I died on the eve of the Fourth of July, my neck sliced open by the furious father of a victim. It happened because my husband, a Deputy Chief of Detectives, decided it would be a brilliant PR move for his career to have our five-year-old daughter present a bouquet of flowers to the city’s most notorious serial killer. I fought it with every fiber of my being, and in doing so, became public enemy number one. My husband stared at me, his face a mask of disappointment. “How can you be so selfish?” My daughter screamed through her tears, “Mommy’s bad! I don’t want this mommy! I want a new mommy!” The entire internet branded me a heartless monster. Even the killer, from behind the bars of his cell, claimed that my interference was the only thing stopping him from confessing his crimes. Now, I’ve been reborn. I’m standing here again, surrounded by the blinding flash of media cameras, watching my daughter clutch a bouquet of flowers as she takes timid steps toward that blood-soaked demon. This time, I’ve melted into the crowd. This time, I’m just going to watch. 1 The first thing I did after being reborn was take a pair of nail clippers and a brush to David and Zoe. Then I went straight to a DNA lab. “I want a new mommy! I don’t want this mommy! I hate her!” My daughter’s shrieks from my past life were still ringing in my ears, but it was the two different uses of the word “mommy” that now haunted me. My husband David’s department had already formed a special task force for this case. The lead suspect would be caught soon, which meant I didn’t have much time. I paid extra for a rush job at the lab, and just before they announced the killer’s capture, I got the results. When I opened the envelope and saw the words printed on the page, my legs gave out. The strength drained from my body, and I nearly collapsed right there on the pavement. RESULTS: David Reed is confirmed as the biological father of the subject, Zoe Reed. RESULTS: Claire Sterling is conclusively excluded as the biological mother of the subject, Zoe Reed. The world tilted on its axis. David was Zoe’s father, but I… I had no biological connection to the child I had raised. No wonder Zoe’s attitude toward me had soured over the years, escalating into open defiance. They say children can’t hide their true feelings. Even if she didn’t know the words, her actions had screamed the truth all along. I stumbled out of the clinic and started to laugh, a raw, broken sound. I was such a fool. An absolute idiot. My own husband had cheated on me, swapped our child, and I never suspected a thing. During the storm of public hatred in my past life, it was Zoe’s childish voice that had delivered the final, killing blow. Her televised interview had sent my reputation spiraling into an abyss from which it never recovered. I’d questioned everything—my sanity, my judgment, my very worth as a human being—but I never once questioned my own womb. Thinking back, that sudden blackout I experienced during labor… it had to be his doing. A setup. He had swapped our real baby for this one. For years, he’d used my father’s political influence to claw his way up from a beat cop to Deputy Chief. Now that my father’s power was waning, he wanted me gone. He wanted to bring Zoe’s real mother into our home. He knew I adored Zoe, that I would die for her. So he used that love as a weapon. He orchestrated the whole flower ceremony knowing I would object. It was a win-win for him. If it worked, he’d be hailed as a compassionate genius, paving the way for his next promotion. When I inevitably intervened, he could paint me as an unhinged, hysterical woman, giving him the perfect public excuse to divorce me and play the victim. My fingers crumpled the DNA report into a tight ball. If I was a fool for meddling last time, then this time, I would respect the natural order of things. This time, I’d let fate run its course. The next morning, after an all-night manhunt, one of the lead suspects in the serial robbery-homicides, Carl Russo, was finally in custody. Just like last time, he was a brick wall. No matter how they interrogated him, no matter what evidence they presented, he just stared blankly and repeated the same line. “I don’t know. I don’t know anything.” The case had the city in a panic, and the pressure from above was immense. They had three days to crack it, or the entire task force would be demoted to street patrol. Russo’s known family were all dead. So, with time running out, Deputy Chief David Reed proposed a radical idea. The same idea as last time. They would appeal to the killer’s humanity. They would use the innocence of a child to awaken his conscience. His own daughter, Zoe, would present the killer with flowers. It would be a powerful, emotional spectacle, designed to break down the suspect’s psychological defenses. The proposal was risky, but his superiors, desperate for a breakthrough, approved it. To ensure that I, the mother, would show up at the perfect moment to create a scene, David had a “sympathetic” subordinate place an anonymous tip. In my last life, I took that call and charged onto the scene like a raging bull, screaming and shouting, destroying the ceremony in front of the entire world’s media. This time, when the same number flashed on my screen, I silenced it. I watched the screen light up and go dark, again and again. Thirty minutes before the ceremony was scheduled to begin, I “noticed” the missed calls and raced to the scene. I didn’t ram my car through the police barricades like before. I parked blocks away, slipped into the back of the crowd, and waited. In the center of the cordoned-off area, Zoe stood in a pristine white princess dress, clutching a bouquet. Her eyes darted nervously at the cameras and the murmuring crowd. Carl Russo, shackled at the hands and feet, was led out. I heard the raw cries of anguish and rage from the victims’ families in the crowd. My husband, in his immaculate uniform, knelt beside Zoe. He patted her head, whispering words of encouragement, but his eyes were frantically scanning the crowd. I knew who he was looking for. I ducked lower. The show had to go on. With me still a no-show, David had no choice but to give Zoe a gentle push forward. Just as Zoe stood on her tiptoes, holding the flowers up to the killer, all hell broke loose. With a sudden, violent twist, Russo threw the guards off him. In one fluid motion, he lunged forward, his shackled hands snatching Zoe and pulling her against his body like a shield. “What kind of moronic idea was this?” Russo spat, his voice a low growl. “You people really are idiots.” He tightened his arm around Zoe’s neck, his eyes burning with feral intensity. “I’ve killed enough people to know the more I talk, the faster I die.” “Get me five hundred thousand in cash and a car. Now. Or I’ll snap this little brat’s neck!” The next second, before anyone could react, Russo jammed his thumb into Zoe’s eye socket. With a sickening pop, he ripped the eyeball out. Zoe’s scream was inhuman. Russo threw the severed eye to the ground and crushed it under his heel. By the time I burst screaming from the crowd, Carl Russo was twisting Zoe’s arm, a look of manic glee on his face. The sharp crack of bone breaking, mingled with Zoe’s piercing shriek, sent a wave of nausea through me. Several officers intercepted me, holding me back. I dropped to my knees on the pavement, my voice cracking. “Please! Please, don’t hurt my daughter anymore!” I begged Russo. “She’s only five years old! Let her go, I’m begging you! I’ll do anything, whatever you want, just let her go!” Russo’s eyes glinted as he looked from me to David. “Well, Chief Reed, is this your wife? Not bad looking at all!” He tightened his grip on Zoe, his gaze mocking. “You were so eager to slap the cuffs on me, weren’t you, Chief? What’s the matter? Cat got your tongue?” “I don’t know how a moron like you made it to Deputy Chief, honestly. You personally delivered a hostage right into my hands. If you weren’t the one who arrested me, I’d think you were my partner.” His expression turned vicious. He leaned down and bit into Zoe’s ear. I screamed as he tore it clean off with his teeth. Zoe went limp in his arms, mercifully unconscious. David’s face was a mask of pure fury, but he was frozen, helpless. “I told you!” Russo roared. “Half a million and a car! You have twenty minutes. If I don’t see it…” CRACK! A single gunshot shattered the air. A blossom of red exploded on Russo’s shoulder, a gaping wound. Instantly, officers swarmed him, wrestling the now-unconscious Zoe from his grasp and slamming him to the ground. A frantic scramble, and Zoe’s limp, bloody body was rushed into an ambulance. In the sterile corridor outside the hospital operating room, I had my hands buried in the collar of David’s uniform, my palms connecting with his face again and again, the slaps echoing in the quiet hall. “Why would you do this? Isn’t she your daughter?” I shrieked. “David, I don’t care if you want to climb the corporate ladder, but to use your own flesh and blood to do it? Are you even human?” His colleagues finally intervened, pulling me away as David’s face began to swell. “That’s enough, Claire!” he finally roared, pushing them off. “If you have a problem, take it up with me! Don’t attack my team!” He pointed a trembling finger at me. “This is all your fault! If you had just shown up on time and stopped the ceremony like you were supposed to, none of this would have happened!” “Yes, it was my idea! But it was for the good of the city! I have a duty to the victims’ families! I have a duty to this uniform!” “I’m busy, I’m at work all the time. I thought I could count on you to take care of her, but you were so careless. You let this happen.” He shook his head, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Zoe is maimed because of you, Claire. I’m so, so disappointed in you.” Seeing his feigned despair, I grabbed a nearby metal trash can and hurled it at him. “You son of a bitch!” I screamed. “You kept this whole thing a secret from me, and now that it’s blown up in your face, you dare to blame me? How dare you?” “If one of your men hadn’t called me, I’d still be in the dark! What happened to Zoe is your fault, and yours alone! If she doesn’t make it, I swear to God, I will kill you!” “Get out!” I shrieked, my voice raw. “All of you, just get the hell out of my sight!” Just then, the light above the operating room door went out. The surgeon emerged, his face grim. I pushed past the officers and rushed to him. “Doctor, my daughter… is she going to be okay?” “The broken bones will heal,” he said, his voice heavy with pity. “But her eye, and her ear… there was nothing we could do.” He sighed. “She’s only five. Such a tragedy.” In the private room, Zoe lay still, her head wrapped in so many bandages she looked like a tiny mummy. Looking at the ruin of her face, the empty socket where an eye used to be, and remembering the words on that DNA report, I felt nothing. Not a single shred of pity. “Mommy is always so strict with me. She makes me do homework all the time. If I don’t listen, she hits me. Sometimes I think she’s going to kill me.” “Daddy is the best. He takes me to the park and buys me ice cream. Mommy just tells me to behave. She never lets me have any fun.” “My daddy is the greatest man in the world. I want to help him. If Mommy didn’t hold him back all the time, he would probably be the police commissioner by now.” “I hate my mommy. Daddy says she’s just dragging him down. I wish I didn’t have a mommy.” I sat by the bed, her words from my past life echoing in my mind. Even if she knew about her birth mother, those weren’t the words of a normal five-year-old. Someone had coached her. Someone had fed her those lines. As I was lost in thought, a soft groan came from the bed. She was awake. The moment her one good eye focused on me, a tear trickled down her cheek. But the words that came out of her mouth were laced with an icy resentment that chilled me to the bone. “It’s all your fault! Daddy said he called you! Why were you so late?” “If you had come sooner, it wouldn’t hurt so much! I hate you!” “I want my mommy! Not you! I want my other mommy!” David had been called back to the station for an emergency meeting about the catastrophic failure of his plan. We were alone. Seeing her writhing and screaming in the bed, I dropped the loving mother act. “You got what you deserved,” I said, my voice flat. “What happened to you today is your father’s fault. It has nothing to do with me.” “You’re lying!” she shrieked. “Daddy told me you never liked me! He wouldn’t lie to me!” “Oh, really? Then why am I the only one here with you right now? Why isn’t your precious daddy here? And this ‘other mommy’… if she loves you so much, where is she?” “Because you’re a bad person!” Zoe sobbed, her remaining eye glaring at me with pure hatred. “Daddy said you’re a bad person, and if my other mommy saw you, you would hurt her! That’s why she has to hide!” I let out a cold laugh. “He’s quite the storyteller, isn’t he? He’s also a liar. The truth is, he and your mother don’t really care about you. They care more about having a little baby boy.” “Why else would your father send you to give flowers to a monster? He never wanted you to survive. If he really cared, why didn’t he stop you himself? Why did he have to call me? It’s not like he’s paralyzed.” A five-year-old’s logic is a fragile thing. My words hit their mark. Her face crumpled, and fresh tears began to fall. “You’re lying,” she whimpered. “Daddy and Mommy love me the most.” I patted her bandaged head. “Keep dreaming, you poor thing.” “Your IV is almost empty. I’m going to get the nurse. You stay here and don’t move.” I walked out of the room and ran right into David, who was just returning from his meeting. “How’s Zoe?” he asked, his tone clipped. “She’s awake. I was just getting the nurse to change her drip.” He crooked a finger at me. “Come with me. I need to talk to you about something.” I followed him to the stairwell. The moment we were inside, the heavy fire door slammed shut behind me. Before I could turn, two of David’s colleagues grabbed me, pinning me against the cold concrete wall. “David, what are you doing?” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and an ink pad. He grabbed my hand and forced my index finger onto the ink. “Zoe’s injuries… there’s going to be an internal investigation,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t take the fall for this, Claire. The whole department would be disciplined. So I need a scapegoat. And that’s you.” “All you have to do is put your fingerprint on this Guardianship Consent Form. It says you voluntarily allowed Zoe to approach the suspect. That way, I keep my job.” “For my career,” he whispered, his face inches from mine, “I’m afraid I have to ask you for this little favor… honey.”

