They framed me for a celebrity’s death. My fiancé provided the false evidence, and my beautiful new colleague shed crocodile tears as my life went up in flames. After they destroyed my career, a crazed fan finished the job with a bottle of acid. But then, I woke up—back on the morning of the day it all went wrong. This time, the trap they’re setting for me is one they won’t be walking away from. 1 The first thing I did after I was reborn was trade my shift. When my fiancé found out, he told me I was insane. Kelsey, the beautiful new nurse, burst into tears. In my last life, it had gone so differently. A patient was rushed into the ER with acute pulmonary hypertension. He wasn’t just anyone; he was Liam Croft, Hollywood’s golden boy, fresh off a string of award season victories. A true A-lister. Every available doctor in the emergency department was pulled into the effort to save him. After the marathon surgery, my shift began. I spent the next twenty-four hours glued to his bedside, a constant vigil to ensure his stability. But just as I was about to clock out, he coded. A sudden, catastrophic event, and he was gone. That’s when Kelsey made her move. “Nora has no work ethic,” she’d announced to our superiors, her voice trembling with faux sincerity. “I know she likes to slip into the hallway to play on her phone during her shifts…” Her eyes filled with tears. “But that was a human life. How could you be so negligent?” And Ethan, my fiancé, stood right beside her. He held up his phone and played a recording of me venting after a brutal triple shift, complaining about how exhausted I was. It was his proof. “I know you’re tired of this job, Nora,” he’d said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “But that doesn’t give you the right to be reckless with people’s lives.” After that, it was a landslide. Liam Croft’s family and his legion of rabid fans ignored my desperate explanations, filing lawsuits and official complaints. The hospital fired me. The depression that followed was a suffocating blanket. Then came the “superfan” who showed up at my door with a bottle of industrial-strength drain cleaner. I died in a haze of white-hot, chemical agony. And after I died, I watched. I saw Kelsey get promoted to head nurse. I saw her marry Ethan. I saw them live a long, happy life. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back. Back on the very day Liam Croft was wheeled into our ER, fighting for his life. 1 “We need him in Trauma Room 3! Stat!” “Nora, what are you doing just standing there?” The familiar controlled chaos of the ER snapped me back to reality. The sea of blue scrubs, the rhythmic beep of monitors, the urgent, clipped voices of doctors and nurses. I saw him then, lying on the gurney being rushed past me—Liam Croft. It was real. I was reborn. And I was back on the day it all began. “Nora, if you’re not going to help, at least get out of the way,” Kelsey snapped, bumping my shoulder as she hurried to the side of our department chief, Dr. Albright, eager to make an impression. I watched her, the rage a furnace in my chest. She was the one who had destroyed my reputation, who had set the stage for my horrifying death. This time, I vowed silently, I won’t let either of you win. Dr. Albright’s brow furrowed as he glanced at the vial in Kelsey’s hand. “That’s the wrong medication! Are you trying to kill him, Kelsey? Get out!” She’d only been in the ER for three months, and her incompetence was a liability. A cold smile touched my lips. “Chief, let me,” I said, stepping forward smoothly. I pushed past a stunned Kelsey and took my place at his side. She glared at me, her face a mask of fury, before retreating from the trauma room. Just like last time, Liam’s surgery was a success. And just like last time, I was scheduled for the overnight watch. Unlike last time, the first thing I did was find the head nurse and request a shift swap. Once it was done, I drove home to my condo at Willow Creek. It was the one my parents had bought for me, paid in full. After Ethan and I got engaged, he’d made himself right at home, practically moving in. He claimed it was to take care of me, but he treated the place like it was his own. 2 In my previous life, Ethan and I had gotten together after being set up by Dr. Albright. His family was working-class, but he was ambitious and driven. We’d been dating for nearly a year, and when I told him I wanted to wait to be intimate, he said he respected my decision. Only after my death did I learn the truth: he’d been sleeping with Kelsey all along. I slept soundly and deeply in my own bed. The next morning, on my way out, I changed the code on the keypad lock to my front door. After that small act of liberation, I drove to the hospital. I had just changed into my scrubs when I ran into Kelsey in the hallway near the patient rooms. “Well, well. You’re looking surprisingly fresh for someone who just pulled an all-nighter,” she said, her tone dripping with passive-aggressive sweetness. “What moisturizer do you use? You have to tell me.” I ignored her and kept walking. She scoffed. “Did you see the news this morning? That patient from yesterday—that was Liam Croft. The Liam Croft. The one who just won a Golden Globe.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “His fans are camped outside the hospital. If anything happens to him, they’ll tear this place apart.” She paused for effect. “So, you know, whoever is watching him needs to be extremely careful. One little mistake, and it’s over for them.” Her words were laced with poison, a thinly veiled threat. It was as if she already knew something was going to happen. She’d said something similar to me in my past life, but I’d been too naive to understand. Now, I saw it clearly. Liam Croft’s death was no accident. And Kelsey was involved. As I was processing this, the hospital-wide alert blared through the speakers. A code blue. Liam Croft was crashing. Massive internal bleeding. Just like before, the hospital exploded into action. Staff from every department converged on the ICU. Kelsey, putting on a masterful performance of panic, rushed in to “help” with the resuscitation efforts. A few minutes later, she and Dr. Albright emerged from the room, their faces grim. By then, Liam’s agent, his parents, and the president of his official fan club had arrived, crowding the hallway outside the ICU. “What the hell happened?” his agent demanded. “Yesterday you people guaranteed us he was stable! What is going on?” “You swore he was out of the woods!” his mother cried. “Now he’s dying? You have to give us an answer!” Dr. Albright stood before them, his expression grave. “He was stable. His vitals were normalizing. I don’t understand how he could have declined so rapidly overnight…” His words were cut off by Liam’s father. “My God! If my son dies, this hospital will be held fully responsible!” The chief’s face darkened. As chaos erupted, Kelsey glanced at me, her eyes glinting, and spoke in a soft, concerned voice. “Nora was the one on duty last night, watching him,” she murmured, just loud enough for everyone to hear. “He’s hemorrhaging, and he has a high fever with signs of a severe infection. The anti-inflammatory and fever-reducing meds were supposed to be administered every three hours. If they were given on time, this shouldn’t be happening…” She let the implication hang in the air before continuing. “The only way this could happen is if the attending nurse didn’t give him his medication on schedule.” She took a deep breath, her gaze locking onto mine. “Nora, I know you like to slip into the hall to play on your phone during your shifts… but that was a human life. How could you be so negligent?” She didn’t have to say it outright. With those two sentences, she painted a target on my back. The girl I’d swapped shifts with was already home, and our head nurse was on vacation. No one else knew I hadn’t been there. “What?” Liam’s mother shrieked, her voice cracking. “You were playing on your phone while my son was dying?” His agent saw his opening. “We’re suing this hospital for everything it’s worth. You’ll all pay for this. Especially you,” he snarled, pointing a trembling finger at me. “If Liam doesn’t make it, I will destroy you.” I was about to speak, to defend myself, when the door to the ICU slid open. It was Ethan. He pulled his surgical mask down, his face a mask of professional sorrow. “He’s in shock,” he announced to the room. “We’re losing him.” The family, the agent, the fan club president—they all looked as if the world had just ended. 3 Liam Croft’s parents crumpled to the floor, their bodies wracked with sobs. His agent went pale, stumbling back against the wall. The fan club president fumbled for her phone, her fingers flying across the screen, no doubt updating her network. The scene was pure pandemonium. Just then, the hospital administrator, alerted to the crisis, arrived on the scene. And somehow, the reporters who had been camped outside had breached security. A flood of them poured into the hallway, cameras flashing, microphones extended. Seeing the media, Liam’s mother found a new surge of strength. She scrambled to her feet, pointing a shaking finger at me. “It was her!” she screamed, her voice raw with grief. “She was supposed to be watching my son, but she was playing on her phone! She didn’t give him his medicine! If my son dies, it’s on this hospital and this worthless bitch!” The cameras turned to me, a blinding volley of flashes. The reporters swarmed the administrator. “Sir, is it true your hospital is guilty of fatal negligence?” “Why would you assign such an irresponsible nurse to a high-profile patient? Was this intentional?” The administrator was speechless. Liam’s mother lunged at me, grabbing the collar of my scrubs. I could barely breathe. “You murderer!” she shrieked. “Give me back my son!” “I didn’t…” I choked out. Hearing my denial, Kelsey’s face flushed with righteous indignation. “Don’t lie, Nora. It was your shift. I saw you this morning, right in the hallway, staring at your phone.” “It wasn’t me…” Before I could explain, Ethan stepped forward, holding up his phone just as he had in my last life. “Nora, you’ve gone too far this time. As a doctor, I can’t cover for you.” He pressed play. The recording filled the tense silence—my voice, exhausted after a 72-hour stretch of shifts, complaining to him at home. I’d forgotten about that conversation. I never imagined he could be so vile as to record it. The administrator’s face turned to stone. “Nora,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Do you have anything to say for yourself?” I let out a long, slow breath. “Do you all really think it was me?” I asked calmly. “Listen to her attitude!” the fan club president shouted. “Someone like her should be in jail!” The reporters and paparazzi went into another frenzy, their cameras focused on me. Ethan and Kelsey saw their moment. “There’s no use running from this, Nora,” Ethan said, his voice a perfect blend of pity and condemnation. “You brought this on yourself.” “Just confess,” Kelsey added softly. “If you fight this, it will only be worse for you.” “Nora, just tell the truth,” Ethan urged. All eyes were on me, waiting for my confession. A slow smile spread across my face. “You’re all so certain it was my fault?” “Of course it was!” Kelsey snapped. “The patient’s condition is a direct result of the attending nurse’s negligence. You can’t talk your way out of this.” Ethan turned to the administrator. “Sir, I recommend the immediate termination of the nurse on duty last night. This is criminal. Our hospital cannot protect someone like that.” I had waited so long for this. It was finally here. I didn’t get angry. I laughed. Then, in a clear, steady voice that cut through the chaos, I said, “Since you’re all so sure it’s the fault of the nurse on duty, then you should be talking to Amelia Reed. We traded shifts last night.” The words had barely left my lips when Kelsey gasped. “That’s impossible! I saw you in the hallway this morning playing on your phone!” I chuckled. “That’s because I had just gotten here and was clocking in for my shift.” I turned my gaze to Dr. Albright. “Chief, Amelia is your daughter, isn’t she? I swapped with her last night.” The effect was instantaneous. Dr. Albright’s face went rigid. Kelsey and Ethan just stood there, their mouths hanging open, looking like they’d been turned to stone.

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I had spent a lifetime with Caroline Price. We made it all the way to our golden anniversary, with two grown children to show for it. As she lay dying, our son asked her if she had any last wishes. “When I’m gone,” she whispered, her voice a dry rasp, “bury me with your uncle. It’s the only thing I’ve ever wanted.” The room fell silent. Every eye turned to me, filled with a pity that burned worse than grief. I just nodded. “Do as she says.” The world called me a joke. A man who’d given everything, only to lose his wife’s heart at the very end. But they didn’t know the truth. They didn’t know that if I had the chance to do it all again, I would never, ever marry Caroline Price. When I opened my eyes, I was standing at the altar. It was our wedding day. And just like I knew she would, Caroline had run. She’d left me there, a spectacle for the gossiping crowd. But I didn’t feel humiliated. I felt… relief. A deep, shuddering wave of it. My gaze drifted across the ballroom, landing on a girl in a crimson dress tucked away in a corner. “Sloane Kensington,” I said, my voice carrying in the sudden hush. “I’m short a bride. Are you willing to step in?” 1 The words hung in the air, silencing the whispers. Even the girl herself, who’d been nursing a drink, froze. She looked up, her eyes wide with disbelief. “What… what did you just say?” The corners of her eyes were tinged with red. When she looked at me, something fragile and hopeful flickered in their depths. I smiled and walked toward her, my steps sure and steady in front of all our guests. “I said I want to marry you. Will you have me?” Sloane stared, her lips trembling with an emotion I couldn’t yet name. Before she could answer, Caroline’s parents rushed to my side, her mother grabbing my arm. “Ethan, dear boy, I know you’re hurt,” she pleaded. “That girl has made a fool of you today, but I’ve already sent people to drag her back.” “She’s just being immature, throwing a tantrum.” “Don’t you worry, as long as I’m here, you’re the only man she’s marrying. Don’t do this out of spite, Ethan. Don’t throw your life away on a whim.” I gently pulled my arm free. “Mrs. Price, you can’t force these things. And the truth is, I don’t have to marry Caroline. You should let them be together.” In my last life, I wasn’t blind. I knew the great love of her life, her tragic hero, had always been my younger brother, Noah. But Noah had a reputation. He’d left a trail of broken hearts and terminated pregnancies in his wake, and a doctor had confirmed he could never have children of his own. Caroline’s mother turned cold at the mention of his name. She would never consent to their union. But the merger of our two family companies had been arranged for years. And since Caroline and I had grown up together, and I’d harbored a pathetic childhood crush on her, the duty fell to me. Everyone said our fifty years of marriage was a testament to enduring love. But only we knew the bitter truth of it. We had spent fifty-five of our sixty years together sleeping in separate rooms. Caroline hated me. The night our daughter’s fever spiked so high we almost lost her, she never even showed up at the hospital. Every year, on our son’s birthday, she would spend the entire day at the cemetery. She drank herself into oblivion most nights, crying out Noah’s name in her sleep. In the beginning, I thought we could build something. That love could grow, that old wounds could fade. But year after year, we curdled into a bitter, resentful pair, and I realized some things can never be fixed. Now, I have a second chance. And I’m choosing to let her go. To let myself go. Seeing me take Sloane’s hand, Mrs. Price grew frantic. “Ethan, I’ve always seen you as my son-in-law! You can’t just marry someone else!” “I’ve never approved of Noah’s… manipulative act,” she spat. “Whatever stunt he pulled to get Caroline to run off today, I will not allow a man like that to marry my daughter.” In my first life, it was on this very day—our wedding day—that Noah, upon hearing the news, had tried to kill himself by jumping into the ocean. He left behind a note and a short video. “Caroline, I’m supposed to call you my sister-in-law, but the words ‘I love you’ are caught in my throat. I envy my brother. He gets you without even trying, while I always seem to be a step