After the car crash, Sterling Foster lost his memory. He reverted back to the time when he doted on me the most. He was possessive, jealous, and practically threw himself at me. Every glance was a plea for affection. Everyone warned me. “Don’t get too comfortable. You have three months of this, max.” “The doctor said his memory will come back once the blood clot clears.” Three months later, Sterling’s memory did return. Everyone smirked, waiting for me to be cast aside again. But instead, Sterling took a deep breath, his expression a mixture of terror and hope, and dropped to one knee. “Will you be my wife?” he asked, his voice trembling with reverence. 1 In the VIP hospital room, a chorus of voices was carefully trying to reason with Sterling Foster. “Sterling, it’s true. You sent Cora away four years ago. She’s not your little shadow anymore. She’s at a university overseas. She’s not coming back.” “Come on, man, stop messing around. Your condition is cured now. You can sleep through a rainstorm without holding her. You don’t need to summon the queen bee back.” “Besides, she’s at a top-tier university now. She’s got her own life. She’s not going to drop everything to come back and be your little babysitter. Can we please face reality here?” But no matter what they said, the man sitting on the hospital bed wasn’t listening. His gaze grew colder by the second, a silent threat that one more word would have dire consequences. They tiptoed around him as if he were a volatile emperor, trying to decipher his royal decree. And his decree was simple: “Call her. Tell her to get back here. Now.” They braced themselves and told him the truth. “We tried. No answer.” “She won’t come back.” “She’s blocked all of our numbers.” Sterling’s face darkened, and the air in the room grew thick with tension. From the moment he’d seized control of his family’s empire at sixteen, he had inspired fear. In the years since Cora had left, that fear had only intensified. He’d become more ruthless, his moods more unpredictable. He was a king in his own dark kingdom. He tossed his phone onto the bed. “Use mine. She wouldn’t dare ignore my call.” His friends could only think, Dude, where are you getting this confidence? Still, his right-hand man, William Croft, picked up the phone and dialed, putting it on speaker for Sterling to hear. “Beep… beep… The number you have dialed is currently unavailable. Please try again later.” William didn’t dare look at Sterling. “Boss,” he explained cautiously, “that usually means… you’ve been blocked.” A palpable darkness seemed to emanate from Sterling, but his voice remained controlled, his signature confidence unshaken. “I still have her on social media.” The silent consensus in the room was, This guy just won’t quit. William, once again, did as he was told, placing a video call. It didn’t connect. A four-word message popped up on the screen: [Unable to connect.] William swallowed hard. “Boss… that usually means… you’ve been blocked on there, too.” The darkness in Sterling’s eyes finally cracked, revealing a flicker of stunned disbelief. His hand, elegant and long-fingered, slowly clenched into a fist, veins popping as his entire body began to tremble with rage. It was clear he was fighting a losing battle against a tidal wave of fury. Just then, a loud clap of thunder shook the building. BOOM. CRACKLE. The sky opened up, and rain began to pour. It was as if a beast had been awakened inside him. His eyes turned a feral, bloodshot red. A suffocating pressure descended on the room, and his gaze swept over his friends as if they were prey he was about to tear apart. They all flinched, ready to bolt. “Oh, crap. He’s relapsing.” “I thought he was cured! Why is he going crazy again?” “Get to Cora! Find her! Beg her, bribe her, do whatever it takes to get her back here!” 2 While Sterling’s most powerful lieutenants were flying across the globe, I had just successfully defended my thesis. These were men who were used to being revered, men who never bowed to anyone. And now, they were all kneeling in front of my apartment. “Please, Cora, we’re begging you. Just come back with us.” “Sterling was in a car accident. He has amnesia. His memory is stuck before he turned sixteen. He still thinks you’re his… favorite person.” “And his old condition is back. He can’t sleep when it rains unless he’s holding you.” “We all grew up together. For old times’ sake, can you just do us this one favor?” I pressed my lips together, a dizzying mix of old hurt and new surprise swirling inside me. From the age of five until I was sixteen, I had been Sterling Foster’s personal teddy bear. He was handsome, brilliant, and wealthy beyond measure, but he was also deeply troubled. When it rained, the only thing that could keep his demons at bay was holding me. Everyone assumed I would one day be Mrs. Foster. Then one day, out of the blue, he told me, “You don’t need to come here anymore.” Just like that, I was banished from his world. I can only imagine how many people laughed at me, at my foolish, shattered dreams. Who would have thought that four years later, the tables would turn so dramatically? It all started when I was five. The media reported a suspected case of abuse at my preschool. When the police investigated, they discovered the horrific bruises covering my body weren’t from school. They were from my nanny. One day, the door to my house burst open. A dozen bodyguards stood respectfully behind a small, brooding boy. He strode in, scooped me up with a possessive air, and carried me away to his home. He was seven, I was five. We were complete strangers. Later, the housekeeper at his family’s estate told me what had happened. The young master had been watching television when a news report about my case came on. The sight of my bruised body had sent him into a silent rage. He’d stood up, summoned his bodyguards, and left without a word. “The young master was also abused by a nanny,” the housekeeper explained. “By the time anyone found out, the damage was done. He had developed severe psychological issues. He would go for weeks without speaking, just sitting alone in the living room, reading. No one could get close to him. It wasn’t until he brought you here that he started to speak again, even if it was just a word or two to answer you.” Even then, he barely spoke to me. If he could answer in one word, he would. Any request for further explanation was met with a look that screamed, “You foolish mortal.” He was a child prodigy, with a genius-level IQ and a photographic memory that made the rest of us feel like simpletons. And yes, there was a “rest of us.” Sterling was the crown prince of a corporate dynasty. Every other wealthy family was desperate to have their children befriend him, hoping that a childhood connection would pay dividends in the future. Their gamble paid off. To keep up with Sterling, we all became hyper-competitive overachievers. We had to be the best at everything. Now, the men kneeling before me were the very same overachievers, Sterling’s most trusted executives and advisors. I was the only exception. The only one who was unceremoniously kicked out of his inner circle. I was sent away to study abroad, alone. I completed my bachelor’s and master’s degrees in four years. How many lonely nights did I spend burying my hurt in textbooks? And now, they tell me he’s lost his memory, his old illness is back, and he wants me to return. On what grounds? 3 The whole “he can only sleep when he’s holding me” thing started by accident. It was my fifth night at the Foster estate. A violent thunderstorm was raging outside. I was alone in a guest room, terrified, huddled under the covers. The only person I knew in this massive mansion was the little boy who had brought me here. Clutching my pillow, I padded down the hallway in my fluffy slippers to find him. The entire villa was lit up, and all the adults were pacing anxiously. Sterling’s grandmother was in the living room, tearing into his parents. “This is all your fault! Always traveling for work, leaving my grandson with that monster of a nanny! Look at what she’s done to him! He has these episodes every time it rains, and even the doctors can’t help! What have I done to deserve this, to watch my grandson suffer and be completely helpless?” Before I even reached his room, I heard a scream. A doctor in a white coat ran out, his hands covered in blood. “Mrs. Foster, we can’t get near him! He won’t let us give him a sedative. He has a knife. He’s trying to attack anyone who gets close.” While the adults were distracted, I slipped into Sterling’s room. He was drenched in sweat, his eyes a terrifying shade of red, like a little demon clawed up from hell. He was slashing at anything that moved. Another crash of thunder, and I burst into tears. “Big brother, I’m scared!” By the time his grandmother and the others rushed in, Sterling had me on the bed. The knife was on the nightstand. He was covering my ears with his hands. When he heard them enter, he grabbed the knife again, his eyes wary. But he kept one arm wrapped tightly around me. Everyone stared, dumbfounded. I copied him, covering his ears with my small hands. “It’s okay, big brother,” I cooed. “Don’t be scared. Time for your shot.” The doctor cautiously approached. Sterling tensed, the veins in his arm popping as he fought the urge to lash out. I just hugged him tighter. In the end, he didn’t attack anyone. After the shot, he just said, “Get out.” But he kept me with him, his little human teddy bear. That night, I secured my place in the Foster household. 4 A couple of weeks later, another storm was brewing. Without a second thought, his grandmother placed me in Sterling’s arms like a science experiment. “Here, sweetie. Try this. Maybe it’ll help.” Sterling glanced at me with his usual disdain but didn’t push me away. He was a sensible child, deep down, and didn’t want to worry the adults. He just couldn’t control himself when it rained. He was sitting on the sofa, reading. I was bored and tried to wriggle free. He pressed my head back down. “Don’t move.” Then he looked at the adults hovering nearby. “All of you, leave. I don’t want to see you.” When it rained, he couldn’t stand the sight of another living thing. His anxiety would skyrocket, leaving him feeling utterly exposed and unsafe. Even a mouse scurrying past would send him into a violent frenzy. If there was a chance for a cure, he was willing to try it. Half an hour later, the rain started to fall, a gentle, hypnotic rhythm against the windows. I yawned and quickly fell asleep. Later, I heard that his grandmother had watched on the security cameras. Sterling’s hand had hovered over my neck several times, as if he was contemplating strangling the only other living creature in the room. But each time, he had pulled back. In the end, he had covered me with a blanket and fallen asleep beside me on the sofa. His grandmother had watched the monitor, tears streaming down her face. From then on, I was officially part of the Foster household. Not even my own father could get me back. Until that summer, the year I turned sixteen. Sterling suddenly told me, “You don’t need to come here anymore.” I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Had he been cured? Did he not need his teddy bear anymore? If he hadn’t given me a bank card with a staggering amount of money in it, I would have made a scene. Now, looking at these powerful men, my former “colleagues,” kneeling and begging me to return, I clenched my fists and asked calmly, “Is the amnesia temporary or permanent?” “Well…” William hesitated, then told the truth. “The doctor said it’s from a blood clot caused by the accident. Once it clears up, his memory should return. They said it could be up to three months.” I let out a bitter laugh. “So you want me to go back and humiliate myself? I’m twenty years old, not a child. Do you really think it’s appropriate for me to be his human teddy bear now? If he wants to see me, tell him to send a royal procession.” 5 I thought that would be the end of it. Even with amnesia, the proud Sterling Foster would never tolerate such a demand. For ten years, my role was clearly defined: I was the sidekick. The reason he kicked me out in the first place was because he’d heard people whispering that I was his future wife. He must have thought I was getting too ambitious. Who was I to dream of marrying the prince? Besides, when he held me on those stormy nights, it was completely platonic. I was just a remedy for his anxiety, nothing more. We were just kids. By the time I was sixteen and he was eighteen, the age of raging hormones, we were separated. But three days later, I came home from the university lab to find a fleet of Rolls-Royces parked outside my house. William was directing bodyguards as they carried suitcases inside. I walked into my closet to find them arranging custom-made shirts, suits, shoes, and ties. “What are you doing?” I asked, stunned. William gritted his teeth. “Sterling got tired of waiting. He came himself. He said, ‘If the mountain will not come to Muhammad, then Muhammad must go to the mountain.’ He also told us to rent a royal sedan chair from a film studio. It’s being flown in as we speak.” But the look in his eyes said, Don’t get too smug. You’ve only got three months. “…” I was speechless for a moment, then tried to sound calm. “Where is he?” William rolled his eyes. “You think he’s got nothing better to do? He’s at the corporate headquarters, surveying his future kingdom.” The Foster Group’s headquarters was in North America, under the watchful eye of Sterling’s grandfather. But since he was sixteen, Sterling had been in complete control of the domestic operations. In four years, he had crushed every veteran executive who had dared to underestimate him. His future was global. This was why I had chosen to study here. I had always foolishly hoped that one day, I would stand before him again, not as his sidekick, but as a brilliant and capable executive in his own company. I had pushed myself to finish my degrees in four years, all so I could join the Foster Group and work my way back into his world, on my own terms. And now this? He was really moving in with me? The worst part was, I couldn’t even kick him out. This house had been his final gift to me when I got into college. Both our names were on the deed. I never understood why he would put his name on a parting gift. It just meant that now, I couldn’t scream at William, “This is my house! He can’t just move in whenever he wants!” Even more unsettling, the weather forecast was calling for a severe thunderstorm tonight.

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Adrian Shaw, heir to a staggering fortune, spent years chasing me, humbling himself in ways a man of his stature never should. I never said yes. Then, in the seventh year, a new girl appeared by his side. I heard she was beautiful, kind, from a family as prominent as his, and that she only had eyes for Adrian. Adrian’s friends would smirk at me, their voices dripping with schadenfreude. “Careful, Mara,” they’d say. “You keep playing games with him, you might just find he’s been snatched away for good.” 01 Adrian Shaw was in love with me. He had been since we were children. Adrian was born with a silver spoon, carrying an air of quiet nobility from his earliest days. He was used to being the sun everyone else orbited, the one people fell over themselves to please. But he was in love with me. The way the world fawned over him was the same way he followed me, catering to my every whim, orbiting my silent world. And I was always cold, always distant. Some said I didn’t know what was good for me. And maybe they were right. My grandmother was the Shaws’ live-in housekeeper. She’d started working for them long before Adrian was born and had become a personal attendant and confidante to his mother. So, while her title was housekeeper, the Shaws treated her with respect and affection, like family. But no matter how much they treated us like family, Adrian and I were from different universes. His love for me was a ladder I was terrified to climb. I never understood what he saw in me. My personality was a locked room, my temper a slow-burning fuse. I didn’t understand the subtleties of people, the art of connection, and I’d certainly never shown him a moment of warmth. And the girls who adored him were a legion. Ever since kindergarten, little girls in pigtails would trail after him, their voices sweet as candy, “Adrian, Adrian, can we play together?” But he would stubbornly trail after me instead, his little face set with solemn purpose as he rejected the others. “No. I only play with Mara.” This pattern held from kindergarten through elementary and middle school, and then into the years when I finally realized his persistence wasn’t just friendship. I once asked him, my voice devoid of the coyness he probably expected, “Adrian, what is it that you even like about me?” The mouthful of Coke he’d been sipping erupted in a spray. He whipped his head around to stare at me, his eyes wide with disbelief, as if he couldn’t comprehend a girl asking such a question so bluntly. He choked for a moment, his ears turning a furious, fascinating shade of red. He looked away, unable to meet my gaze, and his hand tightened around the soda can, crushing the aluminum in his nervousness. He fiddled with the mangled can, his voice a low mumble, trying desperately for an air of nonchalance. “Liking someone is just… liking them. There doesn’t have to be a reason.” His head was bowed, his hands resting on the railing of the balcony. The wind gently ruffled his hair. The tall, proud boy seemed to deflate, his shoulders slumping. “Besides,” he said, his voice barely a whisper, “even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.” I watched him, a slight frown touching my lips. He was right. I didn’t understand. In fact, I recoiled from anything related to love. I didn’t believe in its existence. My parents had been childhood sweethearts. They got together at sixteen, and everyone said their love story was something out of a fairy tale. But when I was five, my father—the gentle, scholarly man I adored—fell hopelessly in love with his eighteen-year-old student. To be with her, he used every cruel trick in the book to force my mother into a divorce. They fought for a year. The year I turned six, my mother killed my father with a kitchen knife. Then she used the same blade to sever the artery in her own neck. When my teacher dropped me off from daycare that afternoon, a sticky, crimson tide had already crept from the living room all the way to the front door. The teacher behind me let out a piercing scream and fainted. But I just stood there. I looked down at the blood that had pooled around my little shoes. My hand clutched the strap of my backpack, where I’d carefully pinned a gold star sticker the teacher had given me. I had planned to give it to my mother. She and my father had been fighting for so long. I wanted to tell her that even if Dad didn’t bring her flowers anymore, I would. I would always bring her flowers. But she would never hear it. After that, my grandmother came and took me away to live with her at the Shaw estate. And that’s where I met Adrian. 