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In my sixth year with Liam Goodwin, he got engaged to someone else. Behind my back. I moved out of his apartment that same night, tossing the matching ring we wore into the trash on my way out. After putting in for a transfer, I left the sprawling metropolis of Southport and returned to my seaside hometown, Seabrook. Slowly, I began to piece together a life that didn’t revolve around him. And then, on Christmas Eve, I saw him on a snowy street in Seabrook. Liam, who was supposed to be a thousand miles away. The wind whipped around him, but he still stood tall and impossibly handsome. The only difference was the unfamiliar flush of red rimming his eyes. “Willow,” he pleaded, his voice cracking. “What do I have to do to make you come back to me?” 1 Liam had just returned from a month-long business trip to North Island, so when he got back, neither of us could keep our hands to ourselves. He was holding me, kissing me until the world melted away, when the phone on the nightstand started to ring. I glanced over casually. The world didn’t just melt—it froze. I was plunged into an abyss of ice, a chill seeping deep into my bones. The name flashing on the screen was “Fiancée.” With one hand, he picked up the phone, his voice a gentle murmur as he discussed wedding venues and floral arrangements with another woman. His other hand was still tangled in the fabric of my shirt. I shoved him away, my body trembling as I stumbled out of bed, fumbling for the dress and stockings he’d peeled off me and left on the floor. Liam ended the call, his eyes narrowing slightly. “What’s with the attitude?” My back was to him, my shaking hands struggling to pull up the zipper on my dress. “Aren’t you going to explain? About your fiancée?” He let out a lazy, dismissive laugh. “What’s there to explain?” I spun around to face him. “Who is she?” “…Sophia Yates.” I froze. I’d heard that name before, years ago. We had only just gotten together when his father had found him, demanding he break things off with me and agree to a strategic marriage with the sole heiress of the Yates family. He had refused, flat out. He even bought this very apartment and asked me to move in with him. Back then, I thought his love for me was real. All his friends knew about us; they called me by his last name, jokingly referring to me as the “Mrs.” I had keys to his home, his office. Before he left for North Island, he’d even set a date to come home with me for Christmas to finally meet my parents. Every single thing he did felt like what a real partner would do. I never, not for a second, imagined he would get engaged to someone else. Meeting my look of utter disbelief, Liam just shrugged with a casual smile. “Why so shocked? I’m twenty-eight. It’s perfectly normal to have a fiancée.” The words hit me like a club to the head. Blood rushed to my ears, a dull roar drowning out everything else. “Then what about us? What did the last ten years mean to you?” His patience wore thin. He swung his legs out of bed and started pulling on his clothes. “Honestly, this whole interrogation is getting old. We’re adults, Willow. Sleeping together, living together… what does any of it really prove? I never once said anything about marrying you.” 2 He lit a cigarette, and the ring on his finger caught the light—a perfect match to the one on mine. He’d slept with me, given me a ring, but he never planned to marry me. What was I to him, then? A tool for his pleasure? A warm body on call? A bedmate he could kick to the curb whenever he pleased? A shiver traced its way down my spine, and I clutched the fabric of my dress over my chest. It did nothing to stop the trembling. I couldn’t forget our first time. He’d half-coaxed, half-pleaded with me until I gave in. It hurt, a sharp, tearing pain. But it was him—the boy I’d had a crush on for what felt like a lifetime. And because it was him, even the pain became something tender, something that etched itself into my very bones. We made it official the next day. Was that it? Was I too easy to win, and therefore not worth holding onto? “Are you… serious? About the engagement?” “Of course. Who jokes about their own marriage?” I closed my eyes, swallowing the bitter wave of grief and humiliation that rose in my throat. In front of the wrong person, every vulnerability, every tear, is just a punchline for their amusement. “Okay,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I get it.” I finished dressing and started to pack. I’d lived here for six years. Every pillow, every picture frame, every goddamn plant had been chosen by me. I’d watched this place transform from a cold, empty shell into a warm, lived-in home. I had built a life here. But now that it was time to leave, I realized how little of it was actually mine. One suitcase was all it took. Liam sat on the couch, watching me, a storm brewing in his eyes. He chain-smoked, his jaw tight with irritation. “Willow, what the hell are you doing? Did I say you had to leave? Even when I get married, you can still be with me…” “So I’m supposed to be grateful? Thank you for offering me the position of your mistress? Liam, you really think that little of me!” My voice rose to a shout, sharp and raw. His face turned to ice. “Fine. You’re so pure, so noble. I’m not good enough for you! But I’m telling you right now, Willow Evans, if you walk out that door tonight, don’t you ever think about coming back!” I wiped the tears from my face, pulled the ring from my finger, and hurled it at him. It clattered on the floor between us. “Goodbye, Liam. For good.” 3 Christmas was just around the corner, and a damp, bone-aching cold had settled over Southport. The forecast had called for snow that night. As I stepped out of the building, I saw a pristine blanket of white covering everything. I managed a weak, ironic smile. For once, the weatherman got it right. I dragged my suitcase through the fresh snow, the wheels struggling against the powder. Luckily, the cab I’d called arrived quickly. The driver helped me lift my suitcase into the trunk. “Whoa, that’s a heavy one, miss!” he said with a friendly grunt. “Movin’ out in the middle of the night? Not coming back, huh?” As the taxi pulled away from the curb, I took one last look at the familiar window, now just a distant, glowing square in the swirling snow. “No,” I whispered. “Never again.” I found a cheap hotel near my office and spent the rest of the night scrolling through apartment listings on my phone. Rent in Southport was steep; a decent one-bedroom in a safe neighborhood would run me a few thousand a month. I was trying to calculate my savings when I drifted off, my phone still clutched in my hand. In my dreams, I saw our past unfold, but this time, I was watching from above. I saw myself at the freshman orientation welcome event, standing on stage singing. And I saw Liam in the audience, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes filled with a captivating mix of admiration and awe. When the song ended, he came on stage with a bouquet of flowers. “That was incredible,” he’d said, his voice confident, with a slight, charming edge of arrogance. “I’m Liam Goodwin, from the finance department. We should get to know each other.” He said it like a statement, not a question, as if he was certain I’d be as captivated as he was. I looked at the eighteen-year-old me in my dream, her cheeks flushed, and whispered through my own tears, “Willow, don’t tell him your name.” But a man with a face that perfect and a spirit that untamed is a lethal combination for an eighteen-year-old girl. Of course I took the flowers. And of course I told him my name. After that, he was everywhere. He chased away every other guy who showed even a flicker of interest in me. When I complained, he’d cup the back of my neck, his voice a low growl. “You looking for trouble, Evans? You think you can date someone without my permission?” My heart would flutter. I thought he was jealous. Looking back, I see it for what it was: the simple, brutish possessiveness of a man laying claim to a prize. For four years of college, he was the only man I was close to. He took me everywhere, introduced me to his oldest friends, and beamed with pride when they called me the “Mrs.” I would blush and say nothing. This ambiguous dance continued until the year we graduated. Liam’s mother, who had been sick for years, finally lost her battle. On the night of the funeral, he showed up at my tiny apartment, reeking of whiskey. His tears were cold against my neck as he held me, his trembling lips finding mine. It was our first real kiss. My mind went blank. When I finally came to my senses, I tried to push him away, but he murmured against my ear, his voice thick with grief, “Willow, please… don’t say no. You’re all I have left.” And just like that, I lost the will to fight. It was a night of tangled limbs and whispered grief. When I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I swallowed my disappointment and got ready for work, just like any other day. But then he came back, bursting through the door, out of breath from running up the stairs. In his hand, he held a small box. His eyes, when he looked at me, seemed to hold all the stars in the universe. He smiled, a real, brilliant smile, and held out his hand. “Willow Evans,” he said. “Be with me.” 4 I woke to the cold, damp feeling of a tear-soaked pillow. A message from Liam, sent in the dead of night, was waiting on my phone. [I’m selling the apartment. I won’t be living there after the wedding anyway. You should come get the rest of your things. Clear it all out.] A bitter laugh escaped my lips. There was nothing left in that apartment that belonged to me. Nothing but the humiliating, laughable memories of the last few years. I typed back: [No thanks. Just throw it all away.] It took a long time for him to reply. [Suit yourself.] Two words. That’s all it took to erase our entire history. I looked at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone. Puffy eyes, red nose—a complete and utter wreck. Get it together, Willow, I told myself. It’s just a breakup. You’re fine. You’re okay. My lip trembled, and a fresh wave of tears streamed down my face. Just then, my mom called. “Willow, honey, are you busy? You know how you were craving that clam chowder from home? Well, the snow finally stopped, so I went out and shipped a care package to you. The whole town is already decorated for Christmas! It made me miss you. When you were home, we’d have started baking the Christmas cookies by now. With you gone, your dad and I just don’t have the heart for it.” Hearing her voice, a painful lump formed in my throat. After college, I rarely went home. Between work and Liam, there was never enough time. And after his mother passed, his relationship with his father soured, so he stopped going to his family’s estate for the holidays. To keep him company, I stayed with him, every single Christmas. My parents never said a word, but I could hear the loneliness in their voices over the phone. When I thought about it, I’d been a terrible daughter. I’d hurt the people who loved me most for a man who wasn’t worth it. I had planned on taking extra time off this year, to finally bring Liam home to meet them. Now, there was no point. The thought of him sent a sharp, stabbing pain through my chest, and the tears started flowing again. I pressed my hand over my mouth, trying to stifle my sobs. My mom, oblivious, chattered on. “I was going to send you some lamb shanks too! But your dad reminded me that Liam can’t stand the smell of lamb, so I just packed some of my special chili oil instead. A little spoonful of that in the chowder is amazing! Oh, and is Liam still having trouble sleeping? I got him some herbal remedies from a well-known local herbalist. Your cousin’s wife swears by him—cured her insomnia right up. I sent those along too…” I bit down hard on my lip, the ache in my heart growing with every word she spoke. From the day they learned about Liam, my parents had treated him like a son-in-law. They knew his mother had passed away young and worried he had no one to look after him. The last time I’d visited, I’d mentioned his insomnia offhandedly, and my mom had scoured half of Seabrook to find a remedy. All they wanted was for us to be happy. And I was about to break their hearts. 5 After a long monologue, my mom finally noticed my silence. “Willow? Honey, you there?” I cleared my throat. “Yeah, Mom. I’m here.” They say a mother always knows. The moment I spoke, she caught it. “What’s wrong, sweetie? Your voice… Are you sick? Or… have you been crying?” For years, I’d lived by a simple rule: only share the good news. They were too far away to help with the bad, and it would only cause them to worry. But in that moment, all I wanted was to crawl into my mother’s arms. I wiped my face with a tissue. “Mom,” I choked out. “Liam and I… we broke up.” There was a long pause on the other end. Then, a sigh of relief. “Oh, is that all? I thought something terrible had happened. A breakup? Well, thank goodness.” I was so stunned I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. “Mom, I’m heartbroken!” “In today’s world, with all the stress everyone’s under, a broken heart is the least of your worries! Let me ask you something. Losing your job or losing a boyfriend, pick one.” I was silent. “Okay, how about this? Me and your dad getting sick, or losing a boyfriend, pick one.” “…Mom, why would you even say that?” “Last one. The world ending, or losing a boyfriend, pick one.” And just like that, a strange sense of perspective washed over me. I still had my job. My parents were safe and sound. The world was, in fact, not ending. Things were pretty great, actually. “I feel better, Mom. Thank you.” “That’s my girl. Hey, Willow… you only stayed in Southport for Liam, right? Now that you two are over, have you thought about coming back home? To Seabrook?” I froze. “Back to Seabrook?” “Yes! The town’s really been booming these last few years! It’s not so different from Southport anymore! And didn’t your company just open a new branch here this year? Your dad and I wanted you to transfer then, but because of Liam… well, never mind him. The point is, housing is so much cheaper here. We could help you get a small condo. You could live on your own, or stay with us and rent it out for extra income…” The more she talked, the more excited she became. She hung up abruptly, saying she needed to go discuss the plan with my dad. I looked out the window at Southport’s dreary, gray sky and thought about the pure, unadulterated joy in my mother’s voice. Ever since I met Liam, my world had orbited around him. He’d said he wanted me to build a life in Southport, so I never even considered going home. I never saw how much my parents missed me, how much they longed to have me close. In that moment, the decision was made. From now on, the only people my world would revolve around were the ones who truly loved me back. … After pulling myself together, I went to the office and spoke with the HR director about transferring to the Seabrook branch. I didn’t mention the breakup, just that I wanted to be closer to my aging parents. As it turned out, the Seabrook office was expanding and needed experienced people to lead the new teams. After a moment’s consideration, the director approved it on the spot. All I had to do was submit the formal request online and finish handing off my current projects. It was all so… easy. Maybe, I thought, even the universe wanted Liam and me to be apart.