behind. If there’s a next life, Caroline… let me be the one to marry you.” Because her mother dismissed it as melodrama, forbidding her from leaving, the wedding went on. Noah really did jump. By the time they pulled his body from the water, he was cold and gone. This time, Caroline couldn’t bear to watch him die. The moment she received his video, her eyes went red with panic, and she bolted without a second thought. In my past life, that would have crushed me. But after living two lifetimes, I just felt a profound sense of peace. This time, I would choose the girl I wanted to marry. “Sloane Kensington,” I said, my voice ringing with clarity. “If you want to marry me, then come up here. This wedding is for us now.” Sloane’s lips curved into a smile, and her hand tightened around mine. “Okay,” she said. The room erupted. Caroline’s bridesmaids huddled together, furiously texting. “Caro, you might’ve actually overplayed your hand this time. Ethan is marrying someone else.” “I thought he was obsessed with her? That he’d do anything to marry her. How could he just swap out the bride?” “And of all people… he picked Sloane Kensington. The wild child.” “Maybe he’s just trying to get back at Caroline for leaving him at the altar? Just grabbing the first woman he saw to save face?” As Sloane and I walked toward the officiant, our fingers laced together, I could feel the heat of their stares. Her hand trembled in mine, and she ducked her head slightly. I knew what they were whispering. Sloane’s reputation was notorious. She was a fixture in the city’s most exclusive clubs, her name constantly linked in tabloid scandals with various actors and musicians. Her name was mud in our circle. No respectable family would have her. There were even vicious rumors that her chaotic lifestyle had led to her contracting HIV. But I knew that wasn’t the real her. “Ethan, is this an impulse?” she asked, her voice low as she pulled her hand away. Her beautiful eyes were shadowed with vulnerability. “If you need me to help you save face, I will. But… don’t ruin your life just to prove a point.” A pang of tenderness went through me. Before I could respond, the grand doors to the hall were thrown open with a crash. “Ethan, stop this nonsense!” My father stormed in, his face a mask of fury. “A wedding isn’t a game! You don’t just change the bride! Get over here, now!” The remaining guests shot to their feet, some rushing to greet him, to placate him. But his eyes, cold and hard, were locked on me. “What are you waiting for? Didn’t you hear me?” Sloane nudged me gently. “You should go,” she whispered. “Don’t make a scene.” But I didn’t move. For my entire life, that look on his face had been enough to make me fold. He’d tell me to give my favorite toy to Noah, and I would. He’d tell me to give Noah the bedroom with the best light, and I’d pack my things without a word. When he told me to marry Caroline, I agreed without protest. But not today. Today, for once, I wanted to be the rebel. “Dad,” I said, my voice surprisingly calm. “I’m marrying Sloane.” “I will always listen to you. But this one time, I need to choose the person I spend my life with.” Crack. The sound of his hand striking my face echoed through the silent hall. “You ungrateful child,” he seethed. “If you dare to marry this girl today, then you are no longer my son!” I looked up at him, a slow, tired smile spreading across my face. “Fine. Then let’s cut ties.” No one could believe it. Ethan Rhodes, the family’s famously obedient son, was talking back. My father’s face went white with rage, his chest heaving. “For this… this degenerate? You’d disown your own father in front of everyone for her? I see I’ve been far too lenient with you!” After my mother died and he married my stepmother, who gave him Noah, his fists became a regular part of my life. He raised his hand again. But this time, it never landed. A slender hand, all sharp angles and delicate bones, shot out and clamped around his wrist. Sloane stepped in front of me, her face cold and resolute. “You touch him again,” she said, her voice a low, dangerous growl. “I dare you.” My eyes burned. No one, in my entire life, had ever stood up for me like that. They all wondered why I would choose Sloane Kensington, the disgraced heiress. Only I knew the truth. In my last life, on the day I fell gravely ill, it was also the anniversary of Noah’s death. My wife and my father were both at the cemetery, tending to the memory of the person who mattered most to them. No one cared if I lived or died. The doctors issued a critical condition notice. My dozens of calls to them were met with impatient dismissals. It was Sloane who, like a madwoman, pulled strings to get me medical resources from the next state over. It was Sloane who literally dragged me back from the brink of death. Later, when Caroline’s business dealings made her an enemy, someone set fire to our family home. I was trapped, my leg pinned by a burning cabinet, clutching my two crying children, screaming for Caroline to help us. But she ignored me. She ran straight to the study to save a photograph of Noah. And once again, it was Sloane who came. She charged into the inferno without a second’s hesitation, carrying my children out one by one. As the main beam of the house groaned, ready to collapse, I screamed at her. “Sloane, get out of there!” She was too late. As the flames swallowed her, the last thing I saw was her smile—a smile that told me not to worry. From that day on, I had my own ghost, my own lost cause. The one who had died for me. Only after she was gone did I learn the true depth of her hidden love. So this time, I would protect her. I would choose her, and only her, without a moment’s hesitation. My father’s eyes were practically shooting sparks. “Ethan, I’m asking you one last time. You’re choosing this woman?” “Yes,” I said, my voice firm. He let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Fine. You have guts. I hope you don’t live to regret it.” He turned and left. Many of the guests who were there to curry his favor followed him out. Mrs. Price sneered. “This marriage is clearly not meant to be, Ethan. But if you change your mind and still want my Caroline, my offer stands.” I ignored them all. I took Sloane’s hand and led her up to the stage. “We can begin,” I told the officiant. Most of the guests allied with the Rhodes and Price families were gone. Only a handful of friends remained scattered in the vast hall. But I was smiling, truly smiling, as Sloane and I completed the ceremony. “From this day forward, I’m your husband.” “Sloane,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “For better or for worse, in sickness and in health. We’re a team.” She smiled and pulled me into an embrace, her gaze deep and serious. With a weight that felt like a lifetime of waiting, she whispered one word. “Okay.” After the wedding, Sloane had me move into one of her properties, a beautiful house on the waterfront. To make it official, though, I had to go back to my father’s house to get my ID. I was just outside the gate when a red sports car came screeching around the corner, heading straight for me. Before I could react, Caroline lunged, grabbing my arm and shoving me hard to the pavement. “Are you blind?” she snapped, a contemptuous smirk on her face. “I thought you were done with the Rhodes family. What are you doing back here?” “I’m getting my ID so I can get my marriage license,” I said flatly. Her smirk vanished. Her face froze in disbelief. “What did you say? So the rumors are true? You’re actually marrying that train wreck?” Before I could answer, Noah, clad in a flashy red suit, hopped out of the driver’s seat. “Whoa, dude, my bad! Didn’t see you there, Ethan. Almost hit you,” he said, his tone oozing fake sincerity. “It’s my fault. Dad just got me this new car, and I got a little carried away. You’re not mad, are you?” The pride in his voice was sickening. I glanced at the gleaming new Porsche, then looked down and chuckled. “Not at all.” After all, I’d spent years living in that house like a guest. I was used to my father and stepmother doting on Noah. When I needed a simple, practical car for my internship, my father refused. But whenever Noah so much as hinted at wanting something, new sports cars appeared in the driveway like magic. It was then I truly understood the old saying: when a stepmother moves in, your real dad becomes a stepfather, too. “I’m just here to grab something,” I said, turning to leave. I’d only taken a few steps when a bucket of cold water cascaded down over my head. Caroline burst out laughing. Noah covered his mouth, feigning innocence. “Oops, sorry, bro. Everyone’s saying you’re marrying that wild child, Sloane. You know she’s got that… reputation. Probably carrying all sorts of viruses. Can’t have you bringing that into our house. Just helping you disinfect.” I saw the challenge in his eyes and stared back at him, my own gaze turning to ice. He seemed to enjoy it, stepping closer. “Seriously, man, I don’t get what you’re thinking. Caroline chose me, loud and clear. Even if she ditched you at the altar, you didn’t have to pick some random girl just to save face. You have no idea how messed up Sloane’s life is.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “When you’re in bed with her, won’t it make you sick thinking about all the other guys who’ve been there before you?” A cold smile touched my lips. “You should worry about your own woman.” Sloane had intentionally cultivated her wild reputation to keep men at a distance. She had a bad name, but she’d never been with anyone else. Caroline, on the other hand… In our last life, we were married for sixty years. But after our children were born, we lived separate lives. She could never get over Noah, her perfect, lost love. She would constantly bring home young men who bore a passing resemblance to him, parading their affairs in front of me. In my eyes, no one was dirtier than Caroline. A wicked idea sparked in my mind. I leaned closer to Noah. “Little brother,” I whispered, “the women you’re with are just my leftovers. Don’t believe me? She has a small, red birthmark on the inside of her right thigh. I’ve seen it countless times. You’re treasuring something I got tired of. Doesn’t that make you sick?” With that, I turned and walked away. Behind me, Noah’s face went pale. He and Caroline immediately started fighting. “Caroline, were you lying to me? How does my brother know about the birthmark on your thigh?” “Did you sleep with him behind my back?” Caroline, flustered and defensive, tried to explain. “No! That was—that was in our last life… I know that sounds crazy. Noah, believe me, I never touched him…” As their argument escalated, I couldn’t help but laugh. That’s what you get for talking trash about Sloane. Serves you right. Luckily, my father wasn’t home. I grabbed my ID and hurried out. On my way, I couldn’t resist grabbing a bucket of water from the garden hose and dousing Noah with it. Seeing him soaked and sputtering, I grinned. “There, little brother. Now we’re even.” “Get back here!” Caroline yelled, her face livid. For the first time, she left Noah’s side to chase after me. “Ethan, have you really thought this through?” she demanded. “Don’t think this little game of playing hard-to-get is going to make me want you again. I’ve made my choice. The only man I want in this life is Noah. No one can replace him.” I just smiled and turned back to her. “Then I wish you two a happy marriage. Now go back to your fiancé and leave me alone.” Her expression soured. “Ethan, I told you to stop with the games. Noah is pure and kind. He’s not manipulative like you. I’m warning you, don’t you dare hurt him. We may have been married for decades in another life, but you know I never loved you, so I suggest—” “I get it,” I cut her off, waving a dismissive hand. “If it makes you feel better, Sloane and I are planning to leave Boston. You’ll never have to see us again.” A heavy silence fell behind me. I didn’t care to engage any longer. My mind was already filled with the image of getting my marriage license with Sloane, and my steps felt lighter. As I reached the street, a car horn beeped twice. The window rolled down. It was Sloane. “Get in, husband.” I slid into the passenger seat with a smile. “What are you doing here? I thought you were still tied up at the office.” Sloane was taking a two-month leave of absence for our honeymoon. It was her company, but she still insisted on following procedure. “Had to make sure we get to the courthouse. Can’t risk someone else snatching my husband away if I wait too long,” she said, her eyes glancing lazily out the window. I followed her gaze. Caroline was standing at the gate, her fists clenched, her expression a mixture of anger and confusion. I leaned over, right in her line of sight, and pressed a firm kiss to Sloane’s lips. “Let’s go, wife.” A blush crept up Sloane’s neck. She nodded, smiling, so flustered she forgot to release the parking brake as she hit the gas. We left Caroline’s shrinking figure far behind. I was scrolling idly through my phone when a news alert popped up. “Rhodes Corporation CEO Formally Disowns Eldest Son, Ethan Rhodes.” I glanced at it and set the phone down without a word. “Sloane,” I said, turning to her. “I’m not a Rhodes anymore. Do you still want me? Do you feel like I’m not good enough for you now?” She blinked, then reached over and ruffled my hair. “Don’t be stupid.” She said we could build a different kind of life. We could work odd jobs, travel the world. She said she would never let me suffer. I watched her face, a quiet warmth spreading through my chest. She had ruined her own reputation just to shield herself from unwanted advances. People whispered that she was diseased. But I knew the truth. She’d never been in a real relationship, had never been with another man. It was always her who saved me. I used to think I was just lucky. But after Sloane died in my past life, her mother told me through her tears, “Ethan, my daughter has loved you since you were kids. She decided she would never marry because of you. Have you ever stopped to think… there’s no such thing as that much luck in the world? When your path feels easy, it’s because someone else is carrying the weight for you.” Sloane, I promised myself silently, this time, I will love you right. Married life was quiet and happy. Every day, Sloane came home from work with a small strawberry tart, my favorite. Worried I’d get bored at home, she would whisk me away on weekend road trips. But one night, about two weeks later, I was getting ready for bed when I realized it was nearly 11 PM and she wasn’t home. Then, a video popped up on my social media feed. “Sloane Kensington, Notorious Heiress, Caught in Hotel Raid? Police on Scene for Suspected Prostitution Ring.” A cold dread washed over me. I scrolled through the comments. They were a torrent of judgment and hate. “Guess we’ll never understand the rich. Didn’t she just marry the Rhodes heir? Their wedding was all over the news, and she’s already back to her old ways.” “A leopard can’t change its spots. Guess having a handsome husband at home isn’t enough when you can have a stranger in a hotel.” One username looked familiar. Someone with the screen name “Caro” had tagged me directly. “@EthanRhodes Take a good look at the woman you chose. Bet you don’t even have a shoulder to cry on now.” I didn’t hesitate. I threw on my clothes and called a car to the hotel address. Everyone was saying my wife was cheating. The hotel was surrounded by police cars, the flashing lights painting the scene in grim strokes of red and blue. I pushed my way through the gawking crowd and found her. Sloane was in the hotel room, dressed in a silk pajama set. And there was a man-shaped lump under the covers of the bed. Caroline was there, too. “What are you doing here?” I asked her. “Just passing by,” she said, crossing her arms, a smug look on her face. “Regretting your choice not to marry me now, Ethan?” “Your taste in women is truly awful.” “You’ve been married what, two weeks? And she’s already cheating on you. You’re going to be wearing those horns for the rest of your life.” “I’m actually dying to know,” she continued, her eyes glinting with malice as she stared at the lump in the bed, “what kind of man is worth Sloane Kensington risking it all for in the middle of the night?” A muffled groan came from under the blankets. It was definitely a man. My face went pale. I ignored Caroline and went straight to Sloane. “Tell me what’s going on,” I said, taking her hand. Sloane’s fingers laced with mine. “Ethan, do you trust me?” I nodded without a single flicker of doubt. A wave of relief washed over her face. Then, she pulled back the covers.

