I’ve been divorced nine times, and I’ve used the same lawyer for every single settlement. So, when I walked in for my tenth divorce, the stoic man of law finally cracked. “You’ve had a busy year, haven’t you?” I arched an eyebrow and smiled. “Isn’t this the career path you opened up for me?” He let out a sharp sigh and tossed the divorce papers onto the desk in front of me. “I’m your first ex-husband, Mila, not your personal divorce attorney. Stop coming to me for this.” Later, when all nine of my other ex-husbands showed up trying to win me back, he was the one who blocked their path, grabbed my hand through gritted teeth, and declared, “That’s it. We’re going to Vegas. The kind of married you can’t get out of.” I pulled my hand away and echoed the same cold tone he’d used on me years ago. “Sorry. You were just a substitute.” 1 I strolled into the law firm, designer bag swinging from my arm, and placed the necessary documents on the polished mahogany desk. “Mr. Watson, darling. I need you to draft a divorce agreement for me.” The man, previously engrossed in a file, looked up. The eyes behind his gold-rimmed glasses narrowed almost imperceptibly. He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Hah.” I met his gaze, a playful smile on my lips. “Is that how you treat your clients now, Julian? Should I file a complaint?” Julian glanced at me, his expression an unreadable mask. I tapped my nails impatiently on the desk, and he finally fixed me with a look of pure exasperation. “This firm has plenty of excellent attorneys who specialize in family law. You don’t have to come to me every single time.” “But I only trust you,” I said, my expression one of utmost sincerity. He was the first to break. “IDs, marriage certificate. Any children? Division of assets?” I calmly pulled up a chair. “No kids, no marital assets. I’m the at-fault party. I’ll walk away with nothing.” The rhythmic clacking of his keyboard stopped. Julian took a deep, controlled breath, clearly reining in his temper. “This is the tenth time, Mila. What the hell are you playing at? Ten divorces in one year. Every time, you’re the one ‘at fault.’ Every time, it’s right after the one-month cooling-off period. Is marriage just a game to you?” I looked at him, my face a picture of innocence. “Have I broken any laws?” “…No.” “Well, there you go. Consenting adults can get married and divorced as they please. It’s my right. What does it have to do with you?” Julian’s jaw tightened. “It has nothing to do with me. Except for the fact that I’m one of your ex-husbands. Don’t you think it’s a little inappropriate to keep coming to me?” 2 “Inappropriate? But didn’t you teach me this was how it’s done?” I asked, tilting my head with a saccharine smile. He ignored me, slapping the freshly printed divorce agreement down on the desk. “I hope this is the last time.” “I’ll take that as a blessing.” I scooped up the papers and headed out. Leaning against a sports car parked outside was a young man in a baggy baseball jacket and a cap pulled low. He watched me approach with a lazy, roguish grin. This was my current husband, Leo Sterling, the rebellious younger son of the Sterling empire. A notorious playboy who valued his freedom above all else. And, very soon, my ex-husband. “All settled?” he asked. I waved the papers. “Done. Take a look, make sure it’s all good. If so, our marriage is officially over.” He took the agreement, his eyes scanning the text. “Huh. I thought you’d try to find some excuse not to sign, like all the other girls who tried to trap me. No demand for a payout?” I gave him my best professional smile. “Please don’t insult my work ethic. This is part of the service. You can still contact me during the cooling-off period if needed.” Leo pouted, a flicker of genuine disappointment in his eyes. “Right. Well, thanks for this. If it weren’t for you, my family would be forcing me down the aisle with some heiress I can’t stand.” I patted his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll keep our divorce quiet for now. How long we can keep up the charade is up to you.” That’s right. I’m a professional wife. My clients are almost exclusively from the upper echelon: single, wealthy, handsome men who, for one reason or another, need a wife but don’t want a real marriage. Some are fending off pressure from their families; others are high-powered executives who need a spouse for corporate events but fear a messy attachment. That’s where I come in. I play the part of the perfect, flawless wife. We sign a detailed prenuptial agreement. When my services are no longer needed, we divorce, and they pay me a very generous fee. It’s purely transactional. No messy feelings involved. I was about to bid farewell to my latest client when a sleek limousine pulled up to the curb. 3 A stunningly beautiful woman with delicate features stepped out. She froze for a second when she saw me, because we were dressed almost identically: a soft pink knit dress paired with a light mocha-colored cardigan. The trendy, gentle “cool stepmom” look. The only difference was that her outfit was a limited-edition designer original, and mine was a high-end replica. She shot me a glance, a smirk of pure disdain playing on her lips. I knew her. Isabelle Croft. Hollywood’s new “it girl,” fresh off her win for Best Actress at the Crystal Spire Awards. A bona fide superstar. A moment later, a tall, impeccably dressed man emerged from the law firm. It was Julian. Isabelle’s face lit up as she rushed to his side, linking her arm through his. “I’ve been waiting forever. You didn’t answer my texts, so I just came to find you. You’re not mad, are you?” A rare, faint smile touched Julian’s usually cold face. “Let’s go. I just finished up. What are you in the mood for tonight?” Isabelle didn’t answer. Instead, her eyes drifted back to me, a sly smile on her face. “Your ex-wife was pestering you again, wasn’t she? I wondered why you weren’t responding.” Her voice was just loud enough for the four of us to hear. It wasn’t surprising that Isabelle and I knew each other. We went to the same acting conservatory. Her career skyrocketed from day one. And me? With my uncanny resemblance to her, I became her official body double after she hit it big. Yep. I was the one who took on all the scenes she deemed beneath her. Even my bizarre, short-lived marriage to Julian was her doing. She was the goddess, the one that got away. I was just the stand-in. Julian and Isabelle’s college romance was the stuff of campus legend. But after she became a star, she dumped him, fearing he would tarnish her image. In a fit of rage and heartbreak, Julian found me—the budget version of Isabelle—and married me. I was clueless for the longest time. It was only after a drama-filled saga worthy of a 50-episode TV show that they finally reconciled their misunderstandings and got back together. Julian generously gave me half of his assets and kicked me, the budget wife, to the curb so he could be with the premium model. That whole sordid affair was a revelation. It hit me: if being a substitute wife was this lucrative, why stop at one? Ten would be even better. It was a clear path to financial freedom, and it paid a hell of a lot more than being a body double. Julian’s gaze flickered from me to Leo, his voice laced with ice. “She was here to file for another divorce.” “Another one?” Isabelle looked me up and down with contempt, then sized up Leo. “Tsk, tsk. Looks like your standards have slipped. You’ll take any street punk you can find now. First, you were my stand-in to marry Julian, and now you’ve found a new way to grift, have you?” I snapped my fingers and grinned shamelessly. “You’re right. I can’t compete with your market value. My ex is just a plain, unassuming trust-fund kid.” My eyes darted to the man beside me. The “plain, unassuming trust-fund kid” in question, Leo, raised an eyebrow in mock confusion. Then he whipped off his baseball cap, revealing a face handsome enough to grace magazine covers, and slung an arm around my shoulders. “She’s right. I’m just a regular guy with a few billion to my name. Nothing special.” He winked at me. “By the way, ex-wife, what are you planning to do with the fifty million I’m giving you in the settlement?” 4 I had to physically restrain myself from applauding. The man was a genius. Isabelle, for all her fame, had only been a big name for a few years. She came from a modest background and had clawed her way to the top. Just last week, she’d boasted to the media that she didn’t need to marry into wealth because she was the wealth. A bold claim from someone whose net worth probably hadn’t even hit nine figures yet. I knew Leo was backing me up, so I played along. “First, I’ll buy a yacht. Then a private estate. Then maybe I’ll acquire a production company and hire a certain A-list actress to be my body double.” Leo nodded thoughtfully. “Good. You’re thinking about your career, not just squandering it. My guidance is clearly paying off.” Predictably, the smile on Isabelle’s face froze. Her eyes flickered towards Leo, as if she was suddenly trying to place him. She was an actress, after all, and she recovered quickly. Her expression shifted from aggressive to one of gentle, pitying concern as she addressed him. “You probably don’t know this, handsome, but that’s just how Mila is. Money means more to her than anything. You should be careful. Don’t let her fool you.” She then delicately tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tightened her grip on Julian’s arm. “Darling, we’re going to be late for our reservation. Let’s not let irrelevant people ruin our evening.” Before leaving, she even had the audacity to ask Leo for his number. Right in front of Julian. I watched with a smirk. Leo just shook his head. “Sorry, I’m a married man. We’re in our cooling-off period, but I can’t be unfaithful to my wife. I must politely decline all advances from beautiful temptresses.” Isabelle’s face turned a shade of puce as she stalked off. Julian’s expression wasn’t much better. He shot me a final, complicated look before they sped away in their luxury car. Perfect. Our little performance had clearly gotten under their skin. As the car disappeared, I turned to Leo and held out my hand. “So, ex-hubby. About that fifty million…” He gave me a high-five. “Are you kidding? I don’t have fifty million. What about the two million we agreed on for my fee? Can I pay you in installments?” Great. I’d met someone who was an even bigger bullshitter than me. “No way. No delays, not one penny less. If you’re short, I’ll show up at your family’s estate and make a scene.” He was even more shameless than I was. “Or… we could make this marriage real. Then all my money would be your money. What do you say?” In his dreams. I was a career woman, and my career was making money. 5 After parting ways with Leo, I went straight to the bank. Sure enough, a short while later, two million dollars appeared in my account. I took a deep breath and checked the balance. Excellent. My first major financial goal was within reach. Soon, my phone rang again. The caller ID read: ‘Ex-Husband #9.’ “Hello, Ms. Thorne? There’s a family gathering this Saturday at 8 p.m. that requires your attendance. The usual fee will be deposited into your account.” Ex-Husband #9 was a top-tier surgeon named Dr. Aris Thorne, age 32. Consumed by his work, he had no time or interest in dating. Like my other clients, he was using me to fend off relentless pressure from his family to get married. We had finalized our divorce last month, but our contract stipulated that for six months post-divorce, I was still obligated to play the part of his wife as needed. Business was booming. I pushed all thoughts of Julian and Isabelle out of my mind. No man, no matter how infuriating, was going to get in the way of me making money. My one and only focus was the hustle. 6 On Saturday evening, I dressed in a very domestic, yet subtly expensive, outfit. A certain level of investment in my appearance was necessary; I couldn’t embarrass my clients. Aris was a busy man with a touch of social anxiety, a love for quiet, and a severe case of germaphobia. So, I took a cab to the address he provided. He was waiting outside, dressed in a casual white jacket. At 6’2”, he was tall and lean, his hair impeccably styled. His handsome face had a cool, distant air. As I got closer, I caught the faint, sterile scent of antiseptic. I glanced down at my own outfit. Good. Also white. For a true germaphobe, any color other than white was just a different shade of dirty. He gave me a slight nod and, like a gentleman, offered his arm. I saw the pristine white gloves on his hands and chuckled nervously. I didn’t dare place my bare hand on him. I slipped on the pair of lace gloves I’d brought for this exact purpose before taking his arm. The slight frown on his face instantly relaxed. I followed him into a grand European-style villa in an opulent neighborhood. He’d called it a “family gathering,” but there were at least thirty or forty people already seated. How awkward. We were the last to arrive, putting us right in the spotlight for public scrutiny. As soon as we sat down, a wealthy-looking woman next to Aris’s mother began her attack. “Well, look who finally decided to show up. We never see you at our get-togethers. I hear you’re a housewife? What do you do all day?” What do I do? I count money, lady. My time is billable by the second. Aris frowned, glaring at the woman. I kept my composure and replied softly, “Aris works such long hours. As his wife, it’s my duty to manage our home. But I also focus on my own intellectual pursuits. He calls me a housewife because he worries about me and respects my choices. I’m actually quite independent.” The subtext was clear: Mind your own business. My husband is happy to support me. The woman was effectively silenced. I reached over and placed a hand on Aris’s. “Isn’t that right, darling?” A rare smile touched his lips. “My wife is absolutely correct.” The atmosphere had just settled when a discordant voice cut through the room. “Oh? A housewife? So, you have no other source of income, Ms. Thorne? You just rely on Dr. Thorne to support you? That doesn’t sound very independent to me.” I looked up and, to my astonishment, saw Julian. And next to him was Isabelle. He was in a tailored suit, she in a lavish evening gown. In this so-called “family gathering,” they looked ostentatiously out of place… and frankly, ridiculous. Julian’s gaze on me was colder than ever. I hadn’t expected to see him at Aris’s family event. He wasn’t on the guest list Aris had prepared for me. 7 Aris leaned in and explained. Julian was the high-priced legal counsel for his mother’s company. She had apparently taken a liking to him and invited him personally. In a year and a half of doing this job, this was the first time I’d had two ex-husbands in the same room. But it was fine. I could handle this. So, Julian wanted to humiliate me? Just you wait. I pasted on a smile and instinctively snuggled closer to Aris. “Honey, it sounds like someone is questioning my integrity.” Two could play at the innocent, manipulative game. Aris proved to be an excellent employer. He spoke in a calm, level voice. “Of course, she has other income. But my wife’s personal ventures are just small hobbies. Nothing compared to the businesses you all run. We wouldn’t want to bore you with the details.” Julian scoffed. After taking his seat, he made it clear he wasn’t done with me. “What kind of investments are we talking about? Perhaps I could offer some analysis, Ms. Thorne?” He kept calling me “Ms. Thorne,” making it painfully obvious to everyone that we knew each other. Even Aris noticed. He squeezed my hand, a flicker of concern in his eyes. “You know him?” Know him? He’s ex-husband #1. The man who started it all. “Mr. Watson is a competent lawyer, is he not? I’m sure he has a code of ethics. Since when did you branch out into investment banking?” I stared him down. If he said one more word, I was going to lunge across the table and rip his smug mouth off his face. He fell silent. But Isabelle, who had been quiet until now, couldn’t resist. She was a big star, but among these old-money matriarchs, she had zero clout. She was desperate for attention. Seeing me next to Aris, she put a hand to her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh my goodness, Mila! Wait a minute. I just saw you at Julian’s office a few days ago, getting divorce papers. How are you Mrs. Thorne today? Julian, darling, have I been filming too much? Tell me I’m not seeing things.” Her words were a grenade thrown into the quiet dinner party. Every head turned, eyes wide with gossip-hungry curiosity. Beside me, Aris’s body went rigid. His handsome brow furrowed, and he began to rub his wrist—a nervous tic. My employer was angry. This was not good. My cover was about to be blown. I shot to my feet, my eyes instantly welling with tears as I fixed my gaze on Isabelle. My voice trembled with righteous indignation. “Ms. Croft, I have no idea what you mean by that. As a public figure, you should be more careful with your words. Aris and I have been married for over a year. And I will not stand by and let someone spread malicious rumors about our relationship!” Isabelle stared at me, momentarily stunned, before a sly, triumphant smile spread across her face. “Rumors? Is that what you call it? You’ve already moved on to another man, and you’re still trying to play the victim?” Damn it. She wasn’t taking the bait. She was determined to destroy me. Aris’s parents, recovering from their shock, now looked furious. “Ms. Croft, is what you’re saying true?” Isabelle lifted her chin smugly. “Dr. and Mrs. Thorne, don’t be too upset. I know this woman. We were classmates. You probably don’t know about her glorious past. While we were still in school, loan sharks came looking for her. Her own mother jumped from the roof of our university’s main building.” Her voice dripped with false pity. “What kind of person could come from a family like that? I felt sorry for her, so I hired her as my body double. And what do you think she did? She tried to seduce a producer in the middle of the night, trading her body for a role… heh.” She paused, looking at me with relish. “Mila, do I need to go on? Stop deceiving everyone.” In an instant, every gaze in the room turned on me, filled with the same contempt and disgust I remembered from all those years ago. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. I tightened my grip on my wine glass. 8 I started calculating. If I scarred her face, how many months would I get? Just then, Aris, who had been silent, stood up. He gently placed his hand over mine, pulling me into his side. He looked at the room, his expression calm and unwavering. “I apologize to you all. My wife and I have had some disagreements recently, but we have never considered divorce. I had no idea our private matters would be used by someone with malicious intent to stir up trouble. I am so sorry. Had I known, I never would have brought her to this dinner, only to have her slandered and unjustly accused.” He turned to me, his eyes filled with sincere concern. “Darling, I’m so sorry you had to go through that.” I was so moved I could have cried for real. I leaned against his shoulder, squeezing out a few fake tears while secretly patting his back in gratitude. Where else could I find such a perfect client? My mistake had almost blown our cover, and here he was, this socially anxious man, stepping up to defend me. I decided right then and there: I was giving him a 30% discount on my fee. At that moment, Julian also stood up. He grabbed Isabelle’s arm, stopping her from saying anything more. He adjusted the gold-rimmed glasses on his nose. “Isabelle, you’re drunk.” He then addressed the room. “My apologies, everyone. My girlfriend has been working too hard lately and seems to be confusing reality with her movie scripts. I have never seen Ms. Thorne in my office. We only know each other from a brief conversation at a banquet some time ago.” Isabelle stared at Julian in disbelief. I was just as shocked. I never thought Julian, of all people, would have a sudden attack of conscience and cover for me. 9 The dinner party, needless to say, ended on a sour note. Aris led me out, but as we reached the garden, we ran into Julian, who had used the excuse of taking a drunk Isabelle home. He had clearly been waiting for us. The two men faced each other, the air crackling with tension. Aris took off his jacket and draped it over my shoulders. “It’s getting chilly. Don’t catch a cold.” Only then did he look up at Julian. “Mr. Watson. Can I help you?” Julian’s eyes were fixed on the jacket around my shoulders. His voice was hard. “I need to speak with Mila.” A corner of Aris’s mouth lifted in a scornful smile. “I’m afraid that’s not convenient. Your girlfriend has deeply upset my wife. She needs to rest.” “Is that so? My apologies. In that case, would Ms. Thorne herself be willing to speak with me and accept my apology?” I wanted to say no, but I knew I needed to talk to him. He had drafted all my previous divorce agreements; he knew every one of my ex-husbands. His presence here tonight felt too calculated to be a coincidence. I gave Aris an apologetic look. “Wait for me in the car. Give me five minutes.” Aris was a gentleman. Even though I could feel his anger, he just squeezed my hand tightly before letting go. He smoothed down a stray piece of my hair and leaned in close, his voice a low whisper in my ear. “Don’t worry. I’ll be right here. Call me if you need anything.” Then, in a clear act of possessiveness, he pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. His breath was warm against my skin, and I was stunned. It was the first time Aris had ever initiated such close contact. Before he left, he shot one last, cold glare at Julian. The moment he was gone, Julian strode toward me, backing me against the garden wall. “Mila, are you going to tell me what you’re doing or not?” he hissed. “Three days ago, you were filing for divorce from that rich kid, and now you’re playing wife to your ex-ex-husband. What kind of sordid business are you running?”