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The day after I married Mark Torrence, I took a briefcase full of his money to the hospital to see my brother. Leo, his leg still mangled from the “accident,” slammed the cash against my chest, his face a mask of bitter disappointment. “Jenny, you actually did it. You married Mark Torrence. He’s the man who destroyed us.” “Is this what it’s all about?” he snarled, his voice cracking. “Do you think money can fix Dad’s death? Mom’s coma? My leg?” For years, whenever he begged me to leave Mark, I had only one answer for him: “Leo, I really love him.” But this time, I said nothing. I just knelt, gathered the scattered bills, and walked away without a word. That night, Mark was in high spirits. He pulled me close, his hand tracing my spine as he whispered, “What do you want, little bird? Name your reward.” I turned in his arms and said softly, “Freedom.” My brother’s freedom. 01. Mark’s large hand was still wandering over my skin. He chuckled, a low rumble in his chest. “I don’t recall putting you in a cage. You’ve gone wherever you pleased for years, haven’t you?” I snuggled deeper into his embrace, my voice a carefully crafted purr. “I was talking about Leo. Call off your men at the hospital. Please?” “I’m your wife now. My brother hasn’t caused any trouble for years. What are you still worried about?” In the darkness of the bedroom, his features were a blur, but I could picture the faint, self-satisfied smile playing on his lips. The look of a man who owned the world and everyone in it. His voice was a slow, deliberate drawl. “Freeing your brother isn’t so difficult, you know. If your mother were to pass away, he wouldn’t have a reason to stay at the hospital, would he?” My heart stopped. The blood drained from my face, a mercy that the darkness hid my terror. I forced another playful note into my voice. “Mark, you wouldn’t want to see me sad, would you?” He pulled me tighter against him, but his voice was laced with a cool warning. “No, I wouldn’t. Which is why we’re never speaking of this again.” I closed my eyes, the scent of him filling my lungs, a wave of nausea churning in my stomach. It took every ounce of my willpower not to be sick all over him. My brother hated me for marrying our family’s destroyer. But did he really think I had a choice? Mark Torrence’s influence was a cancer that had metastasized throughout Sterling City. Years ago, my parents were top researchers in a lab owned by one of his subsidiary companies. He treated them like lab rats, exposing them to a lethal experimental gas. My father died on the spot. My mother slipped into a coma, a shell of a person kept alive by machines. Faced with the wreckage of our family, Mark had simply stood there, one hand in his pocket, looking down on me and my brother as if we were insects. “Bury the dead one,” he’d ordered his men. “And get the other one to a hospital. I want to know when she wakes up. That data is crucial to my research. There can be no mistakes.” Leo, his fists clenched, had lunged at him, screaming, “You monster! I’m calling the police!” Mark’s bodyguards swarmed him. Mark didn’t even flinch, just gave my brother a look of utter disdain. “The police? You won’t even be leaving the hospital.” At his signal, they snapped my brother’s legs. From that day on, Leo was under constant surveillance. I was only thirteen at the time. Too young, Mark thought, to be a threat. His watch over me was lax. That changed when I was fifteen. I jumped from a third-story window and ran, delirious with pain and purpose, straight for the nearest police station. I didn’t even make it two blocks before I ran straight into him. His hand closed around my throat. With my free arm, I plunged the fruit knife I’d hidden in my sleeve into his wrist. Blood bloomed, dark and sudden. His men descended on me. I was ready to die. They twisted my arm until the bone snapped, but I held onto the knife, driving it deep into one of the bodyguard’s ribs. As the man screamed, Mark finally gave me his full attention. Our eyes met. My own were bloodshot, a trickle of blood leaking from the corner of my mouth. Pinned to the ground, I glared at him with every ounce of hate I possessed. Just as the world began to fade to black, he raised a hand. His men backed off. He walked toward me, his steps measured and deliberate. With a flick of his expensive shoe, he kicked the knife from my grasp. His eyes held a flicker of something new—a dark, analytical amusement. “Vicious little thing,” he murmured. 02. After that, he took me to his estate. He had my broken arm set and healed, and he made me a promise: as long as I behaved, he would provide for me. In the three years that followed, I learned the true chasm between us. Defy him, betray him, challenge him—it always ended the same way: a beating and the cold, damp dark of the basement. I was only let out when I had learned my lesson. So I spent the next two years earning his trust. The price of that trust was my brother. When Leo found out Mark had taken me, he stormed the estate, a wild, desperate animal. He was beaten until he was spitting blood, but he still crawled toward me, grabbing my hand, begging me to leave with him. My face was a mask of indifference. I pulled my hand from his grasp. “I’m in love with Mark,” I said, the words like acid on my tongue. The shock in my brother’s eyes was a knife in my own heart. But I got better at it. The more I broke his heart, the more convincing I became. Eventually, I could look down on him with the same condescending air as Mark himself. “Just go, Leo,” I sneered one day. “I’m going to marry him. Mom’s been in that bed for ten years. Who knows when she’ll finally die? I have to look out for myself.” CRACK. The force of his slap sent a ringing through my ears. “Have you lost your mind? Have you no shame?” he roared, his eyes red-rimmed and filled with tears. “Tell me the truth, Jenny! Is that monster forcing you to do this?” And Mark was standing right behind me, watching it all. I calmly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and ordered the guards to throw my brother out. It was that very day that Mark told me he was going to marry me. There was no engagement. No ceremony. He tossed a diamond ring at me that probably cost less than his watch. That was it. We were married. Because that was all I deserved. I often prayed to the heavens, to my dead father. What am I supposed to do? What other way is there to save us, to save my brother? But the answer was always the same. This body was my only weapon. And it would only work as long as Mark Torrence was still interested in it. Ring— The sudden shrill of Mark’s phone cut through my thoughts. He answered it, and a sweet, feminine voice cooed from the other end. A few minutes later, he was dressed and heading for the door. The moment the front door clicked shut, a text message lit up my phone. It was from my brother. Just one line. [Jenny Asher. As of today, we are no longer brother and sister.] 03. My brother could curse me, hate me, call me anything he wanted. But for him to disown me… that was the one thing I couldn’t bear. I knew then that I had to accelerate my plan. When Mark left, he was usually gone until at least noon. I waited until the house staff were taking their mid-morning break, then slipped into his study. All the data from his illegal labs was on his computer. Even after all these years, there had to be a digital trail. I’d tried before, but the computer was protected by a three-tiered security system that would stump professionals. So, for the past few months, I had been secretly teaching myself to code. I bypassed the first two layers of security with relative ease. The third was just a matter of time. My hands trembled with a mixture of fear and exhilaration. As I typed the final character of the bypass code, I had to clamp a hand over my mouth to keep from screaming in triumph. The desktop flared to life. And from behind me, I heard a soft, derisive chuckle. I spun around, my heart seizing in my chest, and looked straight into Mark Torrence’s ice-cold eyes. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. His words were a death sentence. “I trust you remember the basement, Jenny.” 04. I hadn’t been in the basement for five years. Thrown back into the damp darkness, my arm broken again, I felt like I was suffocating. My face and body were slick with blood. This time, Mark had done the honors himself. He stood over me, a baseball bat resting on his shoulder, his eyes narrowed to dangerous slits. “I thought you were the smart one. It seems ten years wasn’t enough to teach you your place.” “Jenny, I was actually going to let it all go. Why couldn’t you just behave?” My mouth was full of blood. I spat a pink-tinged gob onto the concrete floor, sticking to my one and only story. “I was bored. I just wanted to play a game.” Mark sneered. “That’s a pathetic excuse. Do you really expect me to believe that?” I cradled my shattered arm, my voice flat. “You walk out on your new wife to see another woman. Can’t I have a little fun of my own? Or is there something on that computer you don’t want people to see?” He ran his tongue over the inside of his cheek, a predatory gleam in his eyes. To my shock, he admitted it. “Of course there is. It contains a complete record of your mother’s biometric data for the past decade.” He crouched down, his voice a low, mocking whisper. “I know what you want, Jenny. But you’re being naive. Even if you got that evidence, it would be useless in this city.” He was right. He had his hands in everything, legal and illegal. His public image as a philanthropist was impeccable. Without concrete, irrefutable proof, I could never touch him. I gritted my teeth. “I want your love, Mark.” His eyes widened almost imperceptibly, the same flash of surprise he’d shown the day I stabbed his wrist. “I want your absolute, undivided love,” I pressed on, my voice gaining strength. “I don’t care if my mother lives or dies. But you… you have to love me.” He moved closer. “So that’s what this is about. That phone call.” He tilted my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “Don’t worry. You’ll never see that woman in Sterling City again.” His voice was a soft, dangerous caress. “This is the Jenny I know. Vicious. I like it. But you still tried to hack my computer, and I can’t just let that go.” “So here’s what we’ll do. I’ll give you one more chance. Go to your brother. Make things right.” … At the hospital, I found Leo slumped on a bench in the hallway, his head leaned back against the wall, eyes closed. He was only three years older than me, but he looked like a man in his late thirties. Ten years of this hell had eroded the strong, vibrant young man he’d been, leaving this exhausted, broken shell. My fingers curled into a fist. I walked over and sat down beside him. He opened his eyes at the sound, and when he saw it was me, he recoiled as if he’d been burned. He scrambled to his feet, limping a few steps away, putting distance between us. “What are you doing here? I thought we were done.” The hospital was crawling with Mark’s men. I looked at him, my gaze deep and unwavering, but my voice was cold enough to freeze water. “Leo Asher, a text message has no legal standing.” “I have the papers here. A declaration of severance. Once you sign it, you and your mother will be nothing to me.” His mouth fell open, his eyes filled with a fresh wave of shock and despair. He knew a text wasn’t legally binding. He’d sent it as a last-ditch effort, a final plea for me to come to my senses. He never thought I would take it this far. I fought back the lump in my throat and pulled the documents and a pen from my bag. “Sign it. After this, we’re strangers. What I do will no longer be your concern.” He clenched his jaw, his eyes boring into me. “Jenny, I’m asking you one last time. Are you really in love with him? Have you forgotten what he did to our parents? Have you forgotten my leg?” The words wouldn’t come. I had spoken so many cruel, decisive words to him over the years. But this time, my throat was closed. He stepped forward and grabbed my hand, his eyes shining with unshed tears. “Jenny, this is your last chance. Leave him. Come back to me. We’ll find a way to get justice. As long as we’re together, we can survive this! Do you want Dad to be unable to rest in peace?” A sharp pain shot through my nose, and I almost broke down. A last chance. Everyone was giving me a last chance. But what was I supposed to do? If I went back to Leo, everything I had worked for, everything I had endured, would be for nothing. All my pain, all my humiliation, would be meaningless. If I stayed with Mark, it was just more of the same, a slow, agonizing death of the soul. After all these years, I was still no closer to getting the evidence I needed. What if I never got it? What if one day, my mother and brother couldn’t hold on any longer? What was I supposed to do? As I stood there, paralyzed by indecision, Leo’s grip on my hand tightened, his eyes pleading. And from behind me came the slow, mocking sound of applause. “What a touching scene. A pair of suffering siblings. How pathetic.” Leo’s expression turned murderous. He let go of me and limped toward Mark. Just as he was about to swing, I grabbed his arm. “Leo, sign the papers!” “You!” he choked, enraged. The punch that was meant for Mark swung wide and connected with my face. The world spun. I collapsed to the floor, the impact jarring my broken arm. He stood over me, his entire body shaking with fury. “How could I have a sister like you? Have you no shame? Why wasn’t it you who died? Why aren’t you the one lying in that bed?” “Do you think Mom and Dad would be proud of you? Am I?” Pain, sharp and white-hot, shot up my arm. I couldn’t meet his eyes. My voice was a trembling whisper, but I repeated the words. “Sign it!” He looked at me, his face a mask of utter defeat. He nodded, a single, jerky motion. He snatched the pen and scribbled his name on the line. I let out a silent breath of relief. I struggled to my feet, snatched the contract from his hand, and looped my arm through Mark’s, turning my back on my brother. I could feel his gaze burning into my back all the way down the hall. Back in the car, Mark traced the swelling bruise on my cheek. His voice was laced with a triumphant smile. “Now, Jenny,” he said. “You have no one left but me.” 05. I was sick. First, the beating from Mark, then the violent confrontation with my brother. My body finally gave out. A raging fever took hold. I was freezing, no matter how many blankets were piled on top of me. A deep, bone-chilling tremor wracked my body, a physical manifestation of the terror that had become my constant companion. Just as I felt myself slipping away, a man entered my bedroom. He gently wiped the sweat from my brow and carefully tucked the blankets around me. The gesture was so tender, it reminded me of Leo. My eyes flew open. But the face looking down at me wasn’t my brother’s. It was Mark’s. My heart plummeted into an abyss. He stroked my hair, his voice as soft as a demon’s whisper. “Jenny, you’re pregnant.” “I was wrong the other day. I’m sorry. From now on, as long as you love me with all your heart, I’ll love you back. I promise.” My pupils constricted. Under the blankets, my hand clenched into a fist. First shock, then a wild, triumphant joy. I knew Mark had always wanted a child. And this child might just be the key to his downfall. A smile spread across my face. To him, it must have looked like a smile of pure happiness. He leaned down and kissed my forehead, his eyes dark and intense. “Jenny, you’ve cut ties with your brother. If you carry this child to term, safely, I’ll consider pulling my men from the hospital.” I met his gaze, my voice weak. “Leo has already given up trying to find evidence. Mom’s… his mother’s illness is more than enough to keep him occupied. After the baby is born, let’s go abroad. It’s been years. Any evidence you had is long gone anyway.” He squeezed my hand, his face radiating contentment. “Okay. Whatever you want. As long as Leo Asher behaves himself, I’ll call off the surveillance. For you, I’ll set him free.” His hand slipped under the covers, coming to rest on my flat stomach. “And when we’re abroad, I’ll give you a real wedding. Jenny, it took having a child to make me realize how much I… care for you. Now, we’re a real family.” I forced my lips into a gentle smile. Inside, I was screaming. My family is my brother and my mother. Not you, Mark Torrence. Just you wait. One day, I will be the one to send you to hell. … After the fever broke, Mark took me to the hospital for a check-up. The baby was healthy, a tiny, flickering heartbeat on the ultrasound screen. The smile never left Mark’s face. As we were leaving, I “accidentally” left the diagnostic report behind. Then I feigned a wave of morning sickness and asked him to go back and get it for me. He told me to wait for him and not to wander off. The moment he was out of sight, I hailed a cab and raced back to the estate. The password to his study computer had been changed back to something simple. Perhaps he was finally letting his guard down. I didn’t overthink it. I tried his birthday, his mother’s birthday, even the birthday of the woman who had called him that night. All of them failed. I frowned, preparing to hack my way in again. But as my fingers touched the mouse, an idea struck me. A cold, chilling premonition. I typed in the date. The date Mark Torrence first brought me to his home. The computer unlocked. The desktop wallpaper was a photo of the two of us. I let out a cold, humorless laugh. You said it yourself, Mark. A man with a weakness is a man who can be broken. My fingers flew across the keyboard. Finally, in a hidden directory, I found a folder labeled “LAB.” My heart hammered in my chest, my palms sweating with excitement. I clicked it open. The smile on my face froze. On the screen was a live feed. It was my brother, struggling against several of Mark’s men. They had him pinned to the floor. His eyes, wild and red-rimmed, stared through the camera, directly at me. “Jenny! What the hell are you and Torrence doing? I disowned you, wasn’t that enough? Are you trying to get me and Mom killed?” My pupils shrank to pinpricks. I slapped a hand over my mouth, my entire body shaking uncontrollably. “Heh…” Mark’s figure suddenly entered the frame. He looked at the camera, his expression one of profound disappointment. His voice was a cold sneer. “Do you see, Jenny? This is your precious brother. You fight so hard to protect him, and this is the thanks you get.” “Don’t think I don’t know what was really in that severance agreement you had him sign.” “It was a liability waiver, wasn’t it? Stating that no matter what actions you took, he would not be held responsible.” “You wanted to kill me, Jenny.” BZZZZT— My mind went blank, as if my very soul had been ripped from my body.