02 Adrian said I wouldn’t understand. When our English class studied Romeo and Juliet, he was completely wrecked by the ending. He read the lines about the star-crossed lovers taking their lives and slumped over his desk, his voice filled with a tragic sigh. “Mara,” he asked, “what do you think love really is?” I paused, then answered with clinical patience. “Dopamine. Endorphins. Phenylethylamine. Norepinephrine. Oxytocin. Our entire lives are dictated by these hormones.” Adrian stared at me, his expression a complex mix of confusion and disappointment. I thought for a moment and added, “These chemicals usually peak in the human body for about six to eighteen months. After that, they fade, day by day. Only a new partner can reignite the surge.” For some reason, that made him angry. He sat up straight, his jaw tight. “I’m not like that,” he snapped. I turned away, saying nothing. Everyone thinks they’re the exception. Everyone, when faced with the one who makes their heart race, swears they’ll never change. Just like my father. And just like I felt the first time I heard the name Isabelle from one of Adrian’s friends. His friends never really liked me. Maybe it was because I was a poor orphan whose only relative was a housekeeper, yet I remained unmoved by years of devotion from their golden boy, Adrian Shaw. They were convinced I was playing some kind of manipulative game, a master of hard-to-get, and they all felt a fierce, protective indignation on his behalf. So, when a girl so perfectly suited for him finally appeared on the scene, my so-called mutual friends couldn’t wait to drop her name into conversation, their teasing words edged with malice. They told me Isabelle was different from all the other girls who orbited Adrian. She was a truly special person—gentle, kind, and, of course, from the same privileged world as him. They told me he’d pulled her from the bottom of the pool during swim class when her leg cramped up, and that she’d fallen for him instantly, a classic damsel in distress saved by her knight. They told me how much she adored him, showing up every day just to see him. And even though Adrian was his usual polite but distant self with her, she never missed a day, rain or shine. They’d say to me, their smiles not quite reaching their eyes: “Mara, Adrian has loved you for so many years. You’ve tested his devotion long enough, don’t you think?” “Yeah, Mara. So many girls would kill to be in your position. If you keep stringing him along, you might just find he’s been snatched away for good. And by then, it’ll be too late for regrets.” I ignored them. Back at the hotel for the academic competition, I pulled out my phone. As expected, it was flooded with messages from Adrian. He told me our physics teacher had worn his shirt inside out today. A moment later, another message: the school groundskeeper had removed the bird’s nest from the window of the science lab on the third floor. Two sparrows had returned to find their home gone and were just circling and circling, looking lost and pitiful. He sent me a picture of them, two blurry specks fluttering against the glass, probably wondering how their entire world could vanish in an afternoon. A little while later, another message popped up. “Mara, when are you coming back?” Then another. “Leo’s already back.” I paused. I was here representing our school at a national competition. Leo had been eliminated in the second round; of course, he was back early. Adrian’s academics were a disaster. In high school, he could never wrap his head around vector calculus or the geometry of conic sections. I remember one summer in middle school when, in a fit of ambition, I spent an hour trying to teach him the basics of sine, cosine, and tangent. I finally slammed the textbook shut in frustration. “You’re hopeless,” I told him coldly. “It’s a terminal case of stupidity.” He’d just looked at me with wounded eyes. “It’s not my fault! You’re just too smart. Isn’t this stuff for, like, juniors?” The truth was, Adrian was brilliant, just not in the same way I was. His intelligence was for a different world. He could read the hidden meanings in the conversations of adults, grasp complex business strategies in an instant, and dissect a convoluted corporate structure with ease. His math was terrible, but he had an intuitive feel for numbers on a financial statement, spotting patterns and discrepancies no one else could. And his emotional intelligence was off the charts. He had a natural charisma that charmed everyone, a public persona of steady, understated confidence. He was born to be the heir to the Shaw empire. It was its own kind of genius. My genius, however, was confined to academics. A trait I likely inherited from the father my mother had hacked to pieces. I snapped back to the present, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. I decided not to reply and instead scrolled up through our chat history. It was almost entirely a monologue from him. Since the day I’d left for the competition, his messages had been a constant stream of consciousness—from the first buds on the peach trees by the road to the updated menu in the school cafeteria. He reported every trivial, mundane detail of his life to me. I rarely responded. When he sent me a picture of a math test he’d scored a 65 on—barely passing—I’d replied with a single word: Moron. He hadn’t been offended. He’d replied, beaming with pride, that it was a passing grade on a notoriously difficult test. Only eighteen kids in the whole class had passed. I scrolled all the way back to the day I left. I confirmed it again. The name Isabelle was nowhere in our chat history. He had mentioned going for a swim that first day. He’d sent a picture of some greasy, high-calorie junk food he was eating afterward, complaining about how exhausted he was. I paused. Adrian, the boy who would tell me about sparrows losing their home, had never once mentioned pulling a girl from the bottom of a pool. 03 The first time I saw Isabelle was the day I returned to school after the competition. Our classroom was on the ground floor. As I stepped onto the covered walkway outside, the sky, which had been a clear, brilliant blue just a moment before, cracked open. A sudden, violent downpour began, fat drops of rain splattering against the concrete before blurring into a relentless, deafening curtain of water that swallowed the world in a gray haze. Instead of going straight to class, I stopped by the headmaster’s office to discuss my early admission application—winning the national competition had all but guaranteed my spot. When I came out, the bell for the end of class was ringing. It was on the walk back to my classroom that I saw her. Isabelle. She was holding an umbrella, her back to me, standing across from Adrian. I rarely saw Adrian look so distracted. He leaned against the wall, a lazy, indifferent posture, his brow furrowed with a hint of impatience. When Isabelle offered him the umbrella, he waved her hand away dismissively. And then he looked up and saw me, standing at the other end of the long corridor. His eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face, and in the same instant, he pushed away from the wall, leaving Isabelle behind without a second glance. He strode toward me, his steps long and eager, his voice buoyant with a happiness that was impossible to miss. “Mara, you’re back! How’d the competition go?” I nodded. “It was fine. I won.” His smile widened, his handsome features crinkling with a pride so fierce you would’ve thought he’d won himself. “I knew it,” he said, his voice full of certainty. “We have to celebrate. Let’s go.” “It’s raining,” I said flatly, declining. “And I have to pick up some forms from the dean’s office.” Adrian was unfazed. “In this downpour? Mr. Davies’ office is two buildings over. I’ll walk with you.” He paused, as if just remembering something. He turned and called back to Isabelle, who had since turned around and was watching us with a quiet, unreadable expression. “Hey, you. Can I borrow your umbrella?” I followed his gaze and finally saw her face. The Isabelle that Adrian’s friends had praised so highly. She was beautiful. Even now, after all these years and all the faces I’ve seen, I have to admit that Isabelle possessed a kind of heart-stopping beauty. She had a delicate, small face with exquisite features and skin so pale it made her dark eyes seem like pools of ink. Her long, thick lashes fluttered, hiding the disappointment in her gaze. She seemed to be staring at me, lost in thought. Only when Adrian spoke did she snap out of it. Her eyes darted back to him, and she managed a small, strained smile. She nodded, handing the umbrella over. Then her gaze flickered between me and Adrian. “I should get going,” she said softly. “Mm-hmm,” Adrian replied distractedly, already taking the umbrella and moving to my side. He opened it, tilting the majority of it over my head. “Come on, let’s go.” I stepped out into the rain with him. After we’d gone a little way, I glanced back over my shoulder. For some reason, Isabelle was still standing there, a lone figure watching us through the thick, gray sheet of rain. The mist blurred her features, but I could still make out her solitary, forlorn silhouette. I turned back around. “Did she need something from you?” I asked. Adrian shrugged, completely unconcerned. “We’re in the same SAT prep class. She was just asking if I was going today.” I hesitated. “Since when are you in a prep class?” He suddenly seemed shy, almost embarrassed. But just as quickly, the embarrassment morphed into a flash of indignation. He shot me a resentful look. “Well, it’s your fault for being so smart! Besides, college applications are next year. If I don’t start cramming now, you’ll leave me in the dust.” I stared into the white, hazy curtain of rain and said, deadpan, “That’s because you’re a moron.” Adrian sputtered indignantly behind me, but the umbrella over my head never wavered. I lowered my gaze, a quiet sigh escaping my lips. 04 The news of my early admission to Aurelia University came faster than I expected. Adrian only found out when the celebratory banner was hung in the school’s main hall. He was angry when he came to find me. I was reading a book on functional analysis at the time. The Shaws had given my grandmother and me a small, separate guesthouse on the property, and from my second-floor window, I could see Adrian storming across the lawn, his face a thundercloud of fury. He was clearly mad that I had never mentioned the early admission to him. I watched from the window as he marched toward the guesthouse, looking like he was on his way to avenge a mortal enemy. But then, strangely, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs. He stood there for a long time. Then he suddenly reached out and started ripping leaves off a nearby decorative shrub, a flurry of violent motion until the ground was littered with green shreds. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and started up the stairs. I returned to my desk with my book. Two minutes later, I heard a knock on the door. When I opened it, the Adrian standing before me looked perfectly calm, all traces of his earlier rage erased. He even offered a small smile. “I saw the banner at school,” he said. “Early admission to Aurelia. How come you never told me? But… congratulations, Mara.” He paused, then asked with studied casualness, “So, when do you leave? You won’t be finishing senior year here, will you?” For years afterward, I would remember the way he stood there, congratulating me. His voice was tight with a sorrow he was desperately trying to hide behind a mask of indifference. I suppose Adrian saved all his patience and gentleness for me. Just as everyone said, he catered to my every whim, bent to my will. The celebrated heir of the Shaw family was, in my presence, willing to lower himself, as the poet once wrote, “into the dust.” I didn’t call him out on his act. I just answered calmly, “I’ll report to Aurelia at the start of the next semester.” “Oh,” he said quietly. Then, again, “Well, congratulations, Mara.” I looked at him and simply said, “Thank you.” After securing my admission, I no longer had to attend school every day. But that year happened to be our school’s 100th anniversary, and I returned for the celebration gala—seated in the front row with the school board as this year’s “outstanding student representative.” It was at the gala that I saw Isabelle again. I’ve always been oblivious to things that don’t directly concern me, so I had never paid any mind to the fact that Isabelle was our school’s reigning “campus belle.” She was in the International Baccalaureate program, a track designed for students planning to study abroad. Grades were secondary to a curriculum filled with international courses and specialized language prep for exams like the TOEFL or IELTS. Adrian was supposed to have been in that program. But I had no interest in studying abroad—my grandmother was getting older, and despite my emotional detachment, I couldn’t bring myself to abandon her for a life overseas. So Adrian stayed. But as I sat in the front row, watching Adrian on the piano and Isabelle performing a contemporary dance, their synergy was breathtaking. A thought struck me: if Adrian had never met me, if he had joined the IB program and met Isabelle there… they would have had a very different story. They were a perfect match. Their performance was the grand finale. Adrian, in a sharp, tailored black suit that made him look even more impossibly handsome, his long fingers flying across the black and white keys. And Isabelle, spinning and leaping under the stage lights, her slender form ethereal, as if she might take flight at any moment. I don’t understand music or dance, but I could see that their performance was flawless. When it ended, the auditorium erupted in thunderous applause and whistles. They took their bows together, side by side at the center of the stage, as a shower of confetti rained down on them. They looked like something out of a movie. In that moment of roaring adulation, Isabelle turned to Adrian, her face glowing with happiness. But Adrian’s gaze wasn’t on her. It was locked directly on me, in the front row. His eyes were so focused, so intense, it was as if the entire world had faded away and I was the only person left. A cocky, triumphant grin spread across his face. He looked every bit the polished performer, but I, and only I, could read the silent words he mouthed at me from the stage. How’d I do? I tore my eyes away from him and looked at Isabelle, standing beside him. Her gaze had followed his to me. Under the bright lights and falling confetti, I saw her head dip, the brilliant joy in her eyes dimming, flicker by flicker, into shadow. She was in love with Adrian. Desperately so. That night, for the first time in a long time, I had a nightmare. I dreamed of Adrian at sixteen, the first time he tried to confess his feelings for me. I saw him looking at me with that same lost expression from the balcony, saying, “You wouldn’t understand.” In the dream, he started backing away, and at first, I just watched him go, cold and unmoving. But just as he was about to disappear, I lunged forward to grab him. My hand passed right through him, and instead, I pushed open a door. It was the door to my house, the summer I was six. Behind it was a world painted in blood. My mother, who had slit her own throat, and my father, whom she had butchered into pieces. The trail of blood that snaked from the kitchen to the front door would stain the rest of my life. I woke up with a gasp, sleep impossible. I threw on a robe and went downstairs. I found a beer in the fridge and was sitting out on the terrace when I heard a voice. “Mara?” I turned. Adrian was standing there, a complicated look on his face. His eyes went from the can in my hand to my face. “You upset?” he asked softly. I didn’t answer. I popped the tab on the can, the fizz a brief hiss in the quiet night. Adrian came and sat next to me. His voice was low and gentle. “What’s wrong? Need a shoulder?” I managed a small, humorless laugh and looked up at the moon. The night was clear, the stars sparse, and a cool breeze drifted by. I took a sip of beer. “Adrian,” I said, my voice light, “Isabelle is in love with you.” He froze, his body going rigid. It took a long moment for him to relax. He reached over and took the beer from my hand. He didn’t deny it. He just took a long swallow and said, “Yeah. But I’m not in love with her.”

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My childhood sweetheart got into a car accident and lost his memory. He was stuck at eighteen. He complained that I’d aged ten years overnight and insisted on a divorce. The joke was on him. I had just time-traveled from ten years in the past. To me, he was the old man. At first, I thought he’d traveled back in time with me and was just pretending to have amnesia. Then I overheard him talking to a friend. “Amnesia? Nah, I’m faking it.” “The wife’s been a little overbearing lately. A little divorce drama will give us some space to cool off.” “Relax. She’s so in love with me, she’d never actually go through with it.” I didn’t say a word. I just quietly watched him sign the divorce papers. The moment the mandatory cooling-off period was over, I pushed his wheelchair right up to the doors of the city courthouse. As he stared at me, dumbfounded, I planted my hands on my hips. “We are getting this divorce today!” 1 I’d been in this timeline for two days when Barry Pierce, my husband, got into a car crash and conveniently lost his memory. His mind was stuck at eighteen—the year he found me most annoying. The first time I walked into his hospital room, our eyes met. The first words out of his mouth were: “I want a divorce.” He scowled. “You were annoying enough back then. Now that you’re ten years older, you’re even worse.” A hot sting burned behind my eyes. He really did sound like the eighteen-year-old Barry. Just as cruel, just as thoughtless. Staring at this familiar yet foreign man, I remembered my sister’s words from earlier. She’d urged me not to make any rash decisions, to think about my future. She reminded me of how Barry had spent ten years chasing me, just for the chance to marry me. All those beautiful memories we were supposed to have. But I wasn’t that woman. The seventeen-year-old me, the one without a decade of shared history with him, could walk away without a second thought. But what would happen to the twenty-seven-year-old me when—or if—she ever came back? I didn’t argue with the man screaming for a divorce. I just turned, my eyes blurring with tears, and left. I spent the rest of the afternoon sitting alone in the hospital garden. Everything here felt alien. Everyone I knew had changed so much. If only the eighteen-year-old Barry had time-traveled with me… I shot to my feet. Of course! What if he did come with me? How else could you explain the sheer coincidence of his memory stopping exactly at eighteen? The thought sent a jolt of desperate hope through me, and I raced back to the hospital wing, my heart pounding. As I approached his room, I hesitated. If we recognized each other, what would he say? Knowing his arrogant personality, he’d probably complain about his broken leg and demand I wait on him hand and foot. A wicked smile touched my lips. If he was really incapacitated, this was my golden opportunity to get back at him for all the times he’d tormented me, knowing full well I had a crush on him. When I reached his floor, I saw that the hallway outside his room was overflowing with flower arrangements. As I got closer, I could hear a lively mix of male and female voices from inside. I peeked through the doorway. The people inside all looked older than me; I didn’t recognize a single one. I felt a knot of anxiety tighten in my stomach. After a moment, I took a deep breath, summoned my courage, and looked inside again. That’s when I saw him. Barry was propped up in bed, letting a young woman feed him peeled grapes. They looked… intimate. 2 Barry seemed to be in high spirits. A crowd of people surrounded his bed, all clamoring for his attention. “Jules, you’re always such a careful driver. How did you manage to total the car?” one of them asked. Barry opened his mouth for another grape, his uninjured hand casually tracing patterns on the back of the woman beside him. “You’ll get it,” he said with a meaningful smirk, “when you have a girl like this in your passenger seat.” The room erupted in knowing laughter and suggestive hoots. “I heard the girl was disfigured,” Barry added, his tone nonchalant. “A real shame.” He said it with a shrug, but there wasn’t an ounce of regret on his face. The others, used to his callousness, changed the subject. “So, what’s this about you losing your memory?” A smug grin spread across Barry’s face. “Amnesia?” he scoffed. “Nah, I’m faking it.” “The wife’s been on my case lately,” he continued, his voice dripping with condescension. “A little divorce drama will give us some space to cool off.” His friends roared with laughter, praising his performance. They’d almost fallen for it. But standing in the doorway, a chill seeped into my bones. How could this be? How could the Barry I knew have turned into such a despicable, cheating scumbag? Or… was this who he’d been all along? And I had actually, genuinely, loved him. He was disgusting. I didn’t want to love him anymore. I wiped away a tear and turned to leave, my heart a hollow ache in my chest. I walked straight into someone. It was Carter Evans. He was Barry’s arch-rival in high school, a guy known for being reserved and aloof. I glanced at the fruit basket in his hands; he must have been here to see Barry, too. Carter steadied me, then immediately let go. He was even colder than I remembered. Just a few days ago, in my timeline, he had been helping me study for our final exams. Now, he was a sophisticated, polished man in a tailored suit. I didn’t know what to say. I managed a tight smile and started to walk away. But he fell into step beside me. His dark eyes were unreadable. “Need a hand?” he asked casually. I looked at him, confused. He raised an eyebrow, gesturing with the legal file he was holding. “I can help you,” he clarified. “With the divorce.” 3 Carter Evans was, without a doubt, a legal prodigy. Within a few days, he had the divorce agreement drafted. He walked me through the process, explaining all the steps. I had no idea getting divorced ten years in the future was so complicated. There was even a mandatory “cooling-off period.” Carter was incredibly professional, reminding me several times to contact him on WhatsApp if anything came up. But I wasn’t used to WhatsApp. As I was leaving his office, I asked him sheepishly, “Can we… use Discord instead?” Carter froze. He gave me a long, searching look, then nodded slowly. “Whatever works for you,” he said, his voice low. I beamed, relieved. Clutching the papers, I waved enthusiastically as I left. “This is great, Carter! Thanks again! Bye!” He gave a small, formal nod and escorted me to the elevator like a perfect gentleman. It wasn’t until the doors opened on the ground floor that he spoke again, his voice quiet and thoughtful. “I haven’t seen you in a dress in years. Why the sudden change?” The question hit me like a physical blow. “Years?!” I blurted out. Good heavens, what kind of life had I been living? I looked down at my own outfit—a delicate, lace-trimmed sundress that screamed “first love.” I looked back at Carter, genuinely puzzled. “I just thought it looked nice. What’s wrong with it?” Carter didn’t say another word, just silently saw me out of the building. 4 Back at home that night, I started going through the divorce agreement. Carter had told me to pay close attention to the division of assets and let him know if anything was missing. Even with the papers in my hand, I felt a flicker of hesitation. Was it fair for me to make this decision for my twenty-seven-year-old self? I mulled it over for a long time but came to no conclusion. The only thing I knew for sure was that, right now, I was on top of the world. No final exams, no school, and I’d painlessly skipped ten years of my life to become… A soon-to-be divorced, incredibly wealthy woman. I counted the string of zeros on the asset list five times. There were so many. My older self and Barry had accumulated a staggering amount of wealth together. I immediately pulled out my phone and ordered the entire new Apple ecosystem—phone, watch, laptop, the works. It was late by the time I finished reading the thick stack of documents. After taking inventory, I realized the agreement didn’t specify who would get the condo I was currently living in. I pinged Carter on Discord to ask him about it. He replied almost instantly. See if you can find the deed. If not, I’ll run a property search. It’s late. You should get some sleep. Don’t worry. Leave the rest to me. Carter was just as reliable as I remembered—quietly competent, always getting things done. His message was a small comfort. Confirmed: Carter, you are officially the most dependable person on the planet. A moment later, three dots appeared, followed by a new message. …That’s a little cheesy, but I’ll take it. I giggled and rolled around on the bed, phone in hand. Then, out of habit, I opened my private blog. First step of the divorce: get rid of the “couples” theme I shared with Barry. But when I logged in, I found the blog was already wiped clean. 