On the third day of our reconciliation, I suddenly realized I didn’t have feelings for Liam anymore. We were at a dinner party. Liam’s childhood friend, Olivia, was watching him peel shrimp for me. “Look at our Liam, all grown up,” she said with a nostalgic sigh. “Putting his wife first. Not like when we were together. Back then, all he wanted to do was fart on me.” She quickly corrected herself, realizing what she’d said. “Oh, not that we were *together* together. We were just kids, you know, playing house. He was so dumb back then, he didn’t even know how to put on a condom. Almost got me pregnant.” The whole table went silent, all eyes on me. When I didn’t say anything, Liam frowned. “Are you really going to get jealous over something that happened a million years ago? If there was anything real between us, you wouldn’t have even been in the picture.” I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just said, calmly, “No, I’m not.” Suddenly, the glass in Liam’s hand shattered. 1 “Let’s break up.” I glanced at the blood dripping from his palm, my voice flat. He froze for a second, then the veins in his arm bulged, his fist clenched tight, blood pouring from between his fingers. “Ava, what the hell is your problem? We just got back together. Olivia was just joking. Who are you trying to piss off with that face?” “What, are you addicted to breaking up with me now?” Everyone at the table held their breath. In the past, whenever he got angry, I would immediately back down, apologize, and beg for his forgiveness. But now, I didn’t even bother to look at him. I just slowly wiped my mouth with a napkin. “No, a real breakup,” I said. “I don’t love you anymore, Liam.” I pushed my chair back. “I’m full. I’m leaving.” He let go of the broken glass and grabbed my arm, his grip like a vice. He shoved the small bowl of peeled shrimp in front of me. “Sit down and eat.” I cried out in pain, but when I looked up, his face was a mask of sneering contempt. All those times we had broken up and gotten back together, I was always the one to crawl back. He actually thought this, this command, was his way of asking me to stay. When I didn’t immediately sit down, his face darkened. I just laughed at his arrogance, and with a sharp twist, I pulled my arm free. “Give them to your precious Olivia.” The whole table gasped. They had never seen me, the quiet, submissive Ava, publicly humiliate Liam before. He stared at me, his face turning from red to purple, his whole body trembling with rage. Olivia, seeing her chance, tugged on his sleeve. “Liam, don’t be mad. You two just got back together. Don’t let me be the cause of another fight.” Her words were like fuel on the fire. “Ava, don’t push your luck,” he snarled. “Apologize to Olivia. Now.” Olivia looked at me, a triumphant glint in her eyes, but her voice was all sweetness and reason. “You don’t have to apologize, Ava. It’s my fault. I’m just so used to joking around with Liam…” I couldn’t stand her fake innocence for another second. “If you don’t know how to talk,” I said, cutting her off, “then don’t.” She was speechless, her fists clenched, her face red with suppressed anger. I ignored both of their furious glares and walked out. “Ava!” Liam’s voice was like ice. “This better be a real breakup this time. Don’t come crying to me in a few days, telling me how much you love me, begging me to take you back!” His words were like daggers in my back. I had loved him so much, I had lost myself. And now, that blind love had turned into a weapon he used to humiliate me. I fought back the tears, and after a long moment, I managed a small, bitter smile. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I’m already over you.” I heard the sound of dishes shattering behind me as I ran out the door. His roar echoed down the hallway. “Get out! And don’t ever let me see you again!” I just laughed. I wanted that more than he did. I was on the curb, trying to hail a cab, when I realized I had left my phone on the table. I had to go back. As I approached the door to the private room, I heard one of his friends speaking. “Liam, man, I think she’s really mad this time. You’re not going to go after her?” “Aren’t you supposed to be proposing on your anniversary in a few days?” “Yeah, what if the bride doesn’t show up?” I peeked through the crack in the door and saw Liam, a smug, cruel smile on his face. “Ava? She won’t last the night. She’ll be on her knees, begging me to take her back. But this time, I’m not going to give in so easily.” “She’ll probably come back with the anniversary ring any minute now.” The room erupted in laughter. I pulled the custom-made ring from my purse and threw it in the nearest trash can. *Happy anniversary, Liam. Marry yourself.* Then I took a deep breath and pushed the door open. 2 The room went silent. A moment later, everyone looked at Liam with a new respect. He just sat there, a smug look on his face, and said, in a long, drawn-out voice, “Ava. We’re broken up. What are you doing back here? Having second thoughts already?” I ignored the sneers and whispers and walked straight to him. He looked at me out of the corner of his eye, waiting for me to beg. I just laughed, grabbed my phone from the table, and said, “You wish. I’m going home to write my resignation letter.” He hadn’t expected that. His eyes turned red, and he hissed, “Don’t bother. You’re fired. And Ava, I think I’ve been too nice to you lately. You need to go home and think about what you’ve done.” He was still waiting for me to apologize. I just shook my head and walked out. The next morning, I went to the office to pack up my things. My colleagues were whispering and pointing at me. Then I saw her. Olivia, sitting at my desk, eating a piece of cake off my keyboard. She saw me and pushed the half-eaten cake toward me, her red lipstick smeared on the frosting. “Ava, I’m so sorry. I accidentally reformatted your computer. Here, have some cake. My treat.” She leaned back in my chair, a triumphant smirk on her face. I glanced at my desk, which had also been “reformatted.” There was nothing left to pack. The lost files were the company’s problem, and the personal items were mostly gifts from Liam. Good riddance. I just gave her a look of pure pity and turned to leave. My indifference seemed to bother her more than any anger would have. “Wait!” she called out. I sighed, exasperated. “Olivia, Liam and I are broken up. I’ve been fired. Can you please stop using him to try and get to me?” She picked up the piece of cake and was about to throw it at me. I instinctively put up my hand to block it, and the cake went flying, right into her face. She stood there, covered in frosting, tears streaming down her face, a ridiculous, pathetic sight. The whole office was staring. Liam rushed over, gently wiping the cream from her face. He looked at me with daggers in his eyes. “Ava, are you insane?! Apologize to her right now!” Olivia, a look of pure victory on her face, leaned into his chest and started to sob. “It’s my fault, Liam. I broke her computer, and she got mad and threw the cake at me.” “I can’t believe you,” he roared at me. “I never knew you were such a petty, vindictive person!” He grabbed my wrist and pointed to the mess on the floor. “Now, you’re going to get down on your knees and eat that cake.” I tried to pull my arm away, but he just held on tighter, forcing me to the ground. “Apologize!” I wouldn’t bend. The pain in my arm was excruciating, but I wouldn’t give in. A cruel, vicious look came over his face. “Ava, why have you been so difficult lately? Do I have to… personally teach you how to be sorry?” He dragged me toward the storage room. He was so much stronger than me, my struggles were useless. He threw me inside and locked the door. I looked around. We were alone in the dark, cold room. He picked up a roll of duct tape. I tried to run, but he pinned me against a shelf and wrapped the tape around my hands. I was trembling. “Liam, you can’t…” The tape went around my legs. He looked at my terrified face, a satisfied smile on his. He gently stroked my hair, then leaned in and whispered in my ear, his voice like ice. “You’ve been so spoiled lately, Ava. Why do you keep embarrassing me in public?” “You’re going to stay in here and think about what you’ve done. When you’re ready to apologize, I’ll let you out.” “I have nothing to apologize for!” He kissed me then, a hard, punishing kiss. When he finally pulled away, he tore off a piece of tape and sealed my lips. “Be a good girl, Ava. You’re about to be Mrs. Hamilton. You need to learn to behave.” I shook my head, my eyes wide with terror, as the heavy iron door slammed shut. 3 Suddenly, a blast of cold air hit me. Someone had turned on the freezer unit. I was bound and gagged, unable to call for help. I curled into a ball, shivering. I don’t know how long I was in there, but just as I was about to lose consciousness, the door opened. “Oh my god,” Olivia gasped. Liam rushed in and scooped me into his arms, his usual composure gone. “Who the hell turned on the freezer?!” he roared. He held me close, his warm body a stark contrast to the icy cold. He was tearing at the tape on my hands and feet, his eyes wet with tears. “Ava, it’s okay. I’m here. We’re going home.” For a moment, I was disoriented. His gentleness was so familiar. For five years, I had mistaken his gentleness for love. I saw Olivia and a group of our colleagues walk into the room, and Liam immediately let go of me. Olivia looked down at me, a smug look on her face. “I forgive you, Ava.” I looked at Liam, confused, but he had already moved to her side. “Don’t let it happen again,” he said, his voice flat. He walked out with her, leaving me on the cold, concrete floor. I pulled myself up and staggered out of the storage room. My phone, finally back in range, started buzzing with notifications. The company group chat was blowing up. “I was wrong. I apologize to Ms. Olivia Vance. My jealousy, my pettiness, my shameless behavior has caused her great harm…” It was a thousand-word apology, written by Liam, from my work account, painting me as a monster. In the past, I would have been furious. I would have demanded an explanation. But now, I just wanted to go home, pack my things, and get as far away from him as possible. On the way home, I booked the earliest flight to London for the next morning. This time, it was really over. I donated all the things he had ever given me, all the clothes I couldn’t take with me. In the end, I had just one suitcase. The next morning, as I was about to leave, he came home. He was in a tailored suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. He was clearly planning on proposing to me today. He saw my suitcase, and his face darkened. “Where are you going? Are you really going to throw a tantrum today of all days?” I just sighed. “Where I’m going is none of your business.” He tried to placate me. “Come on, don’t be like this. You’ve always wanted a proper proposal, right? I promise, you won’t be disappointed.” “And you’re already packed. Perfect. After it’s over, we can go to that resort for the weekend.” He pushed me toward the door. I was trying to figure out how to get away when his phone rang. It was Olivia. “Liam, my stomach hurts. I don’t think I can make it today.” “Don’t worry, I’m on my way,” he said, his voice full of concern. He started the car. “Just take a cab,” he said to me, his attention already elsewhere. Before I could react, the automatic door closed, trapping the hem of my coat. My heart lurched. I pounded on the window, but he was too preoccupied with Olivia to even notice I was there. The car started moving, and I was dragged along, stumbling and falling. The gravel tore at my skin, the world a blur of motion. My coat finally ripped, and I was thrown to the pavement. I lay there, unable to move, my jeans torn and bloody. Any last shred of guilt I had about leaving him vanished. I ignored the pain, hailed a cab, and went straight to the airport. Just as the plane was about to take off, he called. His voice was full of a happy, expectant excitement. “Where are you? We’re all waiting for you.”

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During the divorce, my soon-to-be ex-husband decided to fight me for custody of our son. He said it with the kind of smug confidence that made my teeth ache. “Why don’t we just ask him what he wants?” Alex, clutching his phone, gave me a calm, appraising look from across the living room. “You guys are really doing this?” “Yes,” I nodded, my throat tight. “Fine,” he said, his eyes dropping back to the game on his screen. “I’ll go with Mom. And you should probably give her a bigger settlement. Otherwise, I’m not sure she can afford me.” 1 A moment later, Alex was dragged into the study by his father. My heart hammered against my ribs. I started to follow, but the door slammed shut in my face with a deafening crack. Mark’s furious voice seeped through the wood. “Alex, I’m going to ask you one more time. You’re sure you want to go with your mother? Don’t say I didn’t warn you. She’s a housewife. Do you honestly think she knows how to take care of you?” Alex’s voice, in contrast, was infuriatingly casual. “Dad, it doesn’t really matter to me who I live with. The thing is, Nicole is pregnant with my new little brother. If I stick around, I’m just worried I’ll stress her out.” The mention of his own ugly secret, laid bare by his son, seemed to silence even a man as shameless as Mark. The voices inside dropped to a low murmur. I couldn’t make out the words anymore. All I could feel was a damp heat spreading across my cheeks. I swiped at my face, but the tears just came faster, blurring the expensive, sterile living room I had decorated. I sank onto the sofa, the plush cushions offering no comfort, and finally buried my face in my hands. I don’t know how long I sat there, but eventually, the study door opened again. Mark walked over and stood before me. Seeing me hunched over, sobbing, a flicker of something—maybe pity, maybe guilt—crossed his face. He offered me a tissue from the box on the coffee table. “Alex can stay with you,” he said softly. I lifted my tear-streaked face to look at him. “You can have the house, the car, and I’ll give you five hundred thousand. If you agree to that, we can go to the courthouse and file the papers tomorrow.” I stared at him, numb. I was the one who had screamed for a divorce, but now that it was here, I had no idea how to navigate it. I felt utterly lost. “She probably shouldn’t get the car,” Alex said suddenly, emerging from the study. A bitter smile touched my lips. Of course. Blood is thicker than water. In the end, he would always side with his father. “Mom’s driving?” Alex continued, a smirk in his voice. “Let’s be real. It’s a waste if she doesn’t drive it, and a public menace if she does. Better to just cash it out. That SUV is worth at least seventy, eighty grand. Let’s call it an even million for the house and assets. I think that’s more than fair.” Mark’s gaze on his son was heavy, intense. Alex just shrugged, completely unbothered. Mark looked away. “Fine. We’ll do it that way. I’ll see you at the courthouse at nine tomorrow morning.” 2 The front door clicked shut. With that sound, a part of my heart seemed to shrivel and die. Mark was walking out that door, and this time, he might never come back. We’d met in college. Our love had been the young, earnest kind—the kind you believe is pure and indestructible. I truly thought we would grow old together. I couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment it all started to fracture, how we ended up in this wasteland. “Mom.” Alex’s voice pulled me from my spiral of grief. “I’m starving. Did you make dinner?” I scrambled to my feet, wiping the last of the tears from my face. “I’ll go to the grocery store right now.” A note of theatrical complaint entered his tone. “Mom, you’re about to be a millionaire. Can’t you at least spring for some BBQ?” I took Alex to the smokehouse restaurant downstairs. He expertly wrapped a piece of glistening brisket in a lettuce leaf and handed it to me. “Mom, this is an all-you-can-eat buffet. You gotta eat more to get your money’s worth.” “Oh. Right,” I said, taking it from him. It tasted like ash in my mouth, and I could barely swallow. My mind drifted to all the articles I’d read online, the ones about how divorce psychologically scars children for life. I chose my words carefully. “Son, even though your father and I are getting a divorce, he’s still your dad. It’s okay for me to hate him, but you don’t have to.” “I don’t hate him,” he said, flipping a chicken wing on the grill. “And you should stop, too. Hating someone is exhausting.” He sat across from me, his face partially obscured by the rising steam, and for a moment, I felt like I couldn’t see my son at all. 3 The next morning, I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring into space, when a knock came at my door. “Mom, it’s time. Let’s go.” I jolted, pulled back to reality. Why did he seem even more eager for this divorce than his father? I opened the door and looked at him, a suspicion blooming in my chest. “Why aren’t you getting ready for school?” He gave me a complicated look. “Mom, it’s July first. Summer vacation started.” I had been in such a fog for the past month that I had completely forgotten. A wave of guilt washed over me, and I reached out to straighten the collar of his shirt. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.” He tilted his head and smiled. “If you really feel guilty, you can take me on a trip. We could go to the beach. Scuba diving, fresh seafood… the works.” He made a “V” for victory sign with his fingers. “Deal,” I said, a real smile finally breaking through. The heavy gloom in my heart seemed to lift, just a little. Nicole came with Mark to the courthouse. We weren’t even officially divorced, and she was already so impatient to claim her new role. Alex greeted her without missing a beat. “Hey, Nicole. It’s pretty hot for you to be running around like this. You should be careful you don’t melt my little brother.” “You—” Nicole shot him a glare, turning to Mark for backup. Alex quickly feigned innocence. “Dad, I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s a hundred degrees out here. I’m genuinely worried about the baby.” Mark’s face was a stony mask. He turned to Nicole. “Why don’t you wait in the car? There’s no need for you to come inside.” 4 We submitted the divorce application. Next came the mandatory one-month cooling-off period. As we left the courthouse, Mark pulled up to the curb and called out to us. “Let me give you a ride home.” I was about to refuse, but Alex darted forward and yanked open the car door. “Come on, Mom. I’m dying out here.” I had no choice but to get in. We sat in the back, while Nicole occupied her new place in the passenger seat. She tugged on Mark’s arm, her voice dripping with sugar. “Honey, where should we go to celebrate later?” Alex leaned forward between the front seats. “Hey, Nicole, you guys should go to Giovanni’s. Dad loves that place. He used to take Mom and me there anytime we had something to celebrate.” In the rearview mirror, I saw Nicole’s face fall. It wasn’t very charitable of me, but I felt a small, sharp thrill of satisfaction. Alex leaned back, but he wasn’t done. “So, Mom, where should we go for our trip? Maybe not the beach. How about New Orleans? They say it’s the place to go for a whirlwind romance. Who knows, maybe I can find myself a new dad.” Mark’s expression soured. “You’re planning a trip?” he asked, his eyes finding mine in the mirror. “Yes,” I said, not wanting to talk to him. I turned to look out the window. “A change of scenery would probably do you good,” he said, as if to himself. “But New Orleans is overrated. You should go to the Florida Keys. I have a friend who just opened a hotel in Islamorada.” Alex popped his head forward again. “Seriously, Dad? Think he’d give us a friends-and-family rate? With our resemblance, your buddy would probably recognize me on sight, right?” Mark actually smiled, taking a hand off the wheel to ruffle Alex’s hair. “You’re my son. Of course, it’s not a problem.” The two of them shared a warm father-son moment, completely oblivious to Nicole, whose face was now as dark as a thundercloud. 