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1 A wedding in the snow-capped mountains—it was a dream I’d planned for years. For me and Simmon, it held a special, sacred meaning. But I never imagined that with a single word from Clara, he would change everything. I stood frozen in the doorway, my hands trembling, afraid to make a sound. Simmon’s friend, Mark, frowned in confusion. “A wedding is about two people, man. You should at least tell Amelia. How is she supposed to prepare?” Simmon waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “What’s there to prepare? The mountains are freezing. The beach is so much nicer.” “But this is your wedding. To just change the venue without even telling her… isn’t that a little disrespectful?” Simmon’s patience was clearly wearing thin. “If she knew, she’d just ask a million questions, probably throw a fit, and then I’d have to waste my time calming her down. It’s a hassle.” “Besides,” he added with a smug confidence, “she loves me. She’ll agree. I mean, she went blind for me. What’s changing a wedding venue compared to that?” A chorus of snickers erupted from the guys around them. “We all know what this is about,” one of them said with a sly grin. “It’s all for Clara. Who could say no to a woman like that?” “Haha, yeah, we always thought you’d end up with Clara. She’s gorgeous, and her family’s loaded.” At that, Simmon’s face darkened. “Shut up. Don’t let me hear you say that again. If Amelia finds out and makes a scene, I’ll have your heads.” The laughter continued. “Alright, alright, we get it. You’ve got it made. Amelia’s completely devoted to you.” Just then, Simmon’s phone rang. The name “Clara” flashed across the screen. The men exchanged knowing, wicked smiles. “Speak of the devil. The real Mrs. Thorne is calling.” Simmon didn’t bother to correct them. His voice softened as he answered the call. Clara’s playful laughter tinkled through the phone. “Simmon, did you really get that dress for me? I heard there’s a six-month waiting list!” “I pulled some strings. Had it flown in from Milan. It’ll be here next week.” “But… wasn’t it terribly expensive?” “Only fifty grand. If you like it, it’s worth it.” Her voice was thick with emotion. “You’re too good to me. I’ll be sure to wear it for you on your wedding day!” Simmon’s smile was audible in his voice. “I’ll be waiting.” When he hung up, his friends erupted in hoots and hollers. “Damn, she’s going to upstage the bride! Simmon, who are you actually marrying, Amelia or Clara?” Simmon just laughed it off. “Amelia and I are practically an old married couple already. It doesn’t matter what she wears. Clara’s different. She needs this more.” I stood in the doorway, a bitter smile twisting my lips. My wedding dress was from a local boutique. I was still recovering my sight the day we went to pick it out, so I’d asked Simmon to be my eyes. After I’d tried on the third dress, he’d waved a hand dismissively. “They all look fine. Just pick this one. It’s not like you can see the details anyway.” He was in a hurry to pay. The receipt, I later saw, was for two hundred dollars. So, he was capable of thoughtful, extravagant gestures. Just not for me. On the way home, I bit my lip so hard I could taste blood, but the tears came anyway. Five years. For five whole years, I had naively believed that he understood me. When I first told him I wanted to get married in the mountains, he had smiled and ruffled my hair. “Of course,” he’d said. I was so touched in that moment. He remembered, I thought. He had to remember. He had to remember that it was where we first met, where I’d fallen and bled for him, where I’d held his hand in a blizzard and told him not to be afraid. But he didn’t remember. Or maybe, he had never cared enough to. The doctor’s words echoed in my mind: Emotional distress can affect the recovery of your optic nerve. I tilted my head back, trying to force the tears back, but a raw, choked sob escaped my throat. My phone rang. It was Simmon. The background was a cacophony of loud, thumping music. “Amelia, the guys are throwing me a bachelor party tonight. I won’t be home.” I paused for two seconds. “Okay.” This “bachelor party” had been going on for three days. At 1 a.m., unable to sleep, I scrolled through social media. Mark had posted a nine-photo collage with the caption: A brother’s last night of freedom. In the center photo, Clara, her cheeks flushed with alcohol, was leaning against Simmon’s chest. His hand was hovering protectively over her waist. The comments were a flood of innuendo and pity. “Such a perfect couple. What a shame.” “They were childhood friends, you guys. Don’t start rumors.” “@SimmonThorne Careful, man. Don’t want to make Amelia mad!” Simmon had replied. “Amelia won’t mind. If she makes a big deal out of something like this, then maybe we shouldn’t be getting married at all.” I silently liked the comment, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. He was so certain I would tolerate it. Just like I tolerated the change of venue, the fifty-thousand-dollar dress for another woman, and every single time he’d said, “We’re just friends.” But this time, I was done tolerating. I went to my follow-up appointment at the eye clinic alone. “I told you last time, your vision is still fluctuating. You need to have someone accompany you,” the doctor chided gently. I just smiled. “I can manage.” As I left the clinic, the sky opened up. A torrential downpour. Through the rain-streaked window of a coffee shop, I saw them. Simmon was holding up his phone, and Clara was leaning against his shoulder, her face pressed against his, making a peace sign for a selfie. The purse on the table next to her was the brand-new designer bag Simmon had claimed he was buying for a “client” last week. I let out a dry, humorless laugh and walked home in the storm. When Simmon got home, I was peeling off my soaked clothes. He looked up, startled. “What happened to you? You’re drenched.” “My appointment.” His expression froze. “That was today?” I laughed, a sound devoid of any warmth. “Yes. The third time I reminded you.” He ran a hand through his hair, agitated. “I’ve been so busy lately, I forgot. Anyway, your vision is getting better. Missing one appointment won’t kill you.” I just stared at him. “The doctor said my optic nerve is still atrophying.” He was silent for a moment. When he looked up, his eyes were hard. “Are you trying to remind me again? That you went blind for me?” So that’s what it had become. Not a sacrifice, but a tool for me to guilt him with. When I didn’t answer, his frustration boiled over into anger. “What’s with that look? I forgot one time! Why do you always have to make such a big deal out of every little thing?” I looked at the collar of his shirt. “You’ve got a little blueberry jam there.” He instinctively reached up to wipe it, then froze. “You…” “Clara’s new purse is very nice,” I added calmly. His face flushed a deep, angry red. He pointed a trembling finger at me. “Were you following me? Seriously? She was just having a bad day and needed someone to talk to!” “You know what her family situation is like! I’m all she has!” “Amelia, can’t you be a little more understanding? This is getting ridiculous!” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Funny. When I was at my appointment today, I was also ‘all I had’.” He flinched, as if I’d struck him. “That’s different… you have people who care about you…” Suddenly, his phone rang. Clara again. He answered it immediately. Her choked sobs were audible even from where I stood. “Simmon, I fell… it hurts so much…” “Don’t worry, I’m on my way.” He hung up and pulled open the door, then paused and looked back at me. “You need to do some serious thinking. I’ll take you to the gift shop tomorrow to pick out the wedding favors.” “And stop following me,” he added, his voice laced with contempt. “It makes you look pathetic.” He left. His words hung in the air. Pathetic. He was right. The only question was, why had it taken me so long to see it? It seemed I had been blind for a very long time. The car ride to the gift shop was suffocatingly awkward. I put in my earbuds and closed my eyes. Simmon drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, a nervous energy radiating from him. “This weather is just perfect for the beach, isn’t it?” He glanced over at me. When I didn’t respond, he cleared his throat and spoke louder. “I hear the Golden Shore Resort is really popular right now. A lot of celebrities have their weddings there.” I still didn’t open my eyes. I just made a noncommittal sound. He frowned, his voice tinged with impatience. “Amelia, are you even listening to me?” I opened my eyes a fraction. “I’m listening. So?” He was momentarily speechless. “…Nothing. Just making conversation.” A cool breeze drifted through the open window, clearing my head a little. “Simmon,” I said, turning to look at him. “About the wedding… is there anything you need to tell me?” It was the first and last time I would ever ask. He avoided my gaze, forcing a laugh. “It’s all up to you. I trust you.” I looked down, my heart sinking. He was still lying. Even now, if he would just be honest, maybe I could… No. It was too late. I clenched my fists. So this is what trust was for. To be trampled on. Simmon laughed again, a nervous, hollow sound. His eyes darted around, unable to meet mine. I could practically hear his thoughts. She definitely knows. She’s just sulking. I’ll just have to charm her a bit later. At the gift shop, I saw the mock-up of the custom pastries I’d ordered. Tiny, intricate cakes in the shape of a snow-capped mountain. I was about to taste one when a familiar voice chirped from behind me. “Simmon? Are you here buying me my favorite almond crisps?” I frowned. Her again? Clara spotted me and covered her mouth in feigned surprise. “Oh, Amelia! I’m so sorry, I didn’t see you.” “Oh, are you guys picking out wedding favors? This place has the best almond crisps. Simmon brings me here all the time!” My fingers tightened. He brought her here all the time. I had only found out about this place from a friend. Clara picked up a new pastry. “Amelia, you should try this one. It would be perfect for a beach wedding. It pairs wonderfully with champagne!” I took a step back. “No, thank you. I’ve already made my choice. You two enjoy yourselves.” Clara looked momentarily taken aback, then her face crumpled into a mask of wounded innocence. “Are you… upset because I’m here? I-I can leave.” Simmon immediately grabbed her wrist. “Amelia didn’t mean that. You don’t have to go.” He turned to me, his eyes hard. “Amelia, Clara is going to be your maid of honor. Don’t be so rude to her. You’re scaring her.” I stared at him, stunned. When was that decided? Wasn’t the maid of honor my choice to make? But then again, if he could change the entire wedding venue without consulting me, what else did he think he had the right to decide? My face was a blank mask. “This is who I am. Take it or leave it.” They both stared at me, clearly shocked by my bluntness. Clara’s eyes welled up with tears. “It’s fine, I’ll just go. I don’t want to be in the way.” But Simmon held onto her hand, his fingers now intertwined with hers. “Amelia, you’re about to be a married woman. Can you stop being so childish? Ever since we set the date, you’ve been nothing but moody. What’s the point?” Clara murmured something, pressing closer to him. “Simmon, don’t…” But he was on a roll. “Don’t try to stop me. I’m sick of it! Go ahead, Amelia, keep throwing your tantrums. But don’t come crying to me when you’ve cried yourself blind again!” The shop fell silent. The employees stared at the floor, mortified. My heart felt like it had been plunged into a vat of ice. So that’s what he thought. My blindness wasn’t a sacrifice. It was just me being dramatic, crying myself blind over some petty jealousy. And I had actually hoped he would remember the significance of a mountain wedding. How many times had this happened? Clara would call with a headache or a dizzy spell, and Simmon would drop everything to be by her side. I had a 102-degree fever once, and he was too busy shopping with Clara to do more than text, “Drink lots of water. I’ll check on you later.” He never did. Whenever I complained, he would turn it back on me. “Why are you so needy? Clara actually needs me!” For our anniversary, he had promised to take me to see the sunrise over the mountains. I spent weeks planning the perfect gift. He forgot the date entirely. “It’s just a day. Why are you so obsessed with it?” But for Clara’s birthday, he had booked a restaurant a month in advance, bought her extravagant gifts, and posted a gushing tribute on social media. “Happy birthday to the most important person in my life.” Thinking back on all of it, seeing them standing there together, I was just… tired. I should have walked away a long time ago. As I turned to leave, Simmon’s voice followed me, though he was still looking at Clara. “She’s probably just got pre-wedding jitters. Don’t mind her.” How considerate of him, to make excuses for me. Through the shop window, I saw him take her hand and feed her an almond crisp. They looked, for all the world, like the happy couple. That night, I received a voice message from Simmon. “Amelia, stop being angry. I’m so busy with work, and I have to take care of both of you. Can’t you be a little more understanding? We’re about to be husband and wife. I need you to be more mature.” He was slightly drunk, and he rambled on for a while. I didn’t listen to the rest. He had it so hard. So I decided to make things easier for him. I would relieve him of his burden, once and for all. The day before the wedding, Simmon finally cracked. He called me. “Amelia, the wedding schedule… you’ve confirmed everything, right?” I was packing my suitcase for the mountains. “Mmmhmm. All confirmed.” He let out a sigh of relief. “Good… that’s good. I’ll pick you up tomorrow.” The next day, I put on my wedding dress. Not the one he had picked out. I heard a car pull up outside, and then my phone rang. It was Simmon, his voice rushed. “Amelia, Clara twisted her ankle. I’m taking her to the hospital, I won’t have time to pick you up. Can you just get yourself to the venue? It’s just a formality, I’ll meet you there.” My voice was calm. “Okay.” He paused, seeming to notice the lack of emotion in my tone. “You’re… not mad, are you?” “No. You do what you have to do.” He hung up, relieved. He turned to Clara, who was sitting in the passenger seat. “Does it hurt? We’re almost at the hospital.” Her eyes were filled with tears. “I’m so sorry. This is all my fault. I’ve ruined your wedding day…” He squeezed her hand reassuringly. “Don’t say that. You’re hurt. Of course I’m going to take care of you.” But a small, uneasy feeling was starting to prick at him. My reaction had been too calm. Maybe she’s finally realized that I do care about her, he thought. I’ll make it up to her on the honeymoon. At the Golden Shore Resort, the guests from Simmon’s side of the family had all arrived. But the bride’s family and friends were nowhere to be seen. Simmon arrived with Clara on his arm. The sight of the half-empty venue sent a jolt of panic through him. “No way… she didn’t see the email about the venue change, did she?” He couldn’t bear to imagine the consequences. He tried calling my phone. No answer. He checked his watch, his face growing paler by the second. Finally, I picked up. “Amelia, where are you?” he yelled, his voice tight with anxiety. “The guests are all waiting!” I looked out the window at the gently falling snow. “I’ve been here for a while.”