5 I don’t know when the “couples” theme was removed. The blog was now starkly empty, save for four private, self-visible posts. The earliest was from six months ago: So tired. So broken. Marriage has changed Barry into someone I don’t even recognize. The second post was four months after that. It was a photo taken from the back seat of a car, showing Barry at the wheel. In the passenger seat was a young woman, her profile uncannily similar to my own. The caption was long: Barry has been so much better lately. He’s been attentive, clingy… it almost feels like we’re dating again. He’s picked me up for a date three days in a row. Today, I had a sudden craving for hot pot and decided to surprise him at his office. When I popped up behind his car, he jumped. He seemed angry. “What are you doing here?” he snapped. I told him I missed him and started to open the passenger door. He stopped me. “Don’t sit there. It’s dangerous. Get in the back.” I just said “oh” and closed the door, my heart sinking as I got in the back. He must have forgotten that I get carsick and always have to sit in the front. For a long time after I got in, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t start the car. He just sat there, head down, texting. My good mood completely evaporated. When he finally finished, he turned to me, frowning, and asked where I wanted to go. He didn’t seem happy either. I’d lost my appetite and was about to ask him to just take me home. But then the passenger door swung open. A young woman slid into the seat. “Let’s get hot pot today, babe!” she said, her tone familiar, almost intimate. I don’t know why, but I took this picture from the back seat. Maybe because in that moment, seeing her, I was thrown back in time, to when I was her age, calling Barry “babe” just as sweetly. The third post was from just a few days later. The image was a photo of a phone screen, showing a text exchange. The other person: Is your wife mad? Barry: She won’t stop crying. I don’t even want to deal with it. She wasn’t like this before. Barry: Women are so much trouble. Married women are the worst. Barry: Be more careful next time. Don’t let her see us together. The other person: Okay, Mr. Pierce. Barry sent a winking emoji. Not “babe” anymore? Barry: I only fast-tracked your hiring because you look so much like my wife did when she was younger. Barry: Don’t be nervous. I just think of you as a little sister. Barry: I’ll take you for a drive sometime soon. Reading this, I suddenly remembered the scene in the hospital, when Barry was talking about “cooling off” with a divorce. The girl by his side had looked intrigued. “Are you really planning to divorce her, Mr. Pierce?” she’d asked tentatively. “You want to take her place?” Barry had sneered, grabbing her chin, his eyes cold and cruel. “You look a little like her, sure. But who the hell do you think you are? You’re not worthy.” He shoved her face away. The room fell silent. Barry’s voice dropped to a menacing growl. “That’s my wife. The one I chased for ten years. You think I’d ever really let her go? I’m just scaring her a little. She’s so in love with me, she’d never agree.” … My gaze returned to the phone screen. There was only one post left. It was dated the day before my arrival in this timeline. Exactly six months after the first post. This time, the picture was of an open safe. Inside, two marriage certificates lay side-by-side with a stack of property deeds. The caption was only four words: I want a divorce. 6 I was rummaging through the safe, searching for treasure, when Barry called. I couldn’t be bothered to answer. I silenced the call and ignored it. A few minutes later, the doorbell rang. I checked the security camera. It was one of the guys from Barry’s hospital room. I didn’t open the door. I spoke through the intercom. “What do you want?” It was the middle of the night. If I’d been asleep, I would have been furious. The guy on the screen looked awkward. “Uh, Mrs. Pierce… Barry is craving your corn chowder. He was hoping you could bring some to him tomorrow.” Corn chowder was one of the few things I knew how to make, and I made it well. I snorted. “He’s got some nerve. We’re getting a divorce and he still expects me to wait on him? Tell him to get lost.” The guy’s face fell. He started to say something else, but I cut him off, my voice sharp. “Are you deaf? I said he can get lost. That goes for you too!” For the next few days, I holed up at home, preparing the divorce documents. Once the agreement was finalized, I had Carter submit it to the court to start the cooling-off period. Then, I took a copy of the agreement and went to see Barry. He’d been stewing over my recent cold shoulder and was already in a foul mood. The second he saw me, his face soured. “Old woman! Who let you in? We’re getting a divorce, what are you doing here?” The other people in the room tried to play peacemaker. “Mrs. Pierce, don’t be mad. Barry’s lost his memory, he’s basically a kid right now. Just say something nice, humor him a little.” I crossed my arms, staring at Barry without a word. Men are boys until they die, huh? Why was everyone telling me not to be angry? Why wasn’t anyone telling him to stop being an ass? “Did I cause his amnesia?” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “Is it my fault he was driving like an idiot and broke his own arms and legs? He’s a child? What am I, then? Am I not my parents’ child? Barry, you wanted a divorce? Fine. You’ve got it.” I threw the prepared agreement onto his lap. “Sign it.” No one had expected this. Barry, especially, looked at me with utter disbelief. “Stella, you want to divorce me?! We’ve only been married for six months! Are you cheating on me? Who is he?” He gritted his teeth, his eyes boring into me. “Don’t you dare tell me it’s Carter Evans.” “Barry,” I said calmly, “you remember we’ve only been married six months? Did you get your memory back?” 7 My question left him speechless. It took him a moment to stammer out a reply. “They… they told me.” He clutched the papers, his knuckles white, his eyes locked on mine. “They also told me I was famous for being a devoted husband. That it took me ten years to win you over. I might not remember that, but you should. Are you really this desperate to leave me?” I was done arguing. I snatched the papers back from him. A wave of relief washed over Barry’s face, but he quickly covered it with a defiant sneer. “Hey, what are you doing? I thought you wanted me to sign.” I didn’t say a word. I flipped to the signature page, placed it in front of him, and handed him a pen. I tapped the line. “Sign.” His face darkened. He snatched the agreement, hopped over to the window on his good leg, and threw the papers out. He shoved away a friend who tried to help him, standing stubbornly before me. “You think I’ll divorce you just because you say so, Stella? Fat chance! You want a divorce? Maybe in your next life!” I sighed, a little exasperated. Then I reached into my bag and pulled out another copy. Before he could protest, I spoke, my voice low and soothing. “Barry, your memory is stuck at eighteen. It’s not fair to you to be tied to me like this. But if you never get your memory back, it’s not fair to me, either. Your friends are here today as witnesses. This agreement is a promise. I’ll give you one month. If you’re still like this in a month, we get the divorce. Of course,” I added, “if you get your memory back, we can talk then.” I didn’t know the twenty-eight-year-old Barry, but I knew the eighteen-year-old one. He was stubborn and rebellious. The only way to handle him was to stroke his ego and humor him. His anger visibly subsided. I watched quietly as he signed the document without even reading it. He then tossed it back at me. “Fine. Who needs you anyway.” I tucked the agreement safely away. Then I looked at him, my eyes pleading. “Barry, I hope you get your memory back soon. There’s so much I want to tell you.” The moment I turned my back, the mask of vulnerability dropped from my face. I walked out, my expression a cold, hard blank. After all, he was unfaithful. And for that, there would be a reckoning. 8 After I left, Barry flew into a rage, smashing everything he could reach in his room. “What the hell is her problem?! We just got married and she wants a divorce?” His remaining friends didn’t dare try to calm him down, fearing they’d become the next target of his fury. In the days that followed, Barry realized I was serious about ignoring him. Panic started to set in. “Do you think… do you think my wife is really angry? Was faking amnesia a mistake?” he asked them, his voice laced with uncertainty. His friends just exchanged nervous glances, unwilling to offer an opinion. But Barry’s arrogance was his default setting. He quickly recovered, blaming everyone but himself. “I get it,” he sneered. “She’s playing hard to get. Trying to use a divorce to control me. Whose idea was that? I almost fell for it. And she probably never imagined I’d actually sign the papers. I bet she’s at home crying her eyes out right now.” With that, he ordered them to arrange for his discharge from the hospital. He pointed at one of his friends. “You. Drive me home.”

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On a school holiday, as I drove into a mountain resort with my daughter, a hypercar crossed the solid line and hit us from behind. The driver stormed out, furious. “Do you even know how to drive? This car costs more than your life!” I was about to argue when I recognized the car—it was the hypercar my mother gave me when I took over the family business. Even the license plate matched. My wife had claimed it was at the service center for engine failure. I asked calmly, “Is this car really yours?” He hesitated, then boasted, “A gift from my wife! Limited edition! You owe me a million dollars—start selling your house.” He threatened, “Don’t try anything. My wife is the CEO of Vanguard Enterprises. She’s on her way here.” I laughed coldly. So this was the “business dinner” Miranda skipped our daughter’s holiday for—to be with her lover and his son? 1 The first day of the school holidays, and we hadn’t even parked. I was driving my daughter to a mountain resort when a hypercar illegally crossed the line and slammed into my rear bumper. The man who emerged was a storm of fury. “Do you even know how to drive? Do you have any idea how much this car is worth? I could sell you for parts and it wouldn’t cover a scratch!” I frowned, pointing at the unbroken white line on the road. “Sir, you crossed the solid line, which caused the collision. This is clearly your fault—” He cut me off impatiently. “It’s your fault! When you see a multi-million-dollar car like this, you’re supposed to get out of the way! You deserve to pay!” I almost laughed. I was dealing with a lunatic. I pulled out my phone to call the police. But the man, Leo, shot me a disdainful look and snatched the phone from my hand. “Calling the cops won’t help you,” he sneered. “My wife has connections. I want one million dollars, right now. Start calling your family to sell your house, or I’ll make sure you lose everything you own!” It was utterly insane. He was the one at fault, and he was the one making threats. A crowd of onlookers had started to gather. “Wow,” someone breathed. “I’ve seen that car on TV. It’s one of only fifty in the world. Worth at least five million dollars! We’re looking at a serious tycoon here!” “That poor guy in the electric sedan is screwed,” another person commented. “He’s going to be bankrupted.” A third person sighed sympathetically. “Just bad luck. Anyone who can afford a five-million-dollar car has the power to make black look white. Even if it was the rich guy’s fault, the other driver is going to be the one who pays.” Leo swelled with pride under their gazes. “You hear that? Be smart about this. Right now, it’s just a million dollars. If you push it…” “Is this car yours?” I interrupted, my voice cutting through his tirade. The hypercar had seemed familiar from the moment I saw it. Then it hit me. This was the gift my mother gave me the year I became Chairman of Vanguard Enterprises. The last four digits of the license plate were my birthday. I clearly remembered my wife, Miranda, telling me the engine had seized and she’d sent it to the dealership for repairs. We had so many cars that I didn’t always keep track, which is why I hadn’t recognized it instantly. I’d chosen to drive our high-end electric sedan today precisely to be low-key. Leo’s face hardened. “What’s that supposed to mean? My wife gave it to me, so it’s mine!” Then, as if remembering his trump card, a smug, arrogant grin spread across his face. “My wife is a big deal. She runs Vanguard Enterprises, the biggest conglomerate in Haven City. She’s not someone a peasant like you can afford to cross!” My eyes narrowed. “Vanguard Enterprises?” I repeated slowly. He nodded, his chin held high. “That’s right. Scared now? Call your family and get the money. Or you’ll be doing it from a jail cell!” A part of me had wondered if this was a misunderstanding—maybe a mechanic from the dealership had taken the car for a joyride. But now it was clear. Miranda was cheating on me. Seeing my silence, Leo assumed I was intimidated. He shot me a contemptuous look. “Let me warn you, my wife is almost here. If you ruin our family’s holiday, she’ll have you blacklisted from every industry in the city. I don’t care what you do for a living—you’ll be finished!” A cold fury simmered within me. “You’ve got a lot of nerve!” An older woman in the crowd stepped forward. “Son, you can’t fight people like this. Just apologize, admit you were wrong. Maybe you can negotiate a smaller payment.” A frosty smile touched my lips. “Oh, someone is definitely going to pay today,” I said. “Someone’s going to lose everything they have. But it won’t be me.” What was the penalty for stealing a five-million-dollar hypercar, I wondered? The woman just shook her head. “You’re not listening. In Haven City, everyone knows what the name Vanguard Enterprises means.” “So naive,” someone else sneered. “Thinks the world is fair. He’s going to learn the hard way.” My defiance enraged Leo. “You low-life! You want to do this the hard way? Fine! Just you wait until my wife gets here. You’ll regret this!” I lowered my eyes, hiding the murderous glint in them. “She’s coming, is she?” Perfect. I had a few questions for Miranda myself. Starting with why, when she had everything, she was so determined to throw it all away. 2 As Leo and I argued, a commotion erupted from my car. A boy of about eight or nine darted out and ran to Leo’s side, holding up a small, silver locket. My daughter, Diane, scrambled out after him, her hair a mess, her eyes red and swollen. “Daddy,” she cried, “he got in our car and started going through our things! He stole the locket with our family photo inside!” Before I could react, Leo exploded. “I knew it! You two disgusting parasites! I thought it was too much of a coincidence, running into you here. You hit my car and act all tough because this was your plan all along—to seduce my wife!” He clenched his fist around the locket and swung at my face. The sheer audacity was breathtaking. I blocked his punch easily, my eyes glacial. “You know damn well who the homewrecker is here.” He snarled, trying to lunge at me again, but I held him fast. My years of boxing weren’t just for show. With a quick twist, I used his own momentum to send him sprawling to the ground. He instantly changed his tune, crying out to the crowd. “Everyone, look! Can you believe the nerve of this homewrecker? First, he crashes into my car, and now he’s trying to steal my wife in broad daylight!” He was just getting warmed up. As more people gathered, they started pointing and whispering at me and my daughter. “Oh my God, and I actually felt sorry for him! I thought he was just a regular guy being bullied by the rich. Turns out he’s the scumbag!” “How disgusting. What a great example he’s setting for his daughter!” I pulled Diane into my arms, shielding her face in my chest. My own chest was heaving with rage. This was beyond belief. I took out my phone, pulled up a photo of my marriage certificate, and held it high. “Everyone, look closely!” I said, my voice ringing with authority. “I am the legal husband of the CEO of Vanguard Enterprises. This man is the one who interfered in our marriage. And as for Miranda, she’s no better!” Someone leaned in for a closer look. “He’s right! I’ve seen her on the financial news. That’s Miranda Vaughn!” “Wait, so we got it wrong?” The crowd’s gaze shifted to Leo, now filled with doubt. Leo shot me a venomous look and pulled out his own phone. “Don’t be fooled by him! Anyone can photoshop a picture. My wife and I just celebrated our tenth anniversary. I have a video to prove it!” On his screen, he and Miranda were on a beach in Hawaii, holding hands, kissing, feeding each other strawberries—an display so intimate it made some of the onlookers blush. My head spun. A month ago, while my mother was on her deathbed, Miranda had insisted she had to fly overseas for a massive deal. She had gone against my express wishes. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. She had abandoned my dying mother to be with her lover. The rage of betrayal coursed through me like poison. The crowd immediately switched sides again. “He’s right, a picture can be faked, but a video can’t!” “His marriage certificate is probably a fake! I bet he knew Ms. Vaughn would be here today and staged the whole thing. What a disgusting way to try and break up a family!” Leo’s son, Max, picked up a rock and threw it at us. “Get away from my mom, you jerks!” he screamed. “I’ll kill you for hurting my dad!” I shielded Diane, dodging the rock. Over the boy’s head, I met Leo’s eyes. They were filled with undisguised triumph. He subtly gave me the finger. A humorless, chilling laugh escaped me. This was interesting. I was done trying to prove myself. In one swift motion, I put Diane back in our car and slammed the door. The engine roared to life. I spun the car around and floored the accelerator, heading straight for Leo and his son. The crowd gasped. “What is he doing?!” A piercing scream cut through the air. I slammed on the brakes. The car skidded to a halt, the front bumper barely a hand’s breadth from them. Through the windshield, I saw the pure, undiluted terror in Leo’s eyes. His legs gave out, and he collapsed onto the pavement. I offered him a sarcastic smile. Scared already? We’re just getting started. Just then, a sleek Maybach sped towards us. I glanced at the license plate. Miranda had arrived. 3 Miranda leaped out of the car and rushed to Leo and her son. Max immediately started sobbing. “Mommy, that man tried to run us over!” Leo put on a show of righteous anger. “It’s all your fault, Miranda! I don’t know where you picked up this psycho, but he’s trying to kill me and my son just to get to you!” Miranda cooed at them, her voice full of concern. “Don’t say that. You and Max are my whole world. Whoever hurt you, I’ll make them pay. Anything you want, it’s done.” I watched this tender scene from my car, then opened the door and stepped out. “That would be me, Miranda,” I said, my voice cold as stone. The anger on Miranda’s face froze. Her color drained. Leo wrapped his arm around her possessively, pointing at me. “That’s him! Miranda, you have to stand up for us! Have him blacklisted! Ruin him!” I took a step closer, forcing her to meet my gaze. “Miranda. Don’t you have something to explain?” She opened her mouth, but no words came out. Someone in the crowd yelled, “Ms. Vaughn, that’s the low-life who claimed to be your husband! He even showed a fake marriage certificate! You can’t let him get away with it!” “Yeah, trying to worm his way into your life! Anyone can see how much you and Mr. Vance love each other. He’s a disgusting homewrecker!” “Don’t worry, with Ms. Vaughn’s power, she’ll crush this nobody! He’ll get what he deserves!” Spurred on by the crowd, Miranda steeled herself. She took the locket from Leo, threw it to the ground, and ground it under her heel until the family photo inside was completely destroyed. “Sir,” she said, her voice low and sharp, “do you have any idea that using someone’s image without their permission is illegal? I don’t know who you are, and I’d appreciate it if you stopped spreading these rumors. You’re making my husband and everyone else uncomfortable.” She paused, then added, “And as for your assault on my husband today, I will not let it slide. I demand that you apologize to him, right here, in front of everyone.” A cold smile twisted my lips. The woman whose entire career I had funded was defending her lover like this? Fine. I would give them exactly what they wanted. Just as I was about to speak, Diane bolted from the car. She saw the shattered locket at Miranda’s feet. “Mommy?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “That was our family picture. It was my favorite one. Why did you break it?” Max glared at her. “Who are you calling Mommy, you little witch?” The crowd’s murmurs turned venomous again. “Like father, like daughter. Ms. Vaughn already said she doesn’t know them, and the little girl is still calling her ‘Mommy.’ No shame at all.” Diane’s eyes welled with tears, but she stood her ground. “She is my mommy! Mommy, look at me!” Miranda finally turned to her own daughter, her voice like ice. “I don’t know you. Little girl, don’t let your father corrupt you. It’s wrong to call strangers ‘Mommy.’” I pulled Diane to my side, gently patting her back. I scanned the crowd and noticed several people were live-streaming the entire event on their phones. I smirked and raised my voice. “I’d like everyone here to be a witness. This woman, Ms. Vaughn, just stated that she does not know me or my daughter. Is that correct?” The crowd, though confused, nodded. “Is this guy crazy? One minute he’s forcing her to admit she’s his wife, now this?” “He’s lost his mind!” My gaze locked onto Miranda’s. “Then I hope you have some integrity, Ms. Vaughn. Because you’ll be held to every word you’ve just said.” Miranda scoffed. Leo looked smug, basking in the crowd’s support. The murmurs against me grew louder. “What is wrong with this guy?” “Is he trying to act crazy to avoid the consequences? Everyone in Haven City knows how ruthless the Vanguard legal team is. He can’t escape!” “Come on, everyone, get a good look at the most disgusting homewrecker in history, right here on my stream!” The insults kept coming. Just then, the sound of police sirens cut through the noise. A group of officers arrived. “Who called this in?” one of them shouted. “We received a report of a stolen hypercar worth five million dollars.”