5 In the end, Alex and I went to the Keys. As he put it, “Never turn down a freebie. It’s just bad manners.” He was buzzing with excitement, having prepared a three-page, color-coded itinerary. Not wanting to be the mom who ruins all the fun, I forced myself to match his energy. A thirteen-year-old boy runs on a limitless supply of it. I spent my days parasailing, jet-skiing, and snorkeling with him, and my nights combing the beach for ghost crabs under the moonlight. By the end of each day, my body ached so much I felt like my bones were about to fall apart. I would collapse into bed and fall asleep instantly, too exhausted to even feel the sting of my broken marriage. When we got back from Florida, I was hoping for a few days of rest. But Alex had other plans. He started critiquing my cooking. “Mom, it’s not that your food is bad, exactly… it’s just that there’s a certain… lack of variety.” I shot him a sideways glance. “You’ve been eating my cooking for thirteen years, and you’re choosing now to complain?” He scratched his head and grinned sheepishly. “It’s not a complaint, just an observation. I’m a growing boy. If you switched things up a bit, I bet I could hit six-foot-two, easy.” “Get out of here,” I said, swatting his cheek playfully. I couldn’t help but laugh. Over the past few weeks, I had finally figured it out. All of this—the trip, the critiques, the constant motion—was his way of keeping me busy. He was deliberately exhausting me so I wouldn’t have time to be sad. My judgment in husbands may have been terrible, but I had raised a true gem of a son. What was there left to be sad about? 6 I decided it was time to get a job. Mark had promised me the settlement and monthly child support, but a million dollars isn’t what it used to be. Alex’s tutoring alone cost nearly twenty thousand a year, not to mention all our other daily expenses. If I just sat back and lived off the savings, it wouldn’t be long before we were in trouble. After more than a decade as a stay-at-home mom, my professional skills were practically non-existent. I figured I should start with something simple and accessible, build up some experience, and then look for something better. I brought the idea up with Alex. If I was going to be working, I wouldn’t be around as much to take care of him. He thought for a moment. “I totally support you going back to work, Mom. But looking for a job is like dating. You have to be strategic.” His little-adult tone made me laugh. I couldn’t resist teasing him. “Oh, really? And how many girlfriends have you had that you’re such an expert?” He replied with unshakable logic. “Just think about it. If you rush into something mediocre just to have something, what happens when a better opportunity comes along? Do you break up with the old job, or do you just stay miserable?” I considered it. He had a point. Juggling a job you don’t like while trying to interview for a new one would be a nightmare. “So, finding a job isn’t the urgent thing,” Alex continued, leading me along. “But there is something else that is.” “What’s that?” I asked. “Canceling my tutors.” “Absolutely not!” I shut him down immediately. “Mom!” he wailed. “Three different subjects a day? I’m your son, not a workhorse!” 7 After a period of intense but friendly negotiation, we agreed to cancel the writing and math tutors. We would keep the computer programming class for now, with the possibility of re-evaluating if his grades improved. “All hail the queen!” Alex cheered, running two victory laps around me before voluntarily sitting down to do a set of math problems. Our life was slowly finding its new rhythm. One day, I was browsing a shopping link my best friend, Jenna, had sent me. Alex came over and peered at my laptop screen for a long time. “Does Aunt Jenna actually make money doing this?” he asked. “She does pretty well,” I said absently, entering my credit card information. He tugged on my arm, his eyes shining. “Mom, I think you’d be amazing at this.” A spark ignited in my mind. Jenna always had a knack for spotting the next big thing. She’d made a small fortune in e-commerce years ago and had recently pivoted to a new social commerce platform. It didn’t have a huge user base yet, but it was incredibly user-friendly, with flexible marketing tools. The growth potential was obvious. Most importantly, it had a one-click fulfillment feature, which meant I wouldn’t have to handle any inventory myself. It was perfect for a beginner like me. “You know what? I’ll call Jenna and get the details.” If my years as a homemaker had given me one superpower, it was the art of procurement. I’m picky. I don’t just look at the price; I demand quality. I was the kind of person who would compare ten different brands and read a hundred reviews before buying a toaster. All my friends came to me for recommendations. As Alex said, a platform like this was practically made for me. With Jenna’s help, I had my online shop up and running in no time. I was strict about quality control, personally testing every product before I listed it. So, while I wasn’t making a fortune, I quickly built a loyal customer base. Just like that, the month was almost over. And then, Mark showed up at my door. He told me he wanted to withdraw the divorce application.

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I was dating a man five years my junior. We’d been together for two years. Liam was proud and prone to drama, picking fights with me every few days over something or other. And because of that devastatingly beautiful face of his, I was always the first to back down, to soothe him, to indulge him. The ninth time Liam told me he wanted to break up, I agreed. That was when he panicked, his wolf-cub eyes turning a desperate, bloodshot red. “Audrey, no,” he’d pleaded. “I’ll be your stand-in… I don’t care. Just… soothe me again. Please.” 1 The night was a boundless stretch of black, pricked with only a few scattered stars. I lifted my head from my computer screen. Eleven o’clock. Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I shut down my laptop and prepared to head home. I had just started the car when my phone rang. It was Liam. I raised an eyebrow; I hadn’t expected him to be the one to break our current cold war. But when I answered, the voice on the other end wasn’t his. It was a man’s voice, vaguely familiar. “Is this Audrey?” It took me a second to place it. One of Liam’s bandmates. “This is she. What’s wrong with Liam?” “Liam’s wasted,” the voice said, rushed. “He keeps yelling your name, but he won’t leave with us. Is there any chance you could come get him?” “…I know where you are. Give me ten minutes.” My office was thankfully close to the bar where his band had a regular gig. By the time I pulled up, the clock read 11:30. I blinked my tired eyes, my only thought to get Liam home as quickly as possible so I could finally fall into bed. I never expected to push open the door to their private rehearsal room and see the supposedly “wasted” man leaning intimately toward a girl. His bandmate spotted me first and gave a nervous cough. Liam froze, then slowly turned to look at me. The girl he’d been cornering scrambled away from him, rushing over to me with a look of pure exasperation. “Audrey, I swear, Liam is having a psychotic episode,” she said, her voice a frantic whisper. “He just lunged at me. There is nothing going on between us!” She leaned in closer. “You can hate him right now, but you can’t hate me.” It was Zoey, the drummer for Liam’s band. We’d met a dozen times, and I’d always liked her. “I know,” I said, a small, tired smile touching my lips. I patted her shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry.” I knew this was a performance, staged entirely for my benefit. He was still angry that I’d accepted a project at work that involved a partnership with my ex-boyfriend, ignoring his furious protests. But it was a corporate directive, a major opportunity. If this project succeeded, it would mean a significant promotion and a huge boost to my resume. I couldn’t sacrifice my future over the ghost of a long-dead relationship. 2 Liam shot a single, cold glance in my direction before slumping back onto the sofa and pointedly taking another swig of his beer. My brow furrowed. I walked over and snatched the bottle from his hand. “We’re going home.” He let me take the beer without a fight, but his tone was laced with venom. “Who are you to tell me what to do?” A wave of exhaustion washed over me. “You don’t want me here?” “…” “You’d rather get home by yourself?” “…” He turned his head away, refusing to look at me, refusing to speak. I gave in. “Fine. Then I’m leaving.” I turned on my heel and walked decisively toward the door. I’d just reached the threshold when the sound of shattering glass exploded behind me. I spun around. Liam’s foot was still resting on the coffee table where a row of empty bottles had been lined up. His eyes, rimmed with red, were locked on me. He looked like a wounded wolf cub, brimming with a hurt he was too proud to ever voice. My heart, as always, softened. I walked back to him, took his hand, and softened my voice. “Come home with me?” It took a long moment before he gave a stiff, reluctant, “Mm.” Only then did I turn to his wide-eyed, shell-shocked bandmates. “I drove. Do you guys need a ride back to campus?” “No! No, we’re good! We’ll grab an Uber!” Zoey said, and the others quickly chimed in with agreement. “Alright. We’re heading out, then.” I nodded and left, Liam letting me lead him by the hand, his tantrum seemingly subdued for now. 3 “Mmph…” The moment the apartment door clicked shut behind us, Liam, who had been silent the entire ride home, suddenly spun me around, lifting me onto the console table in the entryway. Before I could even process it, his lips were on mine. I have to admit, the speed of a man’s progress in this particular area is astonishing. He’d gone from clumsy, innocent first kisses to this—a practiced, predatory confidence. He kissed me until my legs went weak, my body feeling like it was melting. The heavy scent of alcohol on his breath made my head spin. It wasn’t until his warm hand slid from my waist toward the hem of my skirt that I snapped out of the daze and stopped him. “Go take a shower.” Liam froze, his eyes dark with a barely concealed desire. He bit my lower lip, a small act of petulant protest. After a few ragged breaths against my ear, he relented and trudged obediently to the bathroom. By the time Liam emerged, wrapped in a cloud of steam, I was lying in bed, already half-asleep. I squinted at him, and my breath hitched. As if deliberately trying to seduce me, he had come out with only a towel slung low on his hips. Droplets of water still clung to his skin, tracing paths down the well-defined planes of his abs before disappearing into the V of his torso. Liam seemed oblivious, leaning over me with his dark, damp hair falling into his eyes. He whispered my name, his voice soft and low. “Audrey…” I fought to suppress the direction my thoughts were heading and reached for the hairdryer on the nightstand. He sat on the edge of the bed, and I began to dry his hair, running my fingers through the wet strands until they were soft and fluffy. I set the hairdryer down. “All done.” But Liam didn’t move. He just stared at me, his eyes shimmering, the corners of his mouth turning down in the prelude to a pout. “Audrey, my head is killing me.” “And whose fault is it that you drank so much?” “…” He didn’t argue, just wrapped his arms around my waist, burying his face against my stomach and letting out a few pathetic whimpers. “It hurts.” I had never been able to resist him. I sighed, my hands going to his temples, gently massaging them in slow circles. After a while, I asked, “Is that helping?” “Mm-hmm.” We stayed like that in silence. I don’t know how much time passed, but my hands started to ache. The moment I stopped, Liam nuzzled his fluffy head into the crook of my neck, his hands beginning to roam again. “Liam—” I tried to stop him, but the man in my arms was already deploying his ultimate weapon: a wounded, pleading tone. “Audrey, it’s been three days. You haven’t sent me a single text.” His voice was a mumble against my skin. “I’ve missed you so much.” I was exhausted from a long week at work and had no intention of giving in, but I was already losing the battle against temptation. As he spoke, he began nibbling on my earlobe, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the small of my back. “Audrey…” I sighed, defeated. “Just once.” I don’t remember if he agreed. I don’t remember who turned off the lights. All I remember is a room filled with the rise and fall of bodies, lost in the dark. 4 The next morning, the room was flooded with bright sunlight. I clutched my aching lower back and glared at the utterly satisfied expression on Liam’s sleeping face. I couldn’t resist giving him a light kick. Liam didn’t even open his eyes. He just grunted, pulled me closer, and wrapped his arms around me. His voice was a sleepy, morning-after rasp. “Audrey, let’s sleep a little longer.” “Didn’t we agree on ‘just once’?” Perhaps sensing the edge in my voice, Liam’s eyes fluttered open. He knew perfectly well I had to work today. He gave me a look that was pure, drowsy charm, fully aware that he had pushed things too far last night. He started nuzzling my hand like a cat seeking forgiveness. “I just love you so much.” My anger, which hadn’t been that serious to begin with, completely evaporated. I disentangled myself from his embrace, refusing to get drawn into another lazy morning in bed, and hurried to get ready. When I came out of the bathroom, I saw that the man who had been feigning sleep was already busy in the kitchen. He’d only pulled on a pair of sweatpants. I leaned against the doorframe, watching the smooth, powerful lines of the muscles in his back as he moved. Even after seeing him bare countless times, I still felt my mouth go dry. God, there was just something about a man in his early twenties. I took the breakfast he’d prepared for me, ready to rush out the door. But out of the corner of my eye, I saw the droop of his shoulders, the slight downturn of his lips. Damn it. I forgot the goodbye kiss. I quickly leaned in and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “You be good, okay? The project will be over this week. No more being angry, alright?” “Okay.” A smile spread across Liam’s face, his eyes lighting up. He cupped the back of my head, deepening the kiss. I felt something begin to stir against my leg and, blushing, quickly pushed him away and fled the scene. As I left, I tossed a final word over my shoulder. “Pervert!” I could hear Liam’s delighted laughter behind me. “Only for you, Audrey!” 5 Five days later, the project was a success. It was a win-win for both companies, and a joint celebration dinner was planned. As the lead representatives from our respective firms, my attendance—and Mark’s—was mandatory. I gave Liam a heads-up beforehand. An hour of schmoozing and clinking glasses passed. I finally found my seat at the table and took a moment to check my phone. In that short time, a flood of messages had come in from Liam. Don’t you dare talk to him! Don’t even look at him! When is it over? Can I come pick you up? I miss you, Audrey~ A smile bloomed on my face as I read them, and I quickly typed out my replies. You can come get me now. I haven’t talked to him. Haven’t even looked at him. I miss you too. Just as I sent the last message, a low male voice murmured beside me. “Is your phone really that interesting?” I turned. At some point, the colleague sitting next to me had been replaced by Mark. He was leaning his head slightly, trying to peer at my screen. I had a privacy screen protector, so he probably couldn’t see anything, hence the question. When we were working together, I could maintain a professional distance. Now that the project was over, I had no desire to interact with him at all. Luckily, my junior colleague, a sweet girl named Holly, jumped in. “Oh, you don’t know, Mr. Davis? Audrey’s been dating a guy five years younger than her for two years now! They’re still totally in their honeymoon phase!” Mark’s face immediately darkened. But Holly, young and oblivious to social cues, continued to gush about her “ship,” sharing all the cute couple moments she’d witnessed. I have zero interest in sharing the sweet details of my current relationship with my ex. I glanced at the time and stood up. “I’m going to head out. You all have a good night.” Holly’s voice grew even more excited. “Going to see your boyfriend?” I smiled and nodded. “Yep. The kid at home gets a little clingy.” 6 I was waiting by the hotel entrance, leaning against a pillar and scrolling through my phone, when I saw that Liam hadn’t arrived yet. Suddenly, a hand clamped around my wrist, yanking me violently to the side. I was wearing heels and nearly twisted my ankle. Once I regained my balance, I followed the arm up to its owner and found myself staring at Mark. The annoyance I was feeling curdled into disgust. “Mark, what the hell is wrong with you?” I tried to wrench my hand free, but his grip only tightened. “Let go!” He ignored me, his brow furrowed in a tight knot. “You have a boyfriend? Since when?” His tone—as if he’d just caught me cheating on him—was so absurd I almost laughed. Is this guy for real? “Mark, let me remind you, since your memory seems to be failing: we broke up three years ago. Why on earth would I need to inform you that I have a boyfriend?” I stared at him, incredulous. “You can’t possibly be so arrogant that you thought we were just on a three-year break, did you?” Mark stared back, a look of dawning, painful confusion on his face. Oh my god. He actually did. I suddenly wondered just how pathetic and clingy he must have thought I was all this time. I really wasn’t, was I? Just then, a group of young people walked out of the hotel. I seized the opportunity and raised my voice. “Mark, I already have a boyfriend. Are you sure you want to keep holding my hand like this in public?” Mark is obsessed with his public image. Noticing the curious glances from the group, he immediately dropped my hand. I took two quick steps away from him, my voice ice-cold. “Stay away from me. I don’t want my boyfriend to see this and get the wrong idea.” Speak of the devil. A black Range Rover pulled up right in front of me. The window rolled down, revealing Liam, sunglasses on, looking straight at me. Just the sight of my boy’s beautiful face was enough to dissipate the foul mood Mark had put me in. Ignoring the man-shaped statue of melodrama standing beside me, I walked straight to the car and got into the passenger seat.