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They threw us out of my daughter’s preschool on her very first day. “Mr. Vance’s son has been enrolled here for a year,” the principal said, her expression a mask of confusion. “We have no record of a daughter.” I stood there, dumbfounded. My husband and I only had one child, Lily, and she was just now old enough for school. How could she possibly have been attending for a year? A quick investigation revealed the truth. A new assistant at my husband’s company, a woman named Isabella, had enrolled her own child a year ago, presenting herself as Mrs. Vance. When I confronted her, she simply sent me a photo of a marriage certificate. “I know who you are,” her text read. “The woman who’s been harassing my husband for years, right?” The photo was crystal clear. The embossed seal from City Hall, the smiling faces in the picture. The date was stamped five years ago. But Alan and I had only been married for three. 1 “Mommy,” Lily whispered on the drive home, her voice trembling as she fought back tears. “Am I really a stray?” I gripped the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. “Of course not, sweetheart. You’re Mommy and Daddy’s only treasure.” That was all it took. The tears spilled from her wide eyes, her small voice thick with a pain that shattered my heart. “Then why did Isabella’s son say he’s Daddy’s treasure? All the other kids said it too. They pushed me and… and they called me a bastard…” I glanced in the rearview mirror at the faint red mark on her cheek and felt a fresh wave of fury. Her first day of school, and it had been a nightmare. The worst part was the marriage certificate Isabella had sent me. The man standing next to her, his arm wrapped around her waist, was the same man who had held me in his arms countless times. The official seal was undeniable, and the date—five years ago—mocked my own three-year marriage. Thinking back, Isabella’s arrival at the company had been sudden. She was hired directly as Alan’s executive assistant. Could it be…? I refused to let my mind go there. I pulled out my phone and dialed Alan’s number. It wasn’t him who answered, but his male assistant. “Mr. Vance is in a crucial negotiation, ma’am. All electronic devices are prohibited. Can I take a message?” “Was Alan ever married before me?” I asked, my voice tight. The assistant paused, and after I quickly explained the situation, he stammered a reassurance. “That certificate must be photoshopped, Mrs. Vance! I swear, the boss wouldn’t dare!” His words calmed me slightly. It was true, Alan wouldn’t have the guts. But I still needed to hear it from him. For now, all I could do was wait. We had just purchased a sprawling estate in a top-tier school district to be closer to Lily’s new preschool. Today was supposed to be our official move-in day. But as I pulled up to the wrought-iron gates, my heart sank. The house, which I was meant to be the first to enter, was swarming with people. Movers bustled in and out, carrying luggage that wasn’t mine. A massive banner was strung across the grand entrance: CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR NEW HOME, MRS. VANCE A throng of reporters crowded the driveway, their cameras flashing, all aimed at a single, impeccably dressed woman. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized her. Isabella. What in God’s name was she doing here? 2 The reporters were like sharks in a feeding frenzy. “Isabella! Isabella! Is the marriage certificate you posted online real? Did you leave Hollywood because you found true love?” My hands trembled as I unlocked my phone. The internet had exploded. #IsabellaAndAlanVance #IsabellaRevealsSecretMarriage #AlanVance: The Love I’ve Hidden for Five Years The top post was Isabella’s, featuring the very same marriage certificate she’d sent me. Her caption read: [Yes, it’s been five wonderful years.] The comments section was a wildfire: [OMG I KNEW IT! I knew our goddess didn’t retire just to avoid that washed-up hack Ava!] [Please, as if Ava could ever compete with Isabella. Three years later and she’s still a nobody.] [I’m a preschool teacher, and today Ava actually brought a kid in claiming she was Alan Vance’s daughter. The secondhand embarrassment is REAL! LMAO!] [This is next-level delusion. What a psycho.] [Even before our goddess retired, that snake Ava was always sniffing around Alan. Joke’s on her, he was already married! I’m living for this drama!] [Awwww, so she wasn’t gone, she was just secretly happy all this time! We love you, Queen!] “What is all this junk? Get it out of here,” Isabella’s voice dripped with disdain as she waved a dismissive hand at a collection of brand-new art pieces I had curated. “Alan will be upset if he sees this clutter.” At her command, workers began hauling my things toward a dumpster. My precious antiques, rare books, and paintings I’d collected from around the world were being tossed onto a pile of garbage. “Stop!” I stormed out of my car, grabbing a worker’s arm. I turned my glare on Isabella. “Who the hell are you? What are you doing in my house?” A wave of murmurs rippled through the reporters. “Oh my god, it’s that psycho Ava. She actually showed up?” “Hey, can’t you read the banner? It says ‘Mrs. Vance.’ Are you Mrs. Vance? I don’t think so!” “Has she completely lost her mind? Is she trying to claim this mansion now, too?” “An estate like this has to be worth nine figures. She’s just a desperate clout-chaser.” Crack! My hand connected with the cheek of a particularly loud-mouthed journalist. “And what gives you the right to be here? Did I invite you in?” I knocked the camera from his grip and shoved him toward the gate. “Get out!” “Stop this at once!” A delicate hand blocked my path. Isabella stood before me, her brow furrowed with an air of regal displeasure. “Ms. Miller, I’m generally a patient person, but that gives you no right to cause a scene on my property!” 3 “She’s completely unhinged! Attacking people at our goddess’s housewarming? Does she really think this is her home?” “She probably thinks she’s the real Mrs. Vance. It’s pathetic.” I shot Isabella a look of pure venom. “Move. You and every other uninvited guest are not welcome in my home.” Isabella positioned herself protectively in front of the reporter, her expression hardening. “Ms. Miller, I’m aware you’ve held a grudge against me because of my husband. I can overlook that. If you’ve come today to offer your congratulations on my new home, you are welcome as my guest. But if you continue this… this unhinged spectacle, I will have no choice but to have you removed.” Dressed in a bespoke silk dress with a delicate bamboo print and a white shawl draped over her shoulders, she looked like a vision of pure elegance. Her clear, firm voice captivated everyone present. The camera flashes were blinding. “She’s incredible! The poise, the class! I’m obsessed!” “So gracious and yet so firm. Where can I sign up to be her loyal servant for life? Crying!” “If I were her, after this psycho impersonated me and crashed my party, I’d have had security throw her out on her face ages ago!” Isabella’s lips curved into a subtle, triumphant smirk. She lifted her chin, her gaze locking onto mine. “For the sake of our past professional acquaintance, Ms. Miller, I suggest you leave before you cause any more trouble.” Slap! The sound echoed, sharp and final. A red mark blossomed on her perfect cheek. I slammed the property deed onto her chest and grabbed the collar of her dress. “Read this carefully. This is my property, not yours. I haven’t even settled the score with you for stealing my daughter’s spot at preschool, and now you show up to squat in my house? You’re just my husband’s assistant. Who gave you permission to act like the lady of the manor?” “Ah!” she cried out, stumbling back in her high heels. She clutched her face, her voice a trembling whisper. “Help me…” “Have you no shame?” a man shouted, shoving me so hard I nearly toppled over, a sharp pain shooting through my fingernail. “Is this how you get attention? By crashing someone else’s party and causing a scene? I’ve been holding back this whole time out of respect for Isabella, but you’ve gone too far! You really think we’re afraid to touch you?” I regained my footing, my phone clutched in my hand. A cold smile spread across my face. “Good. I’ve already called the police. Go ahead, lay another finger on me. I dare you.” At the mention of the police, a flicker of panic crossed Isabella’s face. But the reporters drowned it out. “Please! You’re the one trespassing! The police are coming for you! Get out of here now! This is Isabella’s home, we don’t want your filth here!” Someone grabbed my arm, yanking me violently toward the gate. I lost my balance, stumbling backward, about to crash onto the hard pavement. “What is going on here?” A sharp, familiar voice cut through the chaos. I snapped my head up. 4 “It’s the new estate manager!” “I remember her! Our paper did a feature on her—the brilliant young woman from a disadvantaged background who became a top-tier manager!” As Olivia walked toward us, a sliver of hope ignited within me. “Olivia! Thank God! Tell them! Tell them the truth!” Olivia was a university student I had personally sponsored for years. She was so exceptionally bright that I’d hired her straight out of graduation to manage my new estate. If anyone could clear this up, it was her. “Olivia…” Isabella’s confident facade wavered. I shot her a triumphant glare and pulled Olivia forward by the hand. “Olivia, tell all these people whose house this really is.” “Ma’am…” Olivia’s hand squirmed in my grasp until she pulled it free. She offered me a strained, apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, I don’t recall inviting you today.” “Olivia?” I stared at her, my mind reeling. But she had already moved to Isabella’s side. She gently tucked a loose strand of Isabella’s hair behind her ear. “Are you alright, Mrs. Vance?” she asked with deep concern. “Mrs. Vance…” The words hit me like a physical blow. I grabbed Olivia’s arm, forcing her to look at me. “You don’t know me? It’s me, Ava! The woman who sponsored your education!” Olivia looked terrified, her smile crumbling into a mask of distress. “I… I’m sorry, but it’s always been Mrs. Vance who sponsored me…” Fury surged through me. “I am Mrs. Vance! I was at your graduation last month! You knew who I was then!” “No… I didn’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Tears welled in Olivia’s eyes, her voice breaking into a sob. “That’s enough!” A hand slapped mine away. Isabella pulled Olivia behind her, shielding her protectively. She fixed me with a look of righteous anger. “I know you hate me for stealing Alan’s heart, but this is between us. Take it out on me, but don’t you dare bully an innocent girl!” 5 “Wow, now that’s how a real benefactor acts!” “Exactly! A true patron treats the person they sponsor like their own child. They’d never grab and interrogate them like that!” “I’m literally crying. Our goddess isn’t just magnanimous, she’s a saint! She and Mr. Vance deserve a lifetime of happiness!” “What is wrong with that witch Ava? First she tries to steal her man, now she’s trying to steal credit for her charity work? How can someone be so shameless?” The cameras flashed relentlessly. I stared in disbelief at Olivia cowering behind Isabella. “Olivia…” Olivia’s gaze darted away, refusing to meet mine. Tears streamed down her face. “Please, ma’am, I don’t know you. Please just leave me alone…” “Ava!” Isabella held the girl tighter, her eyes narrowed at me. “I won’t let you hurt her!” A single strand of her hair fell across her face, a portrait of fragile beauty. But her eyes burned with a fierce, protective fire. She was the perfect picture of a wronged heroine—suffering, yet resolute. “Ugh, my heart breaks for Isabella! It’s all that bitch’s fault!” “I can’t take it anymore! Someone needs to teach that witch a lesson!” “Hey, forget her for a second. That car she’s driving… I think I’ve seen it on Isabella’s Instagram. Is she even faking that?” “Get it! Let’s trash that piece of junk!” “No!” My heart leaped into my throat. But it was too late. A group of men had already swarmed my car, one of them smashing a heavy pipe against the windshield. A piercing scream erupted from inside the vehicle. Lily. “Shut up! Like mother, like daughter! Keep crying and we’ll drag you out here and beat you too!” “LILY!” I screamed, trying to push through the crowd, but a stiletto-clad foot shot out, tripping me. I fell hard to the ground. Isabella stood over me, her arms crossed, a cold, triumphant smile playing on her lips. Hands grabbed me, hauling me to my feet. A stinging slap landed across my face. “We gave you a chance to leave peacefully, you bitch. I guess you wanted to do this the hard way.” “Let’s see how tough you are now!” The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth. I bit down hard on the hand that held me, and the man yelped in pain, snatching it back. Gritting my teeth, I wrenched the diamond wedding ring from my finger and flung it at the man’s face. “I am Alan Vance’s wife. You will all pay for this!” Someone caught the ring. For a moment, there was silence. Then, his face paled. “The ‘Starfall’? The one-of-a-kind ring Alan bought at that auction for a fortune? How does she have it?” “Wait… didn’t he say he was saving that for his real wedding ring?” I spat out a mouthful of blood. “Let me go,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “And I might forget this happened.” “Ha! Such a crude knockoff, and you have the audacity to pass it off as the real thing?” Another ring, nearly identical to mine, was tossed at my feet. Isabella pulled the genuine article from her purse, dangling it in front of me with a sneer. “Ms. Miller, I had no idea your obsession with me went this deep. Even a replica of the Starfall must have cost you a pretty penny.” My breath hitched. “Impossible… He bought that at auction and put it on my finger himself. Where did you get that fake?” SLAP! Isabella’s hand struck my face again, her eyebrows knitted in frustration. “I am so tired of you! I’ve given you chance after chance, and still, you insist on harassing me and my husband!” She pulled a thick file from her bag and threw it at me, the papers scattering across the ground at my feet. “Take a good look! See for yourself who the real homewrecker is!” A marriage certificate lay open before me. The one I had dismissed as a cheap photoshop, now undeniably real. The man in the photograph was grinning, his arm wrapped tightly around Isabella. Alan… My fingers trembled as I picked up the photos one by one. Pictures of them as children, in high school, in college, at work. Holding hands on the way to class. Alan taking a huge bite out of Isabella’s ice cream cone. Sharing a radiant smile at an amusement park at night… They had known each other for so long… They had been married… for five years… My three years of marriage dissolved into a cruel, pathetic joke. A set of car keys hit my face. “I won’t see you out,” Isabella said coolly. “Good luck.” Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the noise. “Lily? What’s going on here? Everybody stop!” It was Alan. And behind him, the wail of police sirens. 6 “Shhh, it’s okay, baby. Daddy’s here…” Alan gently lifted a sobbing Lily from the car. The police quickly began to cordon off the area, pushing the mob of reporters back. When Alan saw me, his expression darkened. He handed Lily to his assistant and rushed to my side. “Ava, what happened to you—” SLAP! I hit him with every ounce of strength I had left. He staggered back, clutching his cheek, his eyes wide with shock. “Ava?” “How does it feel,” I asked, my voice dripping with ice, “living a double life?” He stared at me, confused. “What are you talking about?” I threw his marriage certificate with Isabella at his chest. “I want a divorce. I get Lily.” I turned to take my daughter from the assistant, but Alan grabbed my arm. “Ava, wait. This is a misunderstanding, I swear. You’re the only one for me…” His voice trailed off. Isabella was walking toward us. The moment Alan saw her, his hand on my arm went rigid. His expression hardened.