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In the third year of my marriage to Audrey, my uncle came home. He was, and perhaps always had been, the one that got away. I saw the current that still flowed between them, saw the way Audrey’s eyes clung to him when she thought no one was looking. This time, I decided to let go. The marriage between the Prescotts and her family was only ever on the table because my uncle, Grayson, didn’t want it. It fell to me. I packed my bags, erased my presence from our home, and chose a bright, clear day to leave. Audrey called. “Ethan, once I’m done showing your uncle around, I’ll be home to celebrate your birthday.” I watched the white contrail of a jet score the blue sky and said softly, “Don’t worry about it. I’m not really celebrating this year.” 1. The Prescott family has a standing dinner every month. My wife, Audrey, is a busy woman, and she rarely attended with me. When I showed up alone at the family estate, I was an easy target for their casual disdain. After years of the same remarks, you build a kind of immunity. So when my Aunt Carol started in again about my lack of ambition, about my inability to hold Audrey’s interest, I simply let my mind drift, outlining the next chapter of my novel. “Well, it’s one thing for you to be useless,” she said, her voice cutting through my thoughts, “but thank God Grayson is back today. He and Audrey were always so close. From now on, we should just let him spend more time with her.” Let Grayson do what with Audrey? My focus snapped back to the dining room. I felt a surge of disbelief. “Aunt Carol, Audrey is my wife. What are you trying to say?” She set down her fork with an impatient clatter. “What do you think I mean? They were good together. If Grayson hadn’t been so stubborn about going abroad for his doctorate, you never would have had the chance to pick up the scraps.” “Audrey is my wife,” I repeated, my voice tight. “We’ve been married for three years.” I pushed myself up, gripping the edge of the heavy mahogany table. The sudden emotion brought on a wracking cough, a familiar betrayal by my own body. Every eye at the table turned to me, their expressions dripping with contempt. I clenched my fists at my sides. I’ve always been the invisible Prescott son. Frail and prone to illness since childhood, I spent more time in bed than out of it, easily overlooked. When my mother was alive, she watched over me, even from her own sickbed. But after she died, I became a ghost in my own home, trailing behind my cousins, taking whatever they didn’t want. It wasn’t until I started earning my own money as a writer that I found any semblance of peace. Their scorn, their dismissal of me—I could live with that. But Audrey, my wife… that was the one thing I couldn’t concede. I couldn’t just play deaf and dumb while they plotted to push the woman I loved into another man’s arms. Why in God’s name should my uncle be the one to “spend time” with my wife? “I’ve lost my appetite. Please, enjoy the rest of your meal. Excuse me.” I turned to leave. “You stop right there! Who taught you to speak to your elders that way? Have you no manners?” My father’s voice boomed, his palm slamming the table. “It would make sense if I didn’t,” I said, turning back to face him, my gaze unflinching. “After all, you never taught me any.” The standoff was broken by a voice I hadn’t heard in three years. “Ethan, what’s all the fuss? Don’t ruin a perfectly good family dinner.” It was my uncle, Grayson. He sounded the same as ever—his words feigning concern while every syllable dripped with condescension, painting me as the petulant child. He hadn’t been in the house for five minutes, knew nothing of the situation, and had already laid the blame at my feet. I turned, an irritable retort on my lips, but it died when I saw who was standing beside him. A person who was supposed to be working late at her firm. “Audrey? What are you doing here?” 2. I hurried over to Audrey, my feet carrying me before my mind caught up. By the time I reached her, the reason for her presence was painfully obvious. Grayson explained with a wide, charming smile. “Today’s the family dinner, isn’t it? I was worried I wouldn’t make it in time from the airport, so I mentioned it to Audrey. Next thing I know, she’s insisting on picking me up herself.” I heard a quiet snicker from the dinner table. Before the meal, my father had asked why Audrey was absent again. I’d told them she was swamped with work. Yet one word from Grayson had her racing across the city to the airport and then all the way out to the family estate. The hierarchy was crystal clear. I forced a smile, looking at Grayson. “Uncle, if you needed a ride, you could have called a car service. You didn’t have to bother Audrey.” “We’re old friends from school,” Grayson said, draping an arm around Audrey’s shoulders in a theatrically familiar gesture. “What’s the big deal if she comes to get me? Right, Audrey?” Audrey slipped off her scarf and coat with practiced ease and handed them to me. “Ethan, don’t overthink it. Let’s just sit down and eat. Your uncle is finally back. It’s a reunion for everyone.” A sudden sting filled my eyes. She had already turned away from me, finding a seat next to Grayson. They sat shoulder to shoulder, their heads bent toward each other in conversation, looking for all the world like the high school sweethearts they once were. Anyone would say they were a perfect match. After all these years, it was like no time had passed for them. And me? After three years of marriage, was I just her convenient valet? A bitter smile touched my lips. Leaving now would only cause a bigger scene. I retreated to my original seat, directly across from them. Grayson’s presence lit up the room. He handled the relatives’ questions with the effortless grace he’d always possessed. For as long as I could remember, he was the center of attention, the golden child. I had once admired him, even tried to emulate him. Then, I grew to despise him. And Audrey… she still watched him with that same unwavering focus. My heart seized. I knew that look. It was the exact same way she used to watch him in high school. She was forever the salutatorian to his valedictorian. While Grayson worked on problem sets, Audrey would rest her chin on her desk and just stare at him, completely captivated. It never surprised me that she fell for him. Grayson was perfection on the surface. Before we were married, I had even wished them well. But now we were married. If she still held a flame for him, what did that make me, her husband? I picked at my food, the taste of it lost on me. On the drive home, Audrey said she was tired and asked me to drive. She sat in the passenger seat, eyes closed. I decided to test the waters. “Audrey, you do know that we’re married, right?” She frowned, her eyes still shut. “If you’re ever unsure, you can always look at the certificate in the filing cabinet.” I let out a breath, laughing at my own paranoia. But her next sentence plunged me right back into the ice. “By the way, Grayson’s just getting resettled. There’s a lot he’s not up to speed on here. I’m going to spend the next few days showing him the ropes.” 3. Audrey took Grayson to a corporate gala. When I said I wanted to go, she waved me off while selecting a gown. “I don’t need you there. One escort is enough. You should stay home and work on your novel.” Before I could ask why she was taking him instead of me, her husband, she offered a placating smile. “You can come pick me up when it’s over.” So I swallowed the words that might have started a fight and simply said, “Okay.” I didn’t want to fight with Audrey. Around eight o’clock, guessing the event was winding down, I packed a thermos of the ginger tea I’d brewed for her—it always helped settle her stomach after drinking—and grabbed a cashmere wrap in case she got cold. I parked near the hotel entrance, rolling down my window so I wouldn’t miss her, and waited, a sense of hopeful anticipation fluttering in my chest. At nine, she and Grayson emerged, arm in arm, and were immediately swarmed by a throng of reporters and photographers. I got out of the car and started pushing through the crowd, wanting to get her out of there quickly. She always hated the noise and flashing lights after a few glasses of champagne. But before I could reach her, I heard a reporter’s question cut through the din. “Ms. Hale, you’ve never made a public appearance with a date since your marriage. Is the gentleman with you tonight your husband?” I froze, looking up at Audrey from the edge of the crowd. She leaned into Grayson’s embrace, giggling at the question. “This is… this is the man I’ve loved for years.” In that moment, Grayson, perfectly sober, met my eyes over the heads of the press. After the reporters dispersed, Grayson and I helped a stumbling Audrey into the back seat of my car. “She’s had a bit too much to drink,” he began, a lecture forming on his lips. “Remember to get some of that tea into her when you get home. Take good care of her, Ethan, her tolerance isn’t what it used to be, you’ll have to be patient…” “Are you finished?” I cut him off. He looked at me, surprised, then clapped me on the shoulder with a reassuring, patronizing smile. “Ethan, I know they say ‘in vino veritas,’ but don’t take it to heart. Don’t fight with Audrey over this.” He leaned in, lowering his voice. “She said she loved me for years. Past tense. She didn’t say she still does.” “Is that right? You really think so? That’s great. I was worried you might get the wrong idea.” The night air was cool, but a hot, frustrated anger burned in my chest. From the back seat, Audrey mumbled. “Ethan… I think I’m gonna be sick…” I shot Grayson a glare and drove home.

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For four years, I threw myself at Grayson Vance with absolutely no shame. He was less than thrilled. With a single word of pressure from him, my family packed me up and shipped me overseas. “I don’t care what it takes,” he’d said. “Just make her stop.” “Or you’ll all regret it.” The drugs, the hypnosis, the electroshock treatments… It worked. It really worked. I forgot what it felt like to love him. My memory of his face even blurred around the edges, like a photograph left out in the sun. Finally, he gave the word, and I was allowed to come home. Now, I make a point to disappear whenever he’s around. My mother taught me that much: the man with the face of a fallen angel was not someone I could afford to cross. So when I saw him kissing my sister, my first instinct was to hide, to pull out my phone and secretly take a picture. His eyes, when they found me, were frigid and sharp with fury. I shrank into the corner, the words tumbling out of my mouth in a terrified mess. “I’m sorry, I just… you two look so perfect together. Like something out of a story…” I don’t know why it happened. But for a man who never showed a flicker of emotion, his gaze trembled violently. 1 Ever since I got back from Europe, I’ve felt like my brain is moving through sludge. Most days, I just sleep. I think there might be something wrong with me. Mom tells me not to worry. “You’ve always been my sleepy little girl, Nina,” she’d say, smoothing my hair. “Not driven like your sister. It’s fine. Everyone’s different. If you’re tired, go sleep.” I poured myself a large mug of black coffee, hoping to jolt my system awake, but it had no effect. I was tapping at my temples in frustration when the front doorbell chimed. Our housekeeper, Maria, announced, “Miss Olivia is home. Mr. Vance is with her.” A wave of pure joy washed over my parents’ faces. Dad practically ran to the door to greet them. Mom started to follow, then paused, remembering me. Her expression soured with conflict. “Nina, you should…” I nodded, already getting it. “I know. Grayson doesn’t like me.” I forced a small smile. “Olivia’s engagement is what’s important. I’ll just go upstairs. I could use a nap anyway.” She looked at me, her relief palpable as I faked a yawn. I was halfway up the grand staircase when I remembered I’d left my coffee mug behind. I wanted to give it one more try. As I turned, my eyes met a glacial stare from the doorway. It was pure instinct. I forgot the coffee. I forgot everything. I just ran. It felt like if I didn’t move, I would die. I didn’t stop until I was in my room with the door locked, a heavy desk shoved against it for good measure. Only then did the heart that had leaped into my throat finally drop back into my chest. I could never explain it, but the sight of Grayson Vance triggered a single, overwhelming emotion in me: terror. Mom said it was because Grayson was a natural-born leader, that anyone would feel crushed by his presence. “Especially a little mouse like you,” she’d added. She told me to stay out of his sight. “Grayson… he doesn’t have time for girls who look sweet but have nothing going on upstairs. His attention is for exceptional women, like your sister.” “Do you have any idea what the Vance family represents?” she’d continued, her voice urgent. “Marrying into that family would save us generations of struggle. Nina, you need to be smart about this.” And I was smart. I was dutiful. So every time Grayson came over, I made myself scarce. Mom was always pleased, sometimes rewarding me with a gentle pat on the head. I treasured those small moments of approval. That’s why I never told her the real reason I hid. I would have avoided him even without her warnings. His presence was suffocating. It felt like a physical weight on my chest, like a fist squeezing my heart. It left an aching hollowness behind, a strange sorrow I couldn’t name. Downstairs, the house filled with laughter. And wrapped in the sound of their joy, I drifted into a heavy, dreamless sleep. 2 When I woke again, the sky outside was a deep, bruised purple. It was already evening. The house was quiet. Grayson must have left. My stomach growled. I pushed open my door and, wearing a white cotton nightgown, padded barefoot down the stairs to find something to eat. The cool marble floor against my feet seemed to clear a tiny bit of the fog in my head. I was standing at the kitchen island, waiting for a slice of bread to toast, when the study door swung open. Grayson Vance emerged, dressed in a perfectly tailored suit. The warm, yellow light of the hallway carved his silhouette into something even more imposing, sharpening the breathtaking lines of his face. He looked like a god of judgment, descended to earth. But he was so cold. An arctic chill radiated from him, from his eyes, from the way he held himself. Even the gunmetal gray of his cufflinks seemed to gleam with frost. His gaze drifted across the long living room and landed on me. His thin lips pressed into a hard, straight line. The sheer force of his presence was a physical blow. In a split second, I snapped back to reality. Clapping my hands over my head, I dropped to the floor and scrambled under the dining room table, a pathetic attempt to hide. My sister, Olivia, came skipping down the stairs, her steps light and joyful. She ran straight into Grayson’s arms, grabbing his elbow and leaning against him. “Are you leaving already? You haven’t even seen my new headshots. Stay for dinner, please?” Olivia usually carried herself with a cool, untouchable grace. But now, her voice was sweet and pleading, the charming lilt of a pampered daughter. She was like a beautiful, exotic bird—bright plumage and a captivating song. Grayson didn’t speak. His cold eyes remained fixed on me, trembling beneath the table. Olivia’s smile faltered. She bit her lip. “If you’re busy, it’s okay. We can look another time. Come on, I’ll walk you out.” Grayson didn’t move. The oppressive weight of his attention was so focused on me, it was as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said. Olivia opened her mouth to speak again but seemed to think better of it. After a long, tense silence, he finally spoke, his voice a low rumble. “Fine. I’ll stay for dinner.” I saw identical expressions of stunned disbelief flash across the faces of my father and sister. A faint, humorless smile touched Grayson’s lips. “What are you afraid of? Didn’t she forget everything?” He crossed the room in a few long strides and crouched down beside the table. The fabric of his trousers pulled taut against the powerful muscles in his legs. “Nina,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Do you remember me?” I timidly lifted my eyes to his, then immediately looked away, unable to meet his gaze. I gave a slow, hesitant nod. But at that moment, a sharp, needle-like pain shot through my fingertips and toes. It was an automatic, agonizing response. A cry escaped my lips. I squeezed my eyes shut and shook my head frantically. “I don’t know you! Don’t hit me! I don’t know you!” 3 The atmosphere at the dinner table was bizarre. My parents worked desperately to keep a conversation going, but Grayson ate in silence, his posture radiating an aristocratic coldness. He had no intention of participating, which made my parents’ forced enthusiasm painfully awkward. Olivia just stared at her plate, her face a dark mask of anger. I didn’t dare reach for any of the serving dishes, just picked at the small portion of rice in my bowl. When the meal finally ended, I could feel my parents exhale in relief. As Grayson stood to leave, something clicked in my mind. I shot up from my seat. “Mr. Vance, wait.” Everyone, including Grayson, turned to stare at me in shock. His brow furrowed in clear annoyance. “Just one second. Please?” I held my thumb and forefinger an inch apart. Without waiting for an answer, I bolted upstairs and returned a moment later, clutching a small tin box. All eyes were on me. I lifted the lid. “Mr. Vance, I think this is yours.” Resting on top was a collection of over a dozen wallet-sized photos. Some were one-by-one inch squares, others slightly larger. They clearly hadn’t been obtained through official channels. Some had the embossed stamp of an ID card, others had dried glue on the back. They’d been peeled off of various documents. The Grayson in the photos was younger, a hint of boyishness still softening the sharp edges of his features. But even then, his looks were extraordinary. Beneath the photos was a random assortment of junk: candy wrappers, an empty cigarette pack, used-up pen cartridges, a crumpled test paper. Grayson’s gaze burned into me. I had to swallow hard before I could continue. “I found it in the back of my closet. I don’t know who put it there. But I recognized you from the pictures, so I figured it must be yours.” His expression shifted, his eyes narrowing with a flicker of something analytical, probing. It made me feel small, and I felt my shoulders slump. He finally spoke. “It’s not mine. Throw it out.” “Oh. Okay.” I immediately dumped the contents of the box into a nearby trash can and started to head back upstairs. Suddenly, a dangerous glint appeared in Grayson’s eyes. “You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you, Nina?” he called after me. I turned, confused. “Doing what?” He let out a short, mocking laugh, his eyes filled with a cynical certainty, as if he could see right through me. “Never mind. It was a good performance. Don’t do it again. I’m not interested.” With that, he turned and walked out the door.