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“She’s back. You need to leave.” When Rhys said the words, his voice was flat, devoid of emotion. I let myself freeze for a moment. One… two… three. I lowered my head, my body beginning to tremble almost imperceptibly. When I looked up again, my eyes were shimmering pools of unshed tears. I bit down hard on my lip, letting the color drain from my face. My slender frame, silhouetted against the afternoon sun, seemed fragile, on the verge of collapse. Rhys’s brow furrowed. He turned, leaned over his massive mahogany desk, and scribbled furiously on a check. “This is for your trouble,” he said, not quite meeting my eyes. “You knew this was the deal. Isabelle is back. There’s nothing I can do.” Jackpot. I nearly broke character when I saw the string of zeros. I dug my nails sharply into my thigh, forcing a single, perfect tear to trace a path down my cheek. My voice trembled as I asked, “Is there really no chance for us?” The sadness, to be fair, wasn’t entirely an act. In this economy, a golden goose this plump and this guilt-ridden was a rare find. Rhys looked away, a flicker of pity in his eyes. He pressed the check into my hand, then pulled me into a brief, stiff hug. “You’ll find someone better,” he murmured, his voice raspy. No, I really won’t. The thought was immediate and certain. I’d been in this business for years. A mark this wealthy and this sentimental was practically a unicorn. Fearing he might try for some kind of dramatic, drawn-out farewell scene, I gently pushed him away. “I understand,” I whispered, my voice thick with manufactured grief. Without another word, I turned and walked away. I heard him call my name, but I didn’t stop. An hour later, I was gone. My luggage was packed, and the sprawling villa held no trace that I had ever existed. I didn’t relax until the eight million dollars from the check was safely transferred into my bank account. Then, a text from Rhys buzzed on my phone. — Where did you go? I could understand his concern. In his mind, I was a delicate, helpless flower, a girl who was constantly being wronged by the world, a girl who loved him beyond reason. He was probably picturing me sobbing in some cramped, lonely apartment. The reality was slightly different. At that moment, a team of young, handsome male masseuses was diligently working on my shoulders and feet. One was peeling grapes with long, slender fingers and feeding them to me between sips of vintage Bordeaux. I was so blissfully relaxed I couldn’t even be bothered to open my eyes, let alone reply to a text. But then, for the next two or three days, Rhys kept calling. And texting. Over and over. I found it… odd. Wasn’t the ghost of his past love finally back in the flesh? 2 Ordinarily, I would have replied. As a professional girlfriend surrogate, my philosophy was always customer-centric. You never know when a client’s idealized memory might tarnish and they come looking to rent your services again. I glanced at my studio’s financial reports and then at my swelling bank balance. With a sigh of resignation, I texted Rhys back a simple, curated message: I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. The less you say, the more they wonder. The more you tell them not to worry, the more they do. It’s a fundamental flaw in the male psyche, and I knew exactly how to exploit it. The next day, I opted for a bright, vibrant makeup look, baked a cake from scratch, and headed to the Wyatt Corporation headquarters. Wyatt Hayes, one of the city’s most notorious heirs, was the epitome of the reckless playboy. His profligacy was legendary, rivaling even Rhys’s quiet wealth. I pushed open the door to his office and found him with a young, ponytailed woman perched on his lap, the two of them tangled in an intimate embrace. I froze. I didn’t even have to act. A genuine wave of disappointment washed over me. Seeing me, Wyatt panicked, shoving the woman off his lap. He cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure. “Uh… Lily, why don’t you head out for a bit.” The woman shot me a resentful glare before reluctantly leaving. Unlike Rhys’s preference for the fragile, damsel-in-distress type, Wyatt’s ideal was the stubborn, scrappy Cinderella. So, I just stood there, my eyes downcast, silent. “As you can see,” he said, gesturing vaguely at the empty space where the girl had been. “She looks more like Vivian did back then. We should break up.” I counted to thirty in my head before finally whispering, “Okay.” I sniffled, then walked quickly to his desk. My words came out in a rush, laced with a tremor, a kind of panicked energy as I carefully placed the cake box before him. “I won’t bother you again. I know you love sweets, and I spent a long time on this cake, but…” I lifted my head to look at him, my expression earnest, heartbroken, my voice trailing off. “Could you… not share it with her? I made it for you…” It was a pathetic, desperate plea. My eyes welled with tears that refused to fall as I held his gaze. He looked flustered, grabbing a tissue and taking a step toward me. I took a step back. “Stella…” he sighed. “I’ll eat the cake.” He picked up his desk phone. “Liz, get the paperwork ready. Transfer the title of the downtown Park Avenue condo to Stella’s name.” He looked back at me. “It’s the only thing I can do. Please, take it. Forgive me.” My heart skipped a beat. The next second, I found my voice, shouting through my tears, “You think this is what I wanted?” And with that, I fled his office, not even waiting for the elevator. I ran all the way to the fire escape. Once inside the stairwell, out of sight, I burst out laughing. Sorry, but this was exactly what I wanted. 3 I heard later that Wyatt actually chased after me, that he’d been searching for me everywhere. By then, I was busy moving. The Park Avenue condo was one of the smaller units, but it was still worth over thirty million. The sale I’d arranged wouldn’t close for another month, so I figured I’d live in it for a while. I was so close to my goal. My elation, however, was short-lived. That same afternoon, I was summoned to the office of Titan number three: Declan. His voice, when he spoke, was a cool, magnetic baritone. “We’re done.” A spark of irritation flared through me, and before I could stop myself, the words slipped out. “You’re breaking up with me, too?!” The moment the word left my mouth, I clapped a hand over it, wanting to smack myself. Declan’s eyebrow arched. A dangerous chill crept into his gaze as he lifted his head. “…Too?” My throat went dry. I couldn’t force out a single word. I watched as he slowly removed his black suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair. He leaned against his desk, loosening his tie with a deliberate tug. Then, he extended a hand and beckoned to me with one finger, his face a blank mask. “Come here.” Looking at the set of his jaw, the way his muscles flexed… He wasn’t going to hit me, was he? That broad chest, those powerful biceps… he looked like he could end me with a couple of punches. When I didn’t move, he started walking toward me. I immediately backed away, stammering, “No, no, it’s not necessary. I wish you all the best, good fortune, happy breakup.” I had almost reached the door when his foot shot out, kicking it shut. He braced one hand against the door, trapping me. A slow, cold smile spread across his lips, but his eyes were terrifying. “Why don’t you translate for me? What, exactly, does ‘breaking up with you, too,’ mean?” “It’s… well…” I managed a weak, awkward laugh. “Hmm?” “…” “Are you two-timing me?” I shook my head violently. “Three-timing, then?” I froze. The smile on his face turned to ice. He raised his hand, and I instinctively ducked, covering my head. I started babbling, trying to explain and defend myself all at once. “I know this violates our agreement, but you were chasing your old flame, and I was just doing my job as a stand-in. It’s just a few side hustles in my spare time, that’s all! Fine, I don’t want your money, okay? Wait, no…” My brain caught up with my mouth. “Wait a minute, we never actually signed a contract, did we?” The realization hit me like a bolt of lightning. The middleman, old Wang, had just said he was introducing me to a similar gig, the CEO of the Hale Corporation. We’d met, things had started, but the paperwork was never finalized. I’d figured the head of a company that big wouldn’t stiff me over a few bucks, so I hadn’t pushed it. Ha! Perfect! My spine straightened instantly. “Break up, then. Fine. We never signed anything, so you can’t sue me for breach of contract.” “What contract?” He frowned. “The stand-in contract, obviously! I don’t want your money anymore. Ah, what a waste, though. All those dinners, movies, and trips over the last six months…” I trailed off, genuinely mourning the lost income. Declan’s eyes darkened. He enunciated each word, his voice dangerously low. “Are you saying… that for the past five months, our dates, the movies, even…” He stopped, his jaw tight. “You did it all for money?” The last few words were practically ground out between his teeth. He looked like he wanted to hit me again. A shiver went down my spine. “But… I’m a professional stand-in. An actress. A professional…” He lowered his head, closing his eyes. For a long moment, there was silence. Then, he slammed his fist into the door right next to my head. I saw that his eyes were red-rimmed when he looked at me again, his voice trembling slightly. “And them… did you…?” He struggled with the words. “I mean…” “You and the others… did you ever… you know…” He couldn’t finish the sentence, his meaning veiled and hesitant. But it made my heart do a strange little flutter. It was almost as if we had been in a real relationship. “Are you talking about… sleeping with them? No. Never. I sell a performance, not my body.” “Then that time with us…” “All fake. A harmless, non-toxic hallucinogen.” A wave of relief washed over his face, so potent he seemed to deflate like a balloon. “Get out,” he said, his voice hollow. I left, completely bewildered. I thought that was the end of it. Until, at a gala a few weeks later, I saw them. The three men, dressed in starkly different suits, were sitting together, drinking. And then, in unison, they all looked at me. 4 I wanted to run. I truly did. Rhys, in a pristine white suit, looked elegant and coolly detached. Wyatt was in a flashy burgundy number, open at the chest, exuding a roguish charm. And Declan, tall and imposing in a classic black suit, radiated an even more intense pressure than usual. Three of the city’s four most eligible bachelors. Yes, they were handsome. Yes, it was a beautiful picture. But I didn’t dare look. I was terrified they were plotting my demise. I took a sharp breath and turned, planning to melt into a less conspicuous corner of the ballroom. Then I heard my name called from behind me. “Stella.” The voice was sharp, arrogant. It was Wyatt. I froze, took a deep breath, and channeled my inner “stubborn Cinderella.” Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to turn back around. To my horror, all three of them were now walking toward me. Wyatt continued, a smirk playing on his lips. “Didn’t you say you wouldn’t chase me? Following me all the way here, huh?” Rhys’s brow twitched. He shot Wyatt a look before turning to me. “Why didn’t you answer my calls? I was worried about you.” I was starting to panic. My eyes darted instinctively to Declan. His face was a mask of cold indifference. “Yes,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “I’d like to know the answers to both of their questions as well.” I stood there, stunned, for three long seconds. Then, I pressed my hand to my forehead, feigning a sudden illness. “My head hurts.” Rhys reacted first, stepping forward and gently massaging my temples. “You can’t even take care of yourself without me. Isabelle has plans tonight. Will you be my date?” Before I could refuse, Wyatt yanked me away. “She came here for me! Why should she be your date?” As they started to bicker, I tried to catch Declan’s eye, desperately trying to signal him, to ask if he’d told them everything. Instead, he spoke up, his tone leisurely. “I don’t have a date either.” I just… stared. The other two, having reached a stalemate, started escalating their offers. “Stella, be my date. You can walk the red carpet with me next month. I’ll get you a custom couture gown.” Ooh. That was tempting. My eyes lit up. “A dress? What’s that?” Wyatt scoffed. “Stella, a red Ferrari LaFerrari. Think about it.” My eyes got even brighter. It was Declan’s turn. He looked at me, his expression cold and impassive. He uttered a single word. “No.” I mentally waved a little white flag. He was out. “Are you all holding an auction? In that case, I offer ‘Willows and Green Mountains’ by the master painter Su Yunchuan.” The voice was warm and clear. I immediately turned to see him. Ethan Fang. Great. Now the whole set was here. All four of New York’s princes. He was also one of my targets for the evening. I gathered my skirt, ready to glide over and give him my most dazzling introduction, when I heard Declan’s chilling voice. “Stella, you’d better choose… carefully.” The threat was unmistakable. My smile froze on my face. “Maybe you could add a little something to your offer? Like, some Bvlgari jewels or…” Declan swirled the wine in his glass, shaking his head like the world’s most handsome cheapskate. “No.” 5 I was starting to suspect Declan was here purely to sabotage me. Which is why, during our obligatory dance, I “accidentally” stepped on his feet several times. As the orchestra played a sweeping waltz, Declan finally spoke. “What are you doing here tonight?” “Business,” I replied curtly, my eyes scanning the room for my real target. “Scouting for your next meal ticket?” I couldn’t read his tone. I didn’t feel angry, but I didn’t feel like answering him either. Declan let out a short, humorless laugh. “All that ambition and no sense.” My head snapped toward him, my brow furrowed. “Because I’m richer than all of them,” he explained simply. “But you’re cheap!” I shot back, launching into a list of grievances. “On our first date, you took me to your company cafeteria. For holidays, all I got were these awful little pastries. And my Christmas gift was corporate swag with the Hale logo on it!” I continued, “Rhys gave me a six-figure credit card right at the start, and Wyatt just gave me a condo downtown…” Declan’s face grew darker and darker. He cut me off before I could finish. “Do you really want to be discussing your three-timing ways in the middle of a crowded ballroom?” I clamped my mouth shut. Then I lowered my voice, defending myself in a whisper. “Don’t spread rumors. I was a perfectly legitimate contract stand-in. I just took on a few extra clients…” I sighed dramatically. “You capitalists will never understand the struggles of us common folk…” As I spoke, I caught a glimpse of Ethan leaving the room. My heart leaped. I pushed away from Declan. “I have to go to the restroom.” Without a second thought, I hurried after him, completely missing the sudden, predatory glint in Declan’s eyes. 6 The meeting was a resounding success. Even in a place as unglamorous as a public restroom hallway, Ethan’s refined, aristocratic air was undeniable. It took all my willpower to suppress my giddy excitement. But as I rounded a corner… I was slammed violently against the wall. Declan’s pupils were so dark I couldn’t read the emotion in them, but his hands trembled with rage, and his face was a thundercloud. I felt the ghost of his fingertips trail across my neck, making me flinch. Then his husky voice was right beside my ear. “If you’re going to be a gold-digger, you might as well dig in my backyard. Hmm?” The last syllable curled upwards, his breath warm against my skin. For a split second, something exploded in my brain, and my face flushed hot. I couldn’t help it. The leading man was just too handsome. The leading lady was losing control. The air crackled with a romantic, cinematic tension. And in the next moment… Declan was knocked to the ground by a single punch. And I, elegant and beautiful in my midnight-blue gown… ended up on the floor with a bruised tailbone from trying to break up a fight between two grown men. 7 It’s not that Wyatt was deeply in love with me. It was more likely his possessive streak acting up. But his little outburst was enough to snap me back to reality. “Look, whatever. The three of us are done,” I announced, getting to my feet. “I’m just a struggling actress trying to make a living. I’m begging you, leave me alone.” I glared at them both. “If you’re going to fight, wait until I’m gone.” With that, I clutched my aching backside and limped away as fast as I could. When I got to the entrance, there wasn’t a single taxi in sight. Just a familiar black Bentley. I glanced back and saw the two of them heading for the door. Gritting my teeth, I made a decision and hurried to the car. “Driver, let’s go, quick!” I said, sliding into the back seat. The second I sat down, I realized the space felt cramped, the atmosphere… awkward. Rhys was leaning over, fastening a necklace around the throat of a beautiful woman beside him. I had just plopped down right where his ass had been. The posture was mortifying. The delicate beauty saw me and, with an understanding look, immediately scooted over to make room. She and I looked about seventy percent alike. I understood instantly. I offered a sycophantic smile. “Mr. Davies, could we maybe get going?” Rhys looked at me, then at the two men approaching the car, a strange smile playing on his lips. “They’re old friends. We should say hello.” Friends my ass! I immediately reached for the door handle, but Rhys stopped me. I was so frustrated I could have laughed. I really should have checked my horoscope before leaving the house today. “Rhys, my man! Quite the party you’ve got in here,” Wyatt drawled, his smile not reaching his eyes. Rhys’s lips curled. “You flatter me.” Declan, however, was looking straight at me. “So this is your choice?” I had only one option… I turned to the beautiful woman. “Oh! You must be Isabelle, right? Your dress is gorgeous! Who’s the designer? And your makeup is flawless! Your skin is amazing. Mine just can’t handle late nights. Do you have any skincare products or a spa you’d recommend?” The words tumbled out of me at lightning speed as I slowly pressed the button to raise the window. The second it was fully closed, I yelled at the front seat, “Driver, everyone’s here! Let’s go!” 8 The car peeled away from the curb. Rhys’s smile vanished, replaced by a scrutinizing look. “How do you know them?” I tilted my head toward him, then leaned forward again, focusing on Isabelle. “So, what did you study abroad? Are you thinking of getting into the entertainment industry now that you’re back?” Rhys’s patience wore out. “Stella.” “Thanks, you can just drop me off up ahead.” Suddenly, he grabbed my hand. I tried to pull away instantly. “Mr. Davies, we’ve already broken… our contract is over. You don’t want to make Isabelle jealous!” “She’s my sister.” “…” “So you two… you guys… ah… that’s pretty… exciting, huh?” I don’t know if it was the unquenchable fire of gossip burning in my eyes or if Rhys had just reached his limit, but I was promptly kicked out of the car. The moon was bright, the stars faint. I was standing beside a vast, empty field. There were no cars in sight. I might have to walk all night. But my mood was strangely calm, almost cheerful. It was all over. My dream could finally begin. A pair of high beams lit up the road behind me. I couldn’t see anything, so I moved to the side of the road. A black Bugatti, its lights now dimmed, pulled up beside me. “Get in.” His gaze was intense. It was Declan. I couldn’t figure out what he wanted, and frankly, his physique still intimidated me, so I obediently got in the car. When I gave him the address, he looked surprised for a moment, then his expression reverted to its usual cold mask. When we arrived downstairs, I gave a formal bow. “Thank you, Mr. Hale. I appreciate the ride.” Declan didn’t say anything, but he followed me into the elevator. A sense of panic began to set in. “Um, you can just drop me here. Thanks. You don’t need to come up. The building is very secure.” “Don’t come any closer. Stop following me. If you keep this up, I’m calling the police!” I walked faster, trying to get to my door first so I could slip inside and lock him out. I turned around and saw… He was unlocking the door to the apartment next to mine. You have got to be kidding me. So much for burying the hatchet. Wait a second… does this mean Declan and Wyatt have something going on? They even bought condos next to each other?!