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The night before I was supposed to get engaged to Leo, my best friend Chloe and I were tangled in my duvet, whispering secrets like we had since we were kids. That’s when she told me hers. A secret that cracked my world open. She was four weeks pregnant. The father was a man she’d never introduced me to. Chloe’s face was a mess of conflict in the dim lamplight. “Ava,” she whispered, her voice tight, “what do I do? Do I choose the baby’s father, or do I choose the London job?” The promotion to the London office was the culmination of five years of brutal, relentless work. But I could see it in her eyes. She couldn’t bear to let go of this man. My answer was instant, a gut reaction. “Go to London. A career is a hell of a lot more reliable than a man.” With tears shimmering in her eyes, she pulled out her phone and typed out a five-thousand-word farewell manifesto to him. Later that night, I found that same manifesto on Leo’s phone. 1 Leo was in the shower, and his phone wouldn’t stop buzzing on the nightstand. I figured it was just colleagues, early congratulations on the engagement. I picked it up. Pinned to the top of his messages was a name: Chloe. My Chloe. The girl I’d shared everything with for twenty-six years, since we were toddlers running naked through sprinklers. Ten minutes ago, we were hugging in my bed. What could she possibly have to say to Leo that required five consecutive messages? Leo, you and Ava are getting engaged tomorrow. I guess this is where it ends for us. ~♡ As long as you’re happy, what do my tears matter? I’ll be there tomorrow to watch your sacred moment, and then I’m heading to the London office. Goodbye. ~♡ I read the messages again and again. It was her, no doubt. The little tilde she always used. The heart emoji at the end of every serious thought. My hand shook, the phone suddenly heavy. A roaring filled my ears, drowning out the sound of the shower. I couldn’t connect the two images in my head: Leo, the man who adored me, and Chloe, my soulmate, my sister. So, the baby Chloe was carrying… it was Leo’s. A crushing weight settled on my chest, hot tears stinging my eyes. The bathroom door clicked open. I shoved the phone back onto the nightstand, my movements jerky and unnatural. Leo smiled, his hair damp, his face warm and open. “Have a good chat with Chloe? I bet you two have enough to talk about for three days and three nights, with you changing your status on her.” The words were a stone in my throat. I couldn’t force the accusation out. He plugged in the hairdryer. “So, my beautiful fiancée-to-be, are you still willing to do the honors tonight?” Usually, I loved drying his hair. It was our ritual. But the thought of his hands, of their shared intimacy, sent a wave of nausea through me. “My throat’s a little scratchy,” I managed, my voice raspy. “I think I’m just going to sleep, if that’s okay.” He was all concern, scooping me up in his arms and carrying me to the bedroom. He tucked me in before glancing at his phone. I watched as his posture stiffened, the muscles in his neck cording. “Babe, I’m just gonna run out and grab some gum,” he said, his voice strained. The moment the door closed, I was out of bed, pulling on a pair of sneakers, my heart pounding as I followed him out into the night. My desperate, silent prayers went unanswered. Down the block, under the weak glow of a streetlight, I saw them. The world tilted on its axis as Leo pulled Chloe into his arms. I bit down on my knuckles, the only thing stopping a scream from tearing out of my throat. Leo’s large hand rested gently on Chloe’s stomach, his voice trembling even from a distance. “Why didn’t you tell me? It’s my baby, too.” “And what good would that do?” Chloe’s voice was thick with tears. “There’s no future for us. Tomorrow, you’re promising your life to Ava.” “Are you serious about London?” “Yes. And I’m not keeping the baby.” Chloe’s chin was set in a stubborn line, pushing against his chest even as her body betrayed her, leaning into his warmth. Leo wouldn’t let go, his thumb stroking her cheek, wiping away a tear. “What about me? You’re just going to leave, just throw me away like that? Did you even think about how that would feel?” “You have Ava. That’s enough. We never should have let this happen.” “But I love you, Chloe,” he choked out. “You can’t be this cruel. If you leave, you’ll gut me.” That broke her. A sob escaped Chloe’s lips, and she melted against him, their bodies fitting together perfectly. They clung to each other, lost in their tragic romance, making me the villain in a story I never even knew I was in. 2 At one in the morning, Leo slid back into bed beside me. The tear tracks on my face had long since dried, my throat raw. He wrapped an arm around me, his lips finding my shoulder in a familiar, gentle kiss. “Babe, I’m so nervous,” he murmured into my skin. “The engagement party is tomorrow. It all feels like a dream.” That night, we were worlds apart in the same bed. The next morning, my parents were already a whirlwind of activity. Our families had a traditional streak; an engagement party was a big deal, a house filled with neighbors, friends, and relatives. Leo’s family arrived with flowers, platters of food, and cases of wine. He told me to rest, that I looked tired, and then seamlessly took his place beside my parents, playing the perfect son-in-law. It was Chloe’s parents who pulled me aside, their faces etched with a gravity that made my stomach clench. “We need to talk to you in your room, sweetie.” The moment the door closed, Chloe’s mom, a woman who had bandaged my scraped knees and baked my favorite cookies, fell to her knees in front of me. “Mrs. Evans, please, get up,” I pleaded, rushing to help her. Her husband, a man I called Uncle Mark, had been a second father to me. They both had. “What is it?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Her words were choked with sobs. “Ava, I know what we’re about to ask is unforgivably unfair, but Chloe… she’s our only daughter. We can’t stand to see her like this, completely shattered.” She looked up at me, her eyes begging. “Could you… could you find it in your heart to step aside? To let her and Leo be together?” I stumbled back, the room seeming to shrink around me. I couldn’t draw a full breath. Uncle Mark spoke, his voice heavy with regret. “Chloe was wrong, we know that. But you can’t plan who you fall in love with. She’s stubborn, and now with the baby… we’re terrified she’s going to do something reckless.” A cold dread spread through me. My face felt like a mask. “So… you’ve known? You’ve known about them this whole time?” Growing up, with my parents working long hours, I basically lived at their house. They treated me like a second daughter. Every gift they bought for Chloe, they bought one for me, too. Our friendship was a twenty-six-year-old monument, something I thought was indestructible. And I was the only one who didn’t know it was built on a lie. Mrs. Evans clutched my hand. “Blame me, Ava. Don’t blame Chloe. You know how much she truly loves you, how much she treasures your friendship.” She squeezed my hand tighter. “If she knew you broke up with Leo to make way for her, the guilt would destroy her. Please, for my sake… don’t let her know we told you. Just let it be your decision. Please?” I stared at her, my mind numb, before slowly pulling my hand from her grasp. “Okay,” I heard myself say. “I’ll do it.” She burst into tears of relief, whispering, “I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry,” over and over. When I walked out of the room, I saw Chloe and Leo standing at opposite ends of the living room. She was laughing, playing a game with the neighborhood kids, handing out cupcakes I had baked. “These are from the beautiful bride-to-be, Ava! Make sure you tell her congratulations later, okay?” Leo’s gaze was fixed on her. It was tender, possessive, a look of profound, unbreakable connection. It all clicked into place. Every anniversary, when he’d insist I invite Chloe along, I thought he was just being inclusive. The three tickets he’d always buy for the amusement park. The extra skincare set he’d tell me to pick up for her. It wasn’t thoughtfulness. It was guilt. They’d been lying to me for six years. Six years out of the seven we’d been together. My mind flashed back to high school. Chloe, getting a month of detention for punching a boy who made a crude joke about me. Chloe, after my first big fight with Leo in college, getting on a nineteen-hour Greyhound bus just to show up at my dorm and take me out for drinks. Now I had to wonder. After she’d tucked a drunk me into bed, had she met up with him? Had they connected under the stars, bonding over their shared love for me, a love that twisted into something else entirely? Every memory of her loyalty, every act of love, now felt like a dose of expertly administered poison. 3 Seeing me by the doorway, Chloe immediately broke away from the kids and rushed over, her face a perfect mask of concern. “Hey, you look pale. Did you catch a chill last night?” She fussed over me, smoothing the fabric of my dress. “This crimson dress looks incredible on you. Leo must have saved a galaxy in a past life to deserve you.” I looked down at the silk, then at her. “You’re the one who helped me pick it. You said it would go perfectly with the ‘modern romance’ theme. Just like yours.” She was wearing a blush pink dress, a shade that complemented mine but somehow matched the classic lines of Leo’s charcoal suit even better. She beamed. “See? My taste is impeccable. As long as you have me, you’re set.” Was she picking a dress for her best friend, the maid of honor? Or was she dressing for a role she secretly wished was her own? My brain couldn’t process it anymore. Leo appeared with two glasses of water, handing one to each of us. “You’ve been standing for a while. Stay hydrated.” Chloe playfully nudged him. “Look at you, so considerate. I guess I can see why my Ava fell for you.” “Of course,” he said, his eyes flicking to her for a split second. “She’s my fiancée now.” I noticed the water in my glass was icy cold. Chloe’s had no condensation; it was room temperature. He was so damn thoughtful. My fingers tightened around the glass. I was the star of this farce, and all I wanted to do was run. Leo must have sensed my mood shift. “What’s wrong?” he murmured, his voice low. “Nervous?” “Just woke up too early, I guess,” I lied. Chloe took my hand, pulling me toward my bedroom. “Come on, let me touch up your makeup. It’s your big day. You have to be flawless.” In the mirror, I watched her meticulously fill in my brows, her touch gentle and practiced. I remembered the summer after high school graduation, the two of us trying to teach ourselves makeup in this very room, ending up looking like circus clowns. We were too embarrassed to go home, so we spent the whole day at the mall, pooling our last three dollars to share a single corn dog. We could never go back there. I tilted my head back, meeting her eyes in the reflection. “Chloe, are you keeping any secrets from me?” The hand holding the eyebrow pencil faltered for a fraction of a second. “Yes,” she said. I held my breath. “I’ve already scoped out a place with male dancers,” she declared, her voice mischievous. “I plan on going quietly. Once you’re a married woman, you’ll have to live vicariously through me!” She threw her head back and laughed, a bright, carefree sound that extinguished the last flicker of warmth in my heart. Even now, she wouldn’t tell me the truth. Outside, a string of firecrackers went off, signaling that the formal part of the party was about to begin. My parents flanked Leo and me, with Chloe standing proudly by my side. My dad beamed. “Time flies. In the blink of an eye, Ava’s getting engaged, and Chloe’s career is taking off. I still remember Chloe swearing that whoever married our Ava, she’d have to drink him under the table first. Hahaha.” Chloe laughed along. “That’s right! Our Ava is the best person in the world. Even you, Leo, don’t fully deserve her!” Her eyes glinted with purpose. “And today, I’m making good on that promise. Leo, if you can outdrink me, then and only then can you have Ava’s hand!” She grabbed a bottle of vodka from the table, poured a generous amount into a small bowl, and raised it, her eyes locked with Leo’s. His brow furrowed in alarm. The relatives, oblivious, started cheering. “That’s a real best friend for you! You’ve gotta drink, Leo!” “Chloe can hold her liquor! She could take down five of you. That’s what you get for stealing her best friend!” I glanced at her parents. Their eyes were glistening with tears, pained by their daughter’s desperate, bravado-fueled performance. “I’ll go first!” she announced, bringing the bowl to her lips. In the second before the vodka touched her mouth, I snatched it from her hand and downed the entire thing in one go. The fiery liquid scorched my throat. A stunned silence fell over the room. Leo’s hand, which had been reaching out to stop Chloe, froze in mid-air. He knew. He knew she couldn’t drink, not with a baby inside her. A wave of relief washed over his face. He turned to me, his voice soft with concern. “Ava, why would you drink so much?” He then looked at Chloe. “Chloe, maybe you should sit this one out. You don’t want to miss the main course.” She grabbed my arm. “Babe, I can handle it. Don’t underestimate me.” I couldn’t pretend anymore. Making an excuse, I fled to the bathroom. 4 In the bathroom, I forced my fingers down my throat, heaving until nothing but bitter bile came up. I splashed my face with cold water, took a deep breath, and decided it was time. I would go out there and call the whole thing off. But when I opened the door, the living room was nearly empty. Only my parents sat on the sofa, their faces grim. A sense of foreboding washed over me. “Mom? Dad? Where did everyone go?” “Chloe fainted,” my mom said, her voice tight. “Her parents rushed her to the hospital.” My dad added, “And Leo vanished. He’s not answering his phone. We’re running out of time.” “She didn’t even drink that much,” my mom fretted. “How could she just collapse?” But I knew. It was the baby. Without another word to my parents, I ran out of the house and hailed a cab, my heart a cold, hard knot in my chest. I found them on the second floor, in the obstetrics and gynecology wing. Chloe was sitting on Leo’s lap in the sterile hallway, tears streaming down her face. “I’ve already scheduled the abortion,” she was saying, her voice ragged. “I’ll have it done, and then I’ll leave. You need to go back. You need to finish the ceremony with Ava.” Her father’s voice was a furious whisper. “That’s insane! Your body can’t handle that!” Her mother was crouched on the floor in front of her, stroking her daughter’s face. “My sweet girl, you can’t. You already had a threatened miscarriage. Please don’t do this. I’m so scared it will hurt you, that something will go wrong—” Leo’s face was ashen. He held Chloe tight, his voice pleading. “Chloe, please. Let’s keep this baby. Please?” “He’s a part of me, but he’s a part of you, too. Don’t you want to watch him grow up? Because I do.” “I can’t risk this procedure. I can’t. Please, just come home with us.” His words only made her cry harder, shaking her head violently. A memory surfaced, sharp and clear. A week ago, I was working late when I got a frantic call that Chloe was in the hospital. I’d run out of the office so fast I lost a shoe, arriving breathless at her room to find Leo already there, spoon-feeding her warm soup. At the time, all I could think about was Chloe’s health. I never questioned why Leo was so panicked, so attentive. I was just grateful he was there to take care of her for me. I didn’t even notice the small, fresh cut on his lip, like someone had bitten him in a moment of pain or passion. That must have been the first scare. The time she almost lost the baby she had told no one but him about. The pain in my chest was so sharp it was hard to breathe. I closed my eyes. Chloe stood up, clutching a medical report, her resolve hardening. “Dad, Mom. I can’t do this to Ava.” She turned to Leo. “Go. Find Ava. Tell her a friend called me away. I have to do this. I have to go to London and start over.” Just then, a nurse called out from a doorway. “Chloe Evans, we’re ready for you.” As Chloe turned to walk away, I started toward them, my steps slow and deliberate. My voice was quiet, but it cut through the hallway’s tense silence. “Excuse me, Nurse. I’m sorry, but we’re canceling the procedure.” I turned my gaze to Leo. “I’ve already returned all the engagement gifts. The guests have been sent home.” “Our engagement is over. You’re free.”