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1 After Charlie’s childhood best friend drove her company into the ground, he wanted to take the hundred thousand dollars I had saved for me and our baby and give it to her. I begged him to give the money back, but all he said was, “Zoe will earn it back. You need to think long-term, Anna, not act like some paranoid miser.” When I demanded his friend sign a promissory note, he called me cold and heartless. Later, when she cried that she’d lost all the money and was going to starve, Charlie held her and promised to take care of her for the rest of her life. I quietly packed my bags and called my father. “Dad, you were right. Charlie is a piece of work. I’m coming home to take over the family business.” Just as I hung up, Charlie walked out of the guest room and said softly, “Anna, go make some soup for Zoe. She’ll be hungry when she wakes up.” I ignored him and headed for our bedroom. His face darkened, and he blocked my path. “Anna, it’s a hundred thousand dollars. Are you going to keep this up? Don’t you have an ounce of compassion?” he boomed. “If you’re not going to listen, then get out.” His voice was so loud it woke Zoe. She emerged from the room, draping herself over Charlie’s shoulder and shooting me a look of pure disdain. “Seriously, Charlie? You were the king of campus from high school through grad school. Your family’s well-off. How did you end up with such a cheapskate?” Charlie sighed, his gaze softening as he looked at Zoe. “Not everyone can be as generous and easy-going as you.” He glanced at my stomach. “And now, with a baby on the way, it’s too late for regrets.” I clutched my abdomen, watching the raw impatience on Charlie’s face. Could I even have this baby? My last check-up hadn’t been good. The doctor said it was a high-risk pregnancy and that the fetus was struggling. To carry this child to term and ensure its health afterward—from prenatal care to the first three years—would cost at least a hundred thousand dollars, with no guarantee of a healthy baby. And now, every day, I could feel the tiny life inside me growing weaker. That hundred thousand dollars was gone. My father would only help me if I divorced Charlie. When I’d ignored his objections and married him, my father had forbidden me from ever mentioning our family’s wealth, warning that it would cost Charlie his job. I was only three months along. Maybe it was better not to bring an unhealthy child into the world to suffer, especially with a father like this. But the thing that cut the deepest was that Charlie knew. He knew that money was meant to save my life and our child’s life, and he still gave it to Zoe without a second thought. If two lives—mine and our baby’s—meant less to him than Zoe, then there was no reason for us to stay. I turned to grab my suitcase from the bedroom. Zoe lunged forward and snatched it away from me, her voice a shrill command. “Stop it, Anna! Don’t you dare pull this ‘running away from home’ crap to make Charlie feel bad.” Her tone shifted, becoming theatrical. “I’ll go out drinking with my clients tonight. I, Zoe Archer, will get that money back for you if I have to drink myself into a hospital bed, okay?” Charlie, who never set foot in the kitchen, heard the commotion and rushed out. Zoe had changed into a flimsy, black silk slip dress and was heading for the door. She patted Charlie’s shoulder as she passed. “Don’t worry, buddy. I won’t let you down. I’m going to go earn that money right now. You just handle your wife.” Charlie panicked and threw the deadbolt on the front door. A tiny flame of hope flickered in my chest. Was he afraid I would leave? He strode toward me, and I held my breath, waiting for an apology. Instead, his voice was laced with ice. “Anna, you are the most vicious woman I have ever met. You’re a woman, yet you’re trying to force Zoe to sell her body to pay you back?” Before I could even process his words, he snatched my purse from my shoulder and tossed it directly into the fireplace. He glared at me, his eyes cold. “Let’s see how far you get without your ID or credit cards.” Then he turned to Zoe, his voice melting into a gentle murmur. “Zoe, we’ve known each other our whole lives. You’re more than family to me. Don’t worry about the money. We can sell the house, sell the car if we have to. Now, go change. I’ll take you out for a nice dinner.” He glanced back at the fireplace. “The smoke from that burning plastic is probably toxic. We can’t eat here.” I scrambled to the hearth, trying to retrieve my purse, but it was already a molten ruin. My driver’s license, my last few hundred dollars in cash, all gone. The screen of my phone was cracked and blackened from the heat. Fearing it might explode, I rushed to the kitchen for a pair of BBQ tongs and carefully fished it out. As Charlie and Zoe left, he deliberately locked the door from the outside—three full turns of the key. I was trapped. Had he forgotten? I hadn’t eaten either. The morning sickness was relentless, and I was too weak to cook. We had no snacks in the house; I’d been too sick to go shopping. All I could do was lie in bed, my stomach cramping with hunger while waves of nausea washed over me. I wanted to make a simple bowl of soup, but I didn’t have the strength. 2 I knew something was terribly wrong when I felt a warm gush and the coppery smell of blood. With the last of my strength, I crawled to the window. Seeing a light on in the apartment below, I grabbed a long laundry pole from the balcony and started banging on my neighbor’s window, screaming for help. The woman downstairs, Mrs. Gable, knew me. She knew about my difficult pregnancy. “Anna, honey, don’t panic!” she yelled up. “I’m calling 911 right now! I’ll get the building manager to open your door!” Ten minutes later, the paramedics and the manager were there. The door was open. I frantically borrowed Mrs. Gable’s phone and called Charlie. I had no money, and he had just received a bonus of nearly twenty thousand dollars. He picked up on the second ring. “Charlie, you need to come back,” I gasped. “I’m bleeding. The paramedics said I might lose the baby.” I heard Zoe snort in the background. “God, Anna, you sound like one of those desperate housewives in a soap opera, using the baby to get your husband’s attention.” The blood was flowing faster now. I screamed into the phone, all pretense of civility gone. “Have you no shame? He’s a married man! Stop clinging to him!” Zoe didn’t reply. She just tossed the phone aside, but the line stayed open. I could hear music blasting—a karaoke bar. It was Charlie and Zoe, singing a duet of some classic rock anthem about friendship. I could just make out the lyrics. One word, one life, one beer, one ride-or-die… I screamed Charlie’s name, but he couldn’t hear me over the music. Then, their voices rose together in a final, triumphant chorus. Through the hurt, through the pain, through it all, I’ll remain… I hung up the phone. I shouldn’t have held out any hope. For Charlie, friendship would always come first, even if it meant sacrificing his wife and child. But were they just friends? The sobs finally broke through, raw and uncontrollable. I called my father. He promised to have a friend in the city bring me cash immediately and said he’d have all my documents replaced within a day. Only then did I let the paramedics load me onto the ambulance. The surgery was under general anesthesia, but I still felt a deep, crushing pain in my chest. Charlie had been so excited about this baby. We’d picked out names for a boy and a girl. He knew how dangerous this pregnancy was, but the moment Zoe needed anything, he forgot everything else. I always thought that once the baby was born, once we had more time, he would see how much I loved him, how warm our home could be. I thought he would eventually choose us over her. How naive I had been. When I woke up, Charlie was sitting by my bedside. But Zoe was lying at the foot of the bed, under the covers. No wonder my back was so cold; her icy feet were pressed against my waist. I shoved her legs away. Zoe’s eyes fluttered open. She shot me a glare, then kicked me hard under the blankets before dramatically tumbling onto the floor. Charlie leaped to his feet and scooped her up. “Who kicked me?” Zoe mumbled, pretending to be half-asleep. “Jeez, what a jerk.” He cradled her in his arms, his face a mask of fury as he turned on me. “Anna, do my friends mean nothing to you? Zoe was worried sick about you. She’s exhausted, but she stayed here to keep you company. I saw she was cold, so I put her in your bed to warm up.” I almost choked on my own rage. Even a person with zero common sense knows that recovering from a miscarriage requires rest and warmth. And Charlie wanted me, the one who had just lost a child, to be his friend’s personal bed warmer? “Get out, Charlie!” I screamed. “I want a divorce!” Zoe scrambled behind him, pointing an accusing finger at me. “Anna, I won’t hold it against you for kicking me out of bed. But if you talk to my best friend like that again, I won’t be so forgiving.” She looked me up and down. “Who do you think you are? You’re just some girl from out of town. Charlie married you, he supports you, and what do you do? You deliberately get rid of the baby he wanted so badly. He’s been standing here for hours, and this is how you treat him?” Her eyes darted to Charlie, then back to me. “And who was that man who paid for your surgery? You’ve been seeing him on the side, haven’t you? That’s why you got rid of the baby!” I pushed myself up, grabbed the bowl of fruit from the nightstand, and hurled it at her. Charlie pulled Zoe into his arms, catching the fruit with his other hand. He looked at me, his face etched with profound disappointment. “Anna, are you lashing out because you’ve been caught?” “Haven’t I been good to you? You were the only woman I ever loved, the only one I wanted to marry. Why would you betray me?” His words hung in the air. The two expectant mothers in the neighboring beds and their husbands were now staring at me with open contempt. Zoe shot me a triumphant smirk. “Come on, buddy,” she said, pulling Charlie’s arm. “Let me buy you breakfast. As for your wife, let her stay here and think about what she’s done.” Charlie sighed, patting Zoe’s back. “Friends are so much better than wives. At least you care about me.” 3 My hands clenched into fists under the blanket. Had he forgotten? He used to have terrible stomach problems. For three years, I cooked him special, nutritious meals every single day until he was better. His “friend,” on the other hand, only ever dragged him out for heavy drinking and greasy food—the very combination that had once landed him in the hospital with a perforated ulcer. I was the one who nursed him back to health. He’d forgotten all of it. Exhausted, I drifted off to sleep. Less than an hour later, I was shaken awake. It was Charlie, his face a cold mask. “Hey. I’ve signed the discharge papers. Get up. Someone else needs the bed.” I clutched my aching stomach. “Why? I’m not well enough to leave.” “It’s just a miscarriage, what’s the big deal?” he said impatiently. “I got a refund on the hospital fees. I need to go with Zoe to a meeting with a client. If we can land this contract, it might save her company.” I stared at him, bewildered. “What does that have to do with me?” Zoe waltzed in, dangling a new designer handbag. “We were five thousand dollars short for this little gift for the client, so we had to use your hospital deposit.” She gave me a condescending look. “And don’t look at me like that. I know your lover boy paid for it. When I make my money back, I’ll pay you both back. Not that I want your dirty money, but Charlie spent his whole bonus trying to cheer me up last night, and I can’t let my buddy down.” Charlie grabbed her arm. “Let’s go, we’re going to be late.” At the door, he seemed to remember something. He pulled a hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and threw it at me. It fluttered onto my face. “I’m going with Zoe. Get yourself home. We’ll deal with you and that man of yours when I get back.” The moment they left, my father’s friend, Arthur, arrived with my father himself. I broke down, sobbing in my dad’s arms as I told him everything. He immediately hired a lawyer to handle the divorce, worried that Charlie would harass me while I was trying to recover. My father chartered a private jet to take me home. Just as we were about to take off, my father’s assistant came aboard with a gift bag. “Mr. Thorne, a contractor downstairs asked me to give this to your daughter. He’s hoping to secure his bid for this year’s project.” He presented the bag to me. “Perhaps you’d like to see if you like it?” I recognized it immediately. It was the same bag Zoe had been holding in the hospital. So, this was her brilliant plan: buy a gift to bribe my father for a business opportunity. What a coincidence. I looked at the assistant. “Tell the person who sent this that the money used to purchase it is tainted. We will never do business with them.” He nodded, understanding, and made the call before we took off. Back home, I found hundreds of missed calls and a flood of messages from Charlie on my old phone. Anna, have you lost your mind? All I did was lend some money to my childhood best friend. Why are you demanding a divorce? Is this because of that guy who paid your hospital bill? I saw his car, his watch. They’re worth millions. Are you leaving me because you think I’m poor? I’ve worked my ass off for you! I went from making nothing to a six-figure salary in three years! I’ve supported you this whole time! I tossed the phone in a drawer and started using a new one. He wasn’t wrong. He was incredibly driven. Most of his peers were still struggling to find stable jobs, but he had already made a name for himself in the city. When Zoe wasn’t around, he was a good partner. I cooked, he cleaned. He was frugal, didn’t smoke or drink, and spent less than five hundred dollars a month on himself. I earned a decent salary, and we managed to save almost everything, putting away a hundred thousand dollars in our joint account in just three years. I had been so close to proudly telling my father that I could make it without his help. But the moment Zoe reappeared, none of it mattered. Charlie would give her everything without a second thought. Even if nothing physical had ever happened between them, I couldn’t accept a husband who valued his friendship, his “bro code,” more than his wife. A week later, my father, using methods I didn’t ask about, got Charlie to sign the divorce papers. The decree was finalized. To celebrate my return, my dad decided to throw a massive gala and publicly announce that he was transferring fifty percent of the company’s shares to me. It also meant officially changing my surname from my mother’s back to my father’s. Seeing the silver in his hair, I agreed. Because I was still recovering, I was sensitive to the cold. Even though the occasion called for a gown, I opted for a chic, custom-tailored Chanel suit. It was warmer. I was standing in a quiet corner, nibbling on a piece of cake, when a hand clamped down on my arm.