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1 After a three-year international assignment, I was back. My first stop? A new position at my fiancée’s company, at her own enthusiastic invitation. A few days in, her male assistant, Tim, dropped a settlement agreement on my desk. I frowned. “What’s this?” He rolled his eyes. “You made the mess. You take responsibility. Simple as that.” My first thought was that he’d mistaken me for someone else. “I just started,” I explained patiently. “I haven’t even been assigned to a project yet. How could I have messed anything up?” When I made no move to sign, he slammed the papers down, crossed his arms, and loomed over me. “I said sign it. Cut the crap and stop wasting my time.” I ignored him and dialed my fiancée, Chloe. Her voice came through, sharp with impatience. “Tim got into a bit of trouble a couple of days ago. Just cover for him.” Then came the warning. “And don’t you dare throw a tantrum. He’s the son of our chairwoman. If we don’t keep him happy, we’re both out on the street.” I looked up at the arrogant peacock standing before me. Funny. I didn’t remember my mother having another son. … I scanned the agreement. It was a full confession, stating that I had leaked core project data, causing catastrophic losses to the company, and that I accepted all legal and financial liability. They were trying to bury me. When I’d first returned, Chloe had been so eager for me to join her at Apex Corporation. With our wedding just around the corner, I’d seen it as a final chance to observe her character up close. I’d accepted the offer. I never imagined she was just hiring me to be Tim’s scapegoat. On the phone, Chloe must have realized her tone was too harsh, because it suddenly softened into a syrupy plea. “Ethan, darling, I’m just thinking about our future.” “Tim is the chairwoman’s son,” she reasoned. “He can’t have a stain like this on his record. You’re different. You’re new. It’s expected that you’ll have to take a few hits for the team.” “Chloe,” I cut in, my voice dangerously calm, “I suggest you think very carefully about what you’re doing.” I hung up before she could reply. Suddenly, Tim dumped a cup of ice water over my head. The ice-cold shock of it jolted through me, water sluicing down my hair and neck. He sneered, his face a mask of contempt. “You, with your degree from some third-rate university overseas. If it weren’t for Chloe, you’d be digging through trash cans for a living. The company asks you to do one small thing, and you drag your feet. Let me tell you something: if you don’t sign this today, and our partners come after us, my mother will hear about it. And when she does, no one will be able to protect you.” No one had ever dared to treat me with such disrespect. And to hear my Stanford MBA dismissed as a degree from a “third-rate university”… A hot surge of anger flooded my veins. I grabbed the mug of coffee on my desk, still steaming hot, and without a second’s hesitation, hurled its contents straight into Tim’s face. “Aaargh!” he shrieked, clutching his burning skin. The office erupted. Gasps filled the air as my colleagues stared, their whispers instantly buzzing. “Is that Chloe’s fiancé? The one who just got back? He’s got some nerve!” “Picking a fight with Tim on his first week? He’s toast. What an idiot.” “Oh, this is bad. This is really, really bad.” The sheer audacity of it all… If I didn’t know for a fact that my parents were deeply in love and had never spent more than twenty-four hours apart, I might have actually suspected Tim was my mother’s illegitimate son. But now that I was looking at him closely, his face scalded and contorted in pain, I felt a strange flicker of recognition. Tim frantically dabbed at his face with a tissue, his body trembling with rage. “Ethan! Are you insane? Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?” “I know exactly what I’m doing,” I said, my voice like ice. “I’m teaching a lesson to someone who makes mistakes and then tries to run from the consequences.” “You—! Do you know who I am?” he screeched. I let out a cold laugh. “I don’t care who you are. To me, you’re nothing.” Just then, Chloe stormed in. The moment she saw Tim’s pathetic state, her face went pale. She didn’t even glance at me, rushing straight to his side, cupping his face in her hands as she examined him with frantic concern. “Tim, what happened? Are you okay?” She cooed at him with a tenderness I’d never once received. Even when I was sick with a fever, all I ever got from her was a terse “drink some water.” Tears welled in Tim’s eyes as he whined, “Chloe, my face… it hurts so much. I think he was trying to disfigure me…” He then buried his face in her shoulder, hugging her tightly. Chloe froze for a second, but then a flicker of something… pleasure?… crossed her face. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close. They looked less like colleagues and more like lovers. She finally turned to me, her voice a furious shriek. “Ethan! Have you lost your mind? Apologize to Tim right now!” I didn’t move. I just stared at her. “He threw water on me first, Chloe. Why should I be the one to apologize?” Her fury intensified. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “You hurt him, and you have the audacity to say that? I must have been blind to ever fall for a vicious monster like you!” Vicious? A monster? It was clear then. In her mind, our relationship had become an inconvenience. A roadblock on her path to… whatever this was. In that moment, I felt a strange mix of relief and regret. Relief that I had never told her who I really was. When we were together, I’d only said my family was comfortably well-off, letting her believe I was just some generic trust-fund kid. It was that deception that allowed me to see her true colors. And regret? Regret that, before I left the country, I had recommended her to my mother for the manager position at this very subsidiary. I had vouched for her, telling my mother she was talented and trustworthy. The memory felt like a slap in the face. “In that case, Chloe,” I said calmly, “we’re done.” I stood up to leave, but she grabbed my arm, her eyes blazing. She snatched the settlement agreement from the desk. “Don’t you play these games with me, Ethan. You think I’m scared of you?” “You assaulted Tim. This isn’t over. And you’re not leaving this building until you sign this document!” The ice water from earlier must have seeped into my bones. A splitting headache was starting to build behind my eyes. I was too tired to argue anymore. I took the agreement from her hand. In the signature line at the bottom, I scrawled a name and tossed the paper back at her feet. Chloe was so stunned by my sudden compliance that she just stood there for a second, blinking. By the time she bent down to pick it up, I was already in the elevator. “Ethan!” I heard her enraged roar just as the doors began to close. “You signed Tim’s name! Get back here, you bastard!” The doors slid shut, sealing off her frantic screams. The family car was already waiting downstairs. I sank into the back seat, exhausted, and leaned my head back. “Home, Marcus,” I told the driver. Marcus Vance nodded, and the car pulled smoothly away from the curb. My head was still throbbing. I closed my eyes and, before I knew it, I was asleep. When I woke up, we weren’t at my house. We were parked in front of a five-star hotel. Marcus had worked for my family for thirty years. He was more than an employee; I thought of him as an uncle, a man I trusted so completely that I could fall asleep in his car without a second thought. But now, a cold dread coiled in my stomach. “Marcus?” I asked, my voice tight. “I said to go home. Why are we here?” He turned to look at me, and the respectful warmth he always wore was gone, replaced by a chilling malice. “I’m sorry, sir,” he said, his voice flat. “But as an elder in this family, I feel it is my duty to teach you that a man must take responsibility for his mistakes.” Looking at his face, I finally understood why Tim had seemed so familiar. He was Marcus’s son. My hand shot toward the phone in my pocket, but Marcus was faster. He lunged, snatching it from my grasp. “Don’t bother, Young Master.” I stared at him, my mind racing. “Marcus, does my mother know about this? Do you really think you’ll get away with it?” He snorted. “The Chairwoman has been focused on overseas expansion for years. She barely sets foot in the country. You think she has time to worry about the petty squabbles of a subsidiary?” His eyes narrowed. “But you… you dared to hurt my son. For that, you will pay.” He opened the door and yanked me out of the car. I struggled, but Marcus’s strength was shocking. He was like a man made of iron. As he dragged me, I managed to discreetly press the emergency button on my watch. “What are you going to do?” I demanded, trying to buy time, to figure out a plan. But he wasn’t talking. He hauled me through the hotel lobby and shoved me into a private dining room. The air was thick with smoke. A bloated, greasy-looking man sat at the head of the table, with Chloe laughing and pouring him a drink at his side. Marcus bowed obsequiously to the man. “Mr. Cole, I’ve brought him as you requested.” Tim, his face still red but now plastered with a triumphant smirk, stood up and pointed at me. “Mr. Cole! This is the man who leaked the project data. I brought him here personally to apologize!” Mr. Cole. The name clicked. He was Richard Cole, the CEO of our biggest competitor, Stryker Industries. A man in his fifties with a reputation for… certain unsavory appetites. “Haha, well done, Tim. Very thoughtful of you.” Cole put down his glass and looked me up and down, his eyes lingering. “So this is the leaker? Not bad looking.” He rose and walked toward me. “Young man, do you have any idea how much money your little leak cost my company?” “When did I leak any data?” I shot back. Tim held up the settlement agreement. “Still playing dumb? Don’t forget, your signature is right here.” I glanced at it. It was the same document. But where I had clearly written “Tim Vance,” my name, “Ethan Kim,” was now printed in its place. “You forged this!” “Forged?” Chloe scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous, Ethan. You signed it yourself. We have it on camera.” She was right. The office cameras would have caught the motion of me signing, but they wouldn’t have been able to see the name I’d actually written. “You see, Mr. Cole?” Tim added, pouring fuel on the fire. “He’s completely unrepentant. He even threw hot coffee on me back at the office. Arrogant prick.” Cole’s smile was predatory. “Well, young man, when you make a mistake, you have to face the consequences.” His gaze roamed over my body, making my skin crawl. “Mr. Kim is even more handsome in person than in the photos Chloe showed me,” he said, licking his lips. Chloe immediately chimed in, practically bowing. “Mr. Cole, Ethan is just young and foolish. He made a terrible mistake, but you’re a magnanimous man. Please don’t hold it against him. Why don’t we let him have a few drinks with you tonight, as a personal apology?” That bitch. She wasn’t just setting me up to take the fall. She was trying to serve me up on a platter to this disgusting old man. Cole picked up a glass and stepped in front of me. “Listen, pretty boy. Smart people know when to cooperate. You keep me… entertained… tonight, and we can renegotiate the terms of that compensation.” “In your dreams!” I shoved him away and made a break for the door. Two massive bodyguards immediately blocked my path. I turned back to Chloe, my voice raw with fury. “Chloe, are you even human? After three years together, you do this to me?” She laughed, a cold, ugly sound. “Feelings? Compared to my career, feelings are worthless. Besides, you’re the one who committed corporate espionage. Stop trying to shift the blame.” “I didn’t do it!” “The evidence says otherwise. Are you going to keep lying?” She gestured to the bodyguards. “Bring him here.” I fought with everything I had, but they were too strong, forcing me into a chair. “Chloe, you have to listen to me!” I yelled, my last desperate card. “Tim lied to you! I’m Seraphina Kim’s son! I’m the real heir! If you do this, my mother will destroy you!” The room went silent for a beat, then erupted in derisive laughter. Chloe patted my cheek like I was a misbehaving child. “You’re telling me the Chairwoman is your mother? Please. I see Tim getting picked up in her private car every day. Who else gets that kind of treatment besides her own son?” She stepped back, her face hardening. “You had your chance to do this the easy way. I guess you prefer the hard way.” She grabbed my chin, picked up a glass of liquor, and started pouring it down my throat. “Drink!” The cold liquid flooded my mouth. I thrashed my head, the alcohol spilling down my chin and soaking my shirt, but she didn’t stop. She grabbed another glass, and another. My mind grew foggy, my stomach churning violently. “Enough!” I screamed, shoving her away with the last of my strength. Undeterred, Chloe grabbed the entire bottle. “You won’t drink? Fine. We’ll pour.” She pried my mouth open. The liquor burned like fire down my throat. The world began to spin. Across the room, Mr. Cole watched, his eyes gleaming with a sick excitement. “Yes, yes. Much more interesting this way.” I had no strength left to fight. Chloe pulled a key card from her pocket and handed it to Cole. “Room 1208, Mr. Cole. All prepared for you.” “Haha, you’re a sharp one, Chloe,” he said, patting her shoulder. “You’ll go far.” Hands grabbed me under my arms, dragging me toward the door. I tried to scream, to struggle, but the alcohol had turned my limbs to lead. Despair washed over me like a black tide. And then—BOOM! The door to the room splintered inward, kicked off its hinges. A familiar voice, roaring with a fury I had never heard before, echoed through the room: “Bastards! You touch my son, you’re dead!”