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For twenty-five years, I was in love with a boy from the wrong side of the tracks. We tumbled through life together, a chaotic whirlwind of shared struggles and scraped-together dreams. My sister, Rory, had a different kind of love story. Her boyfriend treated her like a princess, enshrined in gold and jade. When someone made a pass at her once, the man’s hands and feet were broken, and he was thrown into the sea for the sharks by the next morning. The day a rival of Ash’s couldn’t find him and took out their anger on me instead, smashing the fish stall that was my entire livelihood, I cried until I couldn’t breathe. That same night, my sister’s boyfriend forgot to give her a goodnight kiss, so he had fireworks set off across the entire city for three days and three nights just to apologize. Her legendary romance went viral. A legion of followers waited with bated breath for every update. I was one of them. The day Ash was supposed to propose to me, he vanished. At the same time, I was scrolling through my phone when I saw Rory’s latest post. “This time, I’ll let you have your happiness with her.” The accompanying photo showed her locked in a fierce kiss, the corner of her lip bitten red. The man’s face was pixelated, a mosaic of blurred color. But the scar on the back of his hand, a pale, jagged mark from a burn… it was identical to Ash’s. … 1 “Oh my god, my favorite love blogger just updated!” “Damn, her boyfriend has so much tension. Even his scars are sexy.” Hearing the chatter from the customers at my stall, my focus slipped. The blade in my hand slid, slicing deep into my finger. “Are you blind?” a man barked, pointing at the fish on the cutting board. “You cut the gallbladder. How are we supposed to eat that now?” “I’m so sorry, so sorry,” I stammered, bowing my head, my words tumbling out in a frantic apology. “I’ll give you another one, on the house.” Thankfully, a regular customer nearby stepped in to smooth things over, and the man didn’t escalate. “But Anya,” the regular said kindly after he’d left, “that dress really isn’t practical for cleaning fish.” I looked down at the fabric clinging to my body, a bitter taste filling my mouth. I hated this dress. It was tight, impractical, and stained easily. But today was the day Ash was supposed to propose. I just wanted to look beautiful for him. Finally, after the last customer of the rush was gone, Ash came running up, his breath coming in ragged pants as he wrapped his arms around me. “Did some bastard give you trouble just now? I’ll go kill him.” Any other time, I would have grabbed his arm, pleaded with him not to cause a scene. But as I watched him clench his fist, my eyes fixed on the familiar scar on his hand. I took an involuntary step back. I refused to let myself entertain the possibility. Just then, my phone rang. It was Rory. “Congratulations, big sis! Did he pop the question?” “I have good news, too! I got the scholarship, and my boyfriend bought me a huge condo!” I forced my lips into a smile. “That’s amazing, Rory. Congratulations.” “Anya? What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice sharp, sensing the tremor in mine. “It’s nothing. I just cut my hand while cleaning a fish,” I said softly. “No way. Put me on speaker!” The moment I did, her voice, sharp and furious, blasted from the phone. “Ash, you son of a bitch! Aren’t you supposed to be proposing to my sister? Why is she still gutting fish?” Ash shot back without missing a beat, “You don’t know shit. Mind your own business.” He scowled. “Proposal or not, she’s my wife.” He hung up, his brow furrowed. I watched him, his eyes red-rimmed with what looked like concern as he rummaged for a Band-Aid, and I pushed down the strange, sick feeling coiling in my stomach. Not long after, Rory herself burst onto the scene, a full-blown paramedic’s first-aid kit in her arms. “I’m really fine, Rory. You’re making a mountain out of a molehill,” I said, feigning annoyance. She pouted, her expression petulant. “When it comes to my sister, nothing is ever too much!” She looked around my cramped, damp stall. “You should move into the condo my boyfriend gave me.” “How could I possibly do that?” “Your boyfriend is so good to you. Maybe he’s planning for it to be your marital home?” A faint blush crept up Rory’s cheeks. Ash, who had been leaning against the counter, glanced over at her, the corner of his mouth twitching into a slight, almost imperceptible smile. Then Rory’s tone shifted, a sharp edge returning to her voice. “Unlike some people, who can’t even take care of their own wife properly,” she said, directing a pointed look at Ash. “Still needs me, the family servant, to come running.” With that, she took a roll of gauze and began wrapping my finger with practiced ease. At her last words, Ash’s brow twitched again, a flicker of something I couldn’t name. A strange impulse took hold of me. I looked at him. “Ash,” I said, my voice steady. “Let’s just get married.” I turned to my sister. “Rory isn’t married yet. She can be our maid of honor.” Rory froze. The half-wrapped roll of gauze slipped from her fingers and fell to the wet floor. “I’m not planning on getting married,” she said, her head bowed so low I couldn’t see her face. “I’m just playing around.” Ash’s body went rigid at her words. “How can you say that? You have to take relationships seriously!” I said, reaching out to touch the top of her head. She flinched away, a subtle but definite movement. “It’s impossible for us,” she murmured. Then she lifted her head, a bright, brittle smile plastered on her face. “You have to be happy, Anya. Promise me.” “I still want to beat the hell out of that guy,” Ash grumbled, his voice laced with frustration, breaking the strange tension. “Who the hell does he think he is, making you bow and scrape like that?” “Ash!” I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “You promised me you wouldn’t get into any more trouble. We’re just ordinary people. We can’t afford to cross someone with money and power.” He stopped, his body still, and a strange expression crossed his face. Rory let out an ill-timed laugh. I looked at her, confused. Realizing her slip, she quickly linked her arm through mine, her touch intimate. “It’s just… this is the first time I’ve ever seen him back down. It’s kind of funny.” For a split second, I thought I saw a look of pure indulgence in Ash’s eyes as he looked at her. I shook my head, clearing it. These two were the most important people in my life. Ash could be impulsive, but he was devoted to me in every other way. Besides, he was a street brawler and I was a fishmonger. Where would he get the kind of money to turn someone into a princess? When Rory left, she clung to me, her face a mask of reluctance. But my eyes caught a glimpse of her phone screen. Her pinned chat at the top of her messaging app was with someone named “Mr. Won’t Say Yes.” I remembered her joking back in high school. “One day, I’m going to call myself ‘Miss Courageous,’” she’d declared. “And I’ll go after anyone I want.” “What are you staring at?” Ash’s voice broke through my thoughts as he wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Are you mad that I missed the proposal today?” He lifted me effortlessly, settling me onto his lap. “I ran into someone I have a history with. An old enemy.” He held me tight. “I was afraid he’d find out about you, threaten you. So I led him away.” He kissed my temple. “We’ll have another proposal ceremony, I promise.” I remained still, my fingers tracing the scar on his hand. “I saw one just like this today…” He immediately pulled his sleeve down, covering the mark, and changed the subject. “You’re on your period. You shouldn’t be getting your hands in cold water. I’ll wash your underwear for you.” I leaned back on the sofa, my heart a hollow drum, and mindlessly scrolled through short videos on my phone. Suddenly, I landed on the campus confession page for my sister’s university. I tapped on it out of curiosity. I saw that the page was obsessed with a specific couple, secretly documenting their moments. I chuckled at the blogger’s sneaky devotion to her ‘ship.’ Then I saw a video where the girl was wearing a dress identical to Rory’s. It was a designer piece I had bought for her birthday, a gift that had cost me nearly a year’s savings. She had told me she adored it, that no one else at school would have anything like it. I stared at the screen, my finger hovering over the video, trembling slightly. I scrolled down. The blog had started shipping this couple three years ago. Three years ago? That was when Rory had just started college here. A chill spread through my entire body. I clicked on the very first video. Rory’s back was to the camera. She was calling out to a man, her voice sweet as honey. “Brother…” The camera angle shifted. The man’s face wasn’t visible, but the hand that reached out to cup her cheek was identical to Ash’s. Even the scar—its position, its size—was exactly the same. In the next few videos, the girl’s face was never shown. But the moment I heard her voice, a roar filled my ears, and my breath caught in my throat. The comment section was a frenzy of excitement. “OMG, you can just tell from her voice she’s gorgeous!” “I’m so jealous of the OP, getting to see this up close every day!” The account owner replied: “She’s my roommate! They’re so in love, but the guy is trapped by some other woman who he’s indebted to for saving his life. She’s demanding he marry her.” “I’ve had to wipe her tears so many times. I swear, I want to kill that bitch myself!” Tears blurred my vision completely. I swiped to the next video. The date stamp was the day of my fifth anniversary with Ash. Rory was passed out drunk at a karaoke bar. A moment later, a man burst into the frame, his movements frantic as he gathered her into his arms. After checking that she was okay, he pressed her down onto the sofa, his anger melting into a series of desperate, punishing kisses. Finally, he lifted her into his arms, his breath ragged. Before he left, he shot a warning glare at the camera, and the screen went black. Staring at the final, familiar half-profile of his face, I felt a profound and bottomless despair. The caption read: “Risking my life for this content. Guess if my OTP finally went all the way tonight!” The comments flooded in: “I’ll bet you a bag of chips they did!” “Isn’t it obvious?!” The last video was the one with the highest view count. It was a video of the two of them kissing on the Concord Bridge. The date was today. The day Ash was supposed to propose to me. The Concord Bridge was the highest bridge in the city, the most popular spot for couples. I had asked Ash so many times to go there with me. I’d told him we didn’t even have to go onto the bridge itself, knowing he was afraid of heights. Every single time, without exception, he had refused. The reason was always the same: it was for my own good, for my safety. It turned out he had already done it. With another woman—my own sister. It wasn’t that he wouldn’t go. It was that he wouldn’t go with me. I collapsed onto the floor. My heart felt like it was being slowly, methodically flayed by a dull knife, the pain so intense it made me tremble. Just then, a street sweeper passed by outside. I was too close to the roll-up door and didn’t have time to move. A spray of filthy water drenched me. Looking at the grime staining my clothes, my stomach churned violently. I scrambled to the bathroom and threw up until I was dizzy and empty.