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I sent the text to my best friend, Sophie, then hopped in the shower. A simple message: We’re getting married next month. When I got out, my phone, usually quiet, was a bonfire of notifications. The group chat, dormant for weeks, had exploded with 99+ messages. Curiosity piqued, I opened it. Everyone was tagging Ethan. Congrats, man! Eight years, about damn time! Dude, when did you propose? You kept that locked down tight. Dibs on best man. I’m calling it now, no arguments. I frowned. Ethan was getting married? To whom? Then a message from Jess, Ethan’s lifelong best friend—the “one of the guys” girl—popped up. Son, getting married is a big deal. Why didn’t you tell your old lady? The next message was from Ethan himself, and it was tagged to me. @Olivia, what’s this? The silent treatment wasn’t working, so now you’re trying to force my hand? 1 After I texted Sophie about the wedding next month, I went to take a shower. When I came back, my phone, which was usually dead quiet, had blown up. A group chat I was in had over 99 new messages. I opened it, curious. Everyone was tagging Ethan. [Congratulations! After eight years, you’re finally tying the knot.] [Ethan, my man, when did you propose? You kept that under wraps.] [I call best man, don’t even try to fight me on it.] I frowned. Ethan was getting married too? Just then, Jess, his female best friend, sent a message. [Son, how could you not tell your mom about something as huge as getting married? You ungrateful child!] The very next second, Ethan tagged me. [What, the silent treatment didn’t work, so now you’re trying to force a wedding?] The lively chat went dead silent. The shock of his words hung in the air for a long, awkward moment. My heart stuttered. I frantically scrolled up through the chat history and there it was, a message I’d sent by mistake. [Hey gorgeous, I’m getting married on the 28th of next month. Make sure you book the time off. You’re my maid of honor.] I sighed, exasperated with myself. My thumbs were already flying across the keypad, typing out a clarification. But Ethan beat me to it. [@Olivia, forget it. I’m not marrying you. If you’re really sorry, pack your shit and come back on your own. Stop with these ridiculous games.] He added another message. [And on your way back, pick me up some tacos from that place you know I like.] Seeing his words, my hands froze over the screen. A friend in the chat, clearly confused, finally broke the silence. [Wait, so there’s no wedding?] Ethan replied instantly. [Of course not. You think I’m ready to be tied down? Please.] Jess chimed in. [Told you. As if my son would get married and his own mom wouldn’t know.] [But you guys have been together for eight years. I heard that if you date for more than ten, it’s hard to ever get married.] Ethan’s reply was casual, dismissive. [So it’s hard. Then we just won’t. Who cares?] One of the kinder friends must have felt the sting on my behalf. [Uh, dude… Olivia’s still in the chat.] Ethan just sent back a smug-looking emoji. Jess then typed, [Alright, can you guys just drop it? Think how awkward this is for Olivia!] Then she tagged Ethan. [Son, you on for some ranked matches?] Ethan: [You log on first. Daddy’s on his way.] And then, one last tag for me. [@Olivia, when you get back, tidy up the apartment and take out the trash. I’m about to game, don’t bother me.] I took a deep, steadying breath. I deleted the apologetic explanation I had been typing and started fresh. [Sorry everyone, I was in the shower and just saw this. I’m getting married on the 28th of next month at The Empyrean Ballroom. You’re all welcome to come if you’re free.] I paused, then typed the final sentence. [By the way, the groom isn’t Ethan.] I hit send. Then I exited the chat for good. 2 Ethan and I got together our freshman year of college. It was an eight-year relationship. He was the one who pursued me, a grand, campus-wide campaign that everyone knew about. But once he had me, it was I who did all the compromising. Every time we fought, I was the one to apologize. If I didn’t, he could go two months without speaking a single word to me. Our most recent fight was because he’d stayed up all night gaming with Jess. Jess was his childhood friend, and their jokes often crossed a line that made me uncomfortable. The worst I ever heard was when Ethan, on an open voice chat, said to her, “If I carry this match, you’d better be on your knees ready to worship me.” Jess, never one to be outdone, shot back, “If you can actually fly, I’ll blow you… all the way to the top.” I couldn’t listen anymore. I lost my temper right then and there. Ethan’s reaction was to call me dramatic. He said he only saw Jess as a brother. They used to go skinny-dipping in the creek as kids, for God’s sake. If he was going to make a move on her, wouldn’t he have done it by now? I cried all night, my hurt completely invisible to him. He just kept playing with Jess, duo-queuing until the sun came up. Only when Jess said she was tired did he finally put down his phone to sleep, without a single word to me. The next morning, my mom called. She told me a friend from my hometown had just gotten married and asked, again, when it would be my turn. I suddenly remembered a conversation from a few weeks prior. I had asked Ethan if he ever thought about marriage. He had laughed, that careless, charming laugh of his. “Don’t even think about it. I don’t have a single thought about marriage right now. If that’s what you really want, you’re with the wrong guy.” In that moment, something inside me settled. A profound, quiet clarity. I hung up with my mom. I calmly got out of bed and looked at my reflection in the mirror, my eyes swollen like walnuts. I packed my bags. When Ethan finally got up, I placed my key on the counter by the door. “Ethan, I’m leaving.” He just scoffed, said nothing, and walked back into the bedroom. After breaking up with Ethan, I let my family set me up on a few dates. It was clumsy and discouraging at first. I was ready to give up, convinced that you couldn’t shortcut your way to real connection. But then, on the very last setup, I met him. The man I had always hoped for. With our parents’ blessing, we dated for two months and decided to get married. When I was with Ethan, marriage felt like an impossible mountain to climb, fraught with obstacles and endless considerations. But when I met the right person, I realized it wasn’t a mountain at all. It was just the natural flow of a river reaching the sea. I had, for the most part, already forgotten Ethan. If it weren’t for today’s misfired text, he might have stayed a ghost. I used to think that forgetting him would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to do. I won’t deny it; the first few weeks after moving out of his place were brutal. I was constantly checking my phone, my moods swinging from irrational anger to deep, hollowing sadness. I had no appetite. I couldn’t sleep. I know exactly how painful that process is. It feels like being pulled into a bottomless abyss, sinking so fast you can’t even catch your breath. And it went on like that. A day, then two, then a month… Until one day, I was eating, and I tasted something I loved. Really tasted it. I finished my plate and went back for seconds, then thirds. I knew then. Ethan and I were finally a closed chapter. 3 The next day, Daniel and I went for our engagement photoshoot. Daniel is my fiancé. He’s thirty, tall, with a quiet, refined grace. He’s the complete opposite of Ethan. Daniel is mature, stable, and his emotions are a calm sea. He discusses things before they become problems. Being with him feels safe. It feels like coming home. Ethan was a wildfire. Passionate, full of restless energy, completely impulsive. He would wake me in the middle of the night to go on a spontaneous hike, or he’d invite a dozen of his friends over on a Tuesday night when I was exhausted from work, without a word of warning. He never once considered anyone’s feelings but his own, his actions dictated solely by the whim of the moment. I used to believe that love was about mutual sacrifice, about bending yourself to fit another person. But with Daniel, I’ve learned that with the right person, you don’t have to change or force anything. You just… fit. We were halfway through the photoshoot when my phone rang. I was taking a break, sitting in a folding chair, and I saw Ethan’s name on the screen. Honestly, I was surprised. I never thought Ethan would be the one to call me first. Especially since he hadn’t so much as sent a text after I blew up the group chat last night. I answered. “What’s your game?” he asked, his voice cold and clipped. “What’s this ‘the groom isn’t me’ bullshit? Your little tricks are getting more elaborate.” It was true that our cycle of fighting, me giving the silent treatment, and me leaving had happened before. Each time, I was pathetically trying to make him care, to make him miss me, to prove that he loved me. And each time, it had failed. In the end, it was always me who caved, who apologized, who begged to come back, dragging my suitcase back to his apartment. And he would always greet me with a smug, dismissive, “If you knew this was going to happen, why did you bother in the first place?” Looking back now, I can’t fathom why I allowed myself to be so utterly spineless. It was like I was possessed. So this is what it’s like to have your brain completely hijacked by love. “It’s not a trick, Ethan. I’m really getting married. And the groom isn’t you,” I said, my voice calm and distant. “Hah.” A scornful laugh. “Olivia, I’ve already taken the step of calling you. I’d advise you to take the win and quit while you’re ahead.” “Believe what you want.” I had nothing more to say and was about to hang up. “When you come home tonight, grab me some tacos from that place I like. We’ll call it even for this whole mess.” And with that, he hung up on me. I was genuinely furious. But was I angry at his staggering arrogance, or at the pathetic, weak version of myself who used to put up with it? Clenching my jaw, I opened the group chat from last night. I selected a candid shot the photographer had just taken—of Daniel and me, laughing, our faces close together. And I posted it.

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The day Rhys Caldwell threw me out, he did it to ruin me. And then he divorced me. The snow in Chicago that afternoon was a thick, blinding curtain. I had his baby in my belly and a permanent limp in my left leg—a souvenir from the accident where I’d saved his life. I hobbled away from the grand stone mansion that had been my home, my prison. He watched from the second-floor balcony, a new woman tucked into the curve of his arm. A cigarette dangled from his fingers, the smoke a lazy curl in the frigid air. He was savoring the spectacle of my destruction. The days that followed were a special kind of hell. To survive, I had to agree to marry a man in his forties, to become a stepmother to his eight-year-old son. But the night before the wedding, Rhys dragged me back to his house. His face was a mask of fury I had never seen before, his voice a blade of ice as he cornered me. “You kill my child behind my back, just so you can go play mommy to some old man’s spawn?” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Sadie… how dare you?” 1 On the day Rhys kicked me out, the snow fell like ash. I was holding my six-year-old sister’s hand, about to step past the wrought-iron gates, when Arthur, the butler, stopped me. “Miss Miller,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “Mr. Caldwell’s instructions were that you are not to take a single thread that belongs to this house.” He gestured delicately. “The down coat you’re wearing, and the boots… Mr. Caldwell purchased those.” I understood. I lowered my gaze, my silence a shield as I unzipped the parka and slid it off my shoulders. I pulled off the warm, fur-lined boots. The wind hit me instantly, driving icy pellets against my bare arms. A violent shiver wracked my body. Stepping onto the thick blanket of snow, my bare feet screamed in protest. I looked back, up to the second-floor balcony. Rhys was there, leaning against the railing with a casual indolence. His left arm was wrapped around Brooke, his right hand holding that cigarette. He was watching me, his expression one of detached, pleasant amusement. Brooke, however, was glowing with the pure, unadulterated triumph of a victor. She unlooped a gray cashmere scarf from around her own neck and let it drop, a soft spiral falling through the air. “Why would Rhys ever want something so… cheap?” she called out, her voice laced with laughter. “Arthur, make sure that goes in the trash.” I had knitted him that scarf two months ago. He had wrapped it around his neck, smiling, and brought my hands to his lips. “My wife has magic in her fingers,” he’d murmured. Now, it was all ash. My family was bankrupt. My father was in prison. Rhys didn’t have to pretend anymore. The day he’d forced me to sign the divorce papers, he had looked at me with cold, dead eyes and dismantled me, piece by piece, with his words. “Sadie, do you know why I never wanted to be on top when we were in bed? Why I never wanted to see your face?” “Do you know why I had to take a scalding hot shower for an hour every single time after I touched you?” “Because the sight of you makes me sick. Because the thought of you, of what you are, is disgusting.” His voice was low, clinical. “If I hadn’t needed to destroy your father, did you really think a woman who throws herself at men like you would ever have been an option for me?” The words were poison, a slow-acting venom that constricted my chest until I couldn’t breathe. Tears burned my eyes, hot and useless. It was then that I finally, truly accepted it: he had never loved me. And so, I didn’t tell him I was pregnant. There was no point. With an ocean of blood and betrayal between us, our story was always destined to be a tragedy. This child never should have been conceived. 2 With no money and no insurance, my only option was a back-alley clinic in a part of town I’d only ever driven through. My luck held true to form. I started hemorrhaging on the table. For a few minutes there, I almost died. When I woke up, my little sister, Paige, was asleep in a chair beside the bed, her face tear-stained. I stroked her fine, blonde hair. “It’s okay, sweetie,” I whispered. “I’m okay.” I said it for her, but a cold fear was still coiled in my gut. If I had died, what would have happened to Paige? It was just the two of us now. We only had each other. I had to live. I had to find a way to raise her. Making money, I learned quickly, was brutal. The only real skill I had was dancing. I’d trained my whole life. But the car crash four years ago—the one where I’d swerved to shield Rhys’s side of the car with my own—had shattered my leg. It had healed, but not perfectly. A slight, almost imperceptible limp remained. You had to be looking for it to see it, but it was there. An echo of the break. I could never dance professionally again. After weeks of dead ends, I decided to start a food cart. Grilled cheese and tomato soup. I’d grown up with private chefs, clueless in a kitchen. But Rhys had loved grilled cheese, a simple comfort food from a childhood he never talked about. I had taught myself to make it for him, perfecting the golden crust, the perfect cheese pull. I never imagined that stupid skill would one day become the only thing keeping my sister and me from starving. The business was surprisingly good. I worked late into the frozen nights, my fingers swelling with chilblains until they were raw and cracked, but I never complained. I just never expected Rhys and Brooke to appear in the warm glow of my cart’s lights. They were a vision of wealth and glamour, arm in arm, a perfectly matched set. Their presence made my own worn coat and exhausted face feel like a costume for poverty. Brooke looked me up and down, a hand flying to her mouth in mock surprise. “Wow. Who would’ve thought the great Sadie Miller, the debutante of the year, would end up looking like she sleeps on the street?” I had a line of customers. I didn’t have time for this. “If you’re not buying, please move,” I said, my voice flat. Brooke immediately crumpled against Rhys’s arm. “Rhys, see? She’s still so mean to me!” Rhys, ever the protector, shot me a look of pure ice. “I’d advise you to be polite to Brooke,” he warned, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Otherwise, I can’t guarantee this little… venture… of yours will still be here tomorrow.” It was a naked threat. And with the power he wielded in this city, I knew it was one he could effortlessly enforce. I clenched my fists inside my coat pockets, biting the inside of my lip until I tasted blood. I said nothing. Seeing my submission, Brooke’s smug smile returned. Rhys looked down at her, his voice softening. “You said you wanted soup. Are you still hungry?” “Starving,” she chirped. A sale was a sale. I needed the money more than I needed my pride. I took a deep breath and pointed to the Square reader taped to the counter. “It’s fifteen dollars. You pay first.” A moment later, the transaction pinged on my phone. I turned to the griddle and began to cook. 3 I thought that night was just a fluke, a cruel twist of fate. But the next day, two of Rhys’s men showed up. They didn’t say a word. They just overturned my cart, sending soup and bread spilling into the gutter, and smashed my equipment. The official reason? Brooke had been hospitalized with food poisoning. And the only thing she’d eaten the night before was my grilled cheese. It was an obvious, transparent lie. A setup. I couldn’t understand it. She had Rhys. She had won. Why couldn’t she just leave me alone? From that day on, it became a pattern. Rhys sent his men to harass me every single day. No matter where I moved my battered cart, they found me. My business was destroyed. I didn’t know how I was going to make next month’s rent. Finally, out of options, I called him. I begged him to leave me in peace. “The food poisoning wasn’t me, Rhys, I swear it. Can you please, just this once, believe me?” He didn’t. His voice was hard, unforgiving. “You want me to leave you alone? Fine. Get on your knees and apologize to Brooke.” I was silent, stunned. “You will kneel for twelve hours,” he continued calmly. “Then we’ll call it even. Otherwise, you can forget about ever selling a sandwich in this city again.” This was the man who once claimed he would catch the stars for me if I shed a single tear. Now he was trying to break me, to humiliate me for Brooke’s amusement. But even in poverty, even in desperation, I still had a spine. I wiped away a hot tear of fury. “You know, Rhys, you’re a real piece of work. Tormenting a woman to soothe your girlfriend’s ego.” My voice shook. “I was so blind. I can’t believe I ever loved you.” His breathing on the other end of the line hitched, becoming ragged and heavy, as if I’d struck him. “You think I give a damn about your love?” he snarled, the words tearing from him. “Sadie, you were nothing to me but a tool for my revenge.” It was a vicious thing to say, but my heart was already so numb, so scarred over, that it barely registered. I bit back with the first cruel thing that came to mind. “Good. Because to me, you were just a placeholder. Something to do.” Before he could explode, I hung up the phone. 4 When I got back to our tiny apartment, Paige saw my red-rimmed eyes. She reached up and gently touched my face. “Did someone bully you again, Sadie?” she asked, her small voice full of concern. “I wish I could grow up faster, so I could protect you.” Our mother had died of an illness not long after Paige was born. Our father… well, our father was never the nurturing type. Paige had always clung to me. I forced a smile and smoothed back her hair. “What if we left this city?” I asked softly. “Just you and me. Would that be okay?” She nodded immediately. “Anywhere you go, I’ll go.” Then she hesitated. “What about Dad? Is he coming with us?” She was too young to understand the full scope of it. She knew something bad had happened, that we were poor now, but she didn’t know Dad was in prison. I chose my words carefully. “Dad made a mistake, a big one. He’s being punished for it. He… he won’t be home for a very, very long time.” She tilted her head. “What did he do? Was it really bad?” Yes. It was really bad. Twenty years ago, to force a sale on a valuable piece of land, he had set fire to the Caldwell family’s factory. Rhys’s father had been asleep in the office that night. He never made it out. So, of course, Rhys hated my father. He hated my entire family. His quest for revenge was the most normal thing in the world. He’d changed his name, hidden his past, and waited years to avenge his father. It was an act of filial piety. My dad was a criminal. He deserved what he got. I would never defend him. But I couldn’t not blame Rhys. He could have chosen a hundred other ways to get his revenge. Why did he have to use my heart as his weapon? And even now, with his vengeance complete, he wouldn’t let me go. He just kept pushing, kept tormenting me. I was powerless against him. The only option was to run. To save money, I booked tickets on a Greyhound bus to Madison. A slow, lumbering route away from my life. But on the city bus to the station, Paige suddenly collapsed. I rushed her to the nearest hospital in a blind panic, my world shrinking to the sound of sirens. And there, under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room, my world fell apart completely. Paige had leukemia. The words echoed in the sterile room, shattering everything. I sat by her bed, the sobs ripping through me, unstoppable. Paige, small and pale against the white sheets, squeezed my hand. “Don’t be sad, Sadie,” she whispered, her voice impossibly small. “I don’t feel bad. Really.” She looked around the room. “I don’t like it here. I don’t want shots. Can we just go home?” I knew what she was doing. She knew I didn’t have any money. My brave, sweet, selfless little sister. A fresh wave of guilt and self-loathing crashed over me. I was so useless. I couldn’t even afford to save her life.