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At seven, the woman my father brought home gave me a box of mangoes. My mother watched me eat them, her face full of sorrow, then signed the divorce papers and jumped from our window. Mangoes became my nightmare. On my wedding day, I told my husband, Ethan Carter, “If you want a divorce, give me a mango.” From then on, mangoes were his taboo too. On our fifth Christmas Eve, his childhood sweetheart, Phoebe Summers, put a mango on his desk. That day, Ethan cut ties with her and fired her. I thought he was my destiny. Six months later, I returned from securing a billion-dollar deal. At the celebration, Ethan handed me a juice. After I drank half, Phoebe appeared behind me, grinning. “How’s the mango juice?” I stared at Ethan. He was stifling a laugh. “Don’t be mad, Elara. It was just a joke. I didn’t give you a mango, just juice. Phoebe’s right—you need to get over this silly quirk. You enjoyed it!” My face went cold. I threw the rest in his face and walked away. Some things aren’t jokes. The mango wasn’t. Neither was my decision to file for divorce. 1 “Ms. Shaw, you’ve had a relapse of stress-induced gastritis.” “You must avoid any food that you have an aversion to. Next time, it might not be just stomach pain; it could require surgery.” “We’ll keep you for observation overnight. Please notify your family to come as soon as possible.” The doctor’s words echoed in the sterile silence. I had just spent 39 grueling days and sleepless nights abroad, fighting for a new project, only to be sent straight to the hospital by a glass of mango juice from my own husband. I instinctively opened my messaging app, my thumb hovering over his name at the top of my contacts. I typed two letters before I noticed something was wrong. His profile picture. He’d changed it. It was a green mango. As I stared at the screen, dumbfounded, my phone rang. It was Ethan. His voice was cold. “I’m home. Where are you?” Silence. Normally, this is where I would have softened my voice, played the part of the doting wife, and coaxed him with sweet words. But tonight, the words wouldn’t come. His irritation crackled through the phone. “Elara, how long are you going to keep this up?” “The hospital.” A beat of silence on his end. He never cared about my health. It would never have occurred to him that his “joke” could land me here. “Stay there. I’m on my way.” I didn’t want to see him, but my body was too weak to move. Time ticked by. The doctor checked on me three times. Ethan never showed up. Just before I drifted off to sleep, I scrolled through my phone one last time and saw Phoebe’s latest social media post: “My knight in shining armor always shows up to save the day, no matter what~” The accompanying photo was of Ethan gently applying a bandage to her finger. Phoebe’s profile picture was a ripe, yellow mango. Beautiful, and utterly sickening. We had known each other for ten years. Ethan knew my boundaries. As a seasoned businessman, he knew how to maintain a professional distance from other women. But now, he had crossed the line, again and again. And so, the thread that held our marriage together, and the new project I had just secured—the billion-dollar European contract that was the lifeblood of his company—no longer needed to exist. 2 When I woke up the next morning, there were no missed calls, no unread messages from Ethan. I wasn’t even angry. After the doctor gave me the all-clear, I went straight home. The 5,000-square-foot luxury villa was something we’d bought with cash last year. A world away from seven years ago, when we were fresh out of college, sharing a single packet of instant noodles in a cramped basement apartment. Or five years ago, on our wedding day, when we celebrated with a cheap meal at a hole-in-the-wall diner and a tiny four-inch cake. Now, here I was, alone in this cavernous house, left to lick my wounds. I supposed I would get used to it. I was reviewing the divorce papers my lawyer had sent over when Ethan walked in, bringing with him the heavy scent of rose perfume. The fragrance hit me like a physical blow. Ethan had sensitive skin, allergic to most cosmetics. He despised perfume. For years, I had forgone all skincare products, even choosing my shampoo with meticulous care, just for him. Apparently, his strict rules only applied to me. He saw me on the couch with my tablet and paused. “Phoebe was a little too excited at the party last night,” he explained, “she got drunk and took a fall, so I took her home. It was late, and she lives far out, so I just grabbed a hotel nearby instead of coming to the hospital to get you.” I nodded, canceling another one of our company’s supplier contracts on my tablet. “Okay. I understand,” I said without looking up. Ethan seemed thrown off. This clearly wasn’t the reaction he’d been expecting. He hesitated, then took a few steps closer. “It’s Saturday, you should take a break from work. I’m planning to take Phoebe to Paris. Do you want to come with us?” Seven years ago, on my birthday, Ethan and I had taken a cheap, five-dollar photo at a night market. Standing in front of a tacky Eiffel Tower backdrop, he swore that one day, when we had money, he would take me to the real Paris and we would recreate that exact photo. As our home grew bigger and the company more successful, he only got busier. He’d placate me time and time again. “Elara, this is a critical growth period for the company.” “As the CEO, I can’t just take off on a vacation abroad.” “You’re the most understanding person I know. You get it, right?” I did get it. So I stopped mentioning Paris and threw myself into the business, helping to build his empire. But apparently, if Phoebe wanted to go, he was free. I opened the next client’s email, my tone unchanging. “Three’s a crowd. I’m not interested.” For some reason, he seemed to let out a sigh of relief. “Alright. I just need to grab something, and then I’m off. You’re on your own for lunch; we’ll have dinner together tonight.” He paused, his expression turning serious. “This new contract is crucial for our overseas expansion. I’ve invited the media for a press conference on Monday. Didn’t you always want to stand by my side, officially? This is your chance. You should prepare…” He looked at me intently. “Don’t worry. I’ll introduce you properly this time. I won’t let Phoebe cause any trouble.” I glanced up at him, my face a blank mask. I knew what this was: his compensation for last night’s cruelty. Fine by me. It would take a few days for the cancellation of the European contract to be processed anyway. Announcing it at his press conference seemed fitting. 3 That evening, as was my habit, I arrived at the restaurant early to wait for him. In seven years, it had become second nature. While I waited, I received a call from overseas. It was from our competitor in the last negotiation, who also happened to be an old friend from business school. Marcus’s voice was warm. “Elara, have you given any more thought to my offer to join Aether Global?” “Carter Enterprises is too small for you. It doesn’t deserve your talent.” This was the third time he had tried to poach me. The first was seven years ago, when I turned down a high-paying job at a multinational corporation to join Ethan’s tiny startup for a meager salary, half of which went to our shared rent. Marcus had argued with me until he was blue in the face, but he couldn’t change my mind. The second time was just a few days ago, across the negotiation table, where I had him and his team on the ropes. After our victory, he had approached me, half in admiration, half in frustration. “Elara, I heard you’re still criminally underpaid at Carter’s. Come work with me. Don’t let your brilliance be wasted on someone who doesn’t appreciate it.” I had smiled and refused. How could it be wasted? It was my husband’s company. It was the empire we had built together over seven years. The third time was now. I paused for only three seconds, signaled the waiter for a bottle of red wine, and accepted his offer without hesitation. “Send me the address. I’ll start on Tuesday.” The other end of the line was silent for a moment, then erupted in jubilant laughter. Fearing I would change my mind, Marcus quickly said, “Great!” and hung up. I chuckled, and as I was putting my phone down, a notification from Ethan popped up. [Change of plans. Phoebe couldn’t wait. We’re on the plane now. You’re on your own for dinner.] [I have a surprise for you when I get back.] A moment later, a new post appeared on my feed. It was from Phoebe, and I was the only one tagged: “Thanks to my big bro for making my dream come true! As a reward, I’ll treat you to a feast tomorrow~” The picture was of Phoebe and Ethan, hand in hand, under the real Eiffel Tower. It was identical to our cheap photo from seven years ago. I stared at the screen for a long moment, then calmly closed the app and opened my chat with Marcus. [As a signing bonus, how would you like a billion-dollar European contract?] 4 My phone was silent for a beat, then it began to vibrate uncontrollably. [YES! YES! YES!] [Elara, you’re too good to me! Yesterday was your birthday, right? The gift I sent should have arrived. Don’t forget to pick it up.] I froze. A small, brittle laugh escaped my lips, growing louder and louder. That’s right. Yesterday was my birthday. When Ethan watched me drink that mango juice, did he remember it was my birthday? When he was playing doctor with Phoebe, leaving me alone in a hospital bed, did he remember to get a gift for the woman he’d been married to for seven years? Probably not. But it didn’t matter anymore. We were getting a divorce. Who wants a gift from their soon-to-be ex-husband? After dinner, I didn’t rest. I threw myself into the European project. It was a gift for my new employer, after all. It had to be perfect. For the next two days, I lived at the office, the lights in my room burning through the night. My colleagues noticed. The company group chat, the one I wasn’t in, was buzzing. “What did I tell you? Director Shaw is completely dependent on Mr. Carter. How could she dare to stay mad?” “If it weren’t for her relationship with the boss, with how well the company is doing now, they wouldn’t even need her.” “I heard she was the one who held Mr. Carter back when he was starting out. The company would have gone public years ago otherwise.” Phoebe dutifully screenshotted every message and sent them to me, followed by a voice message dripping with false sympathy. “Elara, I know you must feel so insecure, being married to a powerful man like Ethan. But you have to understand, men aren’t attracted to old workaholics. They like girls who are young, pretty, and feminine… like me.” I listened to her cloying voice and smiled. “Is that so? In that case, I’ll have HR fire you tomorrow. Wouldn’t want you to be unable to attract a man.” Then, I blocked her. Ten minutes later, my phone rang. It was an irate Ethan. “Elara, what did Phoebe do to you now?” he seethed. “I finally convinced her to come to Paris and forgive you for your behavior at the party, and now you’ve made her cry again! Are you happy until you’ve made everyone miserable?” Forgive me? For what? The absurdity of it all made me laugh. I printed out the divorce agreement I had drafted and replied casually, “When are you and Phoebe coming back? We need to discuss the divorce.” There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by a furious roar. “Elara, have you lost your mind? There’s a limit to these jealous tantrums! If you keep this up, I’m going to get really angry.” I froze, then burst out laughing. I had the signed divorce papers in my hand. Did he really think I was afraid of him getting angry? “I’ve signed the papers. They’ll be on your desk when you get back. Make sure you read them.” CRASH! It sounded like he had kicked a chair. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. Don’t you regret this!” The line went dead. I shrugged and signed my name on the agreement. The next morning, the first thing I saw when I opened my phone was Ethan’s latest social media post, visible to the public. It was posted at 4 a.m.; he clearly hadn’t slept. It was a picture of him and Phoebe, standing in front of a hotel’s floor-to-ceiling window, their fingers intertwined. The caption read: [Seven years of storms, and I’m lucky to have you.] Thousands of comments flooded in. “Finally official! Is this the boss’s wife he’s been hiding for seven years?” Ethan didn’t reply, but he pinned a comment with a single “Shh” emoji. Then there was the company-wide announcement he had set in the group chat. [Effective immediately, Phoebe Summers will be replacing Elara Shaw as Director. The European partnership project will be transferred to Director Summers’s portfolio. Tonight’s press conference will also be led by Director Summers.] He knew I had spent 39 sleepless nights abroad for that deal. He knew I had spent my days buried in paperwork and my nights networking, drinking until I was sick, just to secure that contract. And he was doing this to force me to surrender. My phone buzzed with a new message. It was from him. [You still have a chance to take it all back.] I didn’t reply. I tossed my phone aside and went to get ready. He seemed to have forgotten one crucial detail: I was the one who had made that deal happen. The European partners didn’t care about Carter Enterprises. They cared about me. 5 After getting ready, I went out for breakfast. When I returned to the office, all of my belongings had been thrown out into the hallway. My mug, my files, and the signed divorce agreement, which had been torn in half. The only thing that had survived was our wedding photo, which had been carefully placed on the windowsill. Phoebe was sitting in my chair, looking triumphant. “Oops, sorry, Elara,” she said with a malicious glint in her eye. “Ethan already gave me this office. From now on, you can work over there.” She pointed to a leaky storage closet next to the restrooms, her chin held high. I didn’t even bother to look at her. I turned to Ethan, who had been silent the entire time. His eyes were bloodshot, but a cruel smirk played on his lips. “Phoebe’s right. I gave her the office. But if you take back what you said about the divorce, maybe I could reconsider…” “No, thanks.” I cut him off. I walked over to the windowsill, picked up our wedding photo, and, under his smug gaze, dropped it into the trash can. “I don’t want this either. You can throw it away.” Then, I grabbed my laptop from the desk and walked out, pretending not to see the fury that had turned Ethan’s eyes crimson. Today was Monday. I had to be in Europe for my new job on Tuesday. I had packing to do. I didn’t go to the press conference that night. Instead, from my home, I finalized the details with our European partners under my new title as a director at Aether Global. The moment the contract was confirmed, I received a message from Ethan. [I’ve invited the media to broadcast the press conference live. If you don’t apologize now, the European project will really have nothing to do with you.] I glanced at it and turned on Do Not Disturb. It was about time. I had a flight to catch. At 7 p.m., the media began to arrive. The event was being broadcast live across the city. Phoebe, having spent a fortune on a celebrity makeup artist, was radiant, clinging to Ethan’s arm and smiling for the cameras. Ethan, dressed in a sharp grey suit, looked impeccable, but his eyes darted anxiously through the crowd, searching for someone. Why isn’t she here? The thought flickered through his mind, and his initial excitement began to curdle into unease. But the show had to go on. Ethan cleared his throat and took the microphone. “Good evening, everyone. I am Ethan Carter, CEO of Carter Enterprises. The purpose of tonight’s press conference is to announce our company’s partnership with Viktoria Solutions on the landmark ‘Project Victoria’. This project…” “Excuse me!” A reporter with an international business channel press pass suddenly stood up. “Mr. Carter, are you certain you mean Project Victoria?” Ethan frowned. “Of course. This is our company’s…” His assistant rushed onto the stage, whispering frantically in his ear. “Sir, it’s bad! A minute ago, Aether Global released an official statement! They’ve secured Project Victoria. Director Shaw has left the company!”