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The epiphany hit me when I was still slinging drinks at The Junction, a dive bar that smelled perpetually of stale beer and regret. It was too early in the story. The heroine, my coworker, was still wiping down sticky tables, years away from the meet-cute that would define her life. And I was right there beside her, still just a girl in a cheap apron, a lifetime away from meeting the millionaire who was supposedly my father. 1 After six months of hauling trays and fending off drunks, I suddenly woke up. I wasn’t just a bartender. I was a character in a romance novel—and not just any character. I was the bitchy, doomed antagonist. The script said that tomorrow, my long-lost biological father, a titan of industry, would find me. I’d be swept into a world of wealth, only to be promptly married off to a man who felt nothing for me. A man who, the script dictated, would eventually use his fists to communicate. Meanwhile, the heroine—Lily—would meet the hero, Ethan. She’d be swept into the loving embrace of his family and adored beyond measure. And, according to the plot, she would spend every waking moment rubbing her perfect life in my face, detailing every romantic gesture, every sweet nothing. The constant reminders of my own miserable existence were supposed to curdle my soul, turning me into a venomous schemer obsessed with destroying her happiness. My grand finale? A prison cell. Hers? A pair of cherubic twins and a happily ever after. Jesus Christ, I thought, wiping down the bar. What kind of hack author wrote this garbage? To have money, a husband, and all the free time in the world, and to throw it all away obsessing over someone else’s love life? That wasn’t a character flaw; it was just plain stupid. 2 Just as the story foretold, my father found me. And just as it was written, I was promptly engaged to the emotionally unavailable Adrian Cole. But that’s where I threw the book in the fire. I chose the path of non-stupidity. I chose to enjoy the damn ride. The first test came when Adrian informed me he was going to see his old flame. The one that got away. “You should probably bring flowers,” I suggested, pulling a dress from my new, ridiculously large closet. “Sophia always loved white roses. Don’t get the wrong ones.” Adrian froze, his hand on the doorknob. “What?” His confusion was understandable. According to my character notes, I was supposed to be throwing a jealous fit right now, maybe blocking the door, tears streaming down my face. Under my old moral code, the one from before I “woke up,” marriage was a sacred vow. No cheating, no emotional affairs, no looking back. But that was then. Now, my only sacred vow was to my bank account. “Look,” I said, turning to face him. “For the sake of a peaceful coexistence, how about we make a deal?” “What kind of deal?” he asked, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You do your thing, I keep my mouth shut. All it costs you is a recurring fee for my silence and discretion.” Adrian just stared at me. I blinked, genuinely confused by his shock. “Isn’t this how it works in your world? I thought this was standard procedure for you people.” Marriage as a merger, a strategic alliance for mutual benefit. Love was a separate ledger entirely, full of names and past indiscretions. He was silent for a few seconds, processing. “Arrangements where both parties… see other people aren’t uncommon,” he finally said, his voice carefully neutral. “But a wife who demands hush money from her husband? That’s a new one.” I shrugged, a gesture that felt more genuine than any I’d made in years. “A man can leave. Money is reliable.” Adrian had no response to that. 3 The moment Adrian’s car pulled out of the driveway, my phone buzzed. It was Lily. Right on schedule. By now, she and her hero, Ethan, were officially an item. The script said she’d call to tell me how wonderful he was, how he showered her with affection, and then, as an afterthought, she’d ask how I was doing. Given that my new husband was off visiting the love of his life, the original plot had me spiraling into despair. And Lily, whether out of cluelessness or a subtle sadistic streak, never seemed to notice my pain. Her concern was fleeting, but the gushing about her perfect relationship was endless. A Sinclair heiress, miserable and outdone by a bartender. The injustice was supposed to be my villain origin story. But now? Honestly, I didn’t give a damn. When she asked me how I was, I smiled into the phone. “Busy packing, actually.” “Oh my god, what happened?” she gasped, her voice full of drama. “Did you and Adrian have a fight?” “A fight? Who has time for that? I’m going on a trip.” “A honeymoon?” “Nope. Just me.” There was a stunned silence on her end. “Thea… you guys are newlyweds. This is supposed to be the sweet phase. Aren’t you, you know, trying for a baby?” I almost choked. A baby? With Adrian? We barely had enough chemistry to start a fire with gasoline and a blowtorch. I mumbled a few excuses and got off the phone as quickly as I could. The moment the wire transfer from Adrian—my first hush money payment—hit my account, I was out the door, suitcase in tow. Later that night, my phone rang again. It was Adrian. He sounded genuinely shocked. “The house is pitch black. Where are you?” I took a sip of my cocktail, the warm breeze ruffling my hair. “In the Maldives, watching the sunset.” Adrian was silent, the sound of his bewilderment traveling thousands of miles across the ocean. 4 On my second day in paradise, Lily and Ethan showed up. She claimed she missed me so much that she just had to have Ethan fly her out for a visit. But the way she said it, draped all over him, felt less like friendship and more like a victory lap. Worse, for someone who supposedly came all this way to see me, she spent every waking moment attached to Ethan’s hip. I became their personal assistant, fetching drinks, grabbing towels, taking their pictures. Any onlooker would have assumed I was their very well-dressed cabana girl. That was it. I decided to pack my bags and hop over to another island. Lily was aghast. “You spend money like this all the time? Doesn’t your husband say anything?” “It’s a commercial arrangement, Lily, not an allowance,” I said flatly. The word “allowance” must have struck a nerve, reminding her of her own financial dependence on Ethan. The smile vanished from her face. She gave me a long, hard look before muttering, “Well. Have fun.” Oh, I would. The only thing I asked of the universe was that she and her perfect boyfriend would stop following me around to flaunt their perfect love story. The script might have cast me as the villain, but I refused to be anyone’s supporting actress. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t force it to be miserable. 5 After nearly three weeks of island-hopping, Adrian finally called again. This time, it was for a gala. A command performance, requiring us to appear as a united front. Without missing a beat, I suggested, “Why don’t you take Sophia? You just need a date, and she’s a woman. It works.” A long, suffering sigh came through the phone. He patiently explained that this particular event was critical. Both of our families would be there, watching. It had to be me. “I see. Well, in that case… could you just tell them I’m sick?” I was still enjoying my freedom and had zero desire to go back. His patience finally snapped. “I have never met a woman who pushes her husband away like you do,” he sneered. “Thea, you’re really something else.” Am I? I thought. Or are you guys just masochists? In the original script, my constant jealousy and meltdowns over Sophia drove him away for months at a time. I’d tracked her down, we’d gotten into a physical fight, and he’d hit me in a fit of rage. It ended with our families feuding and becoming the laughingstock of our social circle. Is that what he wanted? A return to that train wreck? “Fine,” I said, cutting through his tirade. “I’ll come back and play the part. But I have one condition.” “What is it?” “My friend’s birthday is in a few days. You’re coming with me, and you’re going to be on your best behavior.” Lily’s birthday was coming up. It was guaranteed to be another nauseating festival of her and Ethan’s love. I’d planned on skipping it, but I owed her. Back in our days at The Junction, she’d stepped in front of a violent drunk for me. This was me paying back that debt. As long as she didn’t push it, I was willing to keep the peace. 6 Adrian agreed to my terms. I was on a flight home the next day. A flight delay left him waiting at the airport for three hours. The moment I walked through the arrivals gate, I was met with his thunderous expression. “What’s with the face?” I chirped. “Not happy to see me? I can turn right around and go back.” His jaw tightened. He practically shoved me into the back of his car, then tossed a garment bag at me. “Change. We’re late.” “In the car?” He pressed a button, and a privacy divider slid up, sealing us off from the driver. “There. No one can see you.” I looked at him pointedly. “And you’re not a person?” He whipped his head around to stare out the window, his jaw clenched so hard I thought it might crack. “The reflection in the glass, Adrian,” I sang softly. “You might want to close your eyes.” He took a deep, shaky breath, but it wasn’t enough to keep his composure. He spun back around, his eyes blazing. “Thea, we have a marriage license. It is perfectly legal for me to see every inch of you.” “Oh. Okay, then. Look away,” I said, and with a theatrical shrug, I started to unbutton my shirt. Just as I’d predicted, his bravado crumbled. A dark flush crept up his neck, and he quickly averted his eyes. Amateur, I thought with a smirk. You’re playing checkers while I’m playing chess. I had the whole script memorized. Adrian Cole was the kind of man who met force with overwhelming force. But show a little vulnerability, a little playful defiance, and he short-circuited. With him staring determinedly at his shoes, his face still beet red, I calmly changed into the evening gown. 7 The moment we stepped out of the car at the gala, I looped my arm through his. “Nice acting,” he muttered under his breath. “Glad you think so,” I whispered back. “A million-dollar bonus for my performance would be lovely, Mr. Cole.” He didn’t reply, but I felt the muscle in his arm twitch. Throughout the evening, I was the perfect corporate wife. I smiled, I made small talk, I remembered names and business connections. There was no trace of the lost girl dragged out of a dive bar. I watched Adrian’s expression shift from surprise to something else… something warmer. Was that… appreciation? Wait. No. Not appreciation. It was… tenderness. An alarm bell went off in my head. The second we were back in the car, I pulled my arm away. “Just so we’re clear, this was a transaction. I helped you tonight so you’ll help me at the birthday party. This is purely reciprocal, so don’t get any weird ideas.” Adrian seemed to have had a bit too much to drink. He leaned his head back against the leather, his eyes hazy. He loosened his tie, the picture of a devastatingly handsome CEO unraveling. “You didn’t just marry me for the money, did you?” “What else would it be for?” I asked with unflinching honesty. “Your sparkling personality?” My sincerity seemed to wound him more than any insult could have. He lurched forward, grabbing my chin and forcing me to look at him. “You don’t like this?” he demanded, gesturing to his face. “If a guy like me doesn’t do it for you, then who does?” I decided to throw a grenade. “Someone like Ethan, I guess.” “Ethan? Your friend’s boyfriend?” “So? They say you should keep your friends close and your enemies closer. I’m just the kind of friend who’d steal a girl’s boyfriend,” I said, my voice dripping with fake malice. He stared at me, utterly speechless, as if my moral compass had just spun off its axis and flown out the window. It took him a long moment to find his voice. “Thea,” he said through gritted teeth. “Your husband is sitting right in front of you.” “So?” 8 That did it. Adrian snapped. He ripped off his tie and tossed it onto the empty seat. Then he grabbed my hand and pressed it flat against his chest, sliding it down over the hard ridges of his abdomen. The muscles were like steel cables under his shirt. Damn it. The bastard was using his good looks against me. “What—what are you doing?” I stammered, trying to pull my hand back. He wouldn’t let go. A slow, dangerous smile spread across his face as he leaned in, trapping me between the car door and the solid wall of his chest. “Telling me you want another man while you’re with me,” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Thea, are you trying to get yourself into trouble?” The pose, the look in his eyes, the words themselves—it was all intoxicatingly intimate. For a split second, a dangerous, ridiculous thought flashed through my mind: What if he’s actually falling for me? Then his phone buzzed, shattering the illusion. The screen lit up with a single name: Sophia. So intimate. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening, and silenced the call. But I was wide awake now. The fog had lifted. I smirked at him. “Doesn’t the great Mr. Cole have feelings for another woman, too?” My question hit him like a physical blow. He froze. I seized the opportunity, pushing him away and smoothing down my dress. “Don’t forget, Adrian,” I said, my voice cool and steady. “We’re a business arrangement.” In the original script, he used that line to shut me down time and time again. Tonight, I was deploying it first. The consequence, however, was that Adrian spent the next several days treating me with a glacial coldness. The silence in our massive house was deafening. Finally, the day of Lily’s birthday arrived. “Are you still coming with me?” I asked him. He shot back, his voice dripping with ice, “If I don’t, are you going alone?” “Nope. I’ll find someone else.” “A man or a woman?” I just gave him a look. One that said, What do you think? Sometimes, silence is the most eloquent answer. He exploded. “You wouldn’t dare take another man! I swear to God, I’ll have him arrested!” I just stared at him. He had to be kidding. Calling the cops in that situation? The only person who’d be humiliated is him. But his outburst told me what I needed to know: he was still coming. Since the objective was achieved, I saw no need to prolong the conflict. I broke into a bright smile and took his hand. “Then let’s go.” Adrian stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden shift. As we walked toward the door, I saw him glance down at our intertwined fingers. And then, just for a second, the corner of his mouth tilted up in a ghost of a smile.

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I was eight months pregnant when my parents, who had always favored my sister, invited me over for dinner. It was the first time in years I had felt a glimmer of their warmth. That was the night of the fire. When the smoke detectors shrieked and the flames began to lick at the doorframes, their instincts were instantaneous. They shoved me aside, my swollen belly a clumsy obstacle, and grabbed my sister, Chloe—the one with leukemia, the one who had always been the sun in their universe. They carried her out into the night, leaving me behind in the suffocating heat. I was sure I was going to die. But then my husband, Ethan, burst through the wall of smoke. He swept me into his arms without a moment’s hesitation, his body shielding mine as he carried me to safety. The burns blistering his own skin didn’t seem to register. His eyes, full of a desperate tenderness I’d craved my whole life, were only for me. “Ava, you’re pregnant,” he’d whispered, his voice hoarse from the smoke as paramedics worked on us. “If anything happened to the baby… to you… I don’t know what I’d do.” In that moment, I believed I had finally found the one person who would choose me. Who truly loved me. That belief shattered when I saw the text exchange between him and Chloe on his unlocked phone. Chloe: I can’t wait much longer, E. Ethan: Just hold on, my love. A little more time. Once she has the baby and we get the cord blood, I can finally save you. My world tilted on its axis. The air left my lungs. Without a second thought, I pulled out my own phone, my fingers numb as I dialed the number for the women’s clinic. “Hello,” I said, my voice a dead, hollow thing. “I need to schedule an abortion.” 1 I had just tucked the clinic’s appointment confirmation slip into my purse when I saw them. Ethan was walking down the hospital corridor toward me, his arm wrapped protectively around my sister, Chloe, guiding her toward the oncology wing for a check-up. He stopped short when he saw me. “Ava? Honey, what are you doing here? I thought your next prenatal wasn’t until next week.” Ethan’s gaze dropped instantly to my stomach, his face a mask of anxiety. I used to mistake that frantic energy for love, for a fierce, protective instinct. Now I saw it for what it was: a man checking on his investment. “I just felt a little off,” I lied smoothly. “Decided to come get it checked out.” His panic sharpened. “Off how? What’s wrong? What did the doctor say? Is the baby okay? Did you get the results yet?” He rushed to my side, his hand hovering over my belly, his eyes wide with a carefully crafted concern. Chloe, however, couldn’t be bothered with the performance. She shot me a glare filled with pure contempt. “Can’t you do one thing right? Honestly, what’s the point of you if you can’t even carry a baby properly? If anything happens to what’s in there, I swear to God, Ava, I’ll make you pay.” I ignored her, pulling the ultrasound printout from my bag and handing it to Ethan. “Everything’s fine. The baby is perfectly healthy.” The relief that washed over his face was profound. He finally exhaled. “Oh, thank God. Okay, good. You should go home and rest, then. Chloe still has a few more tests, so I’ll stay with her and be back later.” His other hand, the one not reaching for me, had never once left Chloe’s arm. I used to explain away his constant, hovering attention on my sister as a kind of misguided brotherly affection, an extension of his love for me. Love the house, love the mouse. How naive I’d been. I never imagined their plan was this monstrous. As they walked away, a cold impulse took over. I followed them. I watched them disappear into the office of the Head of Hematology—an office that belonged to my father. “We can’t wait any longer,” Ethan’s voice was tight with urgency, even muffled through the door. “Chloe’s getting worse.” “Just a little more time,” my father’s voice rumbled. “Two months at most. Once Ava gives birth, we’ll have the cord blood, and Chloe will be saved.” “She might not have a month! We have to do the surgery now.” “Then we induce her now,” a new voice said, sharp and decisive. A figure stepped out from a corner of the office, and my blood ran cold. It was my mother, an OB/GYN at this very hospital. A thousand tiny blades seemed to plunge into my chest, stealing my breath. They were all in on it. All of them. And I had foolishly, desperately believed that my pregnancy had finally earned me a place in my parents’ hearts. “But the baby’s only at eight months,” Ethan said, a flicker of something—hesitation? concern?