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For my boyfriend’s birthday, I gave him a jar of lucky stars, each one folded by hand. He took the glass jar with a smile, then his expression shifted. “You know, you’ve really got some nerve.” I froze, the words not computing. “What do you mean?” “I bring you to a hundred-dollar-a-plate restaurant for my birthday, and this is what you give me?” Ryan lifted the jar, his fingers curled around it in distaste. “Look at what Tessa got me. Look at what my friends got me. This thing isn’t even garbage.” He continued, his voice dripping with condescension. “Spending a few bucks on craft paper to get a fancy meal… this is the first time I’ve dated a girl who’s so… calculated.” And with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the jar into a nearby trash can. I walked over, retrieved it, wiped it clean, and placed it carefully inside my purse. Tessa, Ryan’s best-friend-who-happened-to-be-a-girl, had given him a pair of Air Jordans. His other friends had given him gifts worth a few hundred dollars. None of them could compare to what I’d given him. If Ryan didn’t want the Maybach, well, I guess I’d just have to drive it myself. 1 A brand-new Maybach was parked at the restaurant’s entrance, gleaming under the valet lights. Ryan and his friends had been drooling over it since we arrived, their conversation a chorus of longing for that kind of wealth. “If I could afford a Maybach, my ancestors would probably rise from their graves to throw a party,” one of them said. Tessa winked at Ryan. “Just wait. When I make my first million, I’ll buy one. And the passenger seat is all yours.” I hadn’t paid them much attention, my mind buzzing with anticipation for the moment Ryan would see his gift. After the dinner plates were cleared and the cake was cut, it was time for presents. As his girlfriend, I assumed I would go first. I was just reaching for my bag when Tessa shouldered me aside. “Back off, everyone! I get to give the first gift to the birthday boy.” “Go for it, Tessa. No one’s fighting you,” Ryan said, his smile indulgent. His eyes never once landed on me. A prickle of annoyance went through me, but I swallowed it down. It was his birthday. I wouldn’t make a scene. Tessa produced a shoebox, shoved it into Ryan’s arms, and then playfully punched his shoulder. “So, birthday boy, want me to help you put them on?” Ryan’s face lit up. It was obvious he loved the Jordans. If I hadn’t been there, I’m sure he would have taken her up on the offer. After a few other friends had given their gifts, Tessa tilted her chin toward me. “Paige? What about you?” Honestly, at that point, I didn’t want to give him my gift anymore. But before I could say a word, Tessa snatched my purse. “God, you’re so slow,” she grumbled, her impatience a performance for the group. “Always so hesitant. I’ll get it for you.” As if she couldn’t wait to humiliate me, she pulled out the glass jar of paper stars and burst into laughter. “Holy shit! I had no idea people still did this. Folding stars for a birthday present?” she howled. “Ryan, man, you hit the jackpot. Found yourself a real keeper. She sure knows how to get a good meal.” The whole table erupted in laughter. Ryan laughed, too. He took the glass jar from her, turning it over in his hands. Then, he looked at me, and his smile vanished. “Paige,” he said, his voice suddenly cold. “You know, you’ve really got some nerve.” 2 I blinked, certain I’d misheard him. Why would he suddenly curse at me? Ryan let out a short, bitter laugh and started his tirade. “I bring you to a hundred-dollar-a-plate restaurant for my birthday, and this is what you give me?” he asked, his voice rising. “So what if you folded them by hand? I don’t feel the love. I just feel insulted. Like you’re just trying to get by with some cheap gesture.” He held up the jar, his face a mask of disgust. “Look at what Tessa got me. Look at what my friends got me. This thing isn’t even garbage.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was loud enough for everyone to hear. “Spending a few bucks on craft paper to get a fancy meal… this is the first time I’ve dated a girl who’s so… calculated.” And with a flick of his wrist, he tossed the jar into a nearby trash can. I bit down on my lip, a sour, bitter taste filling my mouth. The man who had been my intimate partner just hours ago was now a stranger, his words sharper than any knife. I knew, in that instant, that this was over. “Ryan, if my gift is that embarrassing to you, then I’ll take it back.” I walked to the trash can, fished out the jar, and used a napkin to wipe away the grime, piece by piece. “Hey, Ry, maybe you should just keep it,” Tessa chimed in, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. “The poor girl probably stayed up all night folding those. You can take it home and worship it like a family heirloom.” She was pretending to help, but her eyes were dancing with glee. “You want it? You can take it home and worship it,” Ryan shot back. He then turned to me and held out his hand. “Give it here. I’ll accept your… cheap gift.” He paused, then added, “But Paige, I think you owe me a real present. Either that, or you can Venmo me for your share of dinner. Everyone goes dutch these days. Even if we’re a couple, you can’t just take advantage of me like this.” Cheap? Take advantage of him? Suddenly, I knew I couldn’t just let this go. At the very least, I no longer had any reason to protect his ego. “Ryan, I put my heart into preparing this gift for you. And you call it cheap, throwing it in the trash without even opening it,” I said, my voice steady and clear. “You knew my stomach has been acting up and I can’t eat spicy food, yet you ordered every single dish with extra chili. I haven’t had a single bite. And you have the audacity to say I’m taking advantage of you?” I took a breath. “Fine. Let’s tally it up. Let’s calculate everything we’ve spent on each other over the past year and see who’s really been taking advantage of whom.” Throughout our relationship, I had always been the one to yield, to smooth things over. Even when we fought, I never embarrassed him in front of others. Now, being confronted so publicly, Ryan’s face flushed with anger. He lashed out. “What was I supposed to do? Unfold every single star to see if you wrote some cheesy love note inside?” he sneered. “Or were you going to tell me you hid a Maybach key in there?” He took a step closer. “Paige, get real. We’re about to graduate. You’ve said it yourself, you’re going back to your small town to take over the family business. I’m different. I just signed with a top firm. My future is bright. Unlike yours, which is… back in the middle of nowhere.” 3 I understood. The graduation breakup. It all made sense now—why Ryan had been picking at me all night. He’d landed a big job, decided I wasn’t good enough for him anymore, and was engineering a way out. And in his mind, my “hometown” was synonymous with “the middle of nowhere.” Looking at Tessa’s smug expression, I had a feeling she had something to do with him getting that job offer. “And what if I told you,” I said, my voice quiet but firm, “that there really is a Maybach key in there?” Every head at the table swiveled toward me. The silence lasted for three seconds. Then, the entire room exploded with laughter. “A Maybach key? You mean like a lighter or a kid’s toy? Hahaha!” “Dude, Ryan, you better open that jar! I want to witness you becoming a Maybach man! Hahaha.” “Ry, your taste in women is something else. She’s a world-class daydreamer, hahaha!” Amid the cacophony of ridicule, Ryan looked like he wanted the ground to swallow him whole. “Alright, Paige, that’s enough,” he said, his voice tight with humiliation. “I won’t ask you for another gift. Just go home. Don’t embarrass yourself any further.” Of course, I was leaving. But I had a few more things to say first. “Ryan, you say my gifts are cheap? The watch you’re wearing right now, the electric razor you use, the cologne you spray, the Converse on your feet—which one of those didn’t I give you?” I demanded. “Since you think they’re so cheap, give them all back.” His eyes flickered for a moment before he hardened his expression again. “You’re the one who wanted to give them to me. It’s not like I asked.” He was right. I had given them to him willingly. It was my first serious relationship, and gifts were my love language. Anything he ever mentioned wanting, anything he didn’t have, I wanted to buy for him. Thinking back on our year together, it was a one-way street. I was always giving; the gifts he gave me could be counted on one hand. The most significant one was the silver necklace I was wearing. I still remembered what he said when he put it on me. “Paige, I know silver isn’t gold. But trust me, once I graduate and land a great job, I’ll make real money. I’ll buy you a gold necklace, a gold bracelet, I’ll have you dripping in gold.” And now, he’d landed that great job. And the first thing he did was humiliate me in public to force a breakup. The promises of men. A cruel joke. It was laughable, really. 4 Perhaps realizing he sounded a bit like a freeloader, Ryan started trying to defend himself. “It’s not like I never gave you anything. And I paid for most of our dates, and I sent you money on holidays.” He sighed, trying to sound reasonable. “Paige, a relationship is supposed to be about mutual affection. It gets ugly when you start keeping score.” Ugly was one word for it. The truth was, I paid for most of our dates. The few times he paid were for small things, like fruit from a stand or a couple of milk teas. As for the holiday money, he’d Venmo me $52, and I’d send him $520. In this relationship, my investment, both emotionally and financially, dwarfed his. I had no idea how he could stand there and accuse me of taking advantage of him. Whatever. Arguing with a scumbag was a waste of time. I’d just have to chalk it up to a bad investment of my heart. Since I was the one who pursued him, I would be the one to end it. “You’re right. It has gotten ugly,” I said calmly. “Ryan, we’re done.” I grabbed my purse and turned to leave. Tessa blocked my path. “Leave the jar. Ryan promised I could take it home and worship it.” She smirked. “And that necklace he gave you? Leave that too.” “Please move,” I said, my voice low. She didn’t budge. I stepped to the left; she mirrored me. I stepped to the right; she blocked me again. I stopped, took a deep breath, and slapped her across the face. Caught completely off guard, Tessa stumbled sideways, knocking into the table. As she was about to fall, Ryan lunged forward to play hero. She collapsed dramatically into his arms. The next second, Ryan’s hand flew up and he slapped me back. My face stung, the force of it bringing tears to my eyes. But I ignored the pain. I drew my leg back and kicked him, hard, in the shin. He yelped and buckled, pulling Tessa down with him. He must have tried to cushion her fall, but by some strange twist of fate, as they tumbled to the ground, their mouths crashed together in a clumsy, disgusting kiss. The scene was both ridiculous and nauseating. People always say the “girl best friend” is just an excuse to have a backup on the sidelines. I never believed it, because Ryan always said, “We’ve known each other since middle school. If something was going to happen, it would have happened by now.” Now, I had no choice but to believe it. The air between them had been thick with unspoken things for a long time. A surge of impulse shot through me. I took two steps forward and gave Ryan another kick for good measure. You want to kiss? Go on, then. Kiss all you want. 5 I walked out of the restaurant, my mind racing as I tried to figure out how to get home. Ryan came chasing after me, Tessa and their friends trailing behind. “Paige, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear you say we’re breaking up. And I’ll forget about you kicking me. But you hit Tessa. You need to apologize to her.” Seriously? Was a clean break really this difficult? “Why should I apologize to her?” Ryan looked at me with an expression that said, don’t be difficult. “Just apologize. Tessa helped me a lot with landing this job offer. As my girlfriend, you should be thanking her, not slapping her. It’s completely out of line!” “We already broke up,” I said coldly. “What does your job offer have to do with me?” When I’m in love, I can be a hopeless romantic. When it’s over, I’m decisive and I don’t look back. That was a rule I made for myself. “Ry, don’t waste your breath on her,” Tessa said, stepping forward. She was holding a beer bottle. “You think you can just hit me and walk away? Not that easy. Today, you either get on your knees and apologize, or you take this bottle of beer and…” “Ah—!” Tessa’s foot slipped, and she stumbled. The beer bottle flew from her hand, arcing through the air and crashing right into the window of the Maybach parked at the curb. A collective gasp went through the group. “Holy crap! My dream car just got hit.” “A car that expensive… how much is that repair going to cost?” “I have no idea.” “Damn, Tessa really knows how to make an entrance.” … The color drained from Ryan’s face. He didn’t even move to help Tessa up. Instead, he rounded on me, his eyes blazing. “Paige! Look what you’ve done!”