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1 My boss, James Astor, had a ghost. A year after his one true love died, he brought home her replacement. And the replacement was… paranoid. All I did was meet James’s eyes across the dinner table. “I saw that!” she hissed later. “The way you and James were making eyes at each other! I knew you were trouble.” I just stared at her. 2 Everyone in New York’s elite circles knew that its crown prince, James Astor, was haunted by the ghost of a love lost. Her name was Aurora Leigh. Plenty had tried to fill the void, sending him women—and men—who bore a passing resemblance to her. All of them had failed. Until today. Today, James brought home a girl who was a seven-tenths copy of the original. When he walked in, Alfred, the butler, and I were already at the dining table, waiting. The moment we saw the face—so eerily similar to the one we’d lost—we both froze. Our eyes met Leo’s, James’s special assistant, who was trailing a step behind. Leo gave a tiny, almost imperceptible shrug. James sat down at the head of the long rectangular table without a word. Alfred and Leo took their usual spots to his left. To his right, there was an empty chair, and then me. The woman moved instinctively to sit in the empty chair beside James. Faster than thinking, I grabbed the vase of white lilies from the center of the table and placed it on the chair. “This seat is taken.” Her eyes slid to me, a tight, forced smile on her lips. “Oh? By whom?” I placed a hand over my heart. “In memory,” I said, my voice perfectly serious. She turned, her face crumpling into a mask of wounded innocence for James’s benefit. James stared at the empty chair for a long, silent moment before finally looking away. “Let her sit there, Evelyn.” The woman shot me a look of pure triumph. I could feel my face burning. It was James himself who had decreed that no one was ever to sit in that chair. And now he was breaking his own rule, leaving me to look like a fool. Seeing I had no intention of moving the vase, the woman snatched it herself and unceremoniously dumped it on the floor. My head snapped up. Alfred’s did too. Leo’s. We all stared at James. He glanced at the discarded flowers, his expression unreadable, and then looked away as if nothing had happened. Once seated, the woman smoothed her hair. “Hello,” she said. “My name is Bella.” Alfred summoned his most professional, formulaic smile. “A pleasure, Miss Bella. I am the Astor family’s butler.” The two of them exchanged pleasantries, their voices echoing in the strained silence. I was still recovering from my own mortification. I could feel Bella’s eyes on me, but I refused to look at her. “You must be Dr. Reed,” she said, her voice saccharine. “I hear you’ve been Mr. Astor’s private physician for five years.” I thought for a moment, then gave a curt nod. After dinner, James left the table. He was at the elevator when he seemed to remember something. “Alfred, arrange a room for her on the first floor.” Before Alfred could respond, Bella rushed forward. “James, aren’t I staying with you?” James didn’t answer. The elevator doors slid shut, and he was gone. Bella bit her lip, her eyes flashing with frustration. I caught Alfred’s eye, and Leo’s. All three of us were fighting back a smile. But for some reason, Bella’s anger zeroed in on me. “Dr. Reed, are you laughing at me?” “No,” I said, not bothering to make it sound convincing. Her voice rose, becoming shrill. “Yes, you were!” “Think whatever you like.” “Hmph!” She tilted her chin up. “I’ve heard the rumors about the three of you and James, but now that I’m here…” Rumors? That was three years ago. Was this her attempt at putting us in our place? Alfred waited for her to finish. “Miss Bella, if you’ve heard rumors from three years ago, then surely you’ve also heard about Miss Leigh.” “So what if I have?” Bella snapped. “How can a dead woman compete with the living?” The three of us exchanged a look. Wasn’t a dead love the most impossible rival of all? But Bella had her own logic. “The dead are forgotten, sooner or later. But you three, you’re with him every day. It’s only natural that feelings might develop.” She was supposedly addressing all of us, but her glare was fixed solely on me. Alfred was losing his patience. “You’re overthinking things, Miss Bella. The staff quarters are to the left on the first floor. You may choose any of the guest rooms to the right.” “Aren’t you going to help me choose?” she demanded. Alfred picked up his chopsticks again. “I haven’t finished my dinner.” The three of us immediately buried our heads in our food, ignoring Bella completely. After a few minutes of pointed silence, she huffed off and disappeared into a room. 3 Once she was gone, Leo let out a sigh of relief. “It’s been three years since Miss Leigh passed. How can anyone still think there’s something going on between us and the boss?” Miss Leigh—Aurora. James’s lost love. As for the rumors… a young butler, a handsome assistant, and a young, beautiful doctor, all living in the Astor penthouse. We were a constant presence. Leo usually accompanied James to public functions, but when they both had too much to drink, Alfred or I, or both of us, would have to go and retrieve them. The gossip started itself. But all of that had died the moment Aurora Leigh entered the picture. The three of us just shook our heads. “Where did he even find her?” Alfred wondered aloud. “She looks so much like Miss Leigh. Is he really trying the whole replacement thing?” Leo, who would know best, shook his head. “She’s an intern. Hasn’t even been with the company a week.” He paused, thinking. “I just don’t see Mr. Astor as the type to find a substitute.” “But he let her sit in Aurora’s chair,” Alfred pointed out. “And he didn’t even flinch when she put Aurora’s favorite flowers on the floor.” We fell into a contemplative silence. 4 Bella settled into the Astor residence and never went back to the office. Her new full-time job was fawning over James. And James, to our astonishment, seemed to welcome it. He even started working from home. He had never been particularly gentle with Aurora; he’d even been known to shout at her when his temper flared. But with Bella, he was a different person, almost unbelievably tender. Bella casually mentioned that some of her clothes were pilling. The next day, the entire new season’s collection from a dozen designers arrived. Her first-floor suite’s walk-in closet was filled to bursting. She decided she wanted to cook for him and promptly cut her finger. James took my medical kit, personally bandaged her wound with painstaking care, and forbade her from ever setting foot in the kitchen again. Bella beamed. She tried to pick up Mango, and the cat scratched her. James ordered me to keep Mango locked in my room from now on. I stood there, holding the fluffy orange cat, utterly stunned as I watched them walk away together. “What did he just say?” I asked the empty air. Alfred adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses. “He said to keep Mango in your room.” Mango was Aurora’s cat. James’s own brother was severely allergic, and even then, James had refused to lock Mango away, opting instead to take his brother out for dinner. And now he was banishing the cat to my room? Alfred stroked Mango’s head, and the cat purred, rubbing against his hand. “It’s probably for the best. The way he’s treating Miss Bella, who knows what will happen the next time Mango scratches her. He might get rid of him altogether.” He had a point. 5 I was in the small rooftop garden, watering the flowers, when I saw Bella clinging to James’s arm. “James, darling,” she cooed. “I love roses. Can we plant some roses here? Please?” Their relationship was progressing at lightning speed. She was already calling him ‘darling.’ But roses? James would never… “Alright,” James said. And just like that, he called for Alfred and told him to procure the finest rose bushes available. My jaw dropped. Was this for real? This garden was almost entirely filled with lilies, which Aurora had planted and tended to herself. He was going to replace them with roses? James left to handle some business, but not before giving me a strange, flickering glance. I was still trying to process it when Bella suddenly loomed over me. I was sitting on a bench, and from my angle, all I could see was her chin. “See? I told you the dead are easily forgotten.” Her voice was smug, but it quickly sharpened into an accusation. “And I saw you just now. You and James were making eyes at each other! I knew you were trouble!” I stood up. I was slightly taller than her. She took a wary step back. It was dusk, the sky painted in shades of orange and pink. In this light, if her face were just a little thinner, she would have been the spitting image of Aurora. But their personalities were night and day. My eyes fell to her neck, where the high collar of her sheath dress seemed to be digging into her skin. “Is that dress comfortable?” I asked. “Of course it is!” she snapped. “Good to know,” I said, and turned to go back inside. It was time for dinner. Alfred was efficient. The roses were planted the very next day. I raised an eyebrow at the result. Bella wasn’t pleased. “James, can’t we plant more?” Aurora’s patch of lilies remained untouched. The roses had been planted in a small, adjacent plot. Compared to the sea of lilies, the roses looked sparse, but they were undeniably more eye-catching. James was watering the lilies, gently tending to their petals. “This is fine for now,” he said. 6 A major acquisition was underway at the company, which meant James was swamped with meetings. He barely came home, even for lunch. We only saw him in the evenings. As I was coming back from the garden, I saw Bella cornering the chef by the service entrance. He was holding bags of fresh groceries, clearly just back from the market. “Does James like cake?” she was asking. Cake? Oh, right. James’s birthday was coming up. The chef looked deeply uncomfortable. It was a loaded question. When he saw me, his face lit up with relief. I gestured for him to head to the kitchen. Bella glared at me. “What do you think you’re doing?” “Miss Leigh once made a cake for Mr. Astor,” I said flatly. “He didn’t eat it.” He’d done more than not eat it. He’d thrown it in the trash. Bella scoffed. “That was her. He’ll eat it if I make it.” She marched into the kitchen, full of misplaced confidence. I saw the same pained expression on the chef’s face that he’d worn when Aurora had asked for baking lessons. It was almost comical. “What’s going on?” Alfred asked, peering over my shoulder. “She’s making a cake.” We watched for a moment. “To be fair,” we agreed, “she seems to have more talent for it than Miss Leigh did.” Before James got home, Bella commanded us not to say a word about the cake until his birthday. We readily agreed. 7 James’s birthday arrived. Bella’s cake was, admittedly, a masterpiece. She admired her own handiwork with a satisfied smile. “Mr. Astor isn’t a huge fan of cake,” I offered, a small act of kindness. “Don’t be too upset if he doesn’t eat it.” “I made it,” she said confidently. “He’ll eat it.” Well, good luck to her. When James arrived home, Bella launched into a breathless rendition of “Happy Birthday” and presented him with a gift. When she brought out the cake, his expression faltered for a fraction of a second. She placed her hand over his, guided the knife to cut the first slice, and held a forkful to his lips. James looked at her, and then, slowly, he opened his mouth. I stared. Alfred stared. Leo stared. We were in a state of collective shock. He only took one bite, but in life, context is everything. He had thrown Aurora’s cake away. While we were still reeling, James, holding the gift box Bella had given him, glanced over at us. “Where are my presents?” We scrambled to hand them over. I’d chosen an earring for him—a subtle nod to a rebellious phase in his youth. The box was small. As I placed it in his palm, his fingers closed around it, and for a moment, it felt like he was holding my hand. I looked up and met Bella’s murderous gaze. Great. 8 James’s indulgence had given Bella a sense of entitlement that was growing by the day. After someone let it slip that James had eaten her cake after rejecting Aurora’s, she became utterly insufferable. With Leo at the office with James all day, it was often just Bella, Alfred, and me in the penthouse. And she seemed convinced that something was going on between James and me. She was constantly looking for ways to torment me. “Evelyn! The floor is dirty. Mop it.” I was sprawled on the sofa. “Miss Bella, I’m a doctor. That’s not my job.” “James is never sick!” she snapped. “Are you just here to collect a paycheck for doing nothing?” “Pretty much,” I agreed. As a doctor, my current job was a sinecure. When Aurora was alive, her fragile health was a full-time concern. My primary duty was managing her condition. James, under my strict orders, hadn’t dared to touch her. Now, Bella was as healthy as a horse, and since James wasn’t touching her either, my medical skills were entirely superfluous. Alfred adjusted his glasses. “Mr. Astor signs our paychecks, Miss Bella. And there are professional cleaners who handle the household chores. You needn’t concern yourself.” As if on cue, a housekeeper appeared with a mop. Bella was determined to make me do something. “I’m craving macarons from La Belle Pâtisserie. Go buy me some.” “You know you can have them delivered, right?” “I don’t want them delivered! I want you to go get them!” After years of working together, Alfred was protective of me. “Miss Bella…” “Fine, fine, I’ll go,” I sighed. Of course, I had no intention of actually going. I’d take a walk, enjoy the afternoon, and come back and say they were sold out. Alfred stood up. “I’ll go with you.” Once we were out, he readily agreed to my plan. We ended up at the mall. While I was waiting for Alfred to use the restroom, a display of sheath dresses in a boutique window caught my eye. One of them was very similar to a dress Aurora used to wear. “You’ve never worn a dress like that,” Alfred remarked, having returned. He looked me up and down. “I think it would suit you.” I shook my head. “Not my style.” They were too restrictive. As we were about to head back, I saw a familiar black car flash by on the street below. “What is it?” “I’m not sure,” I said. “I think I just saw Mr. Astor’s car.” Alfred followed my gaze, but it was already gone. 9 When we got back to the penthouse, Bella was in the middle of tattling to James. “James, darling! Dr. Reed and Alfred were so disrespectful to me!” Leo shot us a sympathetic look. When Bella saw we were empty-handed, she pounced. “They promised to get me macarons! I’ve been craving them all day!” James’s gaze fell on us, dark and unreadable. “My apologies, Miss Bella,” Alfred said smoothly. “They were sold out.” “Really?” she challenged. “La Belle is a thirty-minute walk from here at most. An hour round trip. You’ve been gone for three hours!” Alfred and I bowed our heads in mock penitence. “If it’s that close,” a low voice cut in, “why didn’t you go yourself?” We both peeked up. The words had come from James. Bella’s mouth opened and closed. Her beautiful eyes filled with tears of disbelief. “They have their own duties,” James continued, his voice calm but firm. “They are not your errand runners.” My own guilt pricked at me a little. The words weren’t harsh, but for Bella, who had been coddled and protected for weeks, they were a devastating blow. She burst into tears and ran to her room, slamming the door behind her. I glanced at the clock. Dinner time. “Where did you two go this afternoon?” James asked quietly. “Just for a walk,” Alfred replied. After a moment of silence, James stood up. “Let’s eat.” Alfred went to the kitchen to bring out the food, and Leo dutifully went to coax Bella out of her room. For a moment, it was just James and me at the table. “I am your only employer,” he said, not looking at me. “You don’t have to listen to her.” I nodded. I hadn’t been. “Next time,” he added, “you can come to me.” I nodded again, a flicker of unease running through me. That sounded… a little too intimate. Leo returned with a report. “Mr. Astor, Miss Bella says she’s not eating.” James thought for a moment, then looked at me. “Prepare a tray for her.” I nodded. It was a familiar routine. Whenever Aurora refused to eat, I was the one who would take a tray to her room. But as I was about to pick up the tray I’d prepared, James took it from me. “I’ll do it,” he said. “You two go ahead and eat.” As I ate, I kept glancing toward her room. He knocked, but Bella wouldn’t open the door. I saw him take out a key.

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1 On my wedding day, the charity case my fiancée sponsored crashed in, bloodied and weeping. “Claire, don’t! He’ll destroy your family!” Furious, I demanded, “Jack, what nonsense is this?” “I’ve been reborn—I know the truth!” he pleaded. “He and his parents planned the accident that killed your parents! Search his house now!” Claire gave me an icy look and made the call. Her men found a detailed plan to seize her family’s fortune and eliminate her parents. Enraged, she slapped me repeatedly, then had her security break my legs. “You heartless monster,” she hissed. The wedding was canceled. Within a month, my family’s company was bankrupt, and my depressed parents died. Claire tortured me to death, hanging my body from a helicopter. When I reopened my eyes, I was back to the day Claire brought Jack home to work at our company. … My eyes flew open, a cold sweat drenching my back. It wasn’t until I heard Claire’s clear, bright voice beside me that I realized the impossible had happened. I had been reborn. “Ethan, what do you think about making Jack my new executive assistant? His grades were fantastic, and he won a ton of scholarships.” Jack sat across from us, a harmless, almost cherubic smile on his face. My fingers dug so deep into my palms that my nails drew blood. In my last life, that very smile had been the prelude to the complete annihilation of my world. “Ethan? Are you alright? You look pale,” Claire asked, her voice laced with concern as she gently touched my forehead. I forced down the tidal wave of hatred rising in my throat and managed a weak smile. “I’m fine. Just didn’t sleep well last night.” I extended a hand toward Jack. “Hello. I’m Ethan Rhodes, Claire’s fiancé.” Jack took my hand, his grip surprisingly firm. He gave me a shy, unassuming grin. “It’s an honor, Mr. Rhodes. You’re just as impressive as Claire always says.” My blood ran cold. In my past life, his first words to me were, “I’ve heard so much about you.” “Have we met?” I asked, pulling my hand back with practiced ease. “Only through Claire’s stories,” Jack answered smoothly, his smile never wavering. I didn’t press him. After a few more minutes of small talk, I pulled Claire aside. “Are you sure about this? He’s fresh out of college, no real-world experience.” Claire’s brow furrowed slightly. “Jack was president of the student union. He’s brilliant. I’m sure he can handle it.” “Alright,” I said after a moment’s pause, feigning concession. “Let’s bring him on as my intern assistant first. It’ll keep the office gossip to a minimum.” Her eyes lit up. “Really? Oh, I knew you’d come around!” She looped her arm through Jack’s affectionately. “Jack, what do you say? Go on, thank Ethan.” As Jack bowed his head in gratitude, I caught the fleeting, triumphant smirk that ghosted across his lips. Claire turned back to him, her tone softening. “By the way, Jack, have you found a place to live yet?” Jack looked down, a flicker of embarrassment crossing his features. “Not yet, Claire. I… haven’t found anything suitable.” “Well, that settles it,” she declared with a cheerful clap of her hands. “You’ll stay with us! The guest wing is empty, and you can ride to work with Ethan every day. It’s perfect.” My fists clenched at my sides, my knuckles turning white. That was it. That was the decision that, last time, gave him the key to my home, the opportunity to plant the fabricated ‘murder plot’ and frame me. “Claire,” I said, my voice carefully neutral, “he just got here. Wouldn’t it be a little awkward having him stay with us? I can arrange a corporate apartment for him near the office.