—in his voice. “If we take it out now, will it be… okay?” My mother’s face, visible through the crack in the door, was a granite slab of impatience. “Chloe’s life is the only thing that matters right now. Everything else is secondary.” I stared at the woman who had carried me for nine months, and my heart felt like it was being torn in two. Chloe leaned into Ethan’s embrace, her voice a sickly sweet murmur. “Ethan, honey, you seem so worried about her baby. You’re not getting attached to her, are you?” He immediately pulled her tighter, his voice dropping to a fierce whisper I could still just barely hear. “Never. Don’t ever think that. I only married her to get you this cure. To use her body to grow the medicine you need. The second that baby is out of her, she’s worthless to me.” Tears streamed down my face, hot and silent. My hand was clenched so tightly around the small packet of pills the clinic had given me that my knuckles were white. I lifted my head, my resolve hardening into something cold and sharp. Without another thought, I tossed the pill into my mouth and swallowed it dry. Back home, I took out the divorce papers Ethan had signed as a “show of faith” before our wedding—a document I’d never intended to use. I signed my name, dated it, and locked it in the safe. I had just started to pack a bag when the front door flew open with such force it slammed against the wall. I flinched, my heart seizing in my chest. Ethan strode in, his face grim. He grabbed my arm, his grip like a vise. “Ava. The doctor just called me. They reviewed your chart again. The baby’s in distress. We have to go back to the hospital. Now.” I tried to pull my arm away, but his fingers dug in, bruising the bone. My wrist was already turning red. “No. The doctor told me, to my face, that the baby was fine. And why would they call you instead of me?” His eyes were bloodshot, a wild desperation lurking in their depths. “It was a last-minute consult! Your mother called me herself. You don’t trust me, fine. But you trust your own mother, don’t you?” On cue, my parents walked through the open door. My mother’s face was a cold mask of disapproval. “This is your own fault for not being careful enough. You’ve upset the baby’s balance. We’re going to the hospital.” My father chimed in, his voice oozing false reason. “Your mother is a respected obstetrician, Ava. Are you really going to question her medical opinion?” My free hand shot out, gripping the bedroom doorknob like a lifeline. “I’m not going. It’s late. We can go tomorrow. I feel fine. Nothing is wrong.” My mother’s face twisted in fury. She marched over and began prying my fingers from the knob, one by one. “You’ll do as you’re told! Why must you be so difficult? I’m your mother! Do you think I would ever hurt you?” Yes, I screamed in my head. You have my whole life. They had shipped me off to live with my grandparents in the countryside as a baby, only deigning to bring me into their home after my grandparents passed away and the village council forced their hand. I’d spent my entire life wondering what was so wrong with me that my own parents couldn’t love me. I held on with every ounce of strength I had. My mother couldn’t break my grip. CRACK. The sound of her palm connecting with my cheek echoed in the room. “You are going to the hospital right now,” she hissed, her face inches from mine. “If you delay this and Chloe doesn’t make it, I will never, ever forgive you.” Half of my face was numb, the other half blazing with pain. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “There it is. The truth finally comes out.” She didn’t even flinch. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only know that your body is no longer a viable environment for this pregnancy. It’s a happy coincidence that your sister needs the cord blood right now.” My father, seeing I still wouldn’t budge, joined the effort. “Ava, you were always the sensible one. Your sister needs you. Please, just do this for us. For your mother and me.” He was trying to play the family card. I turned my head and spat on the floor by his feet. “Stop pretending. Her life is a life, but mine isn’t? Forcing a C-section at eight months is dangerous. I could die.” Seeing his emotional appeal fail, my father’s face contorted with rage. He slapped my other cheek, just as hard. “You ungrateful brat! That’s your sister! Sacrificing one baby to save her is a noble thing to do. It’s not like you can’t have another one.” Ethan dropped all pretense. He lunged forward, his hand clamping around my throat. “Enough of this. Chloe collapsed this afternoon. She’s waiting for this cord blood to save her life. You’re going to that hospital, one way or another.” “Ethan, it’s your baby!” I choked out, clawing at his hand. His eyes were chips of ice. “If my offspring can save Chloe, then that is its honor. Its sole purpose for existing. Otherwise, a woman like you would never have been worthy of carrying my child in the first place.” Staring into his cold, dead eyes was like falling into an abyss. “Dad, Mom, let’s stop wasting time,” Ethan said, his voice flat. “Chloe can’t wait. Let’s just tie her up and take her.” He found a length of rope in a utility closet. With my parents holding me down, he bound my hands tightly behind my back. “Move,” my mother snarled, shoving me toward the door. I dug my heels in, hooking my foot around the doorframe. Ethan let out a roar of frustration and kicked my leg, hard. “If we’re too late because of you, Ava, I will personally see to it that you pay with your life.” The force of the kick sent me sprawling to my knees. A searing pain shot up my leg, and a vicious cramp seized my abdomen. I cried out, tears of pain blurring my vision. “Be careful!” my mother snapped at Ethan. “Watch the belly! Hit her face, I don’t care, but you can’t damage the merchandise.” Ethan nodded grimly. He and my father hauled me to my feet like a sack of grain and began dragging me toward the elevator. The elevator doors slid open. A tall, well-built man was stepping out. I knew him. Officer Miller, from next door. He’d helped me once when my car was broken into. Hope, bright and blinding, flared in my chest. “Help—” Before I could get the word out, my mother’s hand clamped over my mouth. “Oh, sweetie, feeling nauseous again? Don’t worry, Mommy’s taking you to the hospital right now.” Officer Miller looked at the scene, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Is everything alright here?” “My wife,” Ethan said, his voice impossibly calm. “She’s not feeling well. We think she might be going into labor, so we’re rushing her to the hospital.” My hands were bound behind me, Ethan’s grip a crushing pressure on my wrist to keep me still. I could do nothing but stare at Officer Miller, pouring every ounce of my desperation into my eyes. “I’m an OB/GYN,” my mother added, pulling her hospital ID from her purse with a practiced motion. “It’s my daughter. She’s about to give birth. We can’t waste a single second.” “Oh, of course,” he said, stepping back immediately. “Don’t let me keep you. Go, go.” He held the door for them. Ethan breathed a sigh of relief. They bundled me into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, I watched Officer Miller’s back recede down the hallway, and the fragile hope in my heart turned to ash. The moment the doors closed, my mother dug her nails into my arm. “You little bitch. You almost blew it with that cop. Do you have any idea what you’re doing? You’re trying to murder your own sister. How can you be so evil?” The pain was excruciating, and fresh tears streamed down my face. Just then, my father’s phone rang. “Dr. Sterling? It’s the hospital. Your daughter Chloe has a sudden high fever and isn’t responding to treatment. You need to come back immediately.” He hung up, his face grim as he stared at my stomach. “We’re out of time. The second we get to the hospital, we’re taking her straight to the OR.” The elevator doors opened. Ethan and my father started to drag me out. “Hold it.” A voice. Footsteps, quick and urgent. I twisted my head and saw Officer Miller standing right behind us, his expression serious. That extinguished ember of hope sparked back to life. “You dropped this,” he said, jogging up to us. He handed my mother my ID card, which must have fallen from her purse. “Oh, thank you so much, Officer,” she gushed. I strained against my bonds, trying to make a sound, anything. “Offi—” As Miller turned to leave again, I gasped out the word, but Ethan’s hand immediately clamped over my mouth, muffling the sound. “Just breathe, honey, we’re almost there,” he said loudly, for the officer’s benefit. Then he was dragging me toward the car. The second I was thrown into the back seat, my mother’s hand was on me again, pinching and twisting the flesh of my arm. “You try one more thing, I swear to God, you will regret it.” Ethan drove like a madman, blowing through three red lights to get to the hospital. They didn’t even bother with admitting. I was dragged through back corridors directly into an operating room. The sterile chill of the room, the gleam of cold steel, sent a fresh wave of terror through me. I tried to scramble away, to run, but my mother was already there, plunging a syringe into my arm. A sedative. “We’re just taking a baby out, Ava,” she said, her voice laced with a chillingly casual cruelty. “I don’t understand why you’re making such a scene. We’re family. And you’re saving your sister.” The drug began to work, a strange lightness spreading through my limbs, but she must have used a low dose, afraid of harming the baby. My mind remained terrifyingly clear. “Strap her to the table,” she commanded. “I’ll perform the surgery myself.” Ethan and my father hoisted me onto the operating table. “This is illegal!” I screamed, my voice echoing in the cold, tiled room. “You can’t do this!” My mother just scoffed. “You’re my daughter. What’s illegal about me operating on you? I gave you your life, I can do with it as I please.” My father glared at me. “You’re a monster. We raised you, and now, when we ask you to do one small thing to save your sister, you talk to us about the law?” Ethan tightened the strap on my wrist, cinching it so hard I felt the buckle dig into my flesh. “Hurry up and sign the consent form, Ethan,” my mother said, thrusting a clipboard at him. “I need to begin.” He scribbled his name without even glancing at the page. I looked at the faces of the people I had once called my family, and my heart felt like it had been frozen solid. “Ethan, you might want to step outside,” my mother said, picking up a scalpel. “This could get messy.” He shook his head, his eyes fixed on my stomach. “No. I need to be here. I need to see the medicine for Chloe come out with my own eyes.” His words were needles, piercing my heart one by one. To him, my child and I were not human. We were a pharmaceutical. There was no anesthesiologist. It was a rogue, illegal surgery. My mother pressed the blade against my skin and cut. It was a pain beyond anything I could have imagined, a white-hot agony that felt like my bones were being shattered from the inside out. I could feel every layer of my body being sliced open, peeled back. My screams tore through the room, raw and unending, but no one wiped the sweat from my brow. No one flinched. No one even looked at my face. “You will all pay for this,” I hissed through clenched teeth. Ethan started to retort, but was cut off by a triumphant shout from my mother. “I’ve got it! The baby is out!” But her joy lasted only a second, replaced by a sound of pure horror. “The baby… why isn’t it breathing? It’s not breathing.”

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The text message arrived twelve hours into a marathon artificial heart transplant with Dr. Evan Maxwell. It was from his fiancée, Isabelle Croft, and it was the start of a storm. “Dr. Reed, Evan hasn’t answered me in ten minutes. I miss him so much.” “You two are together, aren’t you? Can you send me a picture of him?” I glanced at the sterile instrument tray, everything laid out and ready. I spared one-ten-thousandth of my focus to reply. “Ms. Croft, Dr. Maxwell is in his final pre-op consultation. All phones have been secured.” A few minutes later, a voice message. “I knew it. You’re together. The only reason you won’t send a picture is because you have something to hide.” I hadn’t even finished pulling on my last pair of sterile gloves. I ignored it and prepared to enter the OR. The next second, my phone rang. I declined the call. A text immediately followed. “You little bitch. I knew you were seducing him. How many times have you two slept together?” “No wonder Evan won’t touch me anymore. He’s already had his fill with you.” The surgical suite doors hissed open. My patience, already worn thin, finally snapped. “Ms. Croft,” I said, my voice low and clipped, “Dr. Maxwell and I are colleagues. Nothing more. I have zero interest in him.” I sealed my phone in my locker, figuring that would be the end of it. I was wrong. Just as the surgery reached its most critical phase, Isabelle Croft, flanked by two imposing bodyguards, smashed the glass of the operating room’s observation window. She was screaming, a wild, frantic sound from the other side of the broken pane. 1 “Anna Reed, you shameless bitch! Get the hell out here!” Evan’s hand jerked. The micro-suture needle, stitching the artificial heart to the aorta, came perilously close to piercing the arterial wall. A single millimeter further and the patient would have died instantly on the table. “Security! Get her out of here. Now.” I didn’t have time to look at him, and I certainly didn’t have time to look at the lunatic shattering hospital property. My world narrowed to the heart on the table, waiting for its final, life-giving sutures. “Evan, I’ll do it.” Before he could answer, I reached out and took the needle holder from his trembling fingers. My hands moved with a speed that was a full thirty percent faster than Evan’s on his best day. We had practiced this procedure hundreds of times; every motion was etched into my muscle memory. Beyond the sterile field, the chaos was a boiling pot of noise—Isabelle’s curses, security guards shouting. And here I was, in the eye of the storm, stitching a new beginning onto a dying heart. When the final suture was clipped, the data on the monitor was as steady as a mountain range. The surgery was a success. I set down my instruments, and my legs gave out. I nearly collapsed. Evan caught me. The OR doors slid open. Outside, Isabelle was pinned between two massive security guards, but her fury hadn’t dimmed. Seeing Evan holding me up, the venom in her eyes intensified. “Spit.” A glob of saliva flew through the air. I twisted my head aside, and it hit the wall behind me. “Anna Reed. You slept your way to the top, you piece of trash. You’re seducing him right in front of me.” Evan stepped between us, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Isabelle, that’s enough. Anna is my colleague. We’ve done nothing wrong.” “Nothing wrong?” she shrieked. “Evan, you’re yelling at me for her? If you’ve done nothing wrong, then why did you spend the entire night with her two days ago?” Her gaze, filled with pure hatred, locked onto me. “Tell me, Anna. How many condoms did you two use that night? Did you wear him out so much he couldn’t even bother to come home?” I was too tired to even lift my eyelids. “Ms. Croft, I have no interest in your fiancé,” I said, my voice flat. “The only reason we were together was to run the final simulations for this procedure.” “As for how many condoms we used,” I paused, finally meeting her gaze. “I suggest you book a consultation with a plastic surgeon. After all, a woman who can’t even keep her own fiancé interested should probably be more concerned with her own face and body than having a meltdown in a hospital hallway. Don’t you think?” Isabelle’s face turned a shade of mottled purple. She screamed and tried to lunge, but the guards held her fast. It was at that precise moment my boyfriend, Mark, arrived to pick me up. And it was at that precise moment Isabelle dropped to the floor, grabbing Mark’s pant leg with the desperation of a drowning woman. “Sir! Help me! Please, save my love!” she sobbed. “This woman… she’s trying to steal my husband! She’s put a spell on him with her scalpel! Please, make her stop! Make her leave us alone!” Mark was completely stunned. He took a half-step back, trying to shake her off. The look he gave me was suddenly complex and utterly foreign. Evan, his face a grim mask, rushed forward to pull Isabelle away. She slapped him across the face. “You’re still protecting her!” Watching the absurd, theatrical scene unfold, I grabbed Mark’s hand and walked away. On the drive home, I told him everything. The harassing calls, the vile accusations. He listened in silence. When we parked in front of our building, he killed the engine and pulled me into a tight embrace. “I’m sorry, Anna,” he whispered into my hair. “I’m so sorry I was late. You shouldn’t have had to go through that alone.” Tucked safely in his arms, the exhaustion of the last twenty-four hours finally broke through, and I cried. Back home, I had just finished my shower when my phone buzzed. It was a picture from Isabelle. It was a photo of her in a wedding gown, photoshopped over an image of Evan and me at the operating table. My face was obscured by a giant, crudely drawn red X. Beneath it, a single line of text. “I’m the bride.” “You’re just a sacrifice at my wedding.” I looked at the pathetic, vicious image and typed back two words. “Get help.” Then I blocked her number and deleted the conversation. The next day, I arrived at the hospital on time, ready for work. But my name was gone from the surgical schedule. Not only that, I’d been removed from the cardiothoracic department’s core surgical team entirely. A new assignment notification popped up on my computer: administrative duty. I was to organize and archive old medical files. For a surgeon, it was the ultimate insult. The department head called me into his office. His expression was grim as he pushed a letter across his desk. “Anna, the hospital received a formal, signed complaint against you.” I picked it up. The complainant, identifying as a patient’s family member, accused me of having a terrible attitude during pre-op consultations and demanding cash bribes. Even more absurd, the letter claimed I had leaked Dr. Maxwell’s private schedule to the paparazzi, leading to his being harassed. At the end of the letter were several screenshots of faked chat logs. Every word was meticulously crafted to paint me as a manipulative, unethical gold digger. I knew instantly it was Isabelle’s handiwork. The so-called “patient’s family member” didn’t exist. Evan found out soon enough. He stormed into the dean’s office, arguing passionately on my behalf. But he had no proof. His defense was meaningless against their manufactured evidence. The hospital’s final decision: I was suspended, pending a full investigation. My ID and access card were confiscated on the spot. As I walked out of the office, I instinctively reached for my phone to call Mark. The screen lit up with a new message before I could dial. It was a video from him. Someone had edited together clips of the surgery. Every glance Evan and I shared, every time our hands brushed while passing an instrument, was now in slow motion. It was set to the most saccharine, suggestive music imaginable, with lines of lewd text scrolling across the screen. A life-or-death race against the clock had been twisted into a cheap, dirty movie. Before I could even process it, a second message came through. “Anna, what do you have to say for yourself?” “We’ve been together for ten years. I gave up a fellowship abroad for you. Is this how you repay me?” The cold accusation felt like a knife in my chest. My hands trembled as I tried to type a reply. “I’m being framed, Mark. You have to believe me…” But before I could hit send, a bright red exclamation point appeared next to his name. One final message flashed on the screen. “We’re done.” Then, he blocked me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. Ten years of my life, and I wasn’t even worth a single conversation. As I stood on the sidewalk, lost and hollowed out, a red Porsche pulled up to the curb. Isabelle rolled down the window, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Did you like my little film, Anna? Your boyfriend was even easier to convince than I expected.” “You know, all it took was one video from a burner account and a few suggestive messages, and he completely folded,” she purred. “He said you’ve been so cold to him lately. He knew you must have found someone else.” “The star of your own dirty movie, Anna Reed. See how beautiful I made you look? Every pore just screaming with desire.”

