit, I’m going to take him on. 13 The target’s name was Kavi. Thirty-eight years old, Persian-British. He cultivated the image of a refined gentleman, but in reality, he was a monster. Under the guise of philanthropic medical investments, Kavi secretly financed illegal human experimentation projects across the globe. My client was a mother whose daughter had been taken from her. When one of my colleagues rescued the girl from Kavi’s “research facility,” she was missing both of her eyes and her lower legs. Three days after coming home, the seventeen-year-old girl killed herself with a fruit knife. Recent events had made Kavi paranoid. He was now constantly surrounded by a team of bodyguards. But here, inside the Styx Club, no one without an invitation was allowed. This was my chance. 14 I waited patiently until a masked Kavi sat down at my table. My fingers flew, shuffling and cutting the deck with a flourish. In the seamless arc of the cards, I made my move. An Ace, a King. They landed perfectly in Kavi’s hand. After a few rounds, Kavi’s stack of chips had grown considerably. He leaned back, rubbing his left arm with a satisfied hum. He was relaxing. My own nerves, however, were tightening. Despite me feeding cards to Kavi, one man at the table kept winning. In fact, he was winning more than everyone else combined. He wore an impeccably tailored black velvet suit, and an emerald brooch on his lapel caught the dim light with a predatory glint. No matter how much he won, his demeanor never changed. He was a statue of calm indifference, stacking his chips with slow, deliberate movements. There was an aloofness about him, the cold detachment of a man who was used to being in control. He knew I was cheating. He had to. I took a deep breath, preparing for the next hand. Suddenly, the lights in the casino went out. A moment later, a smooth voice echoed from the overhead speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the Styx Club’s midnight masquerade.” 15 A single, dark gold spotlight illuminated a dance floor on one side of the casino. Soft jazz began to play, and the crowd started to move. A gloved hand extended, a delicate one accepted. Masked figures began to twirl and sway, their silhouettes weaving through the golden haze. I leaned against the blackjack table, my eyes locked on Kavi as he made his way toward the dance floor. My hand slipped into a hidden slit in my dress, my fingertips brushing the hilt of my knife. I had a plan. Lure him into the shadows, and end his life without a sound. I took a step forward, and an icy point of metal pressed sharply against the small of my back. “Don’t move.” The man’s voice was a low, cold monotone, utterly devoid of emotion. Every nerve in my body screamed, but I kept my expression neutral. “The Styx has a no-firearms policy. You fire that gun, and you won’t walk out of here alive either.” “Is that so?” he replied, his tone flat. “Feel free to test it.” 16 The one small mercy was that the man in the suit didn’t seem to want to cause a scene. He prodded me forward with the gun, guiding me through the club’s internal corridors. Every employee we passed, from dealers to security guards, stepped aside and bowed their heads respectfully. Not a single person questioned the weapon in his hand. My stomach sank. I was in deep, deep trouble. We walked to the end of a long hallway and entered an impossibly lavish private suite. A crystal chandelier cast a cold, sterile light from the ceiling. “Knocking out a dealer and hiding her in a supply closet without anyone noticing… you’ve got some skills,” he said. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. “If I’d known you were the owner of the Styx, I would’ve been feeding you the winning hands.” He ignored me completely. “I respect talent. So I’ll give you the courtesy of knowing why you’re about to die. Nyx.” My pupils contracted. He knew my codename. The owner of the Styx Club was Orbit. Shit. If I’d known this was his territory, I never would have taken this job. But I couldn’t die here. Nathan was waiting for me. Our anniversary was coming up. I forced a smile. “We’re in the same business. Can’t we talk this out—” Before the words were even out of my mouth, I drew a miniature pistol from a hidden holster in my dress. But Orbit was faster. A single, clean kick sent my gun flying. He snatched a silver dinner fork from a nearby table and threw it like a dart. I jerked my head to the side. The tines grazed my cheek, tearing my white mask and sending it fluttering to the floor. My face was exposed. The gun in his hand, which had been aimed squarely at my forehead, wavered for a fraction of a second. BANG. The bullet screamed past my ear, shattering a crystal glass on the bar behind me. For some reason, Orbit didn’t raise his gun again. Instead, he closed the distance between us, grabbing my shoulder with one hand. With the other, he unfastened his expensive-looking tie and used it to bind my hands behind the chair. He stared at me, then took a slow, deep breath. “Ms. Nyx,” he said, his voice suddenly altered. “I’ve changed my mind. Perhaps we could cooperate.”

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