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After my mother married a titan of industry, my new stepbrother and his pack of trust-fund princes formed what they called “The Tribunal.” Their mission was to expose me. To bait me into cheating on a fictitious boyfriend, then tear away my mask of innocence. “She’s not my sister,” I heard him ranting to them over the phone. “Don’t let the innocent act fool you. She’s been around the block more times than you can count.” “A girl like that is cheap,” one of his friends chimed in. “No class. You could whisper a few sweet nothings and she’d roll over like a puppy.” A slow smile spread across my lips. I scheduled a meeting with the one who sounded the most pliable, the youngest of the princelings. “Do you think they’re too big?” I asked, my voice a soft murmur. The handsome boy stared at me, his face flushing a deep crimson. “No. They’re… great.” I moved behind him, wrapping my arms around his shoulders, my voice laced with a practiced melancholy. “I’ve been self-conscious my whole life because of my body,” I whispered. “People can be so cruel. But you’re not like them, are you? You’ll protect me, won’t you?” He stammered, his voice cracking. “Yeah. I will.” Virgins. So wonderfully easy to mold. Later, his back ramrod straight, he announced to his friends that he was going to be my fiancé. The Tribunal imploded. “Carter! What the hell is wrong with you? Betraying us like that?” “I was supposed to be the one to seduce her! What are you doing proposing?” 1 I was born beautiful. That, combined with good grades, meant I’d been the center of attention since kindergarten. But my mother always had one piece of advice for me: “You need to smile less.” I’d ask her why. “An easy smile,” she’d say, “is an open invitation for cheap men.” If my gorgeous mother so much as accidentally smiled at a man, they’d swarm her like flies. I was the opposite of my mother. I always had a smile on my face. And anyone who ever crossed me would find themselves facing my retribution, delivered from the shadows, with a smile. Then, my mother found my long-lost biological father—a bona fide tycoon—and we moved into his world. That world included a stepbrother I could have done without, Liam. The moment we met, we both knew we were destined to be enemies. He mouthed two words at me from across the grand foyer: “You’re fake.” Then, with a smirk, “Watch me fix you.” I just smiled back, all innocence. 2 That night, Liam burst into my room. He was holding a dead mouse by the tail, which he flung onto my bed with a triumphant grin. He wanted to see me scream. To see me panic. My reflexes were faster. In one fluid motion, I snatched the dead rodent and shoved it down the front of his designer jeans. Then, clad in my silk robe, my feet bare, I ran screaming into my parents’ bedroom. I pitched my voice high, forcing tears. “Liam was spying on me in the shower!” In a family of this stature, even the hint of incestuous scandal is poison. My father, seeing my tear-streaked face, turned a shade of purple. He grabbed the nearest heavy object—a golf club from the corner—and laid into Liam’s backside. “If you ever pull a stunt like this with your sister again, you’re out of this house!” Later, after our parents had left, Liam stood there, his rear end probably swollen to twice its size. He glared at me, his voice a low hiss. “You just wait.” He immediately got on the phone with his friends to vent. “The mistress’s daughter can’t be anything but trash. I’m going to get them both kicked out of this house!” “Don’t let the innocent act fool you. She’s probably slept with half the city!” “She’s in art school—that’s like, a hundred grand a year. Where do you think she got that money?” As Liam spoke, his voice echoed from two places: his room down the hall, and the speaker of my own phone. On my first day in this house, I’d installed a listening app on his phone. Every secret they plotted, every move they planned, was laid bare before me. A text from one of them popped up. [Rhys: I get it. The purer they look on the outside, the dirtier they are underneath.] Rhys was the group’s resident playboy. Handsome, ridiculously wealthy, and a constant feature in gossip columns. He was a staunch bachelor, a silver ring permanently fixed on his left pinky finger as a symbol of his commitment to being non-committal. At his suggestion, the boys officially formed “The Tribunal” and drafted a battle plan. Rhys was the chief strategist. His persona for this operation: the reformed rake, a wild man ready to be tamed by one special woman—me. It was a role he’d used to devastating effect on countless women before. He was confident his plan was foolproof. Meanwhile, Rhys’s best friend, Ethan, was cast as the sweet, younger guy who falls for me at first sight. His job was to make a move while Rhys was supposedly winning my heart. The moment I took Ethan’s bait, my stepbrother Liam would lead a charge to catch us in the act. Then, Ethan would turn on me, accusing me of playing them both, and produce photographic evidence that would utterly destroy my reputation. They saw themselves as arbiters of justice. They had sworn an oath to help Liam drive the conniving mother-daughter duo out of their home for good. 3 Rhys spent a month wooing me online, meticulously mapping my likes and dislikes. In our chats, he’d casually drop hints about his family’s immense fortune. He got my address and a parade of luxury goods began arriving at my door. A sweet-talking, wealthy playboy, offering himself up on a silver platter? Of course, I wasn’t going to say no. [Rhys: She’s so clueless. I sent her a bag from last season and she acted like it was Christmas.] Liam, playing the diligent wingman, brought me to a party at Rhys’s villa. The air was thick with smug anticipation. A coterie of insiders watched me, their eyes glinting with schadenfreude, waiting for the trap to spring. This was a hunt, and I was the prey. A host in a clown mask stood in the center of the grand hall. Suddenly, the villa plunged into darkness. “Power outage?” I feigned panic, reaching out and grabbing a hand I assumed was Liam’s. But I knew instantly it wasn’t. My fingers brushed against something hard and cool. A man’s ring. Liam never wore rings. A sophisticated, woodsy cologne filled the air around me—it smelled expensive. At the same time, the clown’s voice echoed through the darkness: “The loser of our last party game must kiss a member of the opposite sex for one full minute.” Whispers erupted around me. “Wasn’t Rhys the one who lost? I thought he had a rule about not kissing women.” I felt the person next to me lean closer, and a small smile touched my lips. So many girlfriends, yet he pretends he doesn’t kiss anyone. Such a hypocrite. There was nothing I despised more than someone who was a bigger phony than I was. I kept up my act, feigning nervousness. I sensed him dipping his head toward me. I tilted my chin up, meeting him halfway. His lips were soft, wet. The kiss was clumsy, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. I frowned internally. Why is he so green? Doesn’t he even know how to kiss? But then, another hand, firm and practiced, wrapped around my waist. Shit. I kissed the wrong one. This must be Rhys. I bit down lightly on the stranger’s lower lip. He let out a muffled grunt. I heard Rhys curse under his breath, a sharp, “Fuck.” Then, he yanked me forcefully into his arms. The lights flickered back on. 4 Rhys’s face was a thundercloud. He stared at the glistening moisture on my lips, his cold eyes scanning the room. His suspicious gaze finally landed on Ethan, who was staring intently at the floor. I stood there, blinking, my face a perfect mask of pure, wide-eyed innocence. “The new girlfriend is gorgeous, Rhys. You two look perfect together.” “Damn, that must be true love. I’ve never seen Rhys kiss a girl so hard he bruised her lips.” The crowd was playing its part, their voices dripping with cheerful praise. Rhys, already seething, felt his face darken further at their words. Because he knew perfectly well he wasn’t the one who had just kissed me. But he quickly shifted gears, his expression melting into one of tender affection. He took my hand and led me to a plush sofa. He was determined to conquer me tonight, so no matter how furious he was, he had to swallow it. There were two men in the room who stood out from the rest. Rhys, seated to my right, and Ethan, across from me. Both were easily over six feet tall. The man who had kissed me in the dark was about that height. Ethan’s role in the plan was to swoop in and seduce me after Rhys and I were “together,” during a manufactured rough patch. As a co-conspirator, it was logical for Rhys to suspect him of jumping the gun. Noticing Rhys’s glare, Ethan looked up, confused. I, seated beside Rhys, offered Ethan a small, sweet smile. He instinctively returned it with a brilliant, boyish grin. A flash of fury crossed Rhys’s eyes. His grip on my hand tightened. I scanned the room again. Besides those two, there was one other man who was just as tall. His back was to us as he headed for the second-floor staircase. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and legs that seemed to go on forever. His proportions were perfect. A shame I couldn’t see his face. Liam let out a cold laugh, leaning close to my ear. “Don’t even think about it. That’s Carter Monroe. He’s way out of your league.” “If Rhys didn’t have a thing for you, I never would have brought you here. I have no idea what he sees in you, anyway.” Liam was working hard, using reverse psychology to play his part as Rhys’s wingman. The other actors in the room chimed in on cue. “We’ve never seen Rhys fall for a girl this hard.” The mood lighting shifted, and the loud party music faded into a soft, romantic ballad. Rhys took the silver ring from his pinky—his symbol of eternal bachelorhood—and pressed it into my palm. His gaze was intense, his eyes full of feigned adoration. Another round of cheers and whistles erupted from the crowd. The atmosphere was intoxicatingly romantic, far more effective than a straightforward confession of love. Any other girl would have been blushing, her heart pounding. I simply sat there, a placid smile on my face, accepting every ounce of affection Rhys directed my way. Believing he had already won, a flicker of boredom crossed Rhys’s face, his eyes turning cold and distant for a split second. I watched his micro-expressions, then produced a perfectly timed blush. I tugged on his sleeve and whispered, just loud enough for him to hear, “That was my first kiss.” The triumphant look on Rhys’s face instantly curdled. He shot a cold, mocking glare at Ethan, who was still preening like a peacock, flashing smiles in my direction. I excused myself to the restroom. My phone lit up. [Rhys: @Liam, I thought you said your sister had a ton of boyfriends? She just told me that was her first kiss.] [Liam: She’s faking it, obviously. Probably just like you, claiming you’re a virgin after a hundred girlfriends.] [Rhys: Fuck you—I actually am!] A moment later, Rhys’s last message was deleted. After scrolling through their chat, I opened my own messages, finding a conversation from before I’d arrived at the villa. A kind soul had sent me an anonymous warning. [Unknown Number: Don’t go. It’s a setup.] I’d replied with the ramblings of a girl hopelessly in love. [Sienna: Rhys is so good to me. He really loves me. To be honest, I wasn’t that into him at first, but… that was my first kiss tonight. I think I’m falling for him. His kissing technique is a little clumsy, though. Hasn’t he ever watched a tutorial or something?] As I stepped out of the restroom, a tall man in a black casual suit was standing there, a scowl on his handsome, aloof face as he stared at his phone. Then he looked up at me. I saw that his lower lip was split. And I recognized that expensive, woodsy scent. 5 I take back what I said about Rhys and Ethan being the most handsome men in the room. The man in front of me was beautiful. He had sharp, phoenix-like eyes that held a natural coolness when his face was at rest. Right now, however, they were clouded with a mixture of shame and anger that softened their icy edge. And, I noted, his ass was better than Liam’s. Carter Monroe seemed to find my gaze overly bold. His lips pressed into a tight line. I adjusted my own expression, summoning the wide-eyed, innocent smile I’d practiced in the mirror a thousand times. “Your lip… it looks like you’re hurt.” The coldness in his eyes intensified. He gave me a long, deep look, then strode away. I watched him go, noticing he was walking stiffly, almost marching, and he stumbled slightly on the stairs. Liam’s sharp eyes caught us emerging from the same hallway. He was already typing in their group chat. [Liam: Whoa, did she just try to hit on Carter Monroe in the five minutes she was in the bathroom? He’s not interested in women. She can forget it.] [Ethan: Rhys, you kissed her pretty hard. You better not get too attached before it’s my turn.] [Rhys: Who cares about her? She’s just a gold digger. Do whatever you want, just make it quick. Don’t wait too long, or she’ll actually fall in love with me and you won’t even get a taste.] [Ethan: That confident, huh?] [Rhys: Fuck off! Go be the other man. And don’t forget to take pictures for proof.] 6 Rhys excused himself to take a call, a deliberate move to leave the stage clear for me and Ethan. I went out to the balcony for some air. Ethan, wearing a white shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal his collarbones, radiated a vibrant, collegiate energy as he approached me. “Sienna,” he said, his voice earnest. “Please don’t fall for Rhys. He’s had so many girlfriends. He’s not a good guy.” Ethan, like Rhys, had a flexible relationship with morals and ethics. They would do anything to achieve their goals. He leaned in close, his voice a conspiratorial whisper. “I don’t care if you like other guys, Sienna. If you’re with me, my house, my cars… they’re all yours.” He produced a bracelet from his pocket. I recognized it as a new piece from Cartier’s collection, worth well over a hundred thousand dollars. Except this one was a fake. Before I could refuse, he had fastened it onto my wrist. I have to admit, Ethan had a real talent for being the other man. I thought it, so I said it. Hearing the compliment, Ethan’s face froze. I slipped the bracelet off. “If you want to land a sugar mama, your looks are a good start. But you don’t need to pretend you’re rich and pass off knockoffs.” The realization that I thought he was the gold digger sent a wave of crimson across his face. He snatched the rejected bracelet, his voice rising in indignation. “I spent a ton of money on this! How can it be a fake?” Then, right before his eyes, he saw that the contact for the “private shopper” he’d used had blocked and deleted him. He stared, stunned, for three seconds, then pointed an accusing finger at me. “Even if I were looking for a sponsor, I wouldn’t choose you! I know you don’t have any real money. The family fortune is all going to Liam!” I sat back in the wicker swing, leisurely watching his performance. When he mentioned the inheritance, a small smile played on my lips. Ethan glared, defiant. “Am I wrong?” I gently stroked his cheek. “Do you know why Liam has never been the favorite in our family? Because his mother was the other woman. She broke up my parents, which is why my mom took me and ran away.” His eyes widened. This was the complete opposite of the story they’d been told. In their narrative, I was the daughter of the mistress. I continued, my voice soft and fragile. “But Liam is innocent in all this, of course. So we never pursued it. My parents were the ‘it’ couple back in college. There are tons of photos. It’s easy enough to verify.” “Love can’t have impurities. So many men have confessed their feelings for me, but they’re all so… phony. So boring. But Rhys… Rhys is different. He’s interesting.” “But after meeting him tonight, I realize he’s not what I imagined. It feels like… he doesn’t love me as much as I thought.” The sheer volume of new information left Ethan stunned and speechless. I tapped the tip of his nose with my finger. “Don’t look for shortcuts, little brother. You should focus on your studies.” I slipped off my painfully high stilettos and ignored him, sitting alone on the swing. Melancholy. Lonely. It was another one of my favorite roles to play. Ethan was young. Girls his age, full of life and energy, were a dime a dozen. To catch someone like him, I couldn’t just play the innocent little girl like I did for Rhys. I had to add a little color, a little mystery, to pique his curiosity. And once a man becomes curious about a woman… He’s already lost. 7 Ethan plopped down next to me, making the swing rock. His mission was to seduce me into cheating. He wasn’t going to give up and go home just yet. I turned my head to look at him as a breeze blew past, sending a lock of my carefully styled hair brushing against his cheek. His eyes darted around for a moment. He decided to fully embrace the “poor college student” persona and shot back a question. “Sienna, being an artist is expensive. Did you ever… you know… take any shortcuts to get by?” “I mean, a girl as beautiful as you… you must have had a lot of boyfriends, right?” He fired off two questions, his tone laced with an acidity he didn’t even seem to notice. I let out a soft laugh. He bristled again. “What’s so funny? I was just asking.” I watched him, amused. Ethan looked away, uncomfortable. Then, realizing he was losing ground, he stubbornly met my gaze again. My eyes crinkled into a smile. “Shortcuts? Didn’t you do your homework before you started pursuing me?” “That painting that sold for over a million at auction last year? I painted that to pay for my tuition.” Ethan’s immediate reaction was disbelief. Liam had told him I was nothing but a vapid, pretentious fraud. When I told him the name of the painting, his disbelief turned to shock. “But the artist of that piece was some old man who died three years ago!” I smiled, tapping his forehead gently. “Silly. It was a made-up identity. Just a bit of marketing flair. Who cares about the details? After all, a painting is always worth more after the artist is dead.” “As for ex-boyfriends… I’m beautiful. It’s only normal that a lot of men have pursued me.” “Or do you not think I’m beautiful enough?” I leaned closer, close enough to see my own reflection in his pupils. Physical proximity is a shortcut to intimacy. Suddenly, Ethan couldn’t meet my eyes. His Adam’s apple bobbed. His gaze darted away. He was clutching the fake bracelet so tightly his knuckles were white. He had genuinely believed it was real, just bought carelessly from a random contact without a second thought. I sighed, taking the bracelet from his hand and slipping it onto my own wrist. “I accept the sentiment.” Even as a fake, the bracelet caught the faint light of the evening, glinting on my wrist. Against my obviously well-cared-for skin, it looked particularly garish. Ethan watched me, his gaze deep and searching. Finally, he spoke. “I’ll buy you a real one someday.” I didn’t take him seriously. “Don’t worry about it,” I said languidly. “Instead, you could help me put my shoes back on. I’m tired today. I don’t feel like moving.” Without hesitation, Ethan knelt down and took my foot in his hand. When he saw the raw, bloody scrape on my heel, his voice was sharp with displeasure. “Why would you wear shoes like this? Your feet are torn up.” I replied lightly, “All of Rhys’s ex-girlfriends wear high heels. I thought he might like it.” The hand holding my foot froze. Ethan stood up, his voice stiff. “If you’re tired, then don’t walk. I’ll carry you back.” Fearing I might refuse, he quickly added, “Don’t worry, we can use a side entrance. No one will see. I know this place well.” In his concern, he’d slipped up. He forgot he was supposed to be a poor college student and revealed his intimate familiarity with a multi-million dollar mansion. I didn’t call him on it. I closed my eyes, feigning exhaustion. When he set me down in a quiet lounge, a pair of soft slippers had replaced my heels. He’d gotten them from a maid. [Rhys: It’s been forever. Where are you? Where is she?] Ethan sent a photo of me, asleep on the sofa. He was a decent photographer; he’d made me look beautiful. [Rhys: Ha. A classic gold digger. Won’t even take off a hundred-thousand-dollar bracelet when she’s sleeping. You really went all out, man. The bag I bought her was only like, twenty grand.] Ethan didn’t mention what had really happened. He just vaguely agreed with Rhys. [Ethan: So, according to the plan, you’re going to start giving her the cold shoulder in a few days so I can move in, right?] [Rhys: Yep. Tomorrow, you guys stay out of it. I’m going to her art studio. Time to play with my little artist.] Ethan pressed him for details, but Rhys was deliberately vague, his reply dripping with sarcasm. [Why all the questions? Did she get to you? Forgetting who your friends are?] Ethan immediately went silent. Until he had more information, he wouldn’t dare reveal his hand. I smirked, watching these conniving little boys, each with their own agenda. It was time to raise the stakes.