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For three years, Arthur Finch has never publicly acknowledged our marriage. He was in the middle of a panel interview when the moderator asked. “Professor Finch, a question from our online audience. Are you drawn to the steady, quiet type, or someone with a little more… fire?” Arthur, a man who has made a career of precision and discipline, answered with a straight face. “Neither. I’m drawn to a person.” The moderator blinked, then recovered with a practiced smile. “Of course. And what kind of person might that be? Is she here with us today?” He turned his head, his gaze sweeping over the audience until it found me. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “No.” I clutched the lab report in my pocket, the paper crinkling under the pressure. A familiar, hollow smile touched my lips. In the periphery, I saw his expression flicker with something like surprise as I slowly stood up and walked out, leaving the auditorium behind. 1 “Is it Lily Monroe?” Someone from the audience shouted the question, their voice sharp in the sudden quiet. My steps faltered at the door. Lily Monroe. Arthur’s brilliant protégée, his current research partner. Their names were always linked, on publications, at academic conferences. The rumors were relentless. The air in the auditorium seemed to solidify. My nails dug into my palms. I held my breath, waiting for Arthur’s denial. A drowning woman grasping for a phantom hand. After a few seconds of silence, he simply offered a mild, academic smile. “I’d appreciate it if we could keep the focus on our field of study. Let’s stick to professional questions, please.” He didn’t deny it. He never did. The hope I’d been holding, a fragile bubble in my chest, finally burst. The fall left an aching void. 2 Distracted, I wasn’t watching where I was going and bumped right into someone in the lobby. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled automatically. “It’s alright, Mrs. Finch.” I looked up at the sound of the voice and met a pair of bright, clear eyes in a face that radiated an almost ethereal innocence. She smiled, her eyes curving into gentle crescents. “The panel isn’t over yet. Aren’t you going to wait for Professor Finch?” It was Lily Monroe. I’d seen her a few times when I’d visited Arthur’s lab. She was one of the very few people who knew about our marriage. Before I could answer, my eyes caught on the tailored wool coat draped over her arm. It was identical to the one I’d picked out for Arthur. But he was obsessively clean, a man who recoiled from anyone touching his personal things, especially his clothes. It must be a coincidence, I told myself. But then, following my gaze, Lily let out a soft, musical laugh. “Oh, this? Professor Finch lent it to me during that rainstorm last week,” she said. “I just had it dry-cleaned and was bringing it back to him. We’re heading to the lab together after this.” She then lifted the thermos in her other hand. “He’s been a little under the weather, so I brewed him some herbal tea.” I said nothing. She watched me, her head tilted. “You don’t mind, do you, Mrs. Finch?” Beneath the flawless, harmless facade, the challenge was unmistakable. My gaze flickered to the cheerful pink flowers painted on the thermos, a stark contrast to everything I knew about my husband’s minimalist tastes. I managed a faint smile. “Thank you for taking care of him. I have to go, I have another engagement.” I turned, but her voice followed me, sharper this time. “Don’t you see it? Arthur doesn’t love you at all. He won’t even tell the world you exist. What’s the point of clinging to a marriage like this?” I stopped. I turned back and looked at her, my expression calm. I opened my mouth to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, I walked out into the crisp afternoon air. Under the weak sun, I unfolded the crumpled lab report and stared at the clinical, damning words, lost in thought. 3 Later, sitting in a sterile examination room, my phone rang. It was Arthur. His voice was clipped, laced with an unfamiliar thread of anger. “Where are you?” I gripped the phone, my knuckles white, and stared out the window at the inky black sky. The interview would have been over for hours. The man who treated his laboratory like his true home should have been on his way there by now. “I’m at home,” I lied. The silence on the other end stretched, punctuated only by the faint sound of his breathing, slightly heavier than usual. “Arthur?” I prompted, my voice tentative. “Are you still there?” “…So am I.” His voice was a low growl, charged with an emotion I couldn’t decipher. My stomach dropped. Caught in a lie. The embarrassment was a hot flush on my cheeks. I collected myself, forcing a casual tone. “Just kidding. I’m working late at the office.” He was quiet for a moment, then let out a short, cold laugh. “Working late? You have a talent for composure, I’ll give you that.” I curved my lips into a smile he couldn’t see. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” Another long pause. This was his way. I braced myself and pushed forward. “Well, if there’s nothing else, I should get back to…” “Why did you leave early?” The question was hard, edged with something that sounded almost like hurt. My fingers tensed around the phone. It was true. In the past, no matter what he said or did in public, I would always stay until the very end. I would find him in a quiet corner, slip my arm through his, and plead, “Can you come home tonight?” And every single time, without fail, he would coldly refuse. The memory faded. I laughed softly into the phone. “Isn’t this better? I’m not bothering you anymore.” A beat of silence, then a scornful chuckle. “…Then you’d better keep it that way.” 4 The screen went dark, and for a moment, I felt completely adrift. The man across from me said something, but the words didn’t register. Not until he waved a hand in front of my face. “Ava?” I blinked, pulling myself back to the present. “Sorry, Liam. What did you say?” He sighed, a look of deep concern in his eyes. He repeated his question. “Are you really not going to tell him about the diagnosis? He’s your husband, Ava. He has a right to know.” I forced a light, airy laugh. “It’s just a tumor. It’s not like it’s a death sentence.” The words hung in the air between us, heavy and false. We both fell silent. As my oldest friend, Liam knew my family history. He knew about my grandmother, and my mother. He knew this disease was a dark inheritance passed down the women in my family. And he knew the mortality rate was not insignificant. 5 Liam drove me home. As I got out of the car, my leg gave out, a sudden numbness spreading through it, and I nearly crumpled to the pavement. He shot out, grabbing my arm to steady me. “You okay?” I gave him a grateful look and a small shake of my head. As he was about to leave, he hesitated. “Surgery always has risks, Ava. You should really talk to Arthur…” I cut him off with a bitter smile. “He hates me enough already, Liam. I don’t want him thinking I’m trying to win his sympathy.” He sighed, but didn’t push it. The taillights of his car disappeared into the night. I turned toward my front door and froze. Arthur was standing there, under the dim porch light. He must have been there for a while. Half of his face was lost in shadow, but the chill emanating from him was palpable. I composed myself. “What are you doing here?” I asked quietly. His eyes, cold and hard, fixed on me. He sneered. “The office? Working late? Or were you with him?” It took me a second to process. I looked at him, really looked at him—at the way his hair was slightly disheveled, his tie loosened. “You… you went to my office to look for me?” The words came out in a breath of disbelief. In all our years together, he had never shown the slightest interest in my work, in my life outside of him. He didn’t answer, but his intense, dark stare was confirmation enough. My fists clenched. “I was actually at…” “Enough.” The word was a blade. “I don’t want to hear it.” He brushed past me into the house, his face a mask of fury. He went straight to the bedroom, pulled a duffel bag from the closet, and began throwing clothes into it. As he walked back through the living room, he didn’t even glance in my direction. “Arthur.” I called his name. He didn’t stop, didn’t even slow down, as if he hadn’t heard me. A knot of panic tightened in my chest. I pushed myself off the sofa, ran to him, and grabbed his hand. His skin was warm. His whole body went rigid at my touch. He turned his head slowly, his eyes deep, dark pools. For a second, I thought he was waiting for me to say something more. But then a flicker of impatience crossed his face. I let go of his hand, my own suddenly feeling clammy. “Can we… can we talk?” I asked softly. He stared down at me, his gaze glacial. “Talk about what? About how you cheat and lie? Or how you walk out on me whenever you feel like it?” I wanted to defend myself, to explain, but the words died in my throat. I lowered my eyes and they landed on his forearm. The sleeve of his shirt was rolled up, revealing a pale, jagged scar against his skin. 6 As his expression darkened, I felt my own hand moving, as if of its own accord. I reached out and gently touched the scar. The reaction was instantaneous. His body tensed like he’d been hit with an electric shock. He grabbed my wrist, his grip like iron. His black eyes were churning with a storm of emotions. “What are you doing?” His fingers tightened, but I barely felt the pain. I was lost, staring at that mark on his skin. The memories flooded back. Five years ago. The screech of tires, the crunch of metal. Arthur throwing his body over mine an instant before the impact. He’d almost died to save me. He survived, but his dominant hand was shattered, the nerves shredded. I remembered standing in his hospital room, my face a cold mask, telling him it was over. He’d pulled at his pale lips in a weak attempt at a smile, his uninjured hand reaching for mine. “Don’t do this, Ava. Don’t joke like that.” I pulled my hand away. I pointed at the thick bandages covering his arm. “Arthur, I don’t want a boyfriend with a crippled hand. I don’t want people staring at us, pitying us. Please,” I begged, “just let me go.” For a man as proud as Arthur, my words were a deliberate, cruel demolition of his dignity. I will never forget the look in his eyes. It was like watching a fire die, leaving behind nothing but gray ash and a burning, profound hatred. In the present, his grip on my wrist tightened until his knuckles were white, veins standing out in stark relief. Then, just as slowly, his fingers uncurled, one by one. He looked away, his voice so raw it was barely a whisper. “Fine.” Pulled from the memory, my eyes stung with unshed tears. “Does it still hurt?” I murmured. Arthur looked startled, then his brow furrowed in a deep scowl. “Is this performance amusing to you?” he bit out. “You got what you wanted. Do your part. Anything else is a privilege you haven’t earned.” He turned and strode toward the front door. I took a deep breath, the air burning my lungs. “If it weren’t for me,” I said to his back, “you would be with Lily Monroe, wouldn’t you?” He stopped dead in his tracks. He whipped around, his eyes shot with red, and roared, his voice raw with a fury I’d never seen. “Ava, what the hell is wrong with you?” My heart seized. The man who prided himself on his composure, on his intellect, was cursing at me. I clenched the fabric of my sleeve, lowered my gaze, and whispered to the floor. “Yes. I am.” He must not have heard me. He just stood there, staring, his chest heaving. The sound of the door slamming shut rattled the walls and echoed in my ears long after he was gone. 7 I sat on the living room sofa, hugging my knees to my chest, and surveyed the room. Every surface, every shadow, seemed to radiate a cold emptiness. My gaze landed on our wedding photo on the mantelpiece—a picture of two strangers, their smiles polite and distant. My vision blurred, and the past rushed in again. After I broke up with him, I thought I’d never see Arthur again. But then his father, the chairman of Finch Enterprises, offered me an internship. My mother was sick, my own father had remarried and moved on, and it was Chairman Finch who had paid for my college education. He took me under his wing, mentored me personally, taught me everything. The day I closed my first major deal on my own, I ran to his office, the signed contract in my hand, eager to share the news. But I found something else on his desk by accident. A medical report. The words “Stage Four Stomach Cancer” burned themselves into my memory. Later that day, he called me into his office. “The company, and Arthur,” he’d said, his voice heavy. “I worry about them both. Arthur is consumed by his research. He has no interest in marriage, and even less in the business.” He paused, his eyes pleading. “Ava, I’ve watched you grow up. Could you possibly…” I knew Chairman Finch like a father. I understood what he couldn’t bring himself to ask. And so, two years after I had destroyed him, I went to find Arthur. I asked him if he would marry me. He took a long, slow drag from his cigarette, then crushed it out in an ashtray. Through the haze of smoke, he stared at me, his eyes filled with cold, mocking amusement. “Why?” “I want to take over Finch Enterprises,” I said. “Your father told me that whoever marries his son gets control of the company. And as far as I know, you’re his only son.” He told me to show him how much I wanted it. To prove my sincerity. But as I stood on my toes, my lips just inches from his, he recoiled as if burned. He laughed, a sound full of contempt. “Marry you? In your dreams.” I was figuring out how to break the news to his dying father when Arthur reappeared. “Go home. Get your passport. We’re going to the courthouse.” He didn’t say another word. … A full week passed, and Arthur never came home. I was drowning in work, consumed by a competitive bid for a massive new project. This deal could elevate Finch Enterprises to a new level. We’d worked ourselves to the bone for a month, running endless models and analyses. And at the bidding conference, we lost. By a margin so slim it was statistically impossible. It was a figure our competitor, based on all my research, should never have submitted. My assistant was running through the post-mortem analysis as we walked out. I stopped her. “Hold the report,” I said. “Just tell me. What’s your personal take on what just happened?” As she hesitated, my gaze drifted past her, across the lobby. And my body went rigid. 8 I never expected to see Arthur here. He despised the corporate world. Then I saw Lily Monroe standing beside him. And standing in front of them, smiling, was the very man whose company had just beaten ours by an impossibly narrow margin. Lily was calling the man “cousin.” And I heard her, clear as day, introduce Arthur as her boyfriend. Just then, she spotted me. Her smile widened. She looped her arm through Arthur’s, stood on her toes, and leaned in to kiss him. Arthur turned his head away, a frown creasing his brow, and he started to say something. But then his eyes met mine. His pupils contracted. A flash of pure panic crossed his face before he could hide it. I looked away. “Get the car,” I told my assistant, my voice clipped. “We’ll debrief back at the office.” But at the elevators, Lily caught up to me, alone. Her voice was laced with derision. “I heard Mrs. Finch lost out to my cousin—and everyone knows he’s all charm and no brains.” “What do you want, Lily?” I asked coldly. “Aren’t you curious? How did our bid come in just under yours? Such a coincidence.” She leaned in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “You have Arthur to thank for that. He despises you, you know. So much that he’d rather give away his own family’s project than see you succeed.” A tremor went through me. I turned slowly to face her. “What… did you say?” Seeing my reaction, she tilted her chin up, her eyes gleaming with triumph. The victor, surveying the vanquished. “I said, you’ve lost, Ava. The project, and the man. You’ve lost him to me, completely and utterly.” Before I could think, my hand was moving. The sharp crack of the slap, followed by a second one, echoed in the vast, empty space. “You…” she stammered, her hand flying to her cheek. She stared at me, her face contorted in disbelief and rage, momentarily speechless. My voice was low and steady. “You do not get to slander Arthur.” “What are you doing?” A familiar, sharp voice cut through the air from behind me. I froze. Arthur strode past me, his eyes fixed on Lily. He took in her reddened, swelling cheek, and his face hardened into a cold fury. He moved her behind him, shielding her, and then his gaze, sharp as a shard of glass, landed on me. He repeated the question, his voice dangerously low. “Ava, what are you doing?” I pushed down the acid wave of bitterness in my throat and calmly rubbed my stinging palm. “You didn’t see? Should I demonstrate again?” I raised my hand, but this time, he caught my wrist in a vice-like grip. “Enough,” he snarled. 9 Seeing her protector had arrived, Lily immediately reverted to her innocent, helpless persona. Tears welled in her eyes, spilling down her cheeks in perfect, glistening trails. “I just saw that you lost the bid… I was only coming over to offer Professor Finch’s condolences,” she sobbed. “I didn’t think you’d take your anger out on me just because my cousin won…” She punctuated the lie with a pathetic, heart-wrenching sniffle. I didn’t bother to argue. I just looked at Arthur. “Do you believe her?” He once promised me that no matter what happened, he would always be on my side. Because I trust you, he had said. A fog seemed to roll over his eyes, obscuring whatever was there. I couldn’t read him. After a long, suffocating silence, he stared at me, his words slow and deliberate. “Ava, are you really that sore of a loser?”