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, Ethan, don’t be so formal. Jack’s like a little brother to me. It’ll be nice to have him around.” Right on cue, Jack beamed with gratitude. “Thank you, Claire. I promise I won’t be any trouble.” The next morning, Jack was already waiting in the garage when I came down. I tossed him the car keys. “Can you drive?” He fumbled with the keys, a look of distress on his face. “Mr. Rhodes, I… I don’t have my license. I keep failing the practical exam.” I stared at him, a wave of dark humor washing over me. Two lifetimes, and the man still couldn’t pass a simple driving test. How in God’s name did I let myself be destroyed by this person? Claire plucked the keys from Jack’s hand and pressed them back into mine. “Honestly, Ethan. Jack’s been so focused on his studies, when would he have had time to get a license? Besides, you’re perfectly capable of driving.” With that, she ushered a grateful Jack into the back seat. I didn’t argue. Once we got to the office, I walked Jack through his responsibilities. “So, the workflow is pretty straightforward. If you have any questions…” “Don’t you worry, Mr. Rhodes,” Jack interrupted, a confident smile spreading across his face. “I’m very familiar with the work.” Familiar? My eyes narrowed. After dismissing him, I called in a few of my most trusted team members and instructed them to watch Jack’s every move. I was going to find out if he really was this so-called ‘reincarnator’. Just like in my past life, Jack assimilated into the office culture within days. He was charming, efficient, and surprisingly adept at his job. Claire was practically glowing with pride. “See? What did I tell you? My judgment is better than yours, isn’t it?” I had to admit, with Jack handling the minutiae, my workload did lighten considerably. But that only made me more vigilant. “Mr. Rhodes,” Jack said, stepping into my office one afternoon. “There’s a venture capital negotiation next Monday that you and Ms. Fairchild need to attend. Also, Sunday is her birthday. I overheard her mentioning she was craving cake the other day.” My hand froze, the pen hovering over a contract. My fingertips began to tremble. This was it. This was the moment it all started to unravel last time. Claire was severely allergic to mangoes. On her birthday, Jack had secretly told her that the cake I’d bought was a mango cake, a deliberate attempt to put her in the hospital so she’d miss the negotiation. Aura Innovations was a company Claire and I had built from the ground up, a testament to our ambition outside our family legacies. Jack exploited that, twisting the narrative to make it seem like I was trying to sideline her, planting the first seeds of distrust between us. I looked up at Jack’s smiling face and nodded slowly. “Right. Thanks for the reminder. You can go.” On Sunday morning, I drove to La Belle Pâtisserie, the high-end bakery Claire loved. “The usual, Mr. Rhodes?” the owner greeted me warmly. “Strawberry cream with a vanilla bean filling?” “That’s the one,” I confirmed, sliding an ornate gift box across the counter. “But I need you to use this box for it.” As I left the shop, I made a call. “Keep a close eye on Jack. I want a report of his every move.” At three in the afternoon, my phone buzzed with a message and a photo from my surveillance team: [Jack just went to ‘The Sweet Haven’ bakery on the west side. He’s carrying a cake box.] Moments later, a text from Jack himself arrived: [Mr. Rhodes, I’ve already picked up the cake and brought it home, so you don’t have to make the trip.] A cold smile touched my lips. So this was the master plan of a ‘reincarnator’? That evening, our villa was ablaze with lights and filled with guests. I placed the cake on the crystal table in the center of the grand hall. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack watching the box, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. He thought he had already won. “Happy birthday, Claire,” I said, offering her the cake knife with a smile. Just as she was about to make the first cut, Jack lunged forward. “Claire, wait!” The entire party turned to look at him. His face was a mask of worry. “The cake Ethan bought… it isn’t a mango cake, is it?” Claire laughed lightly. “Of course not. Ethan knows I’m allergic to mangoes.” I feigned surprise. “Jack, what are you talking about? Why on earth would I buy a mango cake when Claire is allergic?” He shook his head, his voice firm with conviction. “Mr. Rhodes, I know you’ve been wanting more control over the company, but you can’t play with Claire’s life like this!” A flicker of doubt crossed Claire’s face. Her hand trembled slightly. I sighed dramatically and lifted the lid of the box. Inside sat a beautiful strawberry cream cake, perfectly intact. “Jack, are you sure you’re feeling alright?” I asked, my voice calm but my gaze sharp. The color drained from Jack’s face. His lips quivered. “No… that’s impossible… I saw…” “You saw what?” I took a step closer. “You seem awfully certain I was going to buy a mango cake.” Claire frowned. “Jack, maybe you’ve been working too hard lately.” He shook his head frantically. “Claire, I… I was just worried about you!” I let out a cold laugh and took out my phone. I played a security video on the large screen in the hall. The footage showed Jack sneaking into ‘The Sweet Haven’ bakery and placing a cake box in the trunk of his car. “I spoke with the staff. It was you who picked up a mango cake from their shop this afternoon,” I said, my voice dropping to an icy tone as I held up the text message he’d sent me. “The evidence is all right here. So tell me, Jack, who is really trying to harm Claire?” Claire’s expression hardened. A wave of shocked murmurs rippled through the crowd of guests. “Oh, Ethan,” Jack sighed then, shaking his head with a look of profound disappointment. “I really did give you a chance.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” I demanded. “I took that cake to St. Jude’s Home for Children,” Jack said, pulling out his phone to show a series of photos of himself sharing a mango cake with smiling orphans. Then his eyes locked onto mine. “And Ethan… are you absolutely sure the filling in your cake is vanilla?” At his words, Claire snatched the cake knife and sliced straight down through the center of the cake. Beneath the layer of pristine vanilla cream, a thick, bright yellow spread of mango puree was revealed. “That’s not possible!” I shot to my feet. Jack’s face was a portrait of heartbreak. “Claire… even after I knew his plan and tried to switch the cakes to a safe one… I can’t believe he still managed to…” Claire’s face was a storm of fury and betrayal. Her hand flew up and cracked across my face with a resounding slap. “Ethan Rhodes! How could you?! If it wasn’t for Jack, I could be…!” Her voice broke. “I think we need to seriously reconsider our relationship!” I stood there, stunned into silence. How was this possible? The accusations erupted from all corners of the room. “A grown man resorting to such pathetic tricks! Has he no shame?” “He looks so polished on the outside, but inside he’s just rotten!” “How did Claire ever get involved with a man like that?” … Late that night, I was in my study, furiously rewatching the surveillance footage. Finally, in a tiny, almost unnoticeable corner of the screen, I saw it: Jack exchanging a discreet handshake and an envelope with the very man I had hired to watch him. He had been bought. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. Could it be? Was Jack actually a reincarnator? But if that was true… then why could he anticipate my every move when I, too, had been reborn? Over the next month, the chasm between Claire and me grew wider. We were rarely seen in the same room. In the executive boardroom, the beam of the projector cut a sharp blue line through the dim light. I stood before the screen, pointing to the latest market analysis. “The renewable energy storage project. The technology is 90% mature, with a projected ROI of 238%. We could monopolize the market within three years.” The board members murmured amongst themselves, many of them nodding in approval. Suddenly, Jack cleared his throat, a hesitant look on his face. All eyes turned to him. Claire frowned. “Jack, do you have something to add?” He stood, his expression grave. “Ms. Fairchild, I know it’s not my place to speak in a meeting like this, but I have to say something. This project… it’s a complete and utter fraud.” The room fell silent. Jack produced a file. “According to my investigation, three months from now, the project’s core technology team will walk out en masse. The patent will be declared invalid.” He looked at Claire, his voice heavy. “If we invest, our losses will be… at least two billion dollars.” Claire’s fingers tapped restlessly on the mahogany table, a nervous habit of hers. “Ethan,” she said, her gaze shifting to me. “Did you run a risk assessment on this?” I calmly opened my laptop. “The entire tech team has signed five-year non-compete agreements. The patent has been registered in thirty-seven countries.” I pulled up another notarized document. “And this is their patent guarantee. The penalty for breach of contract is three times our investment.” Jack interjected sharply. “Mr. Rhodes, how can you be sure those documents aren’t forgeries?” “Jack! Remember your place!” I snapped. Claire’s eyes darted between the two of us. I initiated a video call. The project lead’s face appeared on the screen. “Ms. Fairchild, I can demonstrate the stability of the core technology for you right now…” “That won’t be necessary,” Claire said, raising a hand to cut him off. Her voice was flat. “This project is on hold indefinitely.” I stared at her, the anger finally boiling over. “Why?!” “There is no ‘why’,” she returned, her voice devoid of emotion. “Claire…” “Enough!” She shot me a withering glare before turning to Jack. “The overseas acquisition you mentioned before. How are the preparations coming along?” A smile bloomed on Jack’s face as he instantly produced a new proposal. “The Singapore logistics venture. The ROI is only 35%, but it’s a rock-solid investment.” “Good.” “Thank you for your trust, Ms. Fairchild,” Jack said, his eyes flicking to me, his smile widening. I sank back into my chair, silent. That night, I secretly registered an offshore company: Keystone Capital. Through a three-tiered structure of shell corporations, no one could trace it back to me. The next day, under the banner of Keystone Capital, I made the first investment into the renewable energy project. At the same time, Aura Innovations began funneling millions into the Singapore project Jack had recommended. In Claire’s office, Jack handed her a stack of papers. “Claire, take a look at this. It’s just as I suspected. Ethan has changed.” Claire’s face tightened as she read the name. “Keystone Capital?” Jack pointed to a record of emails. “Exactly. It’s a new firm that just surfaced. They’ve invested in the same renewable energy project Ethan was pushing. And look at these emails… it appears Mr. Rhodes has been secretly transferring our company’s proprietary tech data to them.” Her fingers curled into a fist. “Can you trace who’s behind Keystone?” Jack shook his head. “They’ve hidden it well. It’ll take time. But there’s no doubt Mr. Rhodes is involved.” “This can’t be happening…” Claire slammed her fist on the desk. “I know you don’t want to believe it,” Jack sighed, “but the facts are the facts.” A week later, Jack turned his laptop screen toward Claire. “Claire, I found it. Look at the ownership structure for Keystone Capital…” On the screen, a complex web of offshore entities ultimately led to a single name: Ethan Rhodes. Her nails dug into her palms, drawing blood. Her voice was a choked whisper. “It really is him.” Jack sighed again, the picture of sorrowful duty. “Claire, the proof is right in front of you. I’m afraid Mr. Rhodes has been planning his exit strategy for a while. Once the Singapore deal bankrupts Aura, he can use Keystone Capital to buy up our core assets for pennies on the dollar.” Claire shot to her feet. “I’m going to ask him myself.” She threw open the door to my office, her eyes as cold as a winter storm. I looked up from my work. “Claire?” She didn’t speak. She just threw the ownership documents onto my desk. “Explain this.” I glanced down, paused for a moment, then met her gaze. “I registered it.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her lips. “At least you’re not denying it.” I frowned. “It’s not to undermine Aura. It’s to…” “To what?” she cut me off, her voice rising. “To use my money and my resources to build your own private company while I’m facing a crisis?!” “Claire, listen to me,” I pleaded, standing up to face her. “The Singapore logistics deal is a trap. Kronos Industries is behind it. The renewable energy project is the future of Aura. I was only trying to—” “Enough!” she screamed. Her eyes were red-rimmed, but her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “With the cake, you said Jack framed you. With the project, you said he was lying to me. What about now? Now that we’ve found a company registered in your own name, are you still going to try and blame someone else?!” I stood frozen, a crushing weight settling on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Claire stared at me, her words hitting like bullets. “Ethan Rhodes, as of this moment, you are suspended pending a full investigation. All your corporate access is revoked, and your accounts are frozen. We’re going to find out exactly how much you stole from this company.” I stood outside the towering glass facade of our building as the rain began to fall, plastering my hair to my forehead. My phone lit up with notifications: all my accounts frozen. Even my private email had been remotely wiped by Aura’s IT department. A final message came through from my assistant: Mr. Rhodes, Ms. Fairchild has sealed your office. They even took your computer… I’m sorry. That evening, Claire’s parents arrived at my home. Her father sat across from me, his voice cold. “Ethan, for the sake of the long friendship between our families, we’re giving you one last chance to walk away from this with some dignity.” He slid a document across the table. Voluntary Stock Transfer Agreement. Claire’s mother sighed softly. “Just sign it. Transfer your shares in Keystone Capital to Claire, and we can put this all behind us.” I stared at the document, then I started to laugh. “You really think I set up that company to steal from Aura? Where’s Claire?” “She doesn’t want to see you. The evidence is irrefutable. Are you still trying to deny it?” I slowly looked up, my eyes meeting his. “If I truly wanted to steal from you, why is it that I didn’t take a single file related to the core technology of the renewable energy project? Because from the very beginning, the only thing I have ever tried to protect is the future of Aura Innovations.” I picked up the pen and signed my name. “She can have the shares,” I said, my voice flat. “But Claire Fairchild… she’ll go to her grave never knowing what she threw away.” Inside the Fairchild mansion, the atmosphere was suffocating. My father, leaning heavily on his cane, bowed deeply to Claire’s. “My friend, it is my failure as a father that has caused you so much trouble.” My mother took Claire’s hand, her voice pleading. “Claire, dear, Ethan can be stubborn, but I know he still loves you.” Claire let out a cold laugh, her nails digging into her own palm. “Loves me? Is that what he was thinking about when he was setting up Keystone Capital behind my back?” My father sighed. “The boy… he was just trying to save the renewable energy project.” “Enough!” Mr. Fairchild slammed his hand on the table. “What good does any of this do now? Thanks to Ethan’s little stunt, Aura’s stock has plummeted by ten percent! How does the Rhodes family intend to take responsibility for that?” My mother pulled a folder from her purse. “This is a transfer agreement for thirty percent of the Rhodes Corporation’s shares. On one condition…” She glanced at Claire. “That the two of you reconcile and proceed with the wedding as planned. It would be best for both our families.” Mr. Fairchild took the folder, his silence heavy. He looked at his daughter. “Claire, what do you think…?” She scoffed and stood up, walking out of the room without another word. … Late that night, Claire burst into my room. “Five years,” she stated, her voice trembling slightly. “We’ll divorce in five years. I’ll return the Rhodes shares, and your shares in Aura, in full.” I stood by the window, smoking one cigarette after another. After a long moment, I nodded, the bitterness a sharp taste in my mouth. “Fine.” Her voice shook with repressed fury. “Separate rooms. We don’t interfere in each other’s private lives. We can pretend to be a happy couple in public, but in private, you are not to touch me.” I nodded again. “Alright…” A week later, the wedding march echoed through the grand cathedral. I stood at the altar, watching Claire walk down the aisle on her father’s arm. She wore the gown I had picked out for her, and she was breathtakingly beautiful. But her eyes were glacial, as if she were approaching a business merger, not a marriage. Just as the priest began the vows, the great oak doors of the cathedral were thrown open with a deafening crash. “Claire! You can’t marry him!” Jack stumbled in, covered in blood. His white suit was soaked in crimson, and he staggered before collapsing in the center of the aisle. “After everything he’s done… how can you still marry him?!” “Jack! What are you doing here? What happened to you?!” Claire’s face was a mask of horror and concern. She rushed down from the altar to help him. Jack seemed to steel himself, his hand trembling as he held up a manila envelope. “Claire, do you want to know how I could predict everything Ethan was planning? It’s because I’ve been reborn! I know everything! In our past life, he and his parents hired someone to run your mother and father off the road, to kill them so they could steal your family’s company and leave you with nothing!” He coughed up a spray of blood, his performance so convincing I almost wanted to applaud. “The cake, the investment… I knew all of his schemes! I was only trying to save you!” “I thought… I thought you wouldn’t marry him,” he gasped. “But you compromised for the sake of the company. I couldn’t bear to see you suffer the same fate again, so I…” He fumbled with the envelope, spilling its contents onto the floor—a stack of photos detailing her parents’ daily routines and travel routes, with several high-risk accident locations circled in red. “I found these… in a hidden safe in Ethan’s study…” Jack squeezed his eyes shut in mock agony. “I was trying to get the evidence out… but his men caught me…” Claire’s head snapped up, her eyes locking on me, burning with a rage so intense it felt physical. She clutched the forged photos, her voice a cold, shaking whisper. “Ethan Rhodes. What do you have to say for yourself now?” Her father was apoplectic. He snatched the photos and threw them in my face. “The wedding is off!” he roared. “From this day forward, the Fairchild and Rhodes families have nothing to do with each other! Get out!” The guests erupted in a chorus of outrage and condemnation. “I can’t believe the Rhodes heir is that kind of monster!” “He’d kill his fiancée’s parents just for their fortune? He’s less than human!” “Poor Claire, she almost married a viper!” I stood my ground, my gaze sweeping over their furious faces before finally settling on Jack. His lips were curled into a faint, triumphant smirk, his eyes glinting with victory before he quickly schooled his features back into a mask of pain, slumping weakly against Claire as if he had truly risked his life to save her. I let out a soft laugh, my eyes flicking to the seats where my parents should have been. They were empty. Of course. They never came. Slowly, I began to clap, the sound echoing unnervingly through the silent cathedral. “Brilliant,” I said, my eyes fixed on Jack, a cold smile twisting my lips. “Truly brilliant, Jack. An excellent performance. But this time, you’ve picked the wrong opponent.”