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Before graduation, Holden Blackwood, the heir to a fortune, got brutally dumped by the most popular girl in school. I was gnawing on a dry bagel, sidling up to him as he stared blankly out the window, his textbooks forgotten. “You know,” I said, “I kind of look like her. Why don’t you go for me instead?” He was silent for a long moment, then he handed me the single perfect rose he’d been about to give her. I accepted my role with zero guilt, milking it for all it was worth. A million dollars a month, I demanded. He didn’t argue. He sent two. After we got married, it was clockwork. Sex four times a week, always on schedule, service with a smile. Everyone said Holden had finally found his true love. Until the day his assistant quietly pulled me aside. “That new secretary Mr. Blackwood just hired… I hear she used to be the most popular girl back in your high school. “Ma’am, he seems to really like her. He gave her your favorite private lounge…” 1 I only ever wanted Holden Blackwood for his money. The man was a hopeless romantic, the kind who showered his girlfriend with gifts. While I was scraping by, so hungry I’d count a stale bagel as a meal, I could only envy Sophia, who wore $200,000 earrings before she even had a diploma. What I couldn’t understand was why she’d throw away a man like Holden for some broke scholarship kid. So, the moment Sophia slapped Holden across the face and stormed off, I blocked her path at the classroom door. “Are you two really over?” She shot a disdainful look at my frayed school uniform and flicked my hand off her arm. “Yes. We’re over.” “So, can I make a move on him?” Her eyes raked over my shabby clothes, and a smirk blossomed on her face. “Sure. Go for it. If you actually manage to land him, I’ll give you these earrings.” My gaze fixed on the glittering diamonds he’d given her. I nodded. At our graduation party, when Holden walked in with his arm wrapped around my waist, Sophia’s smile froze on her face. The second Holden stepped away to the restroom, she requested a song for me. As the lyrics “cheating bitch” echoed through the bar, the room fell silent, all eyes turning to me. “You’re pathetic, Chloe,” Sophia sneered. I knew exactly what Holden saw me as. A stand-in. A replacement. But I just grabbed a bottle of champagne, popped the cork, and poured the entire thing over her perfectly styled hair. Then, I plucked the earrings from her lobes. “A bet’s a bet,” I said coolly. “If you didn’t want me to have him, you shouldn’t have gotten engaged to that charity case.” “Chloe!” she shrieked, lunging at me. But a strong arm yanked me back, and Holden took the force of her slap for me. He pulled me out of the bar, and we drove in suffocating silence. He was hurting, I knew. His heart still ached for her. And I knew my place. I followed Sophia on Instagram. Every new outfit she posted, I bought the exact same one. And I’d wear it on our designated nights together. Each time he saw me dressed in her style, a flicker of something unreadable would cross his face. I knew he was looking at her, not me. That he secretly stalked her profile too, seeing in me a ghost of the girl he’d lost. My best friend, Mia, was furious for me. I was his wife, after all. But I didn’t mind. I asked for a million a month; he gave me two. I pushed my luck and asked for three; he wired me five. With a life like this, who needed love? I was born into a world devoid of affection and money. I would claw at any opportunity to make a buck, shame be damned. As long as Holden was still interested in this game, I was going to play my part to perfection. On our first anniversary, Sophia posted a new photo. A delicate butterfly tattooed on the nape of her neck. Tears streamed down my face as the needle dug into my skin, but ten agonizing hours later, I had a perfect replica. When Holden emerged from the shower, toweling his hair, he stopped dead. He saw me, perched on the bed in a lavender lace nightgown, the fresh tattoo on my neck exposed. “What’s wrong? You don’t like it?” “Don’t ever do this again,” he said, his voice flat. He showed no interest in the butterfly. “And get rid of all your purple clothes.” My heart sank. Lavender was Sophia’s favorite color. Was he tired of me mimicking his first love? Was my time as the stand-in finally over? “I mean, it must have hurt,” he clarified, flicking my forehead gently. “From now on, you don’t have to copy her. I’ll still give you plenty of money.” The next day, our housekeeper cleared every last purple item from my closet. I didn’t care; I’d always hated the color anyway. She replaced them with racks of elegant black dresses. I ran my hand over the exquisite fabric. He knew I loved black? But if I wasn’t Sophia’s clone anymore, what was my purpose? To test the waters, I asked for eight million. He gave me an unlimited black card. A companion card to his own. While shopping with Mia, she poked me. “I thought your plan was to stick it out for five years, then take the money and run. It’s almost been five years. When are you filing for divorce?” I found my gaze fixed on a display of tiny baby clothes in a shop window, and for a moment, I was lost in thought. 2 I had been Holden Blackwood’s substitute for five years. I didn’t know what it felt like to truly love someone. My only reference point was a faded memory of my mother, before she left with another man. The kindest thing she ever did for me was knit me a scarf. Now, my fingers were covered in bandages, but the scarf was finished. It seemed Holden didn’t need it anymore. It was one of our nights, and he was half an hour late. I waited on the sofa until I drifted off, only to be woken by a soft kiss. “Sorry,” Holden murmured, his breath hot and restrained as he undid his tie. “A client added a last-minute clause. I got held up.” For the first time ever, I pushed him away. “When are you planning to divorce me?” His breath hitched. “What are you talking about?” I looked up at him. “I know she’s back. You even gave her my favorite lounge at the office. I checked—my access has been revoked.” His muscles tensed. “Holden, don’t get me wrong. I won’t cling to you. I don’t even need a huge settlement. Just give me—” He was already on his phone, his tone colder than I’d ever heard it. “Secretary? What secretary? What’s this about the lounge? Since when does my staff get shuffled around without my approval?” On the other end, the head of HR stammered, “Mr. Blackwood, she showed us photos of the two of you from back when you were dating. She said… she said your wife stole you from her. And your wife does look a lot like Ms. Sophia, and the photos were definitely of you, so we just assumed…” Holden’s expression was glacial. “Blacklist Sophia from the entire industry. I want to see my wife’s access to that lounge restored within the hour. And you? Go to accounting and pick up your final paycheck.” The HR manager tried to protest, but Holden had already hung up. I stared at him, stunned. He turned and pulled me into a fierce embrace, his lips crashing down on mine. “I’m sorry,” he whispered against my mouth. “I had no idea. I’ve been away from the main office…” I believed him. He was always jetting around the globe for business. But no matter how far he was, he never missed one of our four nights a week. Still, a seed of doubt remained. I clutched the front of his shirt. “You’re not worried she’ll be heartbroken? Blacklisting your old flame like that?” “What old flame?” he growled, kissing me until I was breathless. “I only have you.” “Are you… telling me how you feel?” “Yes.” “Then, Holden,” I wrapped my arms around his neck, holding on tight. “What am I to you?” He paused, then his lips found mine again, more intense this time. “You’re my wife.” A shiver went through me. “Then from now on, I’m going to start acting like it.” “It’s about time you did.” Neither of us slept that night. 3 My knitting had improved. I unraveled the first scarf and re-knit it, making it bigger, warmer. But then Mia sent me a video. In the clip, Holden was in Monaco. After a meeting at his private villa, he was walking under a black umbrella as it poured. He passed Sophia. Since being blacklisted, she had nowhere to go. She couldn’t even make rent. Soaked to the bone, her purple dress clung to her curves. She looked up at him, her eyes brimming with tears, her voice trembling in the wind. “Holden…” He hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he walked right past her without a backward glance. “Holden! Have you forgotten everything we had?” she cried out after him, her voice desperate. He never turned around. I breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he knew his place. But I had underestimated Sophia’s persistence. The storm raged all night, and she stood outside his villa all night. Until she finally collapsed. A black umbrella appeared in my line of sight on the screen. Sophia forced her eyes open, looking up at the man holding it. Holden was perfectly dry, his chiseled face unreadable. But the umbrella was tilted, ever so slightly, in her direction. The next day, Holden flew back to New York as planned. But he gave Sophia the villa in Monaco. “Chloe, what does this mean?” Mia fretted. “Holden only ever spends money on his women!” I thought for a moment. “If he sees me as his wife, then I’ll act like one.” That same day, Sophia was evicted from the villa. And for the first time since our wedding, Holden missed one of our nights. I called him a dozen times. He didn’t pick up. He came home the next day, looking exhausted, his eyes bloodshot. “Did you have her thrown out?” I didn’t flinch. “Yes.” “Who gave you permission to be so unreasonable?” The accusation in his tone stunned me. I looked up. “Are you saying that as your wife, I’m supposed to tolerate your ex-girlfriend living in our property?” Holden didn’t answer. He just scowled and tossed his phone at me, a video playing on the screen. In it, Sophia was being dragged into an alley by a group of men, her purple dress torn to shreds. Holden’s voice trembled with rage. “If I hadn’t gotten there in time, she would have been… violated.” I stared coldly at the screen. “What do you want me to do?” “Go to the hospital. Apologize to her.” “Holden,” I pushed the phone back at him. “I will not apologize to the other woman.” “The other woman?” A cruel, unfamiliar sneer twisted his lips. “If we’re getting technical about it, aren’t you the other woman?” The air left my lungs. He didn’t see my shock. He just turned and walked away. For the first time ever, he slammed the door. I sat alone on the sofa until the dead of night, my phone buzzing with messages from friends. Chloe! What’s going on? Why did Holden drop everything to sit by some other woman’s hospital bed? They’re saying she’s his first love. That’s not true, is it? Chloe, get to the hospital! You’re about to lose your husband! I didn’t reply to any of them. Instead, I packed my bags. When Holden came home three days later, he saw my suitcase and let out a short, humorless laugh. “What’s this? Running away from home?” I handed him the divorce papers. “It’s over. You can keep the settlement.” The teacup in his hand froze midway to his lips. 4 He scanned the agreement, page by page, his expression grim. His hands were trembling slightly. “Divorce me? Who’s going to give you that kind of money?” “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Blackwood. I won’t starve.” He hesitated. “Fine. We can get a divorce. But you have to return every penny I ever spent on you.” I froze. After five years as his stand-in, I’d earned a lot, but I’d also spent a fair bit. Seeing my hesitation, a flicker of relief crossed his face. “Can’t pay it back? That’s fine. Just as long as you don’t…” “I can.” He stared at me. I’ve always been insecure about money. No matter how much I had, I never spent lavishly. Even with a nine-figure bank balance, my idea of a feast when Holden was out of town was still ramen with a couple of eggs. Over five years, I’d made hundreds of millions, but I’d only spent two. I handed him my bank card. Then I reached up and unclasped the $200,000 earrings from my ears—the ones that would just about cover what I’d spent. “I won these from Sophia in a bet. Technically, they’re mine. Here. Now we’re even.” I took his hand and placed the earrings in his palm. As I turned to leave, he dropped them with a clatter and grabbed my wrist. “Don’t go! I didn’t really mean it!” The famously eloquent Holden Blackwood was suddenly at a loss for words. “Holden, let me go—” I snapped, turning back, but the words died in my throat. A single tear hit the back of my hand. I stared at him, incredulous. “Are you… crying?” “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his eyes red. “Don’t do this to me.” I’d never seen a man like him cry. If a photographer caught this, Blackwood Industries’ stock would plummet. So I sat down, and I listened. It turned out he hadn’t been at the hospital for days. He’d asked his friends to send me those messages to provoke me. He thought I had been the one who arranged for those men to attack Sophia. He couldn’t accept me doing something so vile. Kicking her out was one thing, but hiring thugs to violate a woman was something else entirely. He had put her in the hospital and visited her frequently only to ensure she wouldn’t press charges against me. “Calling you the other woman… I was angry. I’m so sorry,” he pleaded, his eyes swimming. I was silent for a long time. “Holden, you really hurt me this time.” A flash of pain crossed his face. “But I’ll give you one more chance.” His eyes lit up. “I want you to cut off all contact with Sophia. Send her away. Far, far away.” “Okay,” he squeezed my hand, clutching it like a lifeline. “I promise.” 5 Holden was a man of his word. The next day, Sophia was on a flight out of the country. Her destination: the same place her broke ex-boyfriend was currently backpacking. Holden seemed consumed with guilt over hurting me. His right-hand man secretly tipped me off—at this weekend’s press conference, Holden was going to officially announce his wife to the world. We had a secret marriage. As his canary in a gilded cage, I’d never had a problem with it. But now, I found myself looking forward to the announcement with a giddy anticipation. He was more passionate than ever during our nights that week. Afterwards, he’d hold me tight. “There’s a press conference this weekend,” he’d murmur. “I want you to come with me.” I smiled, pretending not to know. “Okay.” That weekend, I arrived as planned. Holden’s assistant personally led me to a seat in the front row, right where the spotlight would hit. The entire room was a sea of flashing cameras and reporters holding microphones like weapons. Everyone was desperate to know who the woman Holden Blackwood had hidden away for all these years really was. The assistant handed me a bouquet of roses—my favorite Bulgarian reds, their petals still jeweled with morning dew. They must have been flown in. Amidst the buzzing anticipation, Holden finally made his entrance. I watched from my seat as his eyes found mine across the room. A slow, intimate smile spread across his face. He held my gaze as he brought the microphone to his lips. “The woman I’m about to introduce,” he began, his voice echoing through the hall, “is the girl I fell in love with at first sight, back in high school.” Love at first sight? I blinked, confused. The curtains behind him swept open. The roses were gently taken from my hands and passed to another woman. “She was my first love, Sophia.”

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The day before my wedding, the car I was in drove through a freak temporal anomaly. Eight hours for me was twenty years for the world. When the police asked if I had any family they could contact, I stared out the window at a billboard featuring my fiancé’s face and shook my head. “No one. My parents are gone. I have no one left.” The moment he pushed open the precinct doors, words scrolled across my vision, like comments on a livestream. 【Luna, hurry up and tell him who you are! Your fiancé is a titan of industry now.】 【The one that got away is back! Kick out that cheap replacement he married, and you’ll be set for life.】 They said he had become one of Crestview’s elite, that in twenty years, he had never forgotten me. I looked at the man before me, a stranger in a tailored suit, and my voice was hollow. “Who are you? I don’t know you.” 1 With bloodshot eyes, Lucas Hart crushed me in an embrace. “Luna, you’re finally back!” I fought my way out of his arms, my voice sharp and final. “Sir, I think you have the wrong person. I don’t know you.” He stood there, clad in a bespoke suit, a ridiculously expensive Rolex glinting on his wrist, his red-rimmed eyes locked on me. Across my vision, the ghostly comments flew by, lamenting the fortune I was so foolishly turning away. But they didn’t know. I’d lived this life before. In my last life, I had thrown myself into his arms in this very police station, weeping with joy. It was a joy that soured into the cruelest of tragedies. Lucas took a step forward, reaching for me again, but I flinched away. The officer beside me moved between us, his posture wary. “Mr. Hart, what exactly is your relationship to this woman?” Lucas’s gaze never left my face, a storm of emotions churning in his eyes before settling into a quiet calm. It was a long moment before he spoke. “Her parents were my mentors. I suppose that makes me something of a big brother to her.” The comments erupted again, insisting he was just easing me into the truth, using the “brother” angle so as not to overwhelm me. I lowered my eyes, a bitter smile touching my lips. I should have known. He wouldn’t acknowledge me as his fiancée. That girl was supposed to be a memory, tucked away and cherished, not a living, breathing complication. The Lucas of today was a wealthy man with a beautiful family. My reappearance was nothing but a problem. Last time, I was blind to this. I believed his love was as unwavering as mine. I’d rushed to reclaim my title as his fiancée, deluding myself into thinking I could take back everything he had built with his wife, Sophia. It was a delusion that led to a gruesome end, with not even a body to bury. So this time, I would play the part of the amnesiac. This time, I would not interfere with his perfect life. After verifying his identity, the police prepared to release me into his care. “I don’t know him,” I insisted, digging my heels in. “I’m not going with him.” He pulled out his wallet and from it, a faded photograph of me with my parents. “Come on, Luna. Your parents left some things for you at my house. Consider it a keepsake.” But I saw it clearly. Tucked into another fold of his wallet was a vibrant, happy photo of a family of three. As he pulled out the old picture, a small, laminated photo slipped out and fluttered to the floor. It was my old student ID. 【Oh my god! He’s kept her picture for twenty years! He’s so in love!】 【I knew it! He only ever loved her! That Sophia is just a stand-in!】 The comments lauded his undying devotion. All I felt was a searing irony. A man with a wife and child—what was the point of pretending to be a tragic, romantic hero? “Luna, if you don’t come with me, you can’t get your records updated. You’ll be a ghost in the system, unable to do anything.” I hesitated, then finally, I followed him. The ride back was suffocatingly quiet. The plush leather of the Rolls-Royce’s back seat felt vast, yet it couldn’t contain the turbulent current flowing between us. After what felt like an eternity, he broke the silence, his voice low. “You really don’t remember anything about me?” “Nothing at all.” I shook my head, meeting his probing gaze with a calm, practiced smile. I wasn’t lying. I truly didn’t know this man. The Lucas I knew was a poor but proud boy, twenty years old, who would blush at a single word from me. Love and jealousy were written plainly on his face. He didn’t have this man’s money or his cunning. A ride on his beat-up bicycle was enough to make his whole day. He would never have wavered between me and another woman. In my past life, this older Lucas had hidden me away in a lavish villa, a dirty secret, torn between his wife and me. In the end, his indecision destroyed us all. I glanced over. He was rubbing his eyes, a habit I remembered. I could see the silver creeping at his temples. I ran a thumb over my bare ring finger. He still hadn’t noticed the ring he gave me was gone. Once I find the person I need to find, I will walk away from him and never look back. 2 Sophia was impeccably preserved, looking barely over thirty. The animosity in her beautiful eyes was sharp and undisguised. Lucas was about to make introductions when his phone rang. He stepped away to take the call, leaving me alone with her in the grand foyer. I tried to force the word ‘Sophia’ out, to greet her as his wife, but the sound was trapped in my throat. She approached me with a bowl of what looked like hot pear cider. “Here, drink this. It’ll soothe your throat.” The moment I reached for it, her wrist tilted. The bowl crashed at my feet. Scalding liquid splashed onto my instep. It was autumn now, but I was still wearing the flimsy summer sandals I’d had on before I got in the car. When Lucas ended his call, he saw a tearful Sophia, a stunned me, and a floor littered with porcelain shards. “Luna, what did you do?!” he roared, his voice cracking like a whip. “Apologize to Sophia, now!” His hand clamped around my wrist, the force of his grip bruising the bone. The comments flared. 【Just you wait, Lucas! When her memory comes back, you’re going to regret this!】 【Maybe he thinks he’s too old for her now? Is that why he’s pushing her away?】 A chill settled deep in my bones. No, that wasn’t it. In the twenty years I was gone, he had fallen in love with someone else. The scales of his heart had long since tipped in favor of the wife and child who had stood by his side. Sophia quickly intervened. “It was nothing, I just lost my grip. Luna, are you alright? Did it burn you?” She retrieved an elegant shopping bag from a nearby closet. “I got you some new clothes. Why don’t you go change?” Lucas took the bag from her, glanced inside, and shoved it back into her arms. “This is the couture gown I had made for you. You can’t just give it to anyone.” His voice was cold. “I’ll get new clothes for Luna.” I kept my head down. “Thank you… brother,” I mumbled. I slipped on a pair of disposable slippers and followed them into the living room. I sat on the sofa, but my eyes were drawn to the room around me, a museum of their life together. In my last life, I was never allowed in this house. 