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Rhys was sick of me clinging to him. At his own birthday party, in front of everyone, he made sure I knew it. “Don’t you have anything better to do? Is following me around all day really that interesting?” That same night, I suffered a miscarriage at the party. Rhys, however, was with Isabelle’s parents. As I was being rushed into the emergency room on a gurney, I saw him pushing Isabelle’s father in a wheelchair. I called to tell him I’d lost the baby. His response was a careless drawl. “Call a doctor. What good is telling me?” The day he had his own car accident, he lay in a hospital bed, the corners of his eyes red as he begged me to just look at him. I smiled, a cruel, dismissive curve of my lips. “Call a doctor. What good is calling me?” Later, when I finally stopped clinging to him, he was the one begging me to speak. 1 I was married to Rhys Sterling for three years. He was the golden boy of Manhattan’s elite, and I was just a small-town girl who got her ticket to the big city because my grandfather had saved his. At Rhys’s birthday party, a crowd of his friends swarmed him, their laughter slick with privilege. “Bro, why’d you marry her anyway?” one of them asked. “Yeah, man. You and Isabelle were so good together. What made you let her go?” Rhys took a delicate sip of his champagne, his gaze lifting to flick over the person who’d asked. “It was to repay a family debt,” he said, his voice smooth and bored. “Now that she’s pregnant, I guess my duty is done.” My marriage into the Sterling family was a transaction, an arrangement made because my grandfather had once saved Rhys’s grandfather’s life. On the night Rhys proposed, he lit up the entire city skyline with fireworks just for me. The gesture had moved me for a very long time. Only later did I learn that the multi-million-dollar display was never for me. I stood there, in a world where I didn’t belong, clutching my champagne flute so tightly my knuckles were white. In the three years I’d been married to Rhys, his entire circle had frozen me out. I was an outsider, a ghost at their banquet. I’d heard whispers of a name—Isabelle. Rhys’s ex-girlfriend. From the moment we were married, Rhys had been obsessed with me getting pregnant. On our wedding night, he held me with an impatient urgency, his breath hot against my ear as he whispered, “Summer, let’s have a baby. Soon.” I thought he loved children. It wasn’t until today, hearing him dismiss our marriage as a debt and our child as a completed task, that I understood the truth. “But you still set off all those fireworks for her,” someone pressed. “That show on your proposal night cost millions. Don’t try to tell us there weren’t any feelings involved.” Rhys looked down, a faint, mocking smile playing on his lips. “That was just because Isabelle loves fireworks.” He paused, letting the cruelty land. “And I wanted to piss her off.” That spectacular, city-stopping display… everyone had said it was proof that the great Rhys Sterling had finally bowed to love. The media had crowned me the luckiest woman in New York. I had believed it, too. Today, Rhys taught me a brutal lesson. The damned fireworks were never for me. They were a move in his twisted game with another woman, a way to make her jealous. From the very beginning, I was nothing more than a tool, a pawn in their love story. 2 I looked down at the birthday gift in my hands. Rhys’s mother had given it to me, insisting I deliver it to him personally. As I approached him, his friends eyed me up and down, their faces alight with the smug anticipation of a good show. Their smiles were laced with ridicule. I thrust the gift into his hands. Rhys frowned slightly. Remembering his mother’s instructions to make him drink less, I glanced at the glass in his hand and said casually, “Rhys, you should drink less.” I quickly added, afraid he’d misinterpret my concern, “It’s not good for you.” Rhys watched me, a flicker of amusement in his narrow, assessing eyes. “Summer, don’t you have anything better to do? Is following me around all day really that interesting?” The people around us whispered and snickered, their laughter a low hum of mockery. They all said I was using the life-debt between our grandfathers to guilt-trip him, that my whole family was full of social climbers. They called me a small-town girl trying to play princess. That, and Rhys’s complete and utter indifference, was a special kind of humiliation. I lifted my chin, straightened my back, and forced a smile. “Yeah,” I said, my voice brighter than I felt. “I must be bored out of my mind to actually care about you.” He shot me a dismissive glance just as his phone rang. He answered, and his face instantly changed. “I’m on my way.” He was the guest of honor, the star of the show. Every person here was desperate for a moment of his time, a chance to secure an investment for their family’s business. As Rhys rushed out, a crowd surged after him. In the shuffle and push of the throng, I lost my footing and fell. A sharp, twisting pain ripped through my abdomen as a warm gush of red spread beneath me. As they loaded me onto a stretcher, a familiar figure caught my eye. It was Rhys. And next to him was Isabelle. He was pushing an elderly man in a wheelchair, who was beaming up at him. “You must be Izzy’s boyfriend! So thoughtful, rushing over the moment you heard I was in trouble.” Rhys didn’t deny it. He and Isabelle simply exchanged a small, knowing smile. Our paths crossed for a fleeting, brutal moment as the nurses wheeled me past them. After the surgery, I called him. “Rhys, I had a miscarriage.” There was a brief silence on the other end, then his voice, casual and distant. “A miscarriage, huh? Call a doctor. What good is telling me?” A single tear slid from the corner of my eye. I closed my lids and let out a bitter, silent laugh. Before I married Rhys, my mother had told me, “Even though your grandfather saved his, the Sterlings are a powerful family. I can’t protect you, so you have to be agreeable. Don’t fight with him. Rhys works hard, so take good care of him.” I opened our message history. A sea of green bubbles, all from me. [Have you eaten?] [Remember to take your medicine.] His replies were curt, perfunctory ‘k’s. Sometimes, he didn’t even bother with that. I, his wife, was lying in a hospital bed after losing our child, while my husband was playing the doting son-in-law at his ex-girlfriend’s parents’ bedside. I remembered when my own mother broke her leg, right after Rhys and I were married. He never even showed his face, just hired a nurse to look after her. But today, for Isabelle’s father, he was bowing and scraping, running errands like a devoted servant. The difference between love and its absence is stark when you have a control group. 3 After the procedure, I packed my bags and went home. The moment my mother saw my ghostly pale face, her eyes reddened. “Summer, honey, what happened to you?” she asked, her voice trembling. I was holding it all together, but the moment I saw my mom, the dam broke. Yet, in her arms, I found the strength to stop. I choked back my tears. “Mom, I want to divorce Rhys.” My mother had always been afraid I wasn’t being treated well. She would constantly cook Rhys’s favorite dishes and have them delivered to the Sterling estate. I told her to stop, but she’d do it secretly anyway. I thought she genuinely liked him, until I found her diary. She thought that if she was a little nicer to Rhys, he might be a little nicer to her daughter. She stroked my forehead. “Okay,” she said, her voice firm. “We’ll get a divorce. We’re not afraid of them.” From outside the room, I heard Rhys on the phone, arguing with his grandfather. “What do you want for your birthday?” the old man asked. Rhys let out a cold laugh. “I want a divorce, so I can marry Isabelle. Would you allow that?” His grandfather’s roar was audible even through the door. “Nonsense!” I waited for him to hang up before pushing the door open. Rhys looked at me, his eyes cold. “How long have you been eavesdropping?” “Not long.” I stood in the doorway and smiled. “Rhys, I have a birthday present for you.” He looked amused. “What could you possibly give me? A cheap, hand-knit scarf?” I placed a single white document on the table in front of him. I shrugged. “Of course, I’m giving you your freedom. What, you don’t like your present?” When he saw the bold letters—DIVORCE AGREEMENT—his expression hardened, his eyes turning dark and cold. Rhys shoved his hands in his pockets, and a harsh, grating laugh escaped him. “Summer, does your family really want to let go of the Sterling money tree? Even if you’re willing, is your mother?” He assumed my mother’s kindness was just her sucking up to him. Rhys had been surrounded by love and adoration his whole life; he had no need for more. In his eyes, my mother’s efforts were just a calculated ploy to secure my position in his family. It was laughable, really. I looked him straight in the eye. “Rhys, are you even worthy?” I left the papers on the table and walked out. A few minutes later, I saw Isabelle’s new post. It was a picture of Rhys’s back, with the caption: [A third wheel is still a third wheel.] It was quickly followed by a screenshot of a years-old chat between them. Rhys had texted Isabelle: [There will be fireworks over the city tonight. If you call me and tell me you want to come back, I’ll call off the wedding.] I didn’t know how she had the audacity to imply I was the other woman. She was the one who took a payout from Rhys’s mother to study abroad. I didn’t even get together with Rhys until a year after they had broken up. 4 The divorce dragged on. During that time, Rhys paraded Isabelle around at every high-profile event. The entire city now knew the epic love story of Rhys Sterling and Isabelle Thorne. And I was cast as the villain, the shameless social climber who used an old family debt to trap him. The rumors nearly sent Rhys’s grandfather to the hospital. He immediately summoned both of us back to the family estate. The old man was lying in bed. The moment he saw Rhys, he grabbed the glass from his nightstand and hurled it at him. “You ungrateful brat! You have a wife, do you understand that? Who gave you permission to run around with that… that floozy?” Rhys’s gaze drifted over to me, a cruel smile touching his lips. “Isn’t the woman who schemed her way into the Sterling family and charmed you the real floozy here?” I shot him a look. If his grandfather hadn’t been there, I would have punched him in the face. Old Mr. Sterling’s face flushed with anger. He pointed a trembling finger at the door and told Rhys to get out. “Summer, you stay.” A cold stare from my side. Rhys’s voice was a low warning. “Don’t say anything stupid.” I clenched my fists. After he left, his grandfather took my hand. “My dear, you’ve been wronged. It was my fault for insisting on this marriage. I could see that you liked the boy, but I never imagined he would be so foolish.” It was true, I had liked Rhys once. But that affection had been systematically destroyed by his blatant favoritism, time and time again. When I was in elementary school, the Sterling family went through a financial crisis, and Rhys was sent to live with my family in our small town. The first time I saw him, he was this clean, pale city boy. He was so beautiful. All the other kids in the village were tanned and weathered from the sun, not delicate and perfect like him. He was supposed to sleep in the same room as me. He looked at me with disdain. “I’m not sleeping with her.” A spanking from his grandfather shut him up. After the adults left, he drew a line down the middle of the bed. No one was to cross it. He wet the bed that night. When he woke up, I was trying to stifle my giggles. His face was a thundercloud. “Don’t laugh. And don’t you dare tell anyone.” Later, I told my mom I had wet the bed. I was always so careful around him, never daring to meet his eyes. He was just too beautiful, like a porcelain doll. My hands were rough, my face was dark from the sun. In a small village, news travels fast. The other kids started teasing me, calling me his little child bride. When Rhys heard it, his young brow furrowed in anger. “She is not my wife. I don’t have a wife that ugly and stupid.” He stayed for one summer. Before he left, his face was still a mask of cold indifference. “If you ever come to the city, look me up. I’ll show you around.” The next time we met, I was eighteen. My mother got sick, and I was sent to live with the Sterlings, a guest in their house. His friends would tease him. “Hey Rhys, isn’t that your little bride from the countryside?” Rhys would shoot me a cold, sideways glance. “No. Don’t talk nonsense. She’s not my type.” “What is your type, bro? I can set you up.” His eyes, full of a strange disgust, would lock on me. “Anyone but her.” My face would burn with shame. I couldn’t look at him. One of his friends laughed. “Well, she’s my type. How about you introduce me?” Rhys sneered. “Be my guest.” Later, he got a girlfriend, Isabelle. Every time our eyes met, I felt a hot wave of shame, as if I were coveting someone else’s man. So I kept my distance. Until I was twenty-two. Isabelle dumped Rhys for money, and the Sterling family decided he should marry me. But the thing is, Rhys was the one who proposed to me. I never forced him, never even confessed my feelings. I took a deep breath and looked at his grandfather. “Grandpa, I want to divorce him.” The old man sighed. “Alright.” 5 As I was leaving, his grandfather insisted that Rhys take me out for the night. He said if, after this one night, I was still disappointed in him, he would grant us the divorce without another word. Rhys was annoyed, clearly not wanting to be saddled with me. He drove recklessly, flooring it all the way to a raucous nightclub. His friends immediately surrounded us. “Summer,” he began, his voice laced with contempt. “If you want to go find a boy toy, be my guest. I’ll even pay for it. Just stop clinging to me all the time. It’s annoying.” His words were like tiny needles pricking my heart. I smiled brightly and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Okay! Give me the money. I want one who’s handsome, 6’2”, with an eight-pack.” He seemed taken aback by my cheerful agreement. After all, I used to follow him around like a shadow, nagging him not to drink so much when his ulcer acted up, telling him not to smoke. He always complained I was too controlling. My easy acceptance now seemed to stun him into silence. He always accused my mother and me of being gold-diggers, but in all these years, we never took a single penny from the Sterling family that wasn’t earned. A man holding a drink approached me. He had a fox-like beauty, sharp and captivating. Rhys called out to him, then glanced at me. “Leo, you’re here. Perfect. She’s all yours. I’m leaving.” After Rhys walked away, I looked at the man in front of me and turned to leave as well. He grabbed my wrist, leaning in close. “Today is September 28th.” I looked at him, confused. “Nine times twenty is one-eighty. Plus eight… one-eighty-eight. My height, in centimeters.” Suddenly, he was even closer, his voice a low murmur only I could hear. “I also have an eight-pack. I fit your criteria. Want to see?” My heart stuttered as our eyes met. His smile was dangerously alluring. There was something so familiar about his gaze, but I couldn’t place it. I pushed him away, taking a step back with an awkward laugh. “No, thank you.” He just raised an eyebrow at me as I hurried away. As I reached the entrance, my phone rang. It was the hospital. “Is this Ms. Summer Anderson? Your mother has been admitted to New York General. We need you to come and sign the consent forms for surgery.” Panic seized me. I frantically tried to hail a cab, but the club was in a remote area, frequented by the rich kids who drove their own cars. No taxis were in sight. After ten minutes of fruitless waiting, I swallowed my pride and called Rhys. My voice was tight with urgency. “Rhys. Can you give me a ride to the city?” It was Isabelle who answered. A sweet, triumphant smile was audible in her voice. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Rhys just had to defend my honor and drank a little too much. He’s in no condition to drive.” The line went dead. Despair washed over me. A black G-Wagon pulled up in front of me. “Get in.” It was the handsome man from the bar. My voice trembled. “Can you take me to New York General? Please, thank you.” I didn’t have time to think twice. I jumped in. The whole way there, my mind was a blank canvas of fear. Twenty years ago, it was my grandfather. Ten years ago, my father. Today, my mother. Every time I got a call from a hospital, a cold dread filled me. When we arrived, my legs were like jelly. I ran inside, signing papers in a daze. As they wheeled my mother into the ICU, I collapsed onto a bench in the hallway, covered in a cold sweat. Rhys called. “Where are you? Did you really go off with your new boy toy?” I ignored him and hung up. Staring at the closed doors of the ICU, a profound sense of helplessness consumed me. This was the third time. The last two times I sat outside these doors, I said goodbye to my grandfather, and then to my father. When my grandfather passed, I was too young to understand the adults’ grief. When my father died, I was old enough to understand everything. I cried and screamed, begging him not to leave me. Now, I was shaking with fear. If my mother left, I would be completely alone in this world. 6 I was only wearing a thin dress, and the night air was cold. A coat was draped over my shoulders. I looked up and met his eyes, but said nothing. A nurse called me over to pay the bill. I stared at the number, my mind reeling. So many zeros. The nurse glanced up at me. “Don’t bother counting. It’s two hundred thousand. And with your mother’s condition, the costs are only going to go up. Every time we turn on a machine, it’s tens of thousands. You need to be prepared.” I mentally tallied up every dollar I had saved from years of work. I was still twenty thousand short. I called Mr. Sterling, my voice thick with unshed tears. A moment later, a million dollars was deposited into my account. After paying the bill, I felt utterly drained. This stranger, Leo, sat with me all night. He had rushed back at some point, a sheen of sweat on his forehead, carrying two containers of hot porridge. “Eat something. It’ll warm you up.” I ate numbly. I was starving, but I had no appetite. He didn’t touch the other container. When I asked why he wasn’t eating, he just pointed to the ICU doors. “I’m waiting for your mom to wake up.” When they finally wheeled my mother out, I jumped up so fast I nearly fell. The man beside me steadied me with a firm hand. I whispered a thank you. The next day, the Sterlings arrived in full force, including the old man. When Rhys saw Leo, he froze. While I was busy running home to pack some things for my mom, it was Leo who stayed by her side, taking care of her. He was feeding her porridge, his movements gentle and practiced. Rhys stepped forward, reaching for the bowl. “I’ll do it.” Leo pulled the bowl back. “No need.” In the hospital room, Leo politely greeted the Sterling family as if he were the husband, while Rhys stood awkwardly to the side, looking like an intruder. After the family left, only Rhys remained. He and Leo were about the same height, and standing together, they created an oppressive atmosphere. “Leo, this is my mother-in-law. You can go now.” Leo let out a soft, mocking laugh. “Mr. Sterling, you must have a short memory. You’re the one who asked me to take care of her.” Rhys’s face hardened. “That won’t be necessary. I can take care of my own wife. You can leave.” The light in the bar had been too dim to see him clearly, and on the frantic drive to the hospital, my mind had been consumed with worry for my mother. But looking at him now, he seemed incredibly familiar. “Leo, thank you. You should go. You’ve done more than enough these past few days.” After he left, I looked at Rhys, my voice calm. “Let’s get a divorce. I don’t want a single penny of the Sterling money.” Rhys was silent for a long moment. “You’re not thinking clearly right now. We can talk about the divorce later. I’m going to go take care of Mom.” He started to walk past me, but I grabbed his arm. “My mother doesn’t want to see you right now. Go home.” Suddenly, the squeak of a wheelchair approached. Isabelle’s father called out to Rhys. “Look, it’s my Izzy’s boyfriend, here to see me!” I gave Rhys a cold smile. “Go take care of your future father-in-law. My mother doesn’t need you.” A look of panic flashed across his face. I immediately shut the door, leaving him on the other side. He came to the hospital every day. I refused to speak to him. I used to be the one who chattered endlessly, following him around like a lost puppy. I was the one who stopped him from drinking, worried about his health, who forbade him from street racing. “Summer, please say something. I’m not seeing Isabelle anymore. I was only helping her father because of our past.” Whenever I saw him, my face became a mask of cold indifference, the same look he used to give me. But somehow, he couldn’t stand it. I had endured that look for years. “Summer, please don’t look at me like that. It hurts. I won’t drink anymore. I won’t go to clubs. And I will never see Isabelle again.” No, please drink, I thought. Drink until your stomach bleeds. I didn’t say a single word to him until the day my mother was discharged. During that time, Isabelle and her father had even come looking for him at the hospital. In front of me, Rhys had told Isabelle’s father that there was nothing between them. Isabelle, unwilling to give up, kept coming back. Rhys just told her, coldly, to leave and never return.