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I had a best friend who married into a world of unimaginable wealth—a girl from my small town who played the part of an heiress. She was the one who stole the project proposal from my desk, then told her husband I was just a new hire, eager to learn. She was the one who wired ten million dollars from his account, claiming it was to buy me a starter home, a place to finally be secure. She was the one who sold the luxury car he’d given her as a wedding gift, saying it was just to get me a reliable ride. And when she was caught transferring company assets while sleeping with her husband’s assistant, she told him I was the mastermind who had manipulated her. In the end, her husband, Ethan, had me sent to prison. And in prison, her lover made sure I was silenced for good. But then I opened my eyes. And I was back on the day it all began to unravel, the day of her husband’s first real accusation. 1 Every time Stella needed to meet her lover, she used me as her alibi. A girls’ day out. Shopping. A long lunch. So when her husband, Ethan Blackwood, sent me yet another text demanding to know when I was letting his wife come home, I didn’t feel surprised. Just tired. My thumb hovered over the screen, a ghost of a memory—of blind loyalty, of the countless lies I’d told for her—flashing through me. This time, I didn’t hesitate. I swiped and deleted the entire thread. I had just smoothed a cool sheet mask over my face when my phone blared to life. My hand, still slick with serum from the packet, fumbled and accidentally hit the answer button. His voice, tight with fury, crackled through the speaker. “Anna. When are you planning on allowing my wife to return to her family?” “Her son has been crying for three hours straight. Have you forgotten she’s a mother? How selfish can you possibly be? I let it slide before, but she has a child now, for God’s sake.” “Let’s get something straight. I’m her husband. The card you’re swiping belongs to me. The car you’re riding in is mine. So what the hell is this new habit of having her block my number every time you two go out?” “I’ve been patient with you, Anna. But I’m done. Don’t you think you’re a little… superfluous in this picture?” Each question landed heavier than the last, his patience fraying into raw steel. But the anger simmering in my own gut was hotter. If it weren’t for his perfect, darling wife, I wouldn’t have ended up dead on a cold prison floor. Just because I was the only friend she’d brought with her from our dusty hometown, I became her living, breathing excuse. The cover for all her dirty secrets. Back then, I never knew what she was really doing. The truth is, once she got married, our connection started to fade. But the calls from Ethan never stopped. They’d come in, laced with confusion and anger, and I—like a fool—would cover for her. I remember one night, he called long after midnight, his voice a furious whisper. “What the hell are you two still doing out? It’s the middle of the night. How long does it take to get your hair done?” Dazed with sleep, I almost told him I had no idea what he was talking about. But then a text from Stella lit up my screen. 【Just say we were at the salon! The one next to the spa. Tell him we decided to get massages too. Sister-special package. I already sent him a pic of the sign. Thx babe! U owe me one ;)】 And just like that, in Ethan Blackwood’s eyes, I became the villain. The toxic best friend single-handedly destroying his marriage. The next day, he sent me a warning text, and after that, I started pulling away from Stella. But it wasn’t enough. In the end, she still threw me to the wolves to save herself. And Ethan, already primed to hate me, probably felt a sense of righteous victory as he watched me get locked away. Not this time. I would not be her stepping stone again. His voice snapped me back to the present. “Is Stella with you or not? Put her on the phone. Her son needs his mother.” A cold, sharp smile touched my lips. I held the phone up, turning my head as if looking around my small apartment. “Stella? Honey? It’s Ethan for you.” Silence, of course. “Oh, shoot,” I said, my voice dripping with fake sympathy. “Sorry, Mr. Blackwood. She’s getting a blowout. The dryers are so loud, you know how it is. We’re at that new place on the corner? The one we went to last time?” “She’ll call you when she’s done, I’m sure!” The moment I finished the sentence, my face went slack, the smile vanishing. I jabbed the end-call button with my thumb. Five minutes later, just as I was peeling the sticky mask from my skin, a violent pounding rattled my front door. I pulled it open, and the force from the other side almost sent me sprawling. It was Ethan. And he’d brought a team of grim-faced men in dark suits. Bodyguards. Before I could speak, two of them had me by the arms. I could only watch, helpless, as Ethan stormed into my apartment, his face a mask of rage. He tore through the tiny space, ripping open my closet, checking behind the shower curtain, kicking aside a pile of laundry. Every corner of my life, violated. When he found nothing, he stalked back to me, his jaw tight. “Where is she, Anna? The lights were on. I’ve been watching the building for the last hour. You never left. So enough with the shopping excuse.” Seeing the raw, unhinged fury on his face, a bitter, satisfying pleasure bloomed in my chest. Let him burn. Let him feel a fraction of the helplessness I felt. Stella was off with her lover, and I was, as always, the designated scapegoat. In his mind, thanks to years of Stella’s subtle poisoning, I was already guilty. My words meant nothing. He saw the silence on my face and shot a look at his men. Their grip tightened. He stepped forward, his hand clamping around my jaw, forcing my head up. His eyes were chips of ice, sharp and cold. “I’m going to give you one last chance,” he gritted out. “Where. Is. My. Wife?” 2 A laugh, sharp and mocking, escaped my throat. “She’s a grown woman, Ethan. A mother, as you so helpfully pointed out. Her own mom couldn’t control her. What makes you think I can?” His hand fell away from my jaw, but only for a second. It swung back, fast and hard, and the crack of it hitting my cheek echoed in the small room. My head snapped to the side, my eyes stinging, a coppery taste filling my mouth. The more desperate he became, the more pathetic he seemed. He bent down and snatched my phone from where I’d dropped it. He pried my fingers open, using my own thumb to unlock the screen. Then he started tapping it against my bruised cheek, a threatening rhythm. “You think staying silent is going to work for you?” he sneered. “I got you the job at my subsidiary. I can make sure you’re out on the street by tomorrow.” His gaze was murderous. He found my boss’s contact in my phone and hit the call button. But before it could connect, an idea seemed to strike him. He hung up and hit the video call icon instead. The screen flickered to life, showing my boss, Mark, still at his desk, buried in paperwork. He frowned at the unfamiliar face on his screen, then his eyes widened in recognition. “M-Mr. Blackwood?” he stammered. “That’s right,” Ethan said coldly. “You know this woman?” He flipped the camera around to my face. Mark nodded frantically. “Yes, yes, Anna. Is… is everything alright?” “Does your company have a policy on plagiarism? On employees who steal their work? Or did you just not bother to ask how she was completing her assignments?” As he spoke, he shot me a look, mouthing the words: Last. Chance. I kept my lips sealed. My defiance lit the final fuse on his temper. “Every single proposal Anna has submitted was stolen directly from one of my company’s internal servers!” he roared into the phone. “You will fire her, tonight. If you don’t, my legal team will be in touch with yours by morning.” He paused. “In fact, I brought a lawyer with me. I see you’re still in the office.” He crossed his arms, leaning against my wall. The message was clear: Your move. Any thought Mark might have had of defending me evaporated. You don’t cross the Blackwood empire. A bitter laugh escaped me. “You can’t do this, Ethan. You have no proof. I could sue you for slander.” He let out a short, ugly laugh. “This is bothering you? Oh, we’re just getting started. I’ll ask you one more time. Tell me where Stella is.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “You took ten million dollars. You sold my car. And now you’ve taken my wife. I have given you far too much grace, Anna.” The bodyguards tightened their hold, making it hard to breathe. After getting Mark’s stammered confirmation that I was fired, Ethan smiled grimly and went back to scrolling through my contacts. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. “This is breaking and entering,” I choked out. “You can’t just barge in here. I’ll call the police.” He didn’t even look up from my phone. “The police?” he said, as if it were the funniest thing he’d ever heard. “Please, be my guest. Should I dial 911 for you? Let’s see… who do you think they’ll arrest? The woman who orchestrated the disappearance of my wife and the mother of my child? Or me?” He finally looked up, his eyes glittering. “The last text I have from Stella says she was spending the night with you.” His eyes lit up. “Ah. Found it.” I watched in horror as he dialed the number for my landlord. A plan, desperate and risky, began to form in my mind. 3 With me standing right there, Ethan told my landlord I was breaking my lease and would be out by morning. When I tried to shout, to explain, one of the bodyguards clamped a hand over my mouth, muffling my protests. Hot, frustrated tears streamed down my face. He was a fool. An absolute fool. If Stella had really given me the money for a house, why would I still be living in this rundown one-bedroom apartment? He ended the call, his eyes burning with a rage that hadn’t cooled in the slightest. “Still not talking?” The hand was removed from my mouth. I took a ragged breath. “Why don’t you ask your assistant?” I said, my voice cold and steady. “Maybe he knows where she is.” For the first time, a flicker of uncertainty crossed Ethan’s face. He hesitated, then pulled out his own phone and dialed his assistant, Leo. The moment the call connected, I heard a faint shuffling sound on the other end before it stopped abruptly. “Mr. Blackwood? Is everything alright?” Leo’s voice was smooth. “Find Stella’s location for me. Now. It’s an emergency.” There was a calculated pause. “Sir, the last few times I drove Mrs. Blackwood to meet her friend, she would jump out of the car and the other woman—Anna—would just pull her away. She never gave me a chance to even say anything.” Leo’s voice took on a note of feigned helplessness. “I tried to follow once, but Anna yelled at me, told me to mind my own business. I didn’t want to overstep. I honestly have no idea where they’d go.” I almost had to laugh. He was good. Just as good at shifting blame as Stella was. Ethan hung up, his face a thundercloud. Before he could speak again, his phone rang. It was the nanny. The baby wouldn’t stop crying. He was inconsolable. That was the last straw. Ethan’s face hardened into a mask of cold resolve. He gestured to his men. “Get her in the car.” They dragged me out of my apartment and shoved me into the back of a black SUV. “If you won’t talk,” he said, sliding in beside me, “we’ll do this the hard way. We’re going to check every single salon on this street.” We pulled up to a strip of upscale boutiques and spas. He yanked me out of the car by my collar, forcing me onto the sidewalk. His bodyguards formed a tight circle around us, a clear show of force that immediately drew the attention of passersby. Within minutes, a crowd had gathered, phones held up, whispering. Ethan, playing to the audience, announced that his wife had been led astray by her malicious best friend. It was all the crowd needed to hear. “You can’t trust anyone these days,” a woman muttered loudly. “My cousin’s husband ran off with her best friend. Left her with three kids and a mountain of debt.” “And look at the news! All those girls who get trafficked overseas, who’s the one who tricks them? It’s always a friend!” “She doesn’t even look like she has any money. You’d think if she was that evil, she’d at least dress better.” “That’s how they get you! They look all innocent and poor so you trust them! It’s always the ones you least expect.” The murmurs grew into a chorus of condemnation. Ethan’s face was dark with grim satisfaction. He ordered his men to drag me into the first salon. The chicly dressed owner took one look at me and shook her head. She’d never seen me before in her life. Of course she hadn’t. But this was the very salon Stella had sent Ethan a picture of countless times. His control finally snapped. He grabbed a fistful of my hair, yanking my head back. “You’ve been playing me from the very beginning, Anna!” His men hauled me back out onto the street. “Call the police,” Ethan commanded. “And call the press. We’re going to search every business on this block. If I have to tear this city apart to find her, I will.” A dark glint entered my eye. “The police?” I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear. “Why not call a few reporters while you’re at it? Make a real spectacle. Nail me to the cross for the whole world to see.” He narrowed his eyes, then gave a curt nod to one of his men. “You heard her. Give her what she wants.” A triumphant smile played on my lips. Yes, I thought. Make it big. Make it loud. Make it so public that Stella can never, ever crawl out from under the rubble. 4 The bodyguards dragged me from one boutique to the next, a humiliating parade of rejection. The answer was always the same. No one knew me. This world of five-hundred-dollar haircuts and diamond-dust facials was not my world. I couldn’t have been more out of place. When we circled back, Ethan was on a video call with his son. Hearing the report from his men, he nearly crushed the phone in his hand. Through gritted teeth, he told his crying child goodbye, then ended the call and hurled the phone directly at my head. The expensive device was fine. My forehead, however, immediately began to swell. The crowd had grown, their sympathy for the heartbroken father palpable. They had heard the child’s desperate cries for “Mama,” and their glares turned to daggers aimed straight at me. “What kind of monster does that? Tearing a mother away from her child. It’s just cruel.” “Look at the expression on her face! No remorse at all. You’d think he was the one who wronged her.” Just then, sirens wailed in the distance. The police arrived, followed closely by a pack of reporters, cameras already flashing. And behind them… behind them were two people I never expected to see. My parents. Ethan had brought them here. He had flown my parents in from our small town, feeding them the story of how I’d corrupted and kidnapped his wife. Their faces were etched with panic and exhaustion. As they pushed through the crowd, Ethan gestured for the bodyguards to release me. The memory of my mother’s face in the prison visiting room—a mask of shattered disappointment—flashed before my eyes. Tears welled up, and I reached for her. My arm was met with a stinging slap. I clutched my hand to my chest, staring at her in disbelief. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her voice shaking with a mix of fury and shame. “We thought you were here working hard, making a life for yourself. What is this, Anna? What have you done?” She was so overwrought she swayed on her feet. I reached for her again, but she recoiled as if burned. “Mom—!” My father caught her, steadying her, then turned his wrath on me. “Don’t you call her that! We don’t have a daughter. Not one who does… this! We could have been sold in our sleep by you and never known it!” After everything that happened in my last life, my only plan had been to clear my name and go home to them. And now here they were, brought here by my executioner to serve as the final, public nail in my coffin. I looked past them, searching for Ethan. He was standing off to the side, speaking in low tones to a police officer. Before I could call out to him, a sharp, searing pain exploded in my ear. My mother had grabbed it, twisting hard. Tears of pain and betrayal streamed down her face. “You tell Mr. Blackwood where you took Stella! You tell him right now! If you don’t, you can forget you ever had parents. We are done with you!” The crowd’s murmurs turned to outright shouts of disgust. I tried to cover my ear, which felt like it was splitting open. A warm trickle of blood ran down my neck. But before I could, my father reappeared, holding a thick wooden stick he must have broken off a nearby display. He swung it hard against the back of my knees. A scream tore from my throat as my legs buckled, sending me crashing to the pavement. The sudden movement made my mother lose her grip, but not before tearing my earlobe. Blood now flowed freely, staining the shoulder of my shirt. Ethan walked over slowly, standing over me. He calmly informed my parents about the ten million dollars and the sold car. The color drained from their faces. They looked at me as if I were a monster. “Our fault…” my father choked out, his voice cracking. “This is our failure as parents…” Just then, a police officer approached Ethan and whispered something in his ear. Ethan’s expression hardened, his eyes turning to flint. He looked down at me, then at his men. “Take her. We’re going to the property listed in her name.” I knew where we were going. It was the place Stella had set up as the final piece of evidence to frame me. It was her and her lover’s secret paradise. It’s almost over, I thought, a strange sense of calm washing over me. It’s finally ending.

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