3 Only now did I see the full, crushing weight of their happiness. In their wedding photo, Sophia was radiant, nestled against Lucas. The date in the corner was three years after the day I disappeared. An entire wall was a mosaic of their life, a dense collage of memories documenting two decades. There were photos of them traveling the world, from the Eiffel Tower to the pyramids of Giza. There were photos tracing their son’s growth, from a swaddled infant to a toddler taking his first steps, to the lanky teenager he was now. The steam from the cup of tea they’d placed before me blurred my vision as memories from my past life flooded back. When I first returned, I thought he was still the same Lucas I loved. He had held me, sobbing, telling me over and over how overjoyed he was to have me back. He said his life without me had been an agony, every second a torment. He said Sophia and their son were just a responsibility, a duty to appease his parents. And I believed him. I foolishly thought we could go back. But the one time I secretly went to see Sophia and their son, he flew into a rage. “You’re still such a child,” he’d snarled. “You can’t possibly understand the pressures a forty-year-old man faces.” My eight hours had been his twenty years. His habits had changed, his tastes had changed. I couldn’t keep up with the new world. I didn’t know how to use a smartphone, didn’t understand the new slang he used. I could see the impatience, the annoyance, hidden beneath his weary sighs. That annoyance peaked two years after my return. He suddenly announced he wanted to end things. “Luna, I have a wife and son. The twenty years we lost is a chasm we can never cross.” “I can compensate you,” he’d offered. “A car, a house, money… just name it.” I’d spent the entire night screaming, smashing everything in the house. He just sat on the sofa, chain-smoking until dawn. Neither of us would yield. So I took the fight to his office, to his company, and finally, to the press. Whether it was the weight of public opinion or my relentless campaign, I’ll never know. But one day, Sophia took their son and jumped from the roof of their high-rise apartment. From that day on, Lucas hated me with a passion that burned for thirty years. He never saw me again, instead leaving me to the mercy of his staff, who found creative ways to torment me. Just before he died, he sent a message: “If only we had agreed to just be brother and sister the day you came back.” So, in this life, no matter how the ghostly comments plead my case, I will stick to my story. I have amnesia. This time, I’m not chasing some phantom love. I just want to find my footing in this new world, reclaim what my parents left me, and then disappear from his life forever. Lucas’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “Luna, go apologize to Sophia.” I lifted my head, my gaze bypassing Sophia and landing squarely on him. “Are we… really brother and sister?” The comments scrolled faster. 【Whoa, whoa! Is this it? Is the big reveal coming?】 【She’s going to tell him! I knew she wasn’t an amnesiac!】 【Get ready for the groveling to begin!】 Lucas’s eyes flickered. “Yes,” he said, his voice firm. “We are.” Then, a little softer, “Did you remember something?” 4 I smiled and shook my head. “No. Just asking.” He let out a quiet, almost imperceptible sigh of relief. His fingers tapped a light rhythm on the tabletop. I knew that sound. It was the sound of his relief that I remembered nothing. The front door clicked open, and a young boy with a backpack walked in. “Dad, who is she?” Lucas opened his mouth, but seemed to struggle with how to introduce me. I spoke up first. “I’m your aunt.” The boy, Leo, eyed me suspiciously. “How come I’ve never seen you in any of the pictures?” he mumbled. Dinner was soon served. Sophia urged me to eat more. The table was laden with rich, elaborate dishes, but not a single one was something I liked. I felt a wave of dizziness. I remembered when Lucas and I were starting out, so poor we could barely scrape by. A single fancy meal was a cause for celebration that lasted for days. As I drifted in memory, the doorbell rang. A moment later, Lucas walked back in holding a McDonald’s bag. My eyes instantly flooded with tears. The comments went wild. 【She told him she wanted McDonald’s right before she got in the car!】 【He remembered for twenty years… I’m not crying, you’re crying.】 But in the next second, Leo leaped up and excitedly grabbed the bag from his father. “I knew you’d remember, Dad! It’s Wednesday—our family McDonald’s night!” Wednesday was McDonald’s night. That was my thing with Lucas. Our wedding was set for a Thursday, and the Wednesday before, we were so busy we never got a chance to eat. It was the one thing I kept complaining about. “I’ll get it for you as soon as I get off this thing, I promise,” he had laughed over the phone. “Luna, what’s wrong?” Sophia’s concerned voice cut through the haze. I lowered my head, forcing down a mouthful of rice. My voice was thick. “It’s nothing. I was just… thinking about my parents.” Lucas was gone from dawn till dusk, consumed by work. The household was Sophia’s domain. And she found endless reasons to torment me. One day, the dishes I washed were still greasy. The next, the floor I mopped wasn’t clean enough. Then, the clothes I hung had too many wrinkles and she had to re-iron everything. Before I could even defend myself, she would sigh, her eyes downcast. “It’s my fault, Lucas. I didn’t explain the house rules clearly enough… Oh, never mind. I’ll just go do it all again.” Lucas would only scowl at me and tell me to stop being so childish. Their son, Leo, was even worse. He secretly took photos of me changing and even tried to sell my underwear online. I brought it up once. Lucas’s face darkened instantly. “He’s a teenager, Luna. How can you even think something so vile about him?” Time truly changes a person. In my last life, sleeping next to the forty-year-old Lucas, my love had created a filter, obscuring the truth. I never realized he was no longer the twenty-year-old boy I adored. Ping. A notification on my phone. My official records were finally updated. That night, my phone rang. “City Hall. Ten a.m. tomorrow.” “I’ll be there.” The next morning, I ran into Lucas right outside the building. “Luna? What are you doing here?” I clutched the marriage certificate in my hand, its crisp edges digging into my palm. “Nothing. Just taking a walk.” If he had only asked one more question, he would have known I was there to get married. 5 Sophia’s voice called from the car. “Lucas, darling, hurry up! We’ll be late for work.” With them both gone for the day, I found the safe in Lucas’s study. Inside was the letter my parents had left me, along with the company’s original shareholder agreement. With these, I could take back what was mine. The password was still our anniversary. The first day of spring. The comments were still fawning over his supposed sentimentality. It just made me sick. I was dragging my suitcase down the street when a car careened out of control, heading straight for me. I collapsed in a pool of my own blood. My first instinct was to call Lucas. I dialed his number again and again, until the world went black. He never picked up. When I woke up, Sophia was sitting by my bed. “You’re finally awake, Luna.” Her voice was laced with faux concern. “Lucas and I were so busy with our fertility treatments for a second baby, we didn’t hear the phone.” I stared at her. “A second baby?” “We’re hoping for a girl this time,” she said, smiling sweetly. Her eyes fixed on me, and then, with a flick of her wrist, she smashed the jade bracelet she was wearing against the bedside table. Lucas walked in at that exact moment to the sound of Sophia’s theatrical sobs. “Lucas, darling! Luna… she broke the only thing your mother ever gave me!” He rushed to her side, shielding her with his body. It was the second time he’d fallen for such an obvious, pathetic trap. But this time, Sophia added a new twist. “Lucas, I don’t think she ever lost her memory. If she’s been faking it this whole time, then all of this… it would finally make sense.” His eyes snapped to me, filled with a dawning, terrible suspicion. I met his gaze. “She’s right, Lucas. I never lost my memory.” “And I never did a single thing to Sophia. The pear cider, the bracelet… it was all her.” His face contorted, a storm of shock and betrayal washing over him. His eyes reddened. I stared right back at him, my voice clear and steady. “I never wanted to destroy your family. That was your own self-important fantasy. Did you really think the twenty-year-old me would still be in love with a forty-year-old man?” The veins on the back of his hand stood out in sharp relief. “Stop it, Luna! Don’t say such things! I don’t believe you!” he roared. “If you never lost your memory, how could you be so calm? How could you not… not come running back to me?” The comments exploded. 【No way! Absolutely no way! If she remembered everything, with how much she loved him, she’d never be this cold!】 【I don’t buy it. She’s just saying this to get a reaction out of him, to make him jealous!】 My gaze shifted to the still-sobbing Sophia. I slapped her, hard, across the face. The sound echoed in the sterile room. “I was trying to be civil, but some people just keep shoving their face in for a slap.” “Luna!” Lucas lunged for my wrist. But his hand was caught mid-air, stopped by a grip of iron. A tall man with sharp, intelligent eyes stepped between us, pulling me gently behind him. His gaze on Lucas was like ice. “Allow me to introduce myself,” the man said, his voice a low baritone. “I’m Richard Vance. Luna’s husband. Legally.” I peeked out from behind him, holding up the marriage certificate. “It’s true. We’re legally married. And I have absolutely no interest in you.” “I never lost my memory, Lucas. I just lost interest.”

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1 My father was forcing me into a strategic marriage, so I made a frantic call to my girlfriend, Claire. Her voice was cold steel over the phone. “Another one of your schemes to get me to meet your parents? Seriously, Nate, it’s getting pathetic.” “I’ve told you a hundred times, Leo has no one right now. Until he finds a new girlfriend and gets back on his feet, I am not thinking about marriage.” “I’m busy with work. I have to go.” The line went dead. The light in my eyes dimmed, fading to gray. I looked up at my father and nodded. “I lost the bet. I’ll do it. I’ll accept the marriage.” … “I’ll pick you up in three days,” he said, then left. I sat alone in the corner of a quiet bar, drinking myself into a stupor, when I saw two familiar figures walk by the window. Claire and Leo, hand in hand, strolling through the park across the street, their laughter carrying on the crisp autumn wind as they kicked through piles of fallen leaves. They looked so blissfully, disgustingly happy. A fire ignited in my gut. I couldn’t stop myself. I stormed out of the bar. When her eyes met my furious gaze, a flash of guilt crossed Claire’s face. She snatched her hand away from his, but then immediately went on the offensive. “What are you doing here? Are you following me?” “You told me you were busy with work,” I shot back, my fists clenched at my sides. Before Claire could answer, Leo jumped in. “Nate, don’t blame Claire. She only lied because she was afraid you’d get jealous and overthink things.” “Shut up!” It was the first time I had ever raised my voice like that. “Claire,” I said, my voice shaking with a rage I could no longer contain. “Your precious ‘adopted brother’ is twenty-four years old. He is a grown man. Can he not function on his own? Does he need you to hold his hand every single day?” “What does his breakup have to do with us getting married? He gets dumped, so now he gets to hold your hand whenever he wants?” “Anyone who saw you two would think you’re the couple!” “Have you ever once stopped to think about how I feel?” I stared into her eyes, searching for something, anything. She looked surprised at first, but then her expression smoothed over into an unnerving calm. “Are you done?” she asked, her tone flat. I just stood there, speechless. Her placid demeanor was a wall of ice, completely shutting out the inferno of my emotions. “Claire,” Leo said, his voice trembling as his eyes welled up with tears. “Maybe… maybe I should just apologize to Nate. And you should stop coming to see me. I can take care of myself.” It was his go-to move. Every time Claire and I fought over him, he’d pull this pathetic, “I might as well just die” routine. “Don’t be ridiculous, it’s not your fault,” Claire said, her voice instantly softening for him. She shot me a glare. “We’re going to the movies.” She turned to leave, pulling him along. But after a few steps, she stopped. For a fleeting second, I thought she was going to apologize. I was wrong. “Nathaniel,” she said, not even bothering to look at me. “People get divorced from marriages all the time. We’re not even married. You’re overstepping.” A bucket of ice water crashed over me. I watched her walk away, my nails digging so deep into my palms that I felt the sting of blood. The pain was a dull throb that spread through my entire body. But this time, I didn’t chase after her. I didn’t beg. I just turned and walked away. “Seven years, Claire,” I muttered to the empty air. “I’ve wasted seven years of my life. I’m not wasting another second.” I had just gotten home when a text from her came through. 【Not coming home tonight.】 【Leo wants to see the meteor shower. I’m staying with him.】 At the same time, a new post appeared on Leo’s social media. 【Who else has no one to go to the movies with?】 【Who else has a sweet older sister to wait for shooting stars with in the dark?】 The post was accompanied by a picture of their two movie ticket stubs and another of their shadows making a heart shape. It felt like a deliberate, calculated mockery. After all, I had been the one to suggest we go see a movie tonight. I was the one who told her about the meteor shower. Fueled by whiskey and rage, I smashed the framed photo of us in the living room. I took the scrapbook where I’d documented our entire relationship and shredded it with a pair of scissors. Finally, I dug out the box of her old love letters and set them on fire in the fireplace. As the flames licked at the paper, memories flickered before my eyes. Claire and I met our freshman year of college. It wasn’t some grand, dramatic romance; our eyes met, we clicked, and that was it. We were together for seven years, through college and into our careers. All our friends called us the perfect couple. But the day I proposed, the day she said yes, her adopted brother, Leo, came back into town. He showed up on our doorstep, sobbing about how his girlfriend had broken his heart, how Claire was the only important woman he had left in his life. If she got married, he didn’t know how he could possibly go on living. So, Claire called off the wedding, saying she needed to help him heal from his “psychological trauma.” I thought it would be a temporary delay. But soon, she refused to even talk about meeting my parents. Her entire world began to revolve around Leo. On our anniversary, one phone call from him was enough to make her cancel our plans. She completely forgot my birthday but threw him a massive, extravagant party for his. She, who had never cooked a day in her life, was suddenly spending hours in the kitchen trying new recipes for him. The only time I ever saw her get angry at Leo was when he deliberately tampered with my car’s brakes. I crashed into a median and ended up in the hospital with a concussion and a split forehead. That day, Claire swore to me she would teach him a lesson and finally set some boundaries. By the next morning, her resolve had vanished. She showed up at the hospital with a thermos of soup. “Leo’s just depressed from the breakup,” she’d said. “He was scared you were going to take me away from him. He did a stupid thing, but he never thought it would be this serious.” “He cried all night. He was so upset he almost tried to kill himself. He’s already apologized, Nate. Just let it go, okay?” That should have been it. That should have been the moment I understood where I stood. But I clung to a sliver of hope that she would change. In the year since, Leo has systematically stolen every part of my life. The last letter turned to ash, and so did my love. Outside, meteors streaked across the sky. I called a realtor and put the house up for sale. Then I curled up on the sofa and spent the night alone. When I woke up, there was a blanket draped over me. The living room had been cleaned up, the broken glass swept away. A moment later, Claire walked out of the kitchen with a plate. “I made your favorite,” she said. “Chocolate chip pancakes.” I didn’t move. “Leo is very fragile right now,” she continued, as if that explained everything. “I had to defend him yesterday when we were out. You, on the other hand, you’re strong enough to handle it.” Not a word of apology. Just a calm statement of fact, as if I deserved her cruelty. “You forgot,” I said, my voice raspy. “I hate chocolate chip pancakes.” Claire froze, a flicker of confusion in her eyes. Then, it dawned on her. Chocolate chip pancakes were Leo’s favorite. She had made them out of habit. It wasn’t the first time. It seemed that whatever I disliked, Leo loved. And as for my own preferences, she had forgotten them completely. “It’s just breakfast, Nate. Don’t be so difficult,” she snapped, her patience gone. She was never like this before. But somewhere along the way, she had given all her tenderness to Leo, and saved all her anger for me. Her excuse? I was the person closest to her. “Just say it,” I said, taking a deep breath. “What does Leo want now?” It was a pattern. Any time she showed me a sliver of warmth, it was because Leo needed something from me. “It’s nothing major,” she said, forcing her tone to be patient again. “He… wants us to have a fake wedding.” “His therapist thinks it will help with his recovery. Give him some closure.” I stared at her. I couldn’t believe it. She would stage a fake wedding with him but wouldn’t even meet my parents. After a long silence, I nodded. “We’re done.” “Do whatever you want.” A look of pure shock crossed her face, and then she shot to her feet. “Nathaniel!” she seethed. “This wasn’t a discussion. It was a notification!” “Don’t you dare threaten me with a breakup! I am going to have this wedding with Leo, with or without your approval!” She glared down at me like I was a prisoner in the dock. There was no point in arguing. My silence seemed to fuel her arrogance. “And we’ll be using our house as the venue.” “Don’t worry,” she added, as if it were a comfort. “It’s just for show. Nothing real will happen.” She was going to marry another man. In the house I paid for. The humiliation was a physical weight. But I was too tired, too empty, to fight anymore. Bzz. Bzz. Her phone buzzed. It was Leo. “Claire,” he whimpered into the phone. “My head hurts.” His voice was like a needy puppy’s. I remember her saying how much she hated men who acted like that. But now, her face was a mask of concern. “Oh, Leo, you just hang on. I’m on my way.” Her voice was softer than silk. She hung up and rushed out the door without another glance at me. A little while later, Claire’s profile picture on social media, which had been a photo of us, was replaced by a picture of her and Leo, shoulders touching as they watched the meteor shower. He changed his, too. And they both updated their bios to the same quote: 【In the cold, falling leaves of autumn, you are the sunshine that came into my life.】 I was the clown living in their shadow. A wave of shame washed over me. I stormed into the bedroom to pack my things when a call came from Claire’s mother. “Nate, honey,” she said. “Can you come down to the office? There’s a deal that only you can handle.” I agreed. For one, her mother had always been decent to me, and I wanted to say a proper goodbye. For two, I needed to retrieve my grandfather’s heirloom. When I got to the company, she immediately handed me a yogurt. “Your favorite,” she said with a warm smile. “Mango.” A small warmth spread through my chest. “Oh, and Claire told me you two have set a wedding date for next week! We should have your parents fly in early so our families can finally have dinner together,” she continued happily. I froze. Claire had lied to her mother, planning to just spring the truth on her after the fact. I was about to tell her what was really going on when she added, “And even after you two are married, you must promise me you’ll continue to take good care of Leo. He needs it.” The words died in my throat. I was an outsider. I always would be. I silently finished the work, then went to Claire’s office. Before my grandfather passed away, he gave me a small, silver locket. He said it would protect me. I’d worn it my entire life. When Claire complained about the “bad energy” in her new office, I’d given it to her to keep on her desk. It was time to take it back. I opened her desk drawer where she kept it, but the locket was gone. As I stood there, confused, the office door opened. Leo walked in. And there, hanging from a chain around his neck, was my grandfather’s locket. I couldn’t believe it. She had just given away my family’s most precious heirloom. “That’s mine,” I said, my voice low and tight. “Give it back.” “Alright,” Leo said with a smirk. He took it off, and made a show of tossing it to me. But instead, he let it slip through his fingers, and it smashed on the hard tile floor. Crack. The locket broke apart. Rage, pure and white-hot, flooded my vision. I launched myself at him, tackling him to the ground. He didn’t even fight back. He just started screaming for Claire, who was down the hall. “Nathaniel!” she shrieked. “Get off of him!” She and a few other employees rushed in, pulled me off him, and then she slapped me. Hard. “Are you insane?” she screamed, her eyes blazing. “Why would you attack him?” My cheek was numb. I pointed at the shattered pieces on the floor. “Why did you give him my locket?” Claire flinched.