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On the day the holiday bonuses were announced, I was crucified on Mercy General’s internal employee forum by the deceptively sweet new intern. The post claimed that as the head of cardiothoracic surgery—the hospital’s “top scalpel”—I was greedy for taking a $100,000 bonus all for myself. What they didn’t know was that the hundred grand wasn’t a simple holiday bonus. It was the annual performance dividend for every high-risk, life-or-death procedure performed at this hospital—procedures that only I was qualified to execute. But context didn’t matter. The entire hospital was calling my integrity into question, accusing me of being shamelessly avaricious. So, I decided to give the people what they wanted. I submitted a formal request to the administration: [To foster departmental unity, I voluntarily request that all my scheduled high-complexity surgical cases be reassigned to other qualified physicians.] When the notice went out, the hospital practically ground to a halt. The senior department heads mobbed the entrance to my office, begging me to take it back. … I had just stepped out of a grueling twelve-hour aortic dissection repair when my assistant, Jenna, handed me her phone. Pinned to the top of the hospital forum was a trending post: [Let’s talk about Dr. Evelyn Reed from Cardio. A $100,000 bonus? Isn’t that a little… shameless?] The author was anonymous, but the avatar was a fluffy pink bunny. I recognized it instantly. It was Chloe, the new intern. The post was simple: a screenshot of the bonus distribution list, my name and the figure “$100,000.00” clearly visible, though other details were blurred. The caption dripped with passive aggression: [‘Tis the season of giving! I thought we might get some candy canes or something, but Mercy General decided to make it rain. Except, Dr. Reed alone walked away with a hundred grand, while the rest of us nurses and junior docs are killing ourselves for a few hundred bucks. Lol, I guess poverty really does limit your imagination.] She conveniently failed to mention that this “bonus” was the annual payout for all “Tier-4” surgical procedures. And in the entire cardiothoracic department—no, in the entire hospital—the only surgeon capable of independently performing ultra-complex Tier-4 operations like Type-A aortic dissections or giant ventricular aneurysm resections was me. The comment section was a dumpster fire. [A hundred grand?! Why doesn’t she just rob a bank?] [We in the ER work like dogs every single day, and my entire yearly bonus isn’t even a fraction of hers. How is that fair?] [They call her the hospital’s top scalpel. Looks like she’s the top earner, too.] I scrolled through the venom, my face a blank mask. The life I had just spent half a day saving suddenly felt a little less precious. Back in my office, the atmosphere was thick with tension. I could feel the change in the way people looked at me. A group of nurses who usually chattered away fell silent the moment I walked in, scattering with poorly concealed expressions of disdain and envy. My mentor, Dr. Harrison, the head of the department, called me into his office. He sighed, the sound heavy with fatigue. “Evelyn. How do you plan on handling this?” “Sir, you know it’s not a holiday bonus.” He nodded, then shook his head. “I know. But they don’t. And you can’t silence a mob.” I understood his unspoken suggestion: I should give some of the money back, take a step down to appease the masses. Just as I was about to respond, there was a knock on the door. Dr. Mark Carter, the associate chief of surgery, walked in, with Chloe trailing behind him. Mark was a few years my senior and always carried himself as if he were my long-suffering superior, despite the fact that I consistently outperformed him in the OR. The sour stench of his jealousy was palpable whenever I won another award. He immediately adopted the air of a mediator. “Dr. Harrison, Dr. Reed. Chloe here is young and acted foolishly. I brought her to apologize.” He gave her a little nudge forward. Chloe’s eyes were red-rimmed. She bowed stiffly, her voice thick with fake tears. “Dr. Reed, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen. I just… I saw the number and I was so shocked. It felt unfair, and I wanted to ask on behalf of everyone. I didn’t have any malicious intent.” “On behalf of everyone.” “Didn’t mean to.” Her apology was sharper than a winter wind. Mark smoothly picked up the thread. “Evelyn, you see? Chloe was just thinking about department morale. And really, this isn’t all her fault. The bonus structure is a bit problematic; it’s bound to cause misunderstandings.” He looked at me, a glint of triumph in his eyes. “How about this? You take a portion of the money, treat the whole department to a nice dinner, and we’ll build some goodwill. We’ll let this whole thing blow over. She’s just a kid, after all. We should be the bigger people here.” The way he said it made it sound like I had taken money that wasn’t mine and now needed to buy my way back into everyone’s good graces. I watched their perfectly choreographed performance and let out a cold laugh. “You’re right, Dr. Carter. My perspective was too narrow. I was so focused on the surgeries that I didn’t consider everyone else’s feelings.” Mark’s smile widened, thinking I was capitulating. Chloe lowered her head, her shoulders shaking slightly in a display of contrived remorse. I ignored them and turned to Dr. Harrison. “Sir, the root of this problem is that my skillset has created a monopoly. I’m taking up too many resources, leaving no room for my colleagues to grow.” “To promote unity, and to give excellent mid-career physicians like Dr. Carter more opportunities, I’ve decided to submit a formal request to the administration.” I paused, watching the blood drain from Mark’s face, and enunciated each word with perfect clarity. “I am voluntarily relinquishing my privileges for all Tier-4 surgical procedures. I will transfer the entire caseload to other qualified surgeons in this department. From now on, I will only perform routine Tier-1 and Tier-2 operations.” Dr. Harrison shot to his feet, his face pale with shock. “Evelyn! Are you insane?!” Mark Carter looked like he’d seen a ghost. He had probably imagined a thousand ways to undermine me, but he never dreamed I would take the crown jewel everyone coveted and hurl it—throne and all—directly at him. Tier-4 surgery represented the pinnacle of the profession. It also carried the highest risk. Succeed, and you were showered with prestige and money. Fail, and you faced lawsuits and the end of your career. He had the gall to be envious, but did he have the skill to take the reins? I didn’t give him a chance to process it. As I walked out of the office, I paused beside Chloe. “Congratulations,” I whispered. “You got everyone the fairness they were asking for.” Her face went completely white. My request hit the hospital’s leadership like a bomb. The hospital president himself called me, his tone graver than I’d ever heard it. “Evelyn, who are you trying to punish with this stunt? Do you have any idea what this request means?” “Mr. President, I’m not punishing anyone,” I replied, my voice calm. “I am simply responding to the will of the staff. I don’t want to be the cause of any more division over bonus pay.” There was a long silence on the other end of the line. He knew better than anyone that the most advanced operating rooms and equipment in the cardiothoracic wing were essentially reserved for me. He knew how many high-profile patients—politicians, CEOs, complex cases from around the country—specifically requested me by name, generating millions in revenue and prestige for the hospital. And now I was walking away. He, the president, was the first one who couldn’t afford that. “Just calm down. I’ll hold onto your request for now. I’ll have our IT department take care of the forum.” “That won’t be necessary, sir,” I interrupted. “If my presence here undermines fairness, then I will step back. I’m confident the hospital will function perfectly well without me.” I hung up. A few minutes later, Jenna burst into my office, her eyes wide with panic. “Dr. Reed, it’s bad. The forum is exploding again!” I pulled it up. A new post had shot to the top. [Insider Info! Dr. Reed is threatening to go on strike over bonus dispute!] The poster was anonymous again, but the tone was far more inflammatory. [She’s holding the entire hospital hostage just because she’s good at her job. Is this a physician’s compassion, or a physician’s greed? The ego on this woman is unbelievable.] A comment right below it, heavily upvoted, was from an account I recognized as one of Mark Carter’s burners. [I’ve always heard she was difficult, but I never imagined she lacked this much perspective. The operating room isn’t her personal stage. The world keeps spinning without her.] Chloe, however, went all in, posting under her real name with a paragraph of carefully crafted, fire-stoking “objectivity.” [As an intern, I’ve seen how tirelessly our senior doctors work for their patients, but I’ve also seen imperfections in the system. I believe our hospital is a compassionate community, and personal feelings should never be placed above a patient’s life. I hope certain individuals can cool down and not do something that will disappoint us all.] She had successfully rebranded herself as a concerned, noble whistleblower. I laughed out loud, the sound bitter and sharp. Just then, my phone rang. It was the ER. The head nurse’s voice was a frantic blur. “Dr. Reed! A trauma patient just came in, suspected Marfan syndrome with an acute Type-A aortic dissection rupture! He’s in shock! We need you down here now!” A ruptured Type-A dissection. The mortality rate was measured in minutes, not hours. It was the Mount Everest of cardiac surgery. I grabbed my white coat and sprinted out the door. But as I reached the ER triage desk, a middle-aged woman blocked my path. She was the patient’s wife. Her eyes were red and swollen, but her face was a mask of suspicion and distrust. She was clutching her phone, the screen displaying the very forum post that had put me on trial. “You’re Evelyn Reed?” she demanded, her eyes raking over me. “You’re the one who’s going on strike over money?” Her voice wasn’t loud, but it hit me like a sledgehammer. The family’s accusation was a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The adrenaline, the battle-ready focus I’d been summoning, shattered into a million pieces. I looked at her, then past her to the trauma bay where a man’s life was draining away by the second. The sheer absurdity of the situation was overwhelming. I wanted to explain, but I knew that in the face of manufactured outrage, logic was useless. “I am not on strike.” She didn’t believe me. She took a step back, as if I were a venomous snake. “I don’t care what you are or aren’t doing! I will not let a doctor with no ethics operate on my husband!” she shrieked. “Get me someone else! Surely you have other experts in this hospital?” The ER chief rushed over, his face turning a sickly green when he heard her demand. “Ma’am, please, calm down! Dr. Reed is the only surgeon in this hospital who can perform this operation! If we delay any longer, no one will be able to save him!” “I don’t care! I want a different doctor!” she screamed, her voice cracking. At that moment, Mark and Chloe arrived on the scene. A flicker of satisfaction crossed Mark’s face before he replaced it with a look of deep concern. He approached the woman, his voice a gentle balm. “Ma’am, please, don’t be upset. We understand you’re emotional, but saving your husband is the priority. Dr. Reed’s technical skills are, at least, reliable…” His words, seemingly supportive, only served to validate her belief that my ethics were questionable. Chloe, ever the empath, handed the woman a cup of water. “Ma’am, please try not to worry. Or, perhaps we could ask Dr. Carter? He’s also a brilliant specialist in our department.” That single sentence was all it took. The woman’s eyes lit up with a new, desperate hope. She grabbed Mark’s arm like a drowning person clutching a life raft. “Doctor, you’ll do the surgery! I trust you!” Mark made a show of hesitating. “Well… that’s not exactly protocol. Dr. Reed is the attending surgeon of record…” But his eyes kept darting in my direction, filled with undisguised provocation. The hospital president and Dr. Harrison, having been alerted, came rushing down, looking panicked. The president took one look at the standoff and dragged me aside, his voice a low, pleading whisper. “Evelyn, for God’s sake, a man is dying! Just give in this once. Apologize to the family, smooth things over!” Apologize? For what? For the bonus I earned with my skill? For the scalpel in my hand that could save a man’s life? I looked at the president’s frantic face, at the smug curl of Mark’s lip, at the toxic innocence in Chloe’s eyes. And I suddenly felt so incredibly tired.

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As the Stark family’s sole heiress, I was kidnapped three times before turning ten. My father assigned a hundred bodyguards; even school required a three-car bulletproof motorcade. “Choose a husband to protect you day and night,” he said. I picked Ian Taylor, the gentlest of his protégés. But on our wedding day, he withdrew all my security. Tied to a rooftop chair with a knife at my throat, I heard his cold sneer over the phone: “Sent thugs to harass Lily, and now playing victim? I just reassigned your guards to protect her for twenty-four hours. Wanted you to know fear.” With each toll of the distant clock, they took a finger. After twenty-four hours, I bled out. When I reopened my eyes, I was back to choosing a husband. My father held the same eight photos. This time, I skipped Ian’s face, pointing to the reckless grin in the corner. But my father said, “That man is already dead.” 1 I stared at the eight photographs in my father’s hand. My finger traced a path over Ian Taylor’s chiseled, gentle face and landed squarely on the man at the very bottom—the one with the sun-kissed skin and the cocky smile. My father froze. “Sierra? I thought Ian was your favorite. Why choose Kai Donovan?” My hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into my palm. Kai Donovan. A star athlete since childhood, he was also the most notorious playboy in our elite circle. His skin was tanned from countless hours on the racetrack, his nights spent in clubs with a rotating cast of glamorous women. My father despised him, eventually shipping him off to manage a dead-end project in some remote, godforsaken mountain range. But I remembered. In my last life, as I bled out on that rooftop, the last thing I saw before I threw myself over the edge was Kai, his face a mask of raw terror and heartbreak, sprinting toward me as if he could outrun death itself. “Him,” I said, my voice trembling. My father frowned and pulled out his phone, scrolling through his contacts. He stopped, a flicker of awkwardness on his face. He didn’t even have Kai’s number saved. How ironic. All eight men were his adopted “sons,” his wards, yet Kai wasn’t even worthy of a contact entry. His executive assistant called back within minutes. “Sir, Kai Donovan was killed last month in Redstone Canyon. There was a mudslide.” My father sighed. “Sierra, just pick someone else. Ian is—” “Then I choose no one.” I shot to my feet, my throat tight. “If I can’t have him, I don’t want anyone.” In my past life, the other so-called “brothers” had either fawned over Ian’s cousin or watched my suffering with cold amusement. If I had to live again, I would rather be alone than be stabbed in the back by their false kindness. I stumbled out of the office, Kai’s final expression burned into my mind. If even he was dead, who in this world would fight for me? Suddenly, a cold hand clamped around my wrist. I looked up. It was Ian. And standing beside him, her slender frame leaning against his, was Lily Reid. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as if she had suffered a terrible injustice. Ian’s expression was gentle, but his words were hard. “Sierra, Lily isn’t well. Your mountain spa is just sitting empty. Let her go there to recuperate for a few days. She hasn’t been sleeping, and her cough is getting worse.” The old me would have melted, would have agreed instantly. This time, I just gave them a detached glance. “No.” I pulled out my phone and dialed my assistant. “Lock the gates to the estate. Don’t let any trash wander in.” Ian’s face darkened. “Sierra!” He tightened his grip on my wrist, the pressure painful. “She’s my cousin. She’ll be your family soon too. Can’t you be a little more understanding?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound, and ripped my arm from his grasp. “Who said anything about being family with you?” His eyes widened as if I’d struck him. “What has gotten into you? Is this because Lily wore your hairpin that one time? You have rooms full of jewelry. What’s the big deal if she borrows one thing?” On cue, Lily began to sob, tears clinging to her lashes. “Ian, it’s okay… Miss Stark looks down on me. I… I was never worthy…” I had no patience for this melodrama. I turned to leave. “I said no. That’s the end of it.” Back in my suite, I threw myself under the covers and slept. The dizzying sensation of rebirth still echoed in my head, a disorienting hum that was only broken by the shrill ring of my phone. “Miss Stark!” my assistant’s panicked voice cried. “Mr. Taylor and Miss Reid forced their way into the estate! I couldn’t stop them! All the guards listened to him…” I shot upright in bed. The memories of my kidnapping flashed before my eyes. The bodyguards who were supposed to protect me had done the same thing then, abandoning me without a second thought on Ian’s command, leaving me to the mercy of my captors. When I stormed into the spa, one of the guards actually had the audacity to block my path. “Miss Stark, Mr. Taylor gave orders that no one is to disturb them.” Crack. The sound of my hand striking his face echoed in the marble hall. “You eat my family’s food, and you take orders from him?” I was shaking with fury. “Get out of my sight. Now.” I threw open the doors to the main thermal pool, and the scene before me made my blood run cold. 2 Through the rising steam, Lily Reid was draped over the edge of the pool, her body languid, her cheeks flushed with an unnatural, feverish pink. “Ian… I feel so dizzy…” Before the words were even out of her mouth, she went limp, sliding bonelessly beneath the water’s surface. Without a moment’s hesitation, Ian dove in and swept her into his arms. Water streamed down his sharp jawline, dripping onto her bare shoulder. “Ian,” I said, my voice cutting through the humid air. “I told you. You are not welcome here.” He froze, and in his arms, Lily’s eyelashes fluttered. “Sierra!” Panic flashed in his eyes, quickly replaced by anger. “Do you have to be so aggressive? She almost fainted! Can’t you have a shred of decency?” Suddenly, Lily struggled out of his embrace and fell to her knees before me with a splash, her forehead hitting the stone floor with a sickening thud. “Miss Stark, I’m sorry! It’s all my fault!” Blood trickled down her pale cheek. She lunged forward, grabbing my legs, but in the next second, she recoiled as if shoved, tumbling back into the pool. She thrashed wildly in the water. “Help! My leg is cramping…!” Ian dove in again, scooping her up. When he emerged, his eyes were filled with disgust. “You’ve gone too far, Sierra!” He lunged forward and shoved me hard. I fell backward into the pool, my arm slamming against the stone wall with a sharp crack of pain, a deep bruise already forming. “If you ever bully Lily like this again,” he said, cradling the shivering girl in his arms, his voice like ice, “I will not marry you.” As I watched them leave, I dragged myself out of the water, bruised and humiliated. “Everyone who let them in today is fired! Get them off my property!” I was changing when my assistant rushed in. “Miss Stark! We found a lead on Kai Donovan!” I drove through the night to Redstone Canyon, the storm-ravaged mountain roads a treacherous river of mud. I had just checked into a small motel in the nearest town when a large hand grabbed me from behind, pulling me into a dark alley. A warm palm clamped firmly over my mouth. I looked up in terror and met a pair of eyes that shone like stars in the darkness. “Kai?!” He snatched his hand away, his face flushing crimson beneath his mask. “Miss Stark, what are you doing in a place like this…?” “You’re not dead?” My voice was a shaky whisper. He scratched his head awkwardly, revealing a charmingly crooked canine tooth. “There was a traitor in my division on this project. The mudslide was the perfect cover to fake my death and smoke him out.” “You know how to do things like that?” I asked, surprised. His bright smile dimmed. “Is that a disappointment? Did you… did you always think I was just some idiot?” A sharp pain lanced through my chest. I grabbed his hand, my grip desperate. “Listen to me! You have to be back before the 8th, for the wedding!” His body went rigid, the light in his eyes extinguished. “Right. Your wedding. I’ll be there.” “You idiot,” I stomped my foot in frustration. “It’s our—” “Boss! The traitor is making a run for it!” a voice shouted from down the alley. Kai took a frantic step back. “Miss Stark, it could be dangerous here. Please, go back! I promise I’ll be at the wedding!” And just like that, he was gone, his figure vanishing into the darkness. I stood there, a thousand thoughts swirling in my mind. In my past life, he was the one I paid the least attention to. Everyone said he was all brawn and no brains, a simpleton who was only good for nightclubs and extreme sports. Not like Ian, always impeccably dressed in a tailored suit and gold-rimmed glasses, a master of strategy. But it was always Kai who was sent to handle the most marginalized projects, the most difficult clients. Thinking back now, those “marginalized projects” involved dealing with the most unsavory, dangerous characters. How could anyone handle that without being cunning and extraordinarily capable? On the drive back, I had my assistant create a new digital wedding invitation and send it to Kai. It was well past midnight when my phone finally lit up with his reply. “Miss, you wrote the groom’s name wrong. You should fix it.” The “typing…” bubble flickered for a long time before another message appeared. “Don’t worry. I’ll definitely be there to see you get married.” I couldn’t help but smile. He wouldn’t believe anything I said now. I would just have to explain it to him in person when he returned. My phone buzzed again and again with messages from Ian. “Lily deserves an apology from you.” “Stop being so childish.” I opened our chat and, without a second thought, deleted him. 3 Knowing Kai was not only alive but far more brilliant than I had ever imagined filled me with a sense of hope I hadn’t felt in two lifetimes. I began to throw myself into the wedding preparations. One afternoon, I pushed open the glass door of the bridal boutique, only to be assaulted by a wave of cheap, cloying perfume. “Ian~ Do I look beautiful in this?” Lily’s saccharine voice made my skin crawl. She was standing in front of a mirror, admiring herself in the custom-made wedding gown my mother had designed for me. Ian gazed at her, his voice soft. “Lily, you look beautiful in everything.” “Oh, stop~ You always know just what to say~” she cooed, twirling around and sending another noxious cloud of perfume into the air. I forced down my rage and walked toward them. The moment Ian saw me, his face went rigid. He instinctively stepped in front of Lily, his voice a carefully constructed mask of gentleness. “Sierra, don’t misunderstand. Lily’s health… she might not… she might not live to see her own wedding day. She just wanted to feel what it’s like to wear a wedding dress.” Lily began to cough delicately. “Take it off,” I said, my voice ice. Lily’s eyes immediately filled with tears. “Miss Stark, I’m so sorry. I was just so envious of you.” She clutched at Ian’s sleeve, her body trembling. “It’s all my fault, don’t be angry with Ian…” Ian’s expression hardened. “You’re going to marry me anyway. What does it matter if she tries it on? Can’t you just let her have this one moment of happiness?” “I said, take it off,” I repeated, each word a shard of glass. I turned my glare on the terrified shop assistants. “When did my bespoke gown become available for anyone to try on?” The two assistants scrambled to help Lily out of the dress, leaving red marks on her pale arms. Lily was sobbing hysterically now. “I’m sorry! I’m worthless! I don’t deserve to wear something so beautiful!” She suddenly went limp, her knees buckling. Ian lunged forward to catch her, then turned to me, his voice a furious roar. “Are you satisfied now, Sierra?” “Disinfect it three times,” I said, my nose wrinkled in disgust. “I don’t want a trace of that smell left on it.” Lily covered her face and ran out of the shop. Ian glared at me, his face a thundercloud, before slamming the door behind him. That evening, my assistant sidled up to me, her eyes sparkling with gossip. “Miss Stark, you’ll never guess what happened! That frail little flower, Lily Reid, got hit by a car today! I heard she broke her leg!” She gestured excitedly. “If you ask me, it’s karma! Everyone knows Ian is your fiancé, but she’s always clinging to him, acting all innocent. It’s disgusting!” I swirled the red wine in my glass, a cold smile touching my lips. “Who told you Ian was my fiancé?” My assistant’s eyes went wide, the fruit platter in her hands nearly tumbling to the floor. “Miss Stark, are you saying…?” “Have the wedding planner change the groom’s name on the invitations,” I said, taking a sip of wine. “To Kai Donovan.” “Yes!” my assistant cheered, clapping her hands. “That Ian guy seems nice enough, but he has no boundaries! He and Lily are always together. He’s such a flirt.” I had to smile. Even my assistant could see it so clearly. How had I been so blind in my past life? Love, it seemed, was truly a blinding force. I sighed at the thought. The next morning, as I stepped out of the company headquarters, something was thrown over my head, plunging me into darkness. A burlap sack. “Who are you?! Let me go!” I struggled, but my attackers were rough, shoving me into a car. My back slammed against the door, and I gasped in pain. A familiar, paralyzing fear washed over me. The memories of my past kidnappings came flooding back. “Please! I’ll give you whatever you want!” My voice trembled uncontrollably, tears soaking the rough fabric over my eyes. The only response was a suffocating silence. Then, a familiar scent drifted into the small space. The sharp, clean smell of Ian’s signature cologne. My heart sank like a stone. “What… what do you want from me…?” “Someone wants me to teach you a lesson,” a voice said, low and intentionally disguised. Even though I had already decided never to marry him, the fact that he was doing this, that he was capable of this, shattered something inside me. THUD. An iron bar slammed into my leg. The pain was so intense my vision went black. A tearing agony ripped through my chest, but I gritted my teeth, refusing to let him know I recognized him. I curled into a ball in the corner of the trunk, my silent tears soaking the sack. The last thing I heard before I lost consciousness was his cold, dispassionate voice. “Remember this lesson.” 4 The iron bar landed with a sickening thud. Once, twice, three times… Fifteen times. I could hear the crack of my own bones. The pain finally dragged me into unconsciousness. I was dumped like trash at the gates of the Stark estate. The antiseptic smell of the hospital was overwhelming. From the VIP suite next to mine, I could hear Lily’s voice. “Ian, you’ve been here with me every day. You must be so exhausted!” My heart felt like it was being crushed. Ian. To get revenge for Lily, you were capable of this. “My daughter!” My father rushed in and hugged me, his voice shaking. “Who did this? I swear, I will make them wish they were never born!” “Dad, it’s okay,” I said, forcing a smile through the pain. “Just… hire me a new security team.” I took a breath. “And by the way, Kai is alive. When we get married, he’ll protect me too.” After my father left, I hobbled to the window on my crutches. In the garden below, Ian was spinning Lily around in his arms. She leaned in and whispered something in his ear that made the tips of his own turn red. He was smiling, a tender, genuine smile I had never once received. The day before the wedding, Kai arrived, looking like he’d just stepped out of a dust storm. He carefully pulled a smooth, warm piece of jade from his pocket. “Miss Stark, a wedding gift!” “The groom is finally here,” I said with a smile, my voice loud enough for everyone to hear. Kai froze, his eyes instantly turning red. His lips trembled, but no words came out. My assistant quietly informed me that Ian hadn’t been seen for days. I scoffed. He was waiting for me to break, for me to come crawling back and beg him to marry me. He was in for a disappointment. That night, my phone buzzed. It was a video from Lily. The shaky footage showed her and Ian, tangled together in bed. It was disgusting. A moment later, the video was deleted. “Pathetic,” I muttered, turning off my phone. Their games were laughable now. From my window, I saw Kai standing alone under the stars, looking up at my room. He gave me a small wave, his smile warm and steady. In that moment, a profound sense of peace settled over me for the first time. On the morning of the wedding, my phone rang. “If you apologize to Lily right now, I will come and marry you,” Ian said, his voice as arrogant as ever. “Not necessary,” I replied, hanging up without another word, a cold smile playing on my lips. At the venue, the guests were whispering amongst themselves. “Where is Ian Taylor?” “Is the wedding going to be canceled?” I ignored them all, taking Kai’s arm and walking down the aisle. His bicep was tense, but he held me so gently, careful not to hurt my still-healing leg. “Let us congratulate Mr. Kai Donovan and the heiress of the Stark family!” the officiant’s voice boomed. At that exact moment, the grand doors to the hall were thrown open. Ian stood there, his face as white as a sheet. The bouquet of flowers in his hand fell to the floor with a soft thud. I smiled, and under his stunned, disbelieving gaze, I pulled Kai closer and kissed him.