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To spite his first love, the A-list actor Sean Walters married me. For three years, they remained tangled up in each other’s lives. They embraced and kissed on set, whispered sweet nothings in interviews. The internet said I was the pitiful stand-in. I never got angry. I just smiled and helped him deny every rumor. Until I got pregnant by accident and terminated it without telling him. He was sick with a furious, heartbroken rage, demanding to know why. I stroked the lines of his face and answered calmly, “Because I don’t love you.” The man I love is his dead brother. 1. The whole world knew Sean Walters married me to make Stella Ross jealous. They had a fight right before their wedding, and Stella left the country in a huff. Sean didn’t chase her. He turned around and married me instead. I wore a wedding dress that wasn’t mine and married a man who didn’t love me. Everyone said that the moment Stella came back, Sean would throw me away. But in our third year of marriage, it seemed like Sean was starting to fall for me. He would make me breakfast in bed, coax me awake with soft words, and kiss my lips when I pouted. In our most tender moments, we were lost in each other. In the dark, he would whisper temptations in my ear. “My sweet girl, give me a child. One just as sweet as you.” We were like any other ordinary, loving couple. Until the day I actually got pregnant. Before I had the chance to tell him, Stella Ross came back. On that day, they got back together. 2. The day Stella returned was the night of their college reunion. I heard her family had gone bankrupt and she was hitting up everyone for money. When Sean led me into the room, we saw some rich classmate forcing drinks on her. A hundred grand for every glass she finished, he said. Stella choked and her eyes streamed with tears, but she forced a smile and downed every single one. When she saw Sean, a flash of panic crossed her face. It must have been the humiliation. She quickly looked down. Someone in the crowd jeered, “Stella, if you need money, you should be begging our superstar Sean.” “Yeah, with your history, you roll around in his bed a few times, he’s not gonna be cheap with you.” Sean shot the man a glacial look. “Cut the crap,” he said slowly, his voice lethally soft. A cigarette dangled from his lips as he leaned against my shoulder. “Anyone who pisses off my wife can shut up and get the hell out.” Everyone laughed, calling me “Mrs. Walters,” saying how lucky I was that Sean doted on me so much. No one knew that if Stella hadn’t shown up, Sean wouldn’t have even been here tonight. Stella stared at me, biting her lip so hard it turned white, fighting back tears. The man who’d been plying her with drinks put a hand on her shoulder, rubbing it slowly. “What now?” he purred. “Looks like the great Sean Walters doesn’t want you anymore. But that’s okay. He doesn’t want you, but I do.” “If you’re willing to strip down and show me a good time in bed, I’ll give you a little spending money. How about it?” Sean crushed the cigarette in his hand. His face, already cool, turned to ice. He still cared. It was written all over him. Stella, her eyes shimmering with tears, looked up at Sean. “I won’t,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’ll only ever love one person in my life. Even if he doesn’t want me anymore, I won’t let anyone else touch me.” Sean’s hand on mine tightened, his fingers digging into my skin. The classmate, his pride wounded, laughed and called her a bitch. “Who do you think you are, some kind of saint? Fucking hell, I offer you a way out and you spit in my face. Fine. I’m screwing you tonight whether you like it or not.” He grabbed Stella and started dragging her towards the door. She was weak from the alcohol, stumbling against him, her struggles half-hearted. Sean’s eyes were locked on her. I could see it then. He was ready to kill for her. Just as they were about to leave, Sean finally broke. He strode forward and kicked the man holding Stella to the ground. He pinned him there, punching him again and again. His eyes were bloodshot, his voice a vicious snarl. “You touch her again, and I’ll cut off your filthy hands!” The room descended into chaos. Someone was filming. I quickly grabbed Sean’s sleeve, trying to get him to stop. He whipped his head around, his voice dripping with venom. “Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?” I froze, then slowly let go. Stella threw herself into his arms, sobbing. “Sean, don’t fight for me! If you get hurt, it’ll kill me. I was so scared… so scared you really didn’t want me anymore…” Sean didn’t push her away. He held her tight, shielding her from the world. In front of everyone, he walked out with Stella Ross. And left me behind. 3. Sean didn’t come home that night. At dawn, Stella posted on social media. “You said you’d never hold another woman’s hand again.” The post included a picture of two hands, fingers intertwined. The man’s hand had a tiny, crimson mole on the back. It was Sean. And I was the other woman whose hand he would never hold again. Within ten minutes, the post was trending. My haters flooded her comments. “Go, queen! You and Sean are the perfect couple! You have to get back together!” “Morals out the window, I’m shipping this! I just can’t stand to see that scheming bitch Vivian happy!” So many people were waiting to see me humiliated. A few of his loyal fans tried to defend me. “Bro, that’s not you, is it? I’ve been a fan for years, I know how good Vivian is to you. You can’t do her dirty like this!” Sean and I had numerous endorsement deals as a couple. The penalty for a scandal was astronomical. His agent couldn’t reach him, so she called me, begging me to do some damage control, to lie and say we were together. I scrolled through my camera roll and realized, with a pang, how few photos we had together. In the handful that existed, I was the only one smiling. Finally, I chose a photo from a long time ago. Sean, sitting under a desk lamp, reading a book. The soft glow of the lamp enveloped him, making him look so much like the man who always appeared in my dreams, the one who made my heart ache. The moment I posted it, comments poured in. “See? Sean’s at home with his wife! Anyone who says he’s cheating, I’ll rip your head off!” Everyone started attacking Stella, calling her a shameless, attention-seeking liar. Until, a few minutes later, Sean retweeted Stella’s post. Under the picture of their clasped hands, he wrote: “It was me.” He calmly admitted the truth, exposing my carefully constructed lie. Once again, for her, he threw me away. Stella’s fans stormed my page, laughing at me. “LMAO, busted! Sucks to be you, you lying bitch.” “Stella gave you three years and you still couldn’t lock him down. Pathetic.” Who ever said I wanted Sean’s heart? I deleted every trace of him from my phone. I wanted a divorce. 4. The next morning, the studio called me in to deal with the PR crisis. As luck would have it, I ran into Stella the moment I arrived. Sean must have brought her, unable to bear being apart from her for even a moment. She apologized immediately. “Vivian, I’m so sorry about last night. I was drunk and posted something stupid, and Sean just went along with my nonsense. We caused you so much trouble.” “I already told him off,” she continued, her voice dripping with false concern. “He’s always taking my side, never thinks about you. Such a typical man, so clueless.” “And those things people are saying online, that you’re my stand-in… it’s just ridiculous, isn’t it?” “They have no idea how grateful I am to you, for taking care of Sean all these years…” She gave me a sickeningly sweet smile. I smiled back. “I’m Sean’s wife. A wife taking care of her husband doesn’t require thanks from an outsider. You, on the other hand, being called a homewrecker all night… you mustn’t let it get to you.” Her expression flickered. She looked me up and down, her eyes landing on the ring on my finger. “Vivian,” she said, her smile returning, sharp as glass. “You’re wearing my wedding ring. You should give it back.” She reached for my hand. I was done. I yanked my arm back, accidentally hitting her in the face. Suddenly, she swung her designer handbag at my head. The metal clasp caught my forehead, drawing blood. The force of the blow made my ears ring. I raised my hand to strike back, but my wrist was caught from behind. Sean. He had appeared out of nowhere. His voice was ice. “Vivian Shaw, you dare touch her and see what happens.” When I turned, he saw the blood on my face. He froze for a second, then frowned at Stella. “You did this?” Tears welled in Stella’s eyes as she shook her head. “Sean, she called me a homewrecker and tried to hit me! I was just trying to get away, my bag hit her by accident! I didn’t mean to, I’ll apologize!” The moment she cried, Sean melted. He stroked her hair, praising her. “Good girl. If anyone tries to hit you, you hit them back. As long as I’m here, you don’t have to apologize to anyone.” A sudden, sharp pang of envy hit me. The truth was, I cried easily too. But the person who used to wipe away my tears was gone. My agent, Angela, couldn’t take it anymore. She pointed at me, her voice rising as she yelled at Sean. “This is your wife! Sean, are you blind? Coddling this little snake while your wife is bleeding?” “In what world is Vivian not a thousand times better than her?” “Have you forgotten you told Vivian you wanted a baby? That you said being with her was the only time you felt like you had a real home?” “You’re hurting her like this now. Are you sure you won’t regret this later?” I instinctively touched my stomach. A tiny, budding life was hidden inside me. Sean just laughed, a hollow, empty sound. His gaze swept over me, devoid of any emotion. “Maybe I did like Vivian for a little while,” he said calmly. “But Stella’s back. And whether it’s Vivian Shaw, or some other woman, they all need to step aside.” So that’s what it was. A brief, shallow affection. Now that his true love was back, he was done with me. I pulled the ring from my finger—the ring that was never mine—and held it out to him. The smile on Sean’s face slowly vanished. After a moment of tense silence, he reached for it. Angela grabbed my arm, her eyes darting to my stomach, pleading with me. “Vivian, don’t be a fool. You’re…” Stella cut her off, snatching the ring from my hand. She tried to slip it on her own finger, but it was too small. Her smile faltered for a second before she tossed the ring into a nearby trash can. She clung to Sean’s arm, pouting. “Whatever. Don’t be mad for me. I don’t want a ring some other woman has worn anyway. It’s dirty.” Sean ignored her. He was staring at me, his voice low and intense. “You’re what?” I gave him a cool, blank look and turned to leave. Sean. I’m pregnant. You don’t need to know. 5. Sean is an incredibly perceptive person. Angela’s hint was obvious. I’m sure he figured it out. My health has never been good; I’ve been on medication for years. This pregnancy was an accident, and it posed a risk. The doctor advised me to terminate it. And I didn’t want to use a child to stay tangled up with him. Before the procedure, I moved out of our home. I didn’t want to see him. I didn’t want any trouble. Not that he cared. He didn’t look for me. He just went on with his life. Angela sent me a video. It was from a charity auction. Sean had just gifted Stella a magnificent diamond ring. She was laughing, throwing her arms around him. A handsome couple. A perfect match. Right. I’d almost forgotten. Stella was back. And whether it was Vivian Shaw, or Vivian Shaw’s baby, we both had to step aside. That was fine. 6. The day before the surgery, a sudden, sharp anxiety gripped me. I remembered the jade charm my mother had gotten for me before she died. It was in the safe at home. I decided to go back for it. When I got there, I discovered the entry code had been changed. I stood there, locked out of my own home, a wave of humiliation washing over me. Suppressing my anger, I called Sean. But it was Stella who answered. Her voice was triumphant. “Vivian, it’s my birthday today. Sean insisted on taking me to see a meteor shower. We won’t be back tonight.” “I told him once that lovers who wish on a shooting star stay together forever. I can’t believe he remembered. I’m so happy.” “But I can’t give you the code. I mean, we’re not home. It wouldn’t be right for an outsider to just let herself in…” I hung up, turned to the keypad, and entered today’s date. The door clicked open. The code was Stella’s birthday. Inside, every trace of my existence had been erased. Our wedding photo on the console table was replaced by one of him and Stella. They were young, radiant. He was holding her, his smile genuine and full of joy. My collection of succulents had been thrown out, pot and all. My study had been converted into a piano room for her. I stood there, stunned, then ran to the bedroom. The closet was filled with a row of sexy, lace nightgowns. None of them were mine. The safe was at the bottom of the closet. I pressed my fingerprint to the scanner and, with trembling hands, pulled out my jewelry, the cash, the documents. But the one thing I couldn’t find was the jade charm my mother had left me. It was the only thing I had left of her. Stella knew that. So she threw it away.

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