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My boyfriend’s childhood best friend is a foodie with a terrible memory. She can never remember where the best spots are. The amazing boba place on the East Side, the legendary lobster roll truck on the North Side—she gets them mixed up every single time. This has been a running theme, right up until my one-hundredth date with my boyfriend, Leo. Her call came, right on schedule. First, she wished us a happy date night on the East Side. Then, she mentioned she was dying for one of those lobster rolls. “You’re basically passing right by it anyway,” she chirped. “Grab one for me on your way back? You’re a lifesaver!” Leo laughed, the same way he always did. “Silly goose,” he said into the phone. “You got it mixed up again!” But after he hung up, he smoothly executed a U-turn. “We can have a date night anytime,” he said, patting my knee. “But that truck sells out early. We’ve got to be a little patient with our forgetful little foodie, right?” I’d heard some version of that line ninety-nine times before. So this time, instead of being patient, I decided to go home and call my mother about that guy she wanted to set me up with. After all, who doesn’t have a childhood best friend? 1 Hearing that, Leo slammed on the brakes. His hands tightened on the steering wheel. He turned to look at me, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Stella, what did you just say?” He paused, and as if a thought suddenly occurred to him, his expression softened. A small smile played on his lips. “Aw, is someone getting a little jealous?” he teased. “Daisy’s just… you know how she is. If she gets a craving for something and can’t have it, she’ll literally cry herself to sleep.” He reached over, trying to take my hand. “And you can’t just joke about breaking up. That really hurts, you know?” He was talking to me like I was a pouting child. He wasn’t taking me seriously at all. So I looked him straight in the eye, my own expression unyielding. “Leo, I’m breaking up with you.” The smile froze on his face. After a long moment, he looked past me, toward the highway sign pointing north. His voice was faint. “Just because I’m going to the North Side to get her a lobster roll?” I nodded. And then I shook my head. Yes and no. 2 I don’t think it’s a big deal to grab food for a friend. I’m not the kind of girlfriend who forbids her boyfriend from having female friends. What I care about is that every single time it’s inconvenient, every single time it’s out of the way, Leo chooses to derail our plans and drive across half the city, just to deliver a snack to his forgetful foodie of a best friend. Leo sighed, launching into the familiar explanation. “Stella, we’re going to be together forever. We can go on a date any night. But Daisy hardly ever asks me for anything. How can I say no when she just wants us to grab something for her on the way?” “Hardly ever?” I repeated the words, a bitter laugh threatening to escape. When Leo and I first got together, he introduced me to all his friends. He made a special point of introducing me to Daisy, his “super sweet but totally scatterbrained childhood best friend.” At first, I didn’t think anything of it. So what if they grew up together? So what if everyone thought they were destined to be together? On our very first date, she called asking us to pick up some spicy wings. I didn’t mind. Even when it turned out the place she wanted was an hour in the opposite direction of our restaurant. The next day, Leo and I made a special trip, bought the wings, and I went with him to drop them off. But when her dad opened the door, Daisy was nowhere in sight. Her father had a complicated look on his face. “That girl of mine,” he sighed. “She gets these cravings. Realized she sent you to the wrong place and didn’t want to bother you again. But she was so upset about it, she cried all night. Cried so hard she could barely breathe. Her mom had to take her to the ER this morning.” Even then, I just thought she was a quirky, overly sensitive foodie who got a little dramatic when she was hungry. Leo, however, was consumed with guilt. “I’ve known her since we were kids, Stella,” he told me. “She’s like a sister to me. I promised her a long time ago that if she ever wanted anything to eat, I’d move heaven and earth to get it for her. I broke my promise.” We went to the hospital to visit her. The doctor said she’d had an episode of respiratory alkalosis from hyperventilating. He warned us not to let her get that worked up again. Leo nodded frantically. He sat by her bed and soothed her like a child. “Don’t you worry, Daisy. Next time you want something, your big bro will get it for you, no matter what.” I didn’t realize how serious he was. Until every single date after that. Daisy’s phone calls became a ritual, more reliable than an alarm clock. The boba from the East Side, the lobster rolls from the North Side. She never once remembered the right location. And every time, she’d sound devastated. “Oh, no,” she’d whine. “Forget it. It’s okay, I don’t need it. I don’t want to ruin your date.” But just before hanging up, you could always hear the sound of a choked-back sob. Terrified of another hospital visit, Leo would turn to me with that pleading look. “Stella, we can reschedule. But if she doesn’t get what she’s craving, you know she’ll cry all night. What if she ends up in the hospital again?” And then would come the U-turn, the drive to the opposite end of the city. Once, twice, three times, I told myself it was nothing. She was just a girl who really, really loved food. By the tenth, eleventh, twelfth time, I started to wonder. Even if you’re that forgetful, can’t you write it down? Use Google Maps? By the twentieth, thirtieth, fortieth time, it started to feel absurd. If you’re that desperate for a lobster roll, call an Uber. Get it delivered. But according to Leo, “By the time a delivery driver gets it to her, it’ll be cold. And Daisy’s super picky about her food. It’s just easier if I do it.” He never sounded annoyed. In fact, he sounded proud, like it was a privilege. As for Daisy, every time he delivered, she’d grab my hands and apologize profusely. “Stella, I’m so, so sorry. Did I mess up your date with Leo again? I’m just so stupid, I can never get the locations right. I promise, next time I’ll control myself. I won’t call him, no matter how much I want something.” Of course, that just made Leo feel even sorrier for her. “Don’t be silly,” he’d scold her gently. “It’s not a big deal. Your sister Stella is the most understanding person in the world. She doesn’t mind, do you, Stella?” He put me on a pedestal of “understanding girlfriend,” leaving me no room to complain. And so, the cycle continued. But even I’m not that dense. After nearly a hundred interrupted dates, a hundred conveniently timed phone calls, and a hundred “forgotten” locations, the message was crystal clear. This wasn’t about food. This was Daisy’s way of showing me—and him—who really came first. Childhood sweetheart versus the new girlfriend. It was a test. After the ninety-ninth time, I had a huge fight with Leo. He swore up and down it would never happen again. I decided to believe him one last time. But on our one-hundredth date, the phone rang right on cue. The same conversation. The same U-turn. The same expectation that I would be the “understanding” one. And I was just so tired. “Leo,” I said. “Let’s just break up.” 3 He didn’t agree. He apologized over and over, even turning the car back around toward our original destination. We hadn’t gone two miles before his phone rang again. It was Daisy, her voice thick with barely suppressed sobs. “Leo,” she cried, “I tried to get a delivery service, but they said it would take three hours! I just checked the truck’s social media, and they only have three lobster rolls left! I guess I’m not going to get one after all, boo hoo…” Her crying grew louder, and the look of distress on Leo’s face deepened. He softened his voice to a gentle coo. “Hey, hey, it’s just a lobster roll. Don’t cry. Your big bro is on his way right now. I’ll definitely get one for you.” I sat in the passenger seat, silent, listening. The moment he hung up, he started another U-turn. This time, I didn’t just sit there. I unbuckled my seatbelt. While the car was still moving, I reached for the door handle. That got his attention. He slammed on the brakes. I yanked the door open and got out. Leo was out of the car in a flash, jogging to catch up with me. He grabbed my arm, his voice soft and placating. “Stella, I swear, this is the last time. Please don’t be mad, okay?” He gestured around at the dark, empty road. “It’s late, there are no cabs out here. Are you really going to walk home?” “Stella, please, just trust me this one last…” His phone buzzed. A text from Daisy, no doubt. A second later, her panicked voice message played from his phone’s speaker. “Leo! They only have one left! There’s only one left! What do I do?” “Don’t worry, I’m almost there,” Leo texted back. Then he let go of my arm. I looked at him. There was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes, a moment of conflict. But it passed. He got back in the car and rolled down the window. “Stella, I have to go. Are you sure you won’t come with me?” I didn’t answer. He had to choose. It was me or Daisy. It had always been me or Daisy. And he had made his choice. The car started to roll forward. “Okay, well… I’ll go get this for her, and then I’ll come right back and pick you up. Don’t go anywhere.” Then he hit the gas. The car sped off, disappearing around a bend in the road in seconds. No hesitation at all. I put a hand over my heart. The heart that once beat so fast for him now just ached. But this time, I knew I had to make a clean break. I looked around. It was nine p.m. Our date was supposed to be at Starlight Point, a scenic overlook deep in the hills east of the city. We were going to stay the night at a little cabin up there. The road was remote. From the woods on either side, I could hear the occasional cry of some animal. Other than that, the highway was utterly, terrifyingly silent. 4 That night, Leo never came back for me. Not that I expected him to. For our special date, I’d dressed up. I was wearing a short dress and five-inch heels, completely impractical for the crisp autumn air. It wasn’t that far back to the city, but on foot, it would take hours. I tried calling an Uber. The app just spun and spun. “No cars available.” It was a weeknight. My closest friends all had jobs; they’d be asleep, phones on silent. I didn’t want to bother them. I had to walk. The heels were beautiful, but they were torture. In less than an hour, my ankles were rubbed raw and bleeding. I took them off and walked barefoot. The asphalt was rough and littered with sharp bits of gravel. In the dark, I couldn’t see them, and every few steps, a searing pain shot up my leg. I don’t know how long I walked. My phone battery was draining fast. The silence was unnerving, so I started scrolling through social media, just for the noise and light, to feel less alone. I saw that Daisy had just posted to Instagram. A nine-photo carousel. There was a picture of a steaming, delicious-looking lobster roll. A cute selfie of her with a happy, full-mouthed smile. And a picture of her standing next to Leo, who had an expression of fond exasperation on his face. The caption read: *The best feeling in the world is knowing there’s someone who will magically appear with whatever you’re craving, just like a genie in a bottle. ✨* The comments were from their mutual friends. *You two are so cute together! ❤️* *Couple goals!* How ironic. Maybe it was a rule that breakups required rain to set the mood. The sky opened up without warning. A few drops at first, then a full-blown, freezing downpour. The big, heavy drops stung my face. There was nowhere to take shelter. The wind picked up, and soon I was soaked to the bone, shivering uncontrollably. The cuts on my feet burned. By the time I finally limped into the city limits, it was three in the morning. The rain had let up a little, but I was in pain, freezing, and still a half-hour walk from my apartment. I found the nearest hotel and checked in. Sitting on the edge of the bed, I examined my feet in the bright light. They were a mess, crisscrossed with cuts. When I’d walked into the lobby, the night clerk had gasped at the trail of bloody footprints I’d left behind and asked if he should call the police. I ordered some antiseptic from a 24-hour delivery service. It stung like hell as I cleaned the wounds, but I was too exhausted to be thorough. I didn’t even have the energy to shower. I just bandaged my feet clumsily and collapsed onto the bed. When I woke up the next morning, my left foot was throbbing. One of the cuts must have had a piece of gravel still in it. The wound was inflamed and oozing, and putting any weight on it felt like stepping on a knife. I had no choice but to call a cab and go to the hospital. The doctor confirmed the infection, cleaned and bandaged my foot properly, and warned me to be careful for the next few days. Then he looked at my face. “You look terrible,” he said frankly. “Let’s get your temperature. After being out in the rain like that, you probably have a fever.” He was right. I took the prescription he wrote and went to the hospital pharmacy. On my way, in the hallway, I saw him. Leo. And next to him, bouncing on the balls of her feet, was a perfectly healthy-looking Daisy. Leo’s face went pale when he saw me. He rushed over, his voice a frantic whisper. “Stella, I was going to come back for you, I swear. But Daisy was crying so hard she started having trouble breathing again. She was dizzy and nauseous, it was way worse than before. I had to bring her to the ER. I figured you could probably get a cab…” His words trailed off as his eyes fell on my bandaged foot. “Stella… you’re hurt?” If this had been yesterday, I would have been furious. My boyfriend had abandoned me, again, for another woman. But last night, I had ended it. We were nothing to each other now. I could be on my deathbed, and he wouldn’t have the right to shed a tear. I pulled my arm away from his touch. “I told you last night, Leo,” I said, my voice cold and flat. “We’re broken up.” From across the hall, Daisy’s eyes lit up for a split second before she arranged her features into a mask of concern. She hurried over. “Oh, Stella, I know this is all my fault,” she said, her voice trembling. “If I wasn’t so greedy, Leo wouldn’t have had to postpone your date. I’m so sorry he left you stranded out there. Blame me, please. Don’t be mad at Leo, I…” “Fine,” I cut her off. “I’m not mad at him. And we’re not breaking up.” The mask on Daisy’s face shattered. Her expression turned ugly for a brief moment before she clutched her chest dramatically. “Leo,” she gasped, “I feel… dizzy. My chest hurts. But it’s okay. If Stella wants to take her anger out on me, she can. It’s all my fault anyway.” As she spoke, Leo was already moving to support her. She sagged against him, a perfect picture of fragile distress. Leo looked at her with pure, unadulterated concern. Then he looked up at me, and his eyes were filled with reproach. “Stella, stop it. Don’t bully her. She’s just a little clueless, that’s all. If you’re angry, take it out on me, but leave her alone. She was sick all night. She’s a patient. Can’t you have a little compassion?” A patient? I looked at Daisy, nestled in Leo’s arms. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes bright. Then I thought of my own reflection in the mirror that morning: pale lips, tangled hair, a thick bandage on my foot. Who was the patient here? Love really is blind. It was true. I didn’t say another word, but my silence seemed to unnerve Daisy. She suddenly lunged toward me. “Stella, if you want to blame someone, blame me! Don’t blame—ah!” She had been moving toward me, but just as she got close, she threw herself backward with a theatrical shriek. Leo, standing right behind her, reacted instantly. He didn’t even think. He shoved me out of the way. One powerful arm wrapped around Daisy, catching her just before she hit the floor. She was safe. I, however, was not. My left foot was injured, my balance already precarious. The unexpected push sent me stumbling backward. My head cracked against the wall, sending stars bursting behind my eyes. I crumpled to the ground, a fresh wave of agony shooting up from my injured foot. “Stella! I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to catch Daisy before she hit her head…” Leo looked down at me on the floor, his face a mess of panic. He let go of Daisy and rushed to help me up. I flinched away from his touch. “Can you please,” I said, my voice shaking with disgust, “stop being so disgusting?” One minute, he’s telling me he loves me. The next, his every instinct is to protect her. A relationship can’t have three people in it. Trying to have both was just… gross. His hand froze in midair. His eyes widened. “You think I’m… disgusting?” I didn’t have to answer. Daisy did it for me, clutching her chest and starting to cry again. “Leo, I feel so sick.” Her words snapped him back to attention. He scooped her up in a princess carry and turned to me, his voice a jumble of explanations. “Stella, I am not breaking up with you. We’ll talk about this, I promise. But Daisy isn’t feeling well, I have to get her to a doctor. I’ll come find you as soon as she’s okay…” The same empty promises. The same disgusting words. He disappeared with her around the corner. I used the wall to pull myself up, my heart a block of ice in my chest. This was the man I had given my heart to. What a joke. Just then, my phone rang. It was my mom. A traditional, wonderfully stubborn woman. “Stella, honey,” she started without preamble, “you’re not getting any younger. Either you bring that boyfriend of yours home so we can talk about getting married, or you listen to me and meet up with Cole. You remember Cole, old Mr. Henderson’s grandson? He just moved back from overseas. You two grew up together, you know each other…” “Okay,” I interrupted her. “I’ll do it. I’ll meet Cole.” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you sure?” I looked down at my foot. Fresh blood was seeping through the white gauze. “Yes,” I said. “I’m sure. And I won’t regret it.” After all, who doesn’t have a childhood best friend?