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After two years away on a private wellness retreat, I received a selfie from my daughter. She was on a milk delivery truck, dressed in a drab work uniform. “Mom, are you coming home soon? I miss you so much.” My heart softened. My daughter, Lily, was finally growing up, learning the value of starting from the ground up. I was about to type a few words of praise when I looked closer. Her skin was darkened by the sun, and the shirt she wore under the uniform was one I’d bought for her three years ago. It was pilled and worn thin, yet she hadn’t thrown it away. My daughter, the heiress to a billion-dollar fortune, experiencing life? This seemed a bit too real. I zoomed in again. Her shoes were falling apart, a gaping hole at the toe. The more I looked, the more a cold unease crept over me. The next second, I was scrolling through my adopted daughter’s Instagram. It was a highlight reel of male models and supercars. On her wrist, she wore my limited-edition, full-diamond bracelet—one of only a handful in the world. But what truly made my blood run cold was the Rolls-Royce that appeared most frequently in her photos. That was the graduation gift I had bought for Lily. How did it become hers?! … I nearly crushed my phone in my hand. I swiped through photo after photo until I saw it. The locket around Jessica’s neck. My breath caught in my throat. That was our family heirloom. It had been passed down through the Geller family for generations. How could it be hanging around the neck of an outsider? I remembered it perfectly: on Lily’s eighteenth birthday, I had placed it around her neck myself. My hands shaking, I found the number for my daughter’s university and called the registrar’s office, demanding to know about Lily Geller’s academic standing. The woman’s answer almost stopped my heart. “Lily Geller? She dropped out months ago.” Dropped out? My daughter… dropped out? The world tilted on its axis. My head started to buzz. I immediately video-called my husband, Michael. He answered, freshly dressed after a dip in his private hot tub, a towel around his neck. His expression was utterly nonchalant. “It’s just a locket, Amelia. Jessica liked it, so I let her borrow it for a few days. Why are you making such a big deal out of it? They’re sisters, it’s normal for them to share.” Normal? Had he forgotten what that locket represented? I fought to keep my voice steady. “Why isn’t Lily in school?” “She didn’t want to go. What was I supposed to do?” Michael replied dismissively, then hung up. I trembled with a rage so intense it felt like fire in my veins. That man’s indulgence of our adopted daughter knew no bounds. Looking back, even before I left for my retreat, Michael had been growing more and more distant with Lily. When she was little, he’d treated her like a princess, spoiling her rotten. But two years ago, after Jessica arrived, he suddenly put Lily on a strict vegetarian diet, claiming it was for her health. Meanwhile, Jessica was feasting on steak and lobster in our own home. I’d even joked about it at the time, asking if every bite Lily didn’t eat would magically end up on Jessica’s plate. He’d called me petty, saying we could certainly afford it. Now I see it. I was so blind. I tried calling Lily again, but the line was busy. The poor girl was probably out on her delivery route. I dialed my neighbor. We were close; she would know something. When she answered, her voice was hesitant. “Amelia, thank goodness you called! It’s… well, it’s not really our place to say, but… Lily’s had a really rough couple of years.” I pressed for details, but she refused to say more. Next, I called our housekeeper, Mrs. Evans. I didn’t waste any time. “Our household expenses have tripled in the last two years. Why did Lily drop out of the prestigious university she worked so hard to get into? Why was I kept in the dark about all this? Tell me, who has all that money been spent on?” Mrs. Evans, who had always been meek and respectful, suddenly found a spine. “Miss Lily didn’t want to go to school. She said being there gave her headaches. Delivering milk makes her happy.” Happy? My daughter was a born academic. Her entire life had been about her studies. I knew better than anyone how much blood, sweat, and tears she’d poured into getting into that university. The more I thought about it, the more I was certain something was deeply wrong. I opened Michael’s Facebook page. Not long ago, he’d taken Mrs. Evans, our driver, and Jessica on an overseas vacation. And at that exact same time, my poor daughter had been rushed to the hospital and treated for severe heatstroke. The wellness center called to ask if I wanted to renew my membership. Renew it? To hell with that. I couldn’t wait another second. I had my assistant book the first flight back. I was going home. I needed to see for myself what in God’s name had happened to my family. 1 That night, the company’s executive chat was on fire. Rumors of my return were flying, with everyone speculating I was coming back to clean house. After all, I had stepped away two years ago when the company was at its peak, choosing a quiet retreat over the boardroom. For two years, I thought of my daughter every single day. I’d ignored every message from my top executives. The moment my plane touched down, I felt an urgent pull homeward. It was late when I finally arrived. Lily had just gotten home from her route. I rushed forward and took her hands in mine, my heart sinking at the touch of rough, heavy callouses that had no business being on the hands of a girl her age. She threw her arms around me, her voice trembling. “Mom, you’re back. You’re not leaving again, are you? You’ll stay home this time?” A chill went down my spine. My daughter was twenty years old, yet she sounded like a frightened child. Her entire demeanor was timid, all her former spark and energy gone. I led her into the courtyard, wanting to show her my surprise. But as we walked, she began to tremble, like a startled animal. When I pulled the cover off the limited-edition custom motorcycle, Lily’s expression remained blank. There was no flicker of excitement. I remembered how obsessed she used to be with motorcycles, so different from other girls. How could she have changed so much in just two years? A wave of sorrow washed over me. “Lily, sweetheart. Tell me what’s been happening.” Before she could answer, the gate screeched open. Jessica roared in behind the wheel of a sports car, parking with an arrogance that suggested she owned the place. Her eyes immediately locked onto the new motorcycle, and they lit up. “Mom! You’re back! And you brought me such an amazing present!” She started to swing a leg over it. I stepped in her way. “This isn’t for you. It’s for Lily.” “Oh, come on. We’re sisters. What’s yours is mine, right, Lily?” Jessica said with a saccharine smile, looking at my daughter. Lily kept her head down, silent. She quietly picked up a bucket and cloth and began to wash Jessica’s car. I stared, dumbfounded. I grabbed Lily’s hand. “What are you doing? Let the staff wash it, or send it to the dealership. Why are you doing this?” “It’s okay, Mom. I’m used to it,” Lily mumbled. In that moment of distraction, Jessica had already started the motorcycle. With a deafening roar, she sped off into the night. Watching my daughter move like a puppet on strings, my fists clenched. Before, she would have chattered away for hours, telling me everything. Now, she wouldn’t say a word about her own life. And Jessica’s entitled attitude, as if everything that belonged to Lily was hers by right—it was all completely, horribly wrong. I decided I would get to the bottom of it. That night, I went to Lily’s room to sleep with her. “Why did you drop out of university? You were so thrilled when you got in. I never imagined you would just quit. Did something happen?” I tried to keep my voice gentle. Lily clutched the blanket, turning her face away. “I just don’t like crowded places. I wanted to be alone.” Her answer made no sense. My daughter had always been a social butterfly with a hundred friends. Since when did she prefer solitude? Later that night, Jessica’s motorcycle screeched into the driveway like a wild animal, crashing into the main gate with a deafening bang. Lily shot up in bed, terrified. I quickly pulled her close, stroking her back to soothe her. She seemed hypersensitive to sound, which only deepened my confusion. I did a quick search online. Anxiety disorders. Sufferers were often easily startled by loud noises, which could trigger traumatic memories. And through all of this, my husband, Michael, had never said a single word to me. 2 That first night back, I called Michael relentlessly. Not only had he not met me at the airport, he was now completely ignoring me. His behavior was getting more outrageous by the minute. When I first walked into the house, I’d noticed that the living room walls were covered in framed photos of Jessica. There wasn’t a single picture of Lily. What was this? Had a cuckoo taken over my nest? Our family portrait was gone, too. The audacity was staggering. I remembered the day Michael first brought Jessica home two years ago. She was dressed in shabby, ill-fitting clothes, clearly from the countryside. Michael explained that he’d been in a car accident; his car had plunged into a river, and Jessica had heroically saved his life. He said she was a kind, good-hearted girl, the same age as Lily. He wanted to adopt her, bring her into our home to be a companion for Lily and to “strengthen the family.” I had been firmly against it. It wasn’t that I was ungrateful. I was happy to support Jessica financially, to provide for her in every way. But to have her move in with us, to live under our roof? It felt wrong. But Michael was insistent, claiming a “fateful connection” to Jessica. When I refused, he went on a hunger strike, accusing me of being heartless. Eventually, I gave in, figuring I could find an excuse to send her away after a while. I never imagined that in just two years, Jessica would be acting like this was her own home. In the early hours of the morning, I was woken by shouting in the courtyard. I pulled back the curtains. And there was Jessica, holding a meeting with a group of our security guards. The way she postured, you’d think she was planning a coup. My temper flared. Since when did our household security answer to her? I was going to find out what this girl was up to. I hurried downstairs. As I passed Jessica’s room, I caught a glimpse of the gifts I’d brought back from my trip—piles of them, many still in their original packaging, all stacked in her room. Before I could process that, Jessica’s voice, sharp and commanding, drifted up from downstairs. I quickened my pace. Jessica stood there, chin up, playing the part of the young mistress perfectly. “My mother is back. From now on, you all need to watch what you say. I want security tightened around the entire property. No unauthorized personnel, no gossip, and if you have any useless opinions, you can keep them to yourselves. Do you understand?” Her imperious tone, the way she commanded them—she sounded like she’d been in charge for years. You’d think she was the true head of this household. I suppressed my rage and stepped out in front of the group. “What is all this?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “When did Jessica become the one in charge here? Why wasn’t I informed?” The head of security, a woman who had always been my most trusted guard, visibly relaxed when she saw me. I turned my cold gaze on Jessica. “Jessica, you need to learn your place. If there is a next time, you can pack your bags and get out.” I had humiliated her in front of everyone. Her face turned a blotchy, furious red. “Mom, I… I was just excited you were back,” she stammered. “I wanted to help out…” “That’s enough,” I cut her off. “Why are Lily’s gifts in your room? And this designer outfit—where did you get it? Who bought it for you? This jacket alone costs twenty thousand dollars. Who gave you permission to spend money like that?” Jessica lowered her head, her voice shrinking. “Dad… Dad bought it for me. He said it was a reward for studying so hard.” “Take it off. Now. I’m cancelling all your credit cards. If I find you being this extravagant again, you are out of this house for good.” But instead of backing down, she snapped back at me. “You can’t tell me what to do! I’m spending my dad’s money, not yours!” 3 Her defiant entitlement was so absurd it was almost laughable. What truly infuriated me, though, was that when she raised her voice, all the guards lowered their heads. They were clearly used to being bullied by her. Just as I was about to lose it, Michael walked in. He immediately sensed the tense atmosphere. “Amelia, what are you doing? Why are you picking on a child? It’s not like we can’t afford it. What’s the big deal if Jessica buys a few nice things?” The moment Michael spoke, Jessica’s chin lifted. She shot me a look of pure, triumphant defiance. So that was it. The pretense was over. “I’ll eat what my dad provides and spend what my dad gives me. It has nothing to do with you!” she spat. “From now on, you manage your daughter, and stay out of my business!” She spun around to head upstairs. I lunged forward, grabbing her arm and yanking her back so hard she stumbled. “You don’t get to make the rules in this house! Pack your things and get out. Now!” Jessica glared at me, then turned to Michael, expecting him to intervene. But this time, he just waved a dismissive hand. “Alright, that’s enough. Just go get ready for school.” Just then, Lily came downstairs, ready to leave on her three-wheeled delivery bike. I stopped her, pulling the work vest off her. “You’re taking the day off. You’re not going. We’re going to settle this now, while everyone is here.” “Mom, if I don’t go, they’ll dock my pay. The whole week’s work will be for nothing,” Lily said, her voice filled with anxiety. One of the loyal guards quickly stepped forward, taking the bike and the delivery list from her. “Miss Lily, I’ll cover your route today. You take a rest.” I turned to my personal assistant and told her to bring every security guard from my corporate office over to the house—triple the number we had on site. Before long, the entire estate was surrounded. Not even a fly could get in or out. “No one leaves this property today without my permission.” I had my most trusted guard pull up the security footage from the house servers. The color drained from Michael’s face. “Amelia, you still don’t trust me! We agreed—no cameras in the house! You installed them behind my back!” I ignored him and had my assistant set up a large screen in the courtyard. “You can’t show that!” Jessica screamed, lunging forward to stop them. My guards immediately intercepted her. An image appeared on the screen. The very first frame sent a bolt of pure fury through me. I spun around and slapped Michael across the face. The crack echoed through the courtyard. “This is how you act like a father!”

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