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When I found out Jackson was cheating, we were both surprisingly calm about it. He stood there, shielding the girl behind him like some kind of hero. His voice was flat. “Don’t blame her. This was all me. I lost control. She’s innocent.” I just nodded. I got it. Later that night, Jackson came home and slid a folder across the kitchen island. Divorce papers. “I’ve been more than generous with the financials,” he said. “Take a look. If it’s all good, just sign.” I picked up the agreement, glanced at it, and then dropped it neatly into the trash can under the sink. I gave him my most understanding smile. “Don’t worry, honey. I’m not going to blow up our lives over something so trivial.” I mean, it’s just an affair. In the age of swipe-right and situationships, who hasn’t been tempted? God knows I haven’t always been a saint, so who was I to judge Jackson? 1 Jackson had a cigarette halfway to his lips. He froze, then slowly lowered it, looking at me like he’d never seen me before. I knew what he was thinking. This wasn’t the old me. Back in the day, I was the jealous type, the kind who’d check his phone. Jackson always had a magnetic pull on women, and even when we were crazy in love, he had to fend them off. It didn’t matter how hard he tried to be good for me; some girls just don’t care about a wedding ring. We used to fight about it constantly. But that was then. Maybe it was the years we’d spent together, the passion fizzling out into a comfortable, boring routine. Or maybe I just got older and too tired to fight. Our marriage had become like a placid lake on a windless day—not a single ripple. And when life gets too quiet, you start craving a little noise. “Jackson,” I said, leaning against the counter. “We’ve known each other for twenty years, been married for almost ten. The company is thriving. Our parents are practically best friends.” I let the words hang in the air. “Do you have any idea what a divorce would actually mean for us?” It would mean splitting assets, a move that would send our company’s stock into a nosedive. It would mean detonating a bomb in the middle of our two families. Our parents aren’t young anymore; they all have their health issues. A shock like that could be catastrophic. He was silent for a long time. Finally, he mumbled, “I was just trying to respect you.” “Your ‘respect’ involves getting a twenty-something pregnant and making me a cliché?” I shot back, my voice still even. He frowned, getting defensive. “She’s not just some ‘twenty-something’! And I told you, it was me. She knew I was married and tried to end it.” “I get it, you don’t have to explain,” I cut him off, deciding to just lay it all out. “You’re worried I’ll go after her, right? That I’ll use my position as your wife to make her life hell. Don’t be. If I have one virtue, Jackson, it’s that I can be incredibly generous.” He watched me, his eyes narrowed. “You’re really okay with this?” “I wouldn’t say I’m ‘okay’ with it,” I sighed dramatically. “But you two have found true love. That’s so rare these days. Who am I to stand in the way? Consider me a supporter.” 2 My little speech didn’t exactly win him over, but he knew I was speaking facts. He agreed to “reconsider” the divorce. For the next few days, he came home right after work. When his phone would buzz, he’d glance at me and silence the call. I made a point of being magnanimous. “Is that her? You should take it. Don’t let her feel ignored. If you can’t give her the title she wants, the least you can do is not make her feel like a secret.” He clenched his jaw, got up, and shut himself in the study. The closed door was a perfect metaphor for his heart. It hadn’t been open to me in a long, long time. Honestly, I understood. People are incredibly tolerant of those they truly love, and equally tolerant of those they feel nothing for. It’s the people they used to love that they become viciously cruel to. He must hate me right now. Hating me so much that sharing the same air in our living room was probably suffocating. And yet, here he was, playing the part of a husband every night, all because he was afraid of what I might do to his precious new love. Poor guy. What a trooper. That night, like every other night, I slept alone. I couldn’t remember the last time we’d slept together. In the beginning, I tried. I’d wear something sexy, make the first move. He’d always plead exhaustion. But please. Men can be eighty and still get a woman pregnant. They can be paralyzed from the neck down and still try to cop a feel off a nurse. I knew it wasn’t about being tired. He was getting his needs met elsewhere. But a woman in her thirties has needs. I was in my prime. So, I’d found a clean, discreet solution of my own. Just before bed, I got a text. “When are you going to divorce him?” “I told you, I don’t do this. I’m not the other woman. If you’re not leaving him, we’re done. Don’t contact me again.” I thought about his eight-pack and the things he could do with that body, and I licked my lips with a twinge of regret. A divorce was out of the question, but he sounded serious. I wasn’t going to beg. So, I just tapped his name and hit “delete contact.” Oh well. There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Bye-bye. The next one will be even better. 3 Monday morning. Quarterly shareholders’ meeting. I hadn’t been to the office regularly since my miscarriage a couple of years ago. After that, I stayed home to “recover,” happy to just collect my dividends. But I never missed a shareholders’ meeting. There were a few new faces since my last visit, but my eyes landed on one immediately. A young woman in the corner, tasked with taking the meeting minutes. She saw me, and her eyes darted around the room in a panic before she shrank in her chair and stared at her notepad. I didn’t feel any animosity toward her. Mostly just a little… pity. She was the first one Jackson had ever brought into my world, right under my nose. But she definitely wasn’t the first one he’d slept with during our marriage. Jackson was usually so good at keeping his work and private life separate. The others were never allowed anywhere near the company. The way he defended her, the way he brought her into this sacred space… I had to admit, this time it really might be love. At ten a.m. sharp, Jackson walked in. But he didn’t start the meeting. A moment later, there was a low murmur outside, and the conference room door swung open. A man in a sharp charcoal suit strolled in. “Sorry I’m late,” he said, though his tone held zero apology. He walked right past everyone and took the empty seat next to Jackson. He must have felt my gaze because his cool, indifferent eyes met mine for a fraction of a second before flicking away. I smirked to myself. That was Caleb for you. A complete poker face. Especially in bed. The more intense things got, the colder his expression became. I think I might have a thing for that, though. The colder he was, the more turned on I got. “Chloe, who’s that?” the shareholder next to me whispered. “Caleb. He was our angel investor,” I explained quietly. “We wouldn’t have gotten the company off the ground without him.” “I’ve never seen him at one of these before.” “He owns a lot of things. We send him an invite every quarter, but he always declines.” “So why is he here now?” I smiled and shook my head. “No idea. Maybe he was bored?” 4 The meeting wrapped up around noon. I decided to stay and have lunch with Jackson. I was washing my hands in the executive restroom when his little girlfriend walked in. She saw me and her first instinct was to bolt. But she stopped herself, shuffled over, and stood with her head bowed. “Mrs. Davis,” she mumbled, her voice barely a whisper. I took my time, slowly drying my hands, enjoying the hum of the air dryer. The silence stretched, and she started to tear up, her shoulders shaking. Pathetic. “Mrs. Davis, I swear, I never meant to hurt you. I… I didn’t know he was married when we first met…” she sobbed. “I tried to leave him, I really did, but… but…” “But you’re just so in love with him,” I finished for her, pulling a silk handkerchief from my purse. I gently tilted her chin up and dabbed her tears with a patronizing sort of pity. “The thought of leaving Jackson felt like a knife in your heart, a fate worse than death.” I continued, my voice soft and sweet. “So you had to stay. And then he brought you into the company, so you could finally be with him every single day. Am I getting it right?” I’d stolen all her lines. She just stared at me, too stunned to even cry. “Was there something you wanted to say to me?” I asked her. The office building was huge. If she’d really wanted to avoid me, it would have been easy. The girl’s motives were so transparent it was almost cute. “Mrs. Davis… you’re so smart, and beautiful, and you have everything… so… so could you please… just divorce him?” She knew how pathetic she sounded, because the tears started flowing again. “I have to ask. I… I’m pregnant.” “Does Jackson know?” I asked, my voice perfectly level. She nodded. “But he said you won’t agree to a divorce. Mrs. Davis, the baby is innocent… I grew up in a broken home. I just… I really want to give my child a complete family!” Her voice rose with rehearsed desperation. “Call me shameless, call me a homewrecker, I don’t care! I will do anything for my baby!” I offered a small, serene smile. “I see. You should stop crying. It’s not good for the baby.” “Thank you! Thank you for understanding!” she gushed, and actually started to bend her knees as if to kneel. But when she realized I wasn’t moving to stop her, she froze in an awkward, mid-curtsy squat. I glanced at my watch. It was past lunchtime. No wonder I was starving. “Jackson and I will discuss the divorce,” I said, patting her shoulder as I breezed past her. Jackson’s office was spacious. When I pushed the door open, he was in the middle of a conversation with Caleb. He smiled when he saw me. “Hey, perfect timing. Caleb, it’s been a while since you and Chloe have seen each other, right? Let’s all grab lunch.” It hadn’t been that long, actually. We’d just slept together last week. Caleb’s eyes flicked over to me. “It has been a minute,” he said, his voice smooth as silk. “I was actually going to text you both about lunch today, but it seems Chloe deleted my number?” “No way,” Jackson said, immediately grabbing my phone off the desk and scrolling through it. His face fell. “Huh. You’re not there.” “She must have deleted it by accident,” Jackson said, rushing to my defense. “Chloe never deletes anyone.” “It’s fine. We can fix that now,” Caleb said, holding out his own phone with his contact QR code already displayed. He watched, stone-faced, as Jackson used my phone to scan it and send a new contact request. I subtly rolled my eyes. And who was it, exactly, who swore last night we should never speak again? 5 Just as we were about to leave, there was a timid knock on the door. It was the little girlfriend, clutching her stomach and looking pale. She needed to leave for the day. Technically, she should have gone to her direct supervisor. But when you’re the boss’s darling, rules don’t apply. So, naturally, Jackson had to take care of her. Which meant Caleb and I were left to go to lunch alone. As I left, Jackson gave me a pointed look. “Be nice to Caleb,” he mouthed, “Apologize for deleting him.” They used to be best friends, I’ll give them that. Caleb’s seed money was what started everything. But we’re not college kids anymore. We’re in a different league now, and things get complicated. To show just how sorry I was, the moment we were inside Caleb’s black sedan, I offered my wrists to him. He wordlessly took off his silk tie and bound them. His expression was ice. “So ruthless,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Just delete me like that.” He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “You think you can just come and go as you please? Walk in and out of my life whenever you feel like it? What do you take me for, Chloe? Your dog?” The car’s windows were tinted, but we were still in the company’s parking garage. The familiar setting, the risk, sent a jolt of electricity through me. “You love him that much?” he sneered, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You know he’s been screwing her for months, and you still won’t let him go?” He pulled me onto his lap so my back was against his chest, then grabbed my chin, forcing me to look out the front windshield. Just then, the elevator doors slid open. Jackson emerged, his arm wrapped protectively around his little lover, his face a mask of tender concern. He was obviously taking her to the hospital. Caleb’s grip tightened on my jaw. “Tell me,” he whispered, his lips brushing against my temple. “What do you think he’d do if I rolled down the window and said hello right now?”

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My mother sent me and my sister home with six quilts each. The cotton was from their own garden, and the quilts were hand-stitched by my father, a man who’s spent a lifetime perfecting his craft. Watching my dad, now in his late sixties, load the heavy bundles into our respective trunks, I had to fight back tears. When we got home, I planned to air them out for a few days, but my daughter, Lily, was completely enchanted. She insisted on sleeping under one that very night. Hours later, she woke up crying, shivering. “Mommy, I’m so cold.” “That’s impossible, sweetie,” I said. “That’s a ten-pound quilt.” The six-pound comforter I bought online would make me sweat in the middle of winter. But Lily was adamant. She was freezing and refused to go back under it. As I was swapping it out for her old comforter, I snagged the new quilt on a nail sticking out of the doorframe. The fabric ripped. Lily pointed into the tear. “Mommy,” she asked, her voice small, “isn’t cotton supposed to be white? Why is the cotton in here black?” 1 It started with a text in the family group chat before Thanksgiving. Mom announced it was going to be a cold winter, so she and Dad were making six quilts for me and six for my sister, Emily. “We grew the cotton ourselves,” she wrote. “And your father stitched every one. Much better than that cheap synthetic stuff you buy online.” She made a point of adding, “Make sure you drive this year. You’ll never get them home on a plane.” Reading her words, a warmth spread through my chest. I turned to my husband, Mark. “Making one quilt is a huge job, let alone twelve. We need to give them something more than just the usual Thanksgiving cash.” Mark got it immediately. “Absolutely. They worked hard. You figure out what’s fair, I’m good with it.” I did some quick math. A good quality, machine-made cotton quilt runs at least $, and you’re not even guaranteed it’s 100% cotton. These were handmade by my parents, with their own organic cotton. The quality and fill would be off the charts. I suggested we give them $1,500. “We can’t let them do all that work for free, right?” “Whatever you think is right, Sarah. I’m with you,” Mark said. So, on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, Mark and I packed up the car, loaded up our daughter, Lily, and made the long drive to my parents’ house. Along with a thank-you card holding the cash, we brought two bottles of good wine and a fancy cheese basket. My parents were thrilled to have us. We had a wonderful, chaotic Thanksgiving, the way it’s supposed to be. On Sunday, as we were packing up to leave, my parents started hauling the quilts out to the driveway. “Mom, Dad! Let us get that,” I said. Emily and her husband, David, had already left with their son to visit friends, so their car was gone. Mark and I saw my parents making trip after trip and rushed to help. “Nope!” Dad said firmly. “You two don’t do this kind of work. We’ve got it.” I laughed. “What’s to get wrong? It’s six quilts for me, six for Emily. Are they really that different?” At my question, my parents exchanged a quick, silent look. Then my mom fixed me with a serious stare. “What kind of thing is that to say? You and Emily are both my daughters. You think I’d play favorites with a couple of quilts?” Seeing she was genuinely a little hurt, I quickly backpedaled. “Mom, I was just kidding! Of course not.” She feigned annoyance, shoving a pair of quilts into my arms. “Fine. Here are two of yours. You can carry them yourself.” She turned and went back inside for more. I stuffed the two quilts into my trunk, and my mom followed me out, placing the next two she was carrying into the space where Emily’s trunk would have been, ready for her to pick up later. In just a few trips, all twelve quilts were ready. “You should let these air out in the sun for a bit before you use them,” Mom advised as we hugged goodbye. “It’ll make them even warmer.” After they left, I pulled out the envelope. “Mom, you and Dad worked so hard on these. This is just a little something from me and Mark to say thank you.” She started the classic mom protest. “Oh, honey, a mother does things for her children because she loves them, not for money. Take it back! I mean it!” But her hand was already tucking the envelope into her coat pocket. Emily and I had already talked about this. The cotton from their garden could be sold, and prices were high right now. Instead, they’d used almost all of it for us. So we’d agreed to give them a gift that was well above what the raw materials would have cost. Emily was giving them $1,500, too. “Okay, Mom! We’re heading out!” “Drive safe! We love you!” After our goodbyes, Mark and I started the long drive back to the city. Mom was right. It was a brutally cold winter. The moment we walked in the door, Lily started shivering. “It’s so cold! So cold!” Then her eyes lit up. She ran to the pile of quilts we’d just brought in. “Mommy, I want to use my new quilt from Grandma and Grandpa tonight!” “Sweetheart, Grandma said we should let them air out first. They’ll be warmer.” But she wasn’t having it. Lily just turned five, and she has my stubborn streak. It’s a handmade quilt from my parents, I thought. The cotton is clean, the cover is new. What could be the harm? I agreed. Beaming, Lily proudly dragged the heavy quilt to her room, refusing my help. She loved it that much. After tucking her in, Mark and I, exhausted from the nine-hour drive, collapsed into our own bed. Sometime deep in the night, I felt a small hand on my shoulder. I opened my eyes. It was Lily. “Lily-bug, what’s wrong?” I fumbled for the lamp switch. In the soft light, I could see her shivering, tears welling in her eyes. “Mommy, I’m cold.” “Cold?” I said, confused. “But you’re under Grandma’s new quilt. That thing weighs a ton.” I put my hand on her forehead, checking for a fever. Nothing. Her skin was cool to the touch. “I’m really, really cold!” she insisted, her nose running. “Can you put my old comforter back on? Grandma’s quilt is too thin!” Mark was awake now, too. “How can it be thin, Lily?” he asked groggily. “Grandma’s quilt is way heavier than your old one.” Lily, of course, didn’t know the difference between six pounds and ten. She just scrambled into bed between us. “Feel, Mommy! My feet are ice!” “She’s right,” Mark said, tucking her cold feet against his warm stomach. “She’s freezing.” “Better now?” he asked. “Mmmhmm. Daddy’s tummy is like a furnace.” After she warmed up, I asked, “Do you want to sleep in here with us tonight?” I was fully prepared for a night of being kicked by a tiny human. But Lily loved her pink bedroom. “No, I wanna sleep in my own bed. Can you and Daddy go change my blanket?” With a sigh, I crawled out of my warm cocoon and pulled her old comforter from the linen closet. Mark went to retrieve the new quilt from her bed. But he’s always been clumsy. As he lifted it, the quilt snagged on a nail on her doorframe. We heard a loud RRRRIP. My heart sank. The brand-new quilt had a huge gash down the side. “Mark, look what you did! We haven’t even had it for a day, and you’ve ruined it.” I reached for it, but Lily suddenly pointed. “Mommy,” she asked, “isn’t cotton supposed to be white? Why is the cotton in here black?” 2 I followed her gaze to the torn fabric. “It does look black,” Mark mumbled, peering closer. I saw it too, but I didn’t want to believe it. I carried the quilt into the hallway and flipped on the bright overhead light, trying to find a rational explanation. “It’s probably just the dim light in Lily’s room. It’s making it look dark.” Mark didn’t say anything, a thoughtful frown on his face. The light in Lily’s room was actually very bright. Sometimes, when she was scared but refused to leave her own bed, she’d sleep with it on. Tonight, the harsh white light felt accusatory. I rubbed my temples and told Mark to put the quilt back on Lily’s bed. I pulled at the tear. The cover fabric was thin, and with a gentle tug, the rip widened, exposing the filling inside. It was a solid mass of blackish-gray fibers, clumpy and dark, like something you’d find in an old attic wall. Lily’s innocent voice piped up again. “Mommy, my teacher at preschool said cotton grows in big white puffs. Why is Grandma’s cotton black?” A sick feeling churned in my stomach. “Cotton is white, sweetie,” I said quickly. “Grandma must have given us the wrong one by mistake.” Mark reached in and pinched some of the filling between his fingers. He looked at me, his eyes wide with concern. “Sarah, it’s all black. All the way through. We can’t use this.” He started to roll it up. As I helped him, trying to keep the grimy filling from spilling out, I noticed Lily squirming and scratching herself furiously. “Lily, what’s wrong? Are you itchy?” She twisted and scratched, her movements frantic. After a moment, she whimpered, “Mommy, I’m so itchy!” I shoved Mark and the quilt out of the room and scooped Lily up, carrying her into the living room light. Her neck, wrists, and ankles were covered in angry red welts. “My eyes are itchy, too!” she cried. I knew immediately it was an allergic reaction. Thank God we kept children’s Benadryl in the house. I ran to the drawer, but as I pulled it out, I heard Lily’s breathing turn into a series of short, sharp gasps. “Oh, God. It’s an asthma attack,” I yelled to Mark. He had just dumped the quilt outside and came running back in. “Quick! Get her to the car! We don’t have an inhaler!” Lily had never had asthma before, but the clues were undeniable: the filthy quilt, the skin reaction, and now the sudden, severe respiratory distress. Mark stood frozen for a second, staring at Lily’s flushed face. “Mark, now!” I hoisted Lily onto his back, grabbed our wallets and her insurance card from the counter, and snatched the car keys from the hook. “You carry her. I’ll drive.” We flew out the door and down to the parking garage. Time was everything with a severe asthma attack. I threw open the driver’s side door as Mark carefully buckled Lily into her car seat. I floored it, peeling out onto the main road. Mark looked at his phone’s GPS. “Sarah, the nearest major hospital is forty minutes away. Can we make it?” I made a split-second decision. “No. Her breathing is too bad. We don’t have forty minutes. There’s a 24-hour community hospital ten minutes from here. We’ll go there for immediate treatment first.” Mark trusted my judgment and didn’t argue. He watched Lily anxiously while I focused on the road. “Call 911,” I ordered. “Tell them we have a child with a life-threatening allergic reaction and we need to run red lights.” The route to the community hospital had two notoriously long red lights. I couldn’t afford to wait. As I drove, Mark calmly relayed the situation to the dispatcher, who gave us clearance. Just as he hung up, we reached the first light. It was red. This was my commute route; I knew every inch of it. The intersection was a nightmare during the day, but at three in the morning, it was empty. After a quick check, I sped through. Seconds later, the second red light. I was so grateful I’d had Mark make that call. Without hesitating, I hit the gas. Lily’s gasps were getting weaker. “Sarah, her face is getting pale. What do we do?” I forced myself to stay calm. “One more block! We’re almost there!” I pushed the accelerator to the floor. “Call the ER at the hospital. Tell them we have a five-year-old with anaphylaxis-induced asthma and we’re pulling up to the emergency entrance right now. Tell them to be ready.” “Yes!” Mark found the number and made the call. “It’s an allergic reaction! Her face is pale! She’s five! We’re pulling in now!” As he hung up, I swerved into the hospital’s emergency bay, slamming on the brakes with a loud screech. The doors burst open and five medical staff rushed out with a gurney. “Where’s the patient? Let’s get her on oxygen, now!” They had Lily on the gurney before I even had the car in park. I ran to her side. Her face was streaked with tears, her chest heaving. My own heart felt like it was going to stop. “Lily-bug, Mommy’s here. You’re going to be okay,” I whispered. A doctor made a quick assessment. “Airway is closing. This is critical. You got her here just in time. A few more minutes and…” He didn’t finish. He just shouted for more help, and suddenly the gurney was surrounded. They whisked her into the resuscitation room. Mark collapsed onto a chair in the waiting area, his head in his hands. “I’m such an idiot,” he groaned. “I should have checked it before I let her use it.” I sat next to him, my body numb with cold and fear. This wasn’t the time for blame. There was only one thought in my head: my daughter had to be okay. Because if she wasn’t, there was nothing I wouldn’t do. 3 As we sat there, staring at the closed doors of the ER, my phone rang. It was my sister, Emily. “Sarah? Are you guys home? David and I have been knocking on your door for ten minutes.” I had completely forgotten. She’d accidentally taken my purse instead of hers when she left my parents’ house. Seeing my ID inside, they’d driven all the way back to the city to return it. “We’re at the hospital,” I said, my voice cracking. “What? Is Lily okay? What happened? We’re on our way.” A little while later, Emily and David rushed in. “I figured you probably left in a hurry,” Emily said, draping a thick fleece jacket over my shoulders. “We stopped and bought you guys these.” I hadn’t even realized Mark and I had run out of the house in nothing but our pajamas. My feet were completely numb. David handed us two steaming cups of coffee. We forced ourselves to drink, the warmth slowly seeping back into our bodies. “How did this happen?” Emily asked, bewildered. “You’re so careful with Lily’s allergies.” She was right. After a minor incident with a mango pudding when she was four, I’d become hyper-vigilant. “It was the quilt,” Mark said, his voice low and hollow. “The quilt from Mom and Dad. Something’s wrong with it.” Emily was stunned. “The quilt? What are you talking about? That was their own homegrown cotton! Dad picked the best bolls himself. He’s been doing this his whole life. How could there be a problem?” David nodded. “Yeah, are you sure it wasn’t something else?” “We’re sure,” I said. Then a new wave of horror washed over me. I grabbed Emily’s arm, my grip tight. “Emily, your son, Leo. You didn’t let him sleep with his quilt tonight, did you?” My frantic expression scared her. “I… I did,” she stammered. “He was so excited about his new quilt. I thought, it’s from family, it has to be safe. So I put it on his bed.” “Go home! Go home right now and get it off him!” I practically yelled. “I don’t know what happened, but the quilts Mom gave me are filled with black cotton! It’s what did this to Lily!” “That’s… that’s impossible!” Just then, a doctor came out of the resuscitation room, pulling down his mask. “Family of Lily Miller?” All four of us shot to our feet. “We can confirm it was a severe allergic reaction that triggered the asthma attack. You got her here just in time, and she’s stabilized. She’s out of immediate danger, but we want to transfer her to the main hospital for overnight observation.” He handed me the transfer paperwork, then looked at us sternly. “And that quilt you mentioned? Get rid of it. The material inside is dangerously unsanitary. I don’t understand you parents sometimes. Giving your child a blanket made of trash… you don’t look like you’re struggling for money.” We all just nodded, ashamed. We had failed to protect her. The reality of the situation finally hit Emily. She whipped out her phone and video-called her mother-in-law. “Carol, wake up! You have to get the new quilt off Leo’s bed right now!” Her mother-in-law, clearly half-asleep, grumbled, “What are you talking about? It’s the middle of the night. I just got him warmed up.” David snatched the phone. “Mom, just do it. Now. Take the quilt off and put his old one back on.” His mother was notoriously slow-moving. “You’re the ones who wanted him to use it,” she complained. “What could possibly be wrong with a quilt made by his own grandparents?” David didn’t care about our family’s pride anymore. “It’s made of black cotton, Mom! It put Lily in the emergency room! If you don’t hurry, the same thing is going to happen to Leo!” That got her attention. “Black cotton? For God’s sake! Are you serious?” Though her words were skeptical, her actions were frantic. We watched on the small screen as she flipped on the lights and pulled our nephew, Leo, from his bed. He started crying immediately. “Grandma mean! Grandma mean!” “Grandma can be mean later, you need to get up!” she said, pulling a sweatshirt over his head. Then she grabbed the heavy quilt from the bed and threw it onto the living room floor. David breathed a sigh of relief. He was about to hang up when he saw his mother march into the frame holding a massive pair of sewing shears. “Mom, what are you doing?!” “You said it was black cotton!” she declared. “I’m going to cut this piece of garbage to shreds!” “Mom, don’t worry about it now, just go back to bed!” David pleaded. But it was too late. With a determined grunt, Carol plunged the shears into the quilt and ripped. With a few powerful snips, she tore a long gash in the fabric. And then she stopped. She froze, staring down at the quilt. On the phone screen, David went silent. Emily gasped. Mark and I leaned in, staring at the image, completely and utterly stunned.

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My sister gave birth, then skipped the country. So I took the baby she’d abandoned, walked into the lion’s den, and claimed I was the woman who’d spent one-night with the Thorne family heir. And it worked. I parlayed a baby into a life of luxury, becoming the new Mrs. Thorne. Seven years later, my sister came back. She wrapped the boy in a gentle hug, looked at me, and smiled. “You’ve been playing my part long enough,” she said. “It’s time to give it back.” I was quiet for a long time. Then I agreed, with only one condition. “Give me enough money to disappear,” I told her. “Wait until I’m settled somewhere far away before you tell everyone the truth.” Because if Julian Thorne, with his infamous temper and long memory, found out I’d deceived him for seven years… well, he wouldn’t just divorce me. He’d destroy me. 1 “Mom.” Leo was standing at the door, his little backpack slung over his shoulder. “Hey, sweetie.” I smiled and walked over, ruffling his hair. “Tough day at school?” “There was a lady,” he said, his eyes full of uncertainty. “She said she was your sister.” I froze. It took me a second to find my voice. “She looked a little like you,” Leo said, grabbing my hand. “But when I called her ‘auntie,’ she got weird. She said she wasn’t my aunt.” My fingers trembled. “What else did she say?” My voice was a dry rasp. “She told me to tell you I saw her,” he answered dutifully. “And that you’d know how to get in touch.” I leaned against the wall, the world tilting under my feet. Seven years ago. Isabelle had just given birth to Leo and was dead set on leaving. Without the baby. I’d tried to stop her. “You haven’t even recovered from childbirth… Why don’t you just take the baby to the Thornes? He’s their flesh and blood, they won’t turn you away.” Isabelle’s voice cracked. “They never even wanted this baby! I kept him a secret. Do you think they’d ever respect me? Ever let me through the door? The best I could hope for is they take the baby and kick me to the curb!” I didn’t know what to say. “So, what about him?” Her face was stone. “He’ll just hold me back if I take him abroad. Just… leave him on the steps of an orphanage or something.” And then she was gone. On a cold winter day, she left me, and she left her son. I was so broke back then, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t abandon this tiny, wrinkled little person. So I bundled him up, took a bus to the richest part of town, and walked up to the gates of the Thorne estate. I ignored the looks I got—the suspicion, the contempt, the pity. I just said, “I need to see Julian Thorne. I’ve had his child.” It didn’t happen the way Isabelle predicted. They didn’t throw me out. In fact, they invited me in. A DNA test was ordered before I could even sit down. When Julian Thorne finally got home, his mother, the family matriarch, announced coolly, “It seems the Thorne family has an heir.” The man was tall and lean, radiating an unnerving stillness. He gave me a single, dismissive glance. I immediately looked down, my heart pounding. My whole plan was based on one detail Isabelle had told me: it was dark. She and Julian had been in a dark room. He’d never gotten a clear look at her face. But now, with this intensely intimidating man standing right in front of me, I felt my confidence shrivel. I was sure he’d see right through me. Thankfully, Julian didn’t say a word. He didn’t even look at the baby. His mother cleared her throat. “This young woman went through a lot, carrying this child for nine months…” “I’ll marry her,” Julian cut in. The room went silent. I stared at him, dumbfounded. My only plan was to make sure the baby was safe with his real family. I hadn’t thought for a second about what would happen to me. The silence stretched on. Julian’s gaze finally landed on my face, cool and unreadable. “I made the mess,” he said. “I’ll clean it up.” His mother considered this for a moment, rubbing her temples. “Fine. Do what you want. Start planning the wedding.” In that moment, I clutched the fabric of my cheap dress so hard my knuckles turned white. I had no idea what his angle was. He could have any woman he wanted. There was a line of socialites in this city who would kill to be Leo’s stepmother. But he chose me, a woman who supposedly hid his child from him for nine months. Was it for the baby? To give him a complete family? I couldn’t know. But I was just a poor, unlucky girl, and the chance to marry into a world of unbelievable wealth was staring me in the face. I couldn’t turn it down. Besides, the baby was my nephew, my own blood. So, I lifted my chin and met Julian’s gaze with a small, determined smile. “I’ll be a good wife,” I promised. “And a good mother.” And just like that, a lie was born. And it lasted for seven years. 2 “You’re a million miles away.” Julian’s arm was around my waist. He tilted his head, his expression calm and observant. I snapped back to reality, leaning into him. “I was just thinking about Leo,” I murmured. “He’s lost a little weight. He’s going to waste away if he gets any thinner.” Julian frowned, a cool edge to his voice. “You spend too much time focused on him.” With that, he tipped my chin up and kissed me, a possessive move that left no room for argument. He didn’t stop until I was breathless. Then, he pulled me onto his lap. He looked down at me, his eyes sharp. “You’ve got something on your mind.” His perceptiveness always terrified me. But I had my defenses ready. I went back to my usual script. “Leo’s teacher told me he’s having a hard time making friends at school. Do you think… maybe we should find a child psychologist? I’m worried he’s…” “Ava,” Julian cut me off, his eyes dark pools. “You need to get a life of your own.” I paused, then sighed. “Okay.” I sat there on his lap, watching his long fingers fly across the keyboard as he worked. He didn’t press the issue, and I’d dodged another bullet. But Isabelle was back. There was no dodging that. All she had to do was show the Thornes a DNA test proving she was Leo’s mother, and my entire world would shatter. I, the impostor, would be exposed. Days had passed, and I still hadn’t contacted her. I twisted my fingers in my lap, taking a deep breath, then letting it out. In, out. In, out. Julian finally slammed his laptop shut, his patience gone. He narrowed his eyes. “Forget about Leo for a minute. You should be more worried about yourself.” The moment his hand slid up under my nightgown, my mind went clear. I tried to push him away. “Wait, wait, I just remembered I have to—I have to bake something for Leo…” He caught both my wrists with one hand, pinning them above my head. Then he used his other hand to pull the hem of my nightgown up, motioning for me to bite down on the fabric. He smirked. “Too many words, sweetheart.” I glared at him, my protests muffled. He held my hips, his voice a low rumble. “Just like that. It’s cute.” 3 I don’t know how much time passed. I was sprawled on the couch, feeling like a wrung-out dishrag. Julian was already dressed, looking as cool and pristine as ever. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’m heading to the office. Don’t wait up for dinner.” I nodded, too tired to speak. My relationship with Julian was strange. It was more than a marriage of convenience—there were moments of sweetness, of intimacy—but it was far from a passionate love affair. He rarely ate dinner at home and almost never asked about Leo. The only warmth between us seemed reserved for moments like these. And even then, it was fleeting. Outside of the bedroom, we didn’t have much to talk about. I was dozing on the sofa in the master bedroom when I heard the front door open downstairs. Leo was home from school. I slipped on my slippers and went downstairs. “Leo? How come you’re so late to—” My voice died in my throat. Isabelle was standing in the doorway, holding Leo’s hand. My lips moved, but no sound came out. Finally, I managed one word: “Isabelle.” Leo beamed at me. “Mom, she took me to the amusement park after school!” I forced a smile and walked toward him, crouching down to squeeze his cheek. “Was the housekeeper with you? And the driver?” He nodded. “Okay, good,” I said, my voice strained. “But next time, please have them call me first, okay?” Leo nodded again. “I have to say,” Isabelle said suddenly, her voice cool. “You’re surprisingly good at this whole mom thing.” I looked up at her. She hadn’t changed much in seven years. She wore a stylish trench coat and carried a designer bag, looking a world away from the desperate woman who’d fled the city all those years ago. I didn’t answer. She pulled Leo into a gentle hug, then looked at me. “You’ve been playing my part long enough,” she said. “It’s time to give it back.” Her tone was soft enough that Leo didn’t notice anything was wrong. He just blinked, confused. “What part?” I flinched, my fists clenching at my sides. Isabelle leaned in, her voice a whisper only I could hear. “We’re sisters. I’m not going to make a scene about you impersonating me and stealing my life. But if you try to fight me on this, you have no chance of winning.” She straightened up, patting Leo’s shoulder and giving me a tight smile. “Leo,” I said, my voice hoarse. “Did you have fun today?” Leo’s personality was a lot like Julian’s—quiet and reserved. But for once, he had a little smile on his face. He glanced up at Isabelle. “Yeah.” “So…” I struggled to get the words out. “The parent-teacher conference is the day after tomorrow. If… if both of us could go, who would you want to go with you?” He paused. Then, hesitantly, he reached out and took Isabelle’s hand. I was silent for a long time. Then I patted his back. “Go on up to your room and start your homework, okay?” After Leo was gone, Isabelle and I just stood there, staring at each other. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “I’ll leave. Just give me enough money to get settled somewhere far away. Once I’m gone for good, you can tell them the truth.” Otherwise, knowing Julian’s vengeful nature… he would destroy me for lying to him for seven years. Isabelle frowned. “How much?” “I raised your son for seven years,” I said, taking a step back. “A million dollars.” She scoffed. “And here I was almost feeling sorry for you. Selling a child for cash. Classy.” I just stared at her. After a few tense minutes, she said, “Fine. But I only have two hundred thousand right now. It’s enough to get you started. I’ll send you the rest after everything is settled.” “Okay,” I whispered. 4 That night, Julian texted me: *Not coming home tonight.* *Okay, honey,* I typed back, short and sweet. He replied a second later: *?* I stared at the question mark. Usually, when he told me he wasn’t coming home, I’d lay on the “good wife” act. *Don’t work too hard, darling. I’ll be waiting up for you. Will you be home tomorrow?* That kind of thing. But my contract as the perfect wife and mother was about to expire. I was done pretending. I stretched and started packing. As I started filling suitcases, I realized I didn’t want to leave anything behind. The clothes, the jewelry, the bags… they were all precious to me. I had five large trunks sent up to the room. I got so lost in the process that I didn’t even notice when Julian opened the door and leaned against the frame, watching me. It wasn’t until all five trunks were packed and I was stretching my aching back that I looked up and met his deep, unreadable eyes. I froze. “Uh… hi, honey. Good evening. I thought you weren’t coming home?” A slow, terrifying smile spread across his lips. “If I hadn’t, where were you planning on going?” “Oh!” I forced a laugh. “I’ve just been so worried about Leo lately, I haven’t been sleeping well. I decided I needed to get away for a little while, clear my head…” Julian just stared at me for a long moment. But then, unexpectedly, he didn’t press me. He just nodded. “Fine.” I bit my lip. “While I’m gone, you should spend more time with Leo. He’s so quiet, and you two barely talk. And tell the kitchen to make him more steak, he’s a growing boy…” “Ava,” Julian cut me off, a hint of impatience in his voice. “Even without you here, nobody in this house is going to let him starve.” I faltered. “…Right.” There were other things I wanted to say. That I’d been happy here. That his mother had always been kind to me, and that Leo was a wonderful kid. And that I would miss Julian. But I wasn’t the woman he’d slept with that night. And I certainly wasn’t Leo’s mother. I’d had seven years of playing house in a billionaire’s mansion. It was more than I ever deserved. But why… why did it still hurt so much? Julian turned to leave. “Stay away for a while,” he said, his voice flat. “Don’t rush back.” He walked toward his study without a backward glance. My fingers curled into fists. “Okay,” I whispered. 5 The flight was over fourteen hours. The moment I landed and turned on my phone, I got a picture from Isabelle. Leo was sitting next to her, drawing quietly. In the picture he was drawing, a woman with long, wavy hair was holding a cup of coffee. It was Isabelle. I stared at it for a long time. It made sense, I guess. The bond between a mother and child is primal. It was only natural they’d be drawn to each other. *I wish you both happiness,* I texted back. I meant it. Her reply came instantly: *You did a mediocre job raising him.* I wanted to defend myself, to tell her that I had poured my entire soul into being Leo’s mother and Julian’s wife. But I knew she would just see it as an attack. So I deleted my angry response and simply wrote: *Well, he has you now. You can make up for all my mistakes.* She didn’t reply. I settled in a small town on the coast of Portugal. I didn’t know a soul and had to rely on a translation app to get by, but the scenery was as beautiful as a postcard. A few days later, a text came from Julian. *Leo really likes one of his new tutors. I’ve asked her to stay on.* *A live-in tutor?* I asked. *Yes.* I typed: *Okay.* I didn’t need to ask who it was. And it was for the best. It would give them a chance to bond. Isabelle, whose social media had been dormant for years, suddenly started posting pictures of Leo. In them, the little boy would even offer the camera a shy smile. I’d always just thought he was a serious kid. I turned off my phone. For the first few days, I was completely lost. For seven years, my life had revolved around Julian and Leo. I had no time for myself. Suddenly faced with endless free time, I didn’t know what to do other than study the local language. Slowly, methodically, I deleted every picture of Leo from my phone. I forwarded all the contact information for his school and his teachers to Isabelle. Then, I saw it on a gossip site. A picture of Julian and Isabelle walking together, looking very much like a couple. The headline speculated about the chic magazine editor who had captured the elusive billionaire’s attention. Isabelle, it turned out, had become quite successful abroad. The fashion world was buzzing, calling them a “power couple.” I blinked slowly. My chest felt hollow. Of course they were a power couple. They even had a child together. 6 The day the rest of the money hit my account, I moved fast. I logged out of all my social media accounts, deleted them, and swapped the SIM card in my phone for a new one I’d bought weeks ago. Sure enough, just a few hours after the wire transfer went through, the news broke. #ThorneHeir’sRealMotherRevealed was trending everywhere. But by then, no one could reach me. The money was already in a new, untraceable account. I pushed down the complicated knot of feelings in my stomach and took a bite of a warm pastry. The divorce papers I’d signed and left in my bedside table had surely been delivered to Julian by now. From now on, the world was wide open. And I was no longer Mrs. Thorne.

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Ryan broke up with me again. This time, I thought about going to the river to clear my head, just like I did when he first dumped me at eighteen. But the wind off the water was freezing. Screw it, I’m going home. On the way back, I passed a BBQ joint. I figured I’d be too heartbroken to eat, just like when I was twenty. Turns out the guy makes a mean brisket. Finally got home and thought about doing what I’d done at twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four—sending Ryan one of those pathetic “please take me back” essays. But then my boss texted. Business trip. I spent nearly a month in the next city over, practically launching a whole second career. Ryan finally cracked and called me. “Why haven’t you apologized yet?” That’s when I realized I’d forgotten something. Getting older makes heartbreak complicated in weird ways. I tested the waters: “Sorry, sorry—been swamped. Forgot to write the essay.” “So… should we just call it quits?” 1 My friends were talking about how Ryan was planning to propose. Ryan just smiled, all casual about it. “Why would I need to propose? Zoe’s obviously going to marry me.” “When it happens, Maya’s going to be my bridesmaid. She’s been asking me about it forever.” I couldn’t even tell what mattered more to him—marrying me or having his childhood friend Maya as a bridesmaid. I took a sip of water. “I’ve already got bridesmaids lined up. My college roommates. We made a pact—whoever gets married, the rest of us stand up there together.” Ryan didn’t even look at me. “So add another bridesmaid.” “Can’t. There’s four of them. You can’t have an odd number of bridesmaids. It’s bad luck.” He sounded irritated. “Then find someone random. Maya’s never been a bridesmaid. Can’t you just do this one thing for her?” Everyone else had gone quiet. They’d seen us fight like this before. They never got involved because I always ended up apologizing, and Ryan would give me the cold shoulder for a couple days before we made up. Nobody wants to be the clown in someone else’s relationship drama. This time I stood my ground. “No thanks. I want to make my own decisions about my wedding.” Ryan got in my face. “What if I insist?” I didn’t answer, but Ryan got the message. He lost it. “Fine! We’re done, Zoe. Don’t contact me again.” He stormed out, leaving everyone else awkwardly frozen. After I said my goodbyes, people tried to lighten the mood. “Zoe’s got this under control. She’ll get Ryan back. That’s just how guys are—go sweet-talk him and it’ll blow over.” “Zoe, you can’t spoil men like that. The more you baby them, the worse they get. You’ve been way too good to him!” “That wedding date you guys picked was mediocre anyway. Let me have my uncle check his calendar—he’s got a gift. None of the couples whose dates he’s picked have gotten divorced.” I smiled but didn’t say anything. 2 I wandered around alone, trying to clear my head. My mind kept replaying everything between Ryan and me over the years. We’d had crushes on each other in high school, made it official in college. Survived the brutal long-distance phase, made it through the endless adjustments of living together. Every stage had its failures. Every time, I’d fought like hell to fix things. I kept asking myself: why? Is this what love is supposed to be—this humiliating? Shouldn’t love be about compromise? About supporting each other? But every time I decided to leave, another voice would pipe up: “If you quit now, doesn’t that make all those years of effort a complete joke?” So I’d grit my teeth and keep going, hoping I could make him see, hoping we’d actually make it. Lost in thought, I ended up at the river. I used to call it “Tear River” as a joke—it was close to campus, and starting with that first breakup, it had witnessed countless crying sessions over this relationship. But tonight it was freezing. Before I could even get properly melancholy, I had goosebumps. I pulled my jacket tighter. Forget it. I’ll be sad at home. I turned around and spotted the BBQ place. Funny thing—I’d been here plenty of times. Once, after a fight with Ryan, I rage-ordered fifty skewers and couldn’t choke down a single bite. The owner’s skills had seriously improved. I’d just come from dinner but got sucked in by the smell of grilled meat. Didn’t want to repeat history, so I only ordered twenty skewers. Polished them off and realized I could’ve ordered more. When your mouth’s busy and your stomach’s full, your heart doesn’t feel quite so empty. Standing at my front door, I hesitated. We’d lived together so long—every corner of this little place held memories of our life together. But when I opened the door and saw the overflowing trash that nobody had taken out, the empty drink bottles lying around, the shoes scattered everywhere—I felt more angry than sad. The anger seemed to burn up all my tears. After I cleaned everything up, I opened my phone to hide some posts so I wouldn’t torture myself later, and saw my boss had tagged me in the group chat with feedback on my proposal. By the time I closed the document, dawn was breaking. I was shocked to realize the first day after the breakup had just… passed. So in that fresh morning light, I blocked Ryan on everything. 3 Ryan never came back. I knew he was waiting for me to cave. I figured I would too—I’d done it so many times before. Humbling yourself for love stops feeling humiliating after a while. But every time I picked up my phone, something more urgent came up. Either I had to submit a proposal or a client needed something. Before I knew it, eight or nine days had passed without any contact. I’d somehow accomplished something I thought was impossible, and it wasn’t nearly as torturous as I’d imagined. At the morning meeting, my supervisor said we had an important client and needed to send someone to be on-site until the project wrapped—at least a year and a half. I raised my hand without thinking. He looked at me. “Single people get priority.” “I’m single,” I shot back. The whole conference room laughed. Everyone knew about my legendary relationship with Ryan. But when the supervisor asked around, nobody else volunteered. Makes sense—leaving headquarters for that long could make your position awkward when you got back. Career-wise, it wasn’t the smart move. But for me, besides getting some distance from Ryan so I could think clearly about the relationship, the client was in Harbor City—a place I’d always wanted to go. Ryan had never been willing to leave. For him, nowhere was more comfortable than here, so he refused to go anywhere else. He wouldn’t even let me visit Harbor City for vacation. Friends joked that he was afraid I’d go and never come back. I could only smile. In the end, the supervisor picked me—you can’t force someone who doesn’t want to go. Before I left, he warned me repeatedly: “You can’t bail on this, okay? Whatever happens with your boyfriend, you’ve got to see this year and a half through.” I smiled. “Mission accepted.” 4 My first days in Harbor City were genuinely hectic. I worked overtime for two straight weeks, didn’t even have time to find my own place. Just stayed in the hotel the client arranged. It wasn’t until the third weekend that I finally had time to explore. The city looked pretty much like it did in all the blogs and magazines I’d read, but being there in person revealed all these different kinds of beauty. I thought: I made the right call coming here. When my mom called, I was actually surprised. It had been over a year since our last conversation ended badly. They’d started pressuring me to get married at twenty-five and kept at it until I was twenty-eight with no results. Then they actually found Ryan’s contact info on my phone and reached out to him directly. I could imagine how nasty they’d been—Ryan didn’t speak to me for a whole month after that call. My mom has a nice voice, actually. I just don’t know how she manages to say such awful, soul-crushing things with it. “You’re not seriously planning to wait until you’re thirty to get married, are you? We could dig eight generations back in the family tree and not find anyone like you.” “Well, I’m expanding your horizons then.” “I don’t have time for your nonsense. Your sister saw on your social media that you broke up with that Ryan guy. Is it true? You used to make up after a few days, but I’ve been watching—it’s been a while this time. Is it really over?” I said impatiently, “If you’ve got something to say, just say it. Don’t beat around the bush. I’ve got work.” “That temper of yours—just like your father. No wonder you two can’t be in the same room.” “If you don’t get to the point, I’m hanging up.” I heard my mom’s voice rush out: “Don’t hang up! I just wanted to ask—if you’re free this weekend, your aunt set you up with someone. Want to meet him? He works in your city.” “Oh, well, probably not the same city anymore. I forgot to tell you guys—I moved.” 5 My mom’s voice suddenly got louder. “Why are you changing jobs again for no reason? You’ve always been like this since you were little—way too headstrong.” Too tired to argue, I cut to the chase. “Is this guy one of Aunt’s clients or her boss? Or does she have some connection to him? Otherwise she wouldn’t be pushing so hard.” My mom, who’d been so loud a second ago, started hemming and hawing. “Well, he’s the son of your cousin’s boss, but his credentials are really good! Your aunt wouldn’t set you up with someone bad, would she?” I have no idea how she could say that without a shred of shame. If she were standing in front of me, I’d definitely check to see if she was even blushing. “Are you sure about that?” “Do you have to be so sarcastic? So last year your aunt introduced you to someone who was a little inappropriate—she cried and apologized! She really didn’t know about his situation, or why would she have introduced you?” I was too tired to argue. If she didn’t know anything about him, why did she insist on setting us up in the first place? My dear aunt had introduced me to an armed robber. After I refused multiple times, she gave him my address. If Ryan hadn’t come home when he did that night, I don’t know what would’ve happened in that dark stairwell. I only found out later that the guy was the nephew of one of my aunt’s big clients. She’d asked my mom for a photo and sent it without doing any research. When he expressed interest, she immediately handed over my address. The whole thing happened without my involvement. When I wanted to go to the police, my aunt made it clear she wouldn’t testify—she couldn’t afford to offend that big client. So the whole thing just got swept under the rug. And now she’s back at it. “Tell Aunt to stop using me as a bargaining chip. Otherwise when I come home for the holidays and lose my mind, don’t say I’m mentally ill.” “You ungrateful child!” 6 The moment I hung up, everything felt peaceful. I’d never realized how wonderful a quiet environment could be. I efficiently finished revising a proposal and dropped it in the work chat. The client team responded with a stream of praise emojis that made me feel pretty good about myself. I posted on social media: Another day of crushing it. I’d always had decent social connections, but I was surprised by how much engagement this post got. Lots of friends left comments. Zoe’s all about her career now! I tried to meet up with you all week and you were too busy. Turns out you were home working? Still working? Your castle walls are about to fall, you know that? Why haven’t you deleted that breakup post yet? Haven’t you guys made up? Did you not put enough effort into the surprise this time? You’re totally ignoring us strategic advisors. I replied to each one: Been on a business trip. Let’s hang when I’m back. My heart is the castle, and it’s empty. We didn’t make up. Right after I replied, my phone rang. It was the girlfriend of one of Ryan’s buddies—we used to have dinner together a lot. “Where have you been living it up, Zoe?” “Just working. Pretty busy lately.” She paused, then said quietly, “Are you on a business trip? I stopped by your place the other day and knocked, but you weren’t home.” “Yeah, I’m out of town. Did you need something?” She quickly said, “No, no, just haven’t seen you in a while. Wanted to grab dinner.” “Sure, I’ll call you when I’m back from this trip.” “Sounds good!” I was about to hang up when I heard her say, “Have you heard about Ryan and Maya lately?” I told the truth. “Not really. Been really busy.” I didn’t want to engage, but she kept going anyway. “Ryan and Maya have been super public lately. They’re showing up together at all these parties. I heard Ryan gave her a huge diamond ring for her birthday!” “Everyone’s speculating about whether they’re getting together. Ryan hasn’t confirmed anything. We all figured he’s still waiting for you to apologize!” I found myself laughing. Before she could continue, I asked, “What exactly did I do wrong?” She hesitated. “Huh? But you’ve always been the one to apologize before. I thought this time you’d also—” “I apologized because I still cared. But what if I don’t care anymore?” I heard a loud door slam on her end. And Ryan’s friend yelling, “Ryan!”

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