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I was born lucky. A psychic told my adoptive parents my fate was tied to great wealth, so at three, I was taken from the orphanage and delivered to the Hendrie family. Back then, the Hendries were just entering high society. They treated me as their lucky charm, spoiling me endlessly—and over the next fifteen years, their fortune soared, making them one of New York’s most powerful families. Raised as their charm, I grew fearless and sharp-tongued, with a famously bad attitude. Then my biological parents, the Vances, found me. They were minorly rich compared to the Hendries, but hey—free inheritance. I reluctantly agreed to visit. But when I arrived, no one greeted me. The whole family was crowded around a crying girl—the one who’d taken my place. “Stella, don’t cry,” her mother soothed. “No one can replace you. You’ll always be our most precious daughter.” I rolled my eyes. “God, this is annoying. That whining is worse than nails on a chalkboard.” 1 My words fell into a sudden, dead silence. Every head whipped around to stare at me in disbelief. My biological parents, Mr. and Mrs. Vance, frowned in disapproval, their expressions screaming, This is what you get from the lower classes. No manners. My supposed older brother, Ethan, stormed over to me, his finger jabbing at my face. “Who do you think you are, talking to Stella like that?” he snarled. “Did your dirt-poor family not teach you any respect?” Ha. Dirt-poor? The Hendries could buy and sell the Vances’ entire pathetic fortune in the time it takes to make a phone call. But I couldn’t be bothered to explain that to these people. I let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “No respect? I wonder why that is,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Maybe it’s because she stole the family that was supposed to teach me.” I pointed a finger at Stella. “And the little thief has the audacity to stand there crying? What is this, the classic ‘villain plays the victim’ routine?” Ethan’s bravado crumbled. He was clearly out of his league. His face turned beet red as he stammered, “You! You! You…” I cut him off, bored. “Spit it out. If you have a stutter, go see a doctor. If you’re just stupid, try reading a book. Either way, stop wasting my time.” Defeated, Ethan could only stand there, seething and breathless, his face a mottled purple. Right on cue, Stella drifted over, her face a perfect mask of wronged innocence. “I’m so sorry, sister,” she whispered, her eyes welling up. “It’s all my fault. I’m the one who stole your life. You have every right to be angry. Please, don’t blame Mom, Dad, or Ethan. Take it all out on me.” Ugh. The classic damsel-in-distress act. Zero originality. I had no intention of playing along with her little performance. I stood up straight. “Look, I’m tired. Just have someone show me to my room. You all can continue your little melodrama without me. I don’t have time for this.” Mr. Vance let out an indignant huff, but he still motioned for the butler to show me to a room. The butler gave me a tour. Before I could even say a word, Stella started her act again. “Sister, you should take my room,” she declared, pushing her bedroom door open with a grand, magnanimous gesture. “It should have been yours all along.” The moment the door opened, Ethan had another fit. He lunged forward to block the entrance, his face etched with pain as he looked at Stella. “Stella, don’t do this to yourself,” he pleaded. “She’s a charity case from the sticks. A storage closet would be too good for her. She has no right to take your room!” Mrs. Vance, to her credit, had a sliver of conscience left. She shot Ethan a soft glare before turning to me. “Selene, you can choose any of the other rooms in the house,” she said gently. “But Stella is used to this one. Please don’t fight her for it, alright?” I was honestly speechless. Had I said a single word about wanting Stella’s room? Why was everyone acting like I was the villain here? Was this room really that special? My gaze drifted past Ethan’s obstructive frame to peek inside. Two words came to mind: That’s it? My dog Lucas’s room back at the Hendrie estate was bigger than this. I rolled my eyes and walked away, pointing to a much larger room down the hall with better light and a better view. “I’ll take this one.” Ethan stared at me, his voice cracking. “Are you insane? That’s Mom and Dad’s room!” I strolled in anyway, then turned to Mr. and Mrs. Vance with a bright smile. “Mother just said I could pick any room as long as it wasn’t Stella’s. You’re not going to go back on your word, are you?” Mrs. Vance was clearly flustered, but she eventually nodded. “Great. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to rest. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.” With that, I slammed the door shut, leaving the entire dumbfounded Vance family standing in the hallway. 2 Finally, some peace and quiet. I snapped a picture of the room and sent it to Ben Prescott. [My life is so hard. I’m living in a place worse than Lucas’s doghouse.] Ben was my boyfriend. Or, more accurately, my fiancé. In the elite circles of New York, few families were considered equals to the Hendries. The Prescotts were one of them. [Come home, baby. The Vances’ entire net worth wouldn’t even cover your handbag budget.] [If you’re short on cash, I’ll have my assistant transfer some more company shares to you.] They say a man head-over-heels in love is the best kind of man to marry. Ben was living proof. As the current head of the Prescott empire, he was known for his ruthless, decisive nature in the boardroom. But with me, he was endlessly indulgent. I smiled and texted back: [I want your shares. And I want the Vance family fortune too.] The second I hit send, my door swung open. It was Stella. The meek, gentle facade was gone, replaced by a look of smug superiority. She tossed an invitation at me, her voice dripping with condescension. “This is for the Prescotts’ birthday gala. Mom and Dad said I have to bring you,” she announced. “But a country bumpkin like you has probably never even heard of the Prescotts. You’ll just embarrass yourself if you go.” I picked it up. It was an invitation for Nathan Prescott’s birthday. Nathan was the younger Prescott son, and the polar opposite of his brother. While Ben was a poised and powerful leader, Nathan was a reckless, hedonistic playboy. The moment he was in the same room as Ben, he turned into a mouse cornered by a cat. Seeing my silence, Stella continued her gloating. “The Prescotts are top-tier New York high society. Not just anyone can get close to them. But I’m Nathan’s girlfriend, so of course, I got an invitation.” Girlfriend? I’d never heard about Nathan having a girlfriend. He had an endless parade of bedmates, but never a girlfriend. “I know you’re probably desperate for a glimpse into the world of the elite,” she sneered. “But you don’t belong. I won’t have a low-class nobody like you dragging me down.” With that, she snatched the invitation back from my hand and ripped it into tiny pieces. A malicious smile played on her lips as she tossed the paper confetti into the air. The next second, she threw herself onto the floor and began to wail. “Sister! I know you’re angry, but you can’t just rip up my invitation!” I had to hand it to her. The girl was committed to the drama. Her first order of business should be to delete TikTok and stop reading those trashy long-lost-heiress novels. She was becoming a caricature. As she predicted, her cries brought Mr. and Mrs. Vance and Ethan running. They huddled around her, their faces etched with concern. Stella squeezed out a few more tears. “Mom, Dad, Ethan, don’t blame her,” she choked out. “It was my fault. She didn’t mean to push me. She just… she wanted to go to the Prescott gala by herself, so she destroyed my invitation.” Ethan, ever the loyal idiot, immediately turned on me. “You are shameless! We wouldn’t even have an invitation if it weren’t for Stella! She’s Nathan Prescott’s girlfriend! You wanted to go alone so you could move in on her boyfriend, didn’t you?” Hahahahaha. If I tried to seduce Nathan, Ben would probably break all three of his legs. Seeing that I wasn’t defending myself, Mr. Vance assumed I was guilty. “Your mother and I wanted to give you a chance to see how the other half lives, and this is how you repay us?” he said sternly. “How dare you destroy a Prescott invitation and attack your sister! Butler! Time for some family discipline!” A moment later, the butler walked in holding a long, thin whip. 3 The second he swung the whip, I caught it mid-air. I yanked it from his grasp and drove my foot into his knee. He yelped and crumpled to the floor, kneeling before me. I pointed the whip at a small camera I’d placed on the bookshelf. “You probably didn’t notice, but I installed a little security camera when I first came in,” I said with a sweet smile. “I didn’t expect to use it so soon. Why don’t we all watch and see who really ripped up the invitation?” As the video played, Stella’s face grew paler and paler. The rest of the family’s expressions shifted from anger to confusion to awkwardness. Realizing she was caught, Stella dropped to her knees and clutched my legs, putting on a show of profound shame. “I’m so sorry, sister! I was just so scared of losing Mom, Dad, and Ethan. I was terrified they’d abandon me once you came back. It was a moment of weakness! Please, sister, hit me! Punish me! I’ll do anything if you’ll just forgive me!” Tears streamed down her face, and I could see the Vances’ resolve beginning to soften. But I wasn’t a Vance. I grabbed a glass water tumbler from the nightstand and smashed it over her head. The glass shattered. Blood immediately began to trickle from a gash on her forehead. “You’re the one who asked me to hit you,” I said calmly. “I’ve been alive for over twenty years, and I have to say, that’s a new one. But since you insisted, I’m happy to oblige.” Stella was stunned into silence. She stared blankly for a full five seconds before letting out a piercing shriek. The rest of them snapped out of their stupor. Ethan scooped her into his arms and bolted for the door, yelling, “To the hospital! We need to get her to a hospital!” Mr. Vance glared at me, his face contorted with rage. “How could you be so violent? What if you scarred her face? How is she supposed to attend the Prescott gala now?” Ah. So that’s what this was about. He wasn’t worried about Stella; he was worried about losing his connection to the Prescotts. So much for all that unconditional love. “What’s the matter?” I asked, my voice light. “Worried your plan to sell your daughter to a rich family will fail if she’s got a scar?” My words hit their mark. His face flushed a deep red. “Insolence!” he roared. “You will stay here and reflect on what you’ve done! You are forbidden from attending the Prescott gala!” I just laughed as he and Mrs. Vance stormed out. An empty threat from a powerless man. I had received my invitation to the Prescott gala ages ago. Ben had delivered it himself, begging me to come. “Selene, I want to announce our wedding date that night.” The thought still made me laugh. “Ben, are you serious? It’s your brother’s birthday party. You’re going to announce our wedding? That’s kind of stealing his thunder, don’t you think?” “It would be an honor for him,” Ben had replied, completely serious. “Besides, I don’t care. There are too many vultures circling you. I can’t wait any longer. I want the entire world to know that you are my wife.” 4 On the night of the gala, the Vances left early. I slipped back to the Hendrie estate, changed into the custom gown and jewels Ben had prepared for me, and made my own, leisurely way to the party. When I entered the ballroom, I saw Stella surrounded by a flock of sycophantic girls. “Oh, Stella, that sapphire necklace is gorgeous! Was it a gift from Nathan?” “I’m so jealous! I heard the Prescotts are announcing an engagement tonight. It has to be you and Nathan, right?” “When you’re Mrs. Prescott, you won’t forget about us little people, will you?” The flattery was clearly going to Stella’s head. Then, someone spotted me—and the necklace around my neck. “Stella! Look! Her necklace is exactly the same as yours!” “But that’s a limited-edition haute couture piece. There’s only one in the world.” Stella’s eyes narrowed as she marched toward me. “How did you sneak in here without an invitation? And why are you wearing a cheap knockoff? You should leave before you embarrass the Vance family any further.” I gave her a bored look. “Who said mine is the knockoff?” Stella laughed, triumphant. “Mine was a gift from Nathan. It’s obviously real. Since there’s only one, yours must be the fake.” Please. Nathan didn’t earn his own money; he lived off an allowance from his brother. With the number of girls he had on the side, there was no way he could afford to gift genuine high-end jewelry to every single one. I smirked. “Yours is from Nathan. Mine is from Ben. You tell me which one is real.” Before Stella could respond, the crowd around us erupted. “What did she just say? Ben Prescott?! No way!” “The head of the Prescott family is a notorious ice king. I’ve never heard of him having a girlfriend.” “She’s obviously lying. How shameless can you be, making up rumors about the crown prince of New York society?” Stella shot me a disdainful look. “You are nothing but a low-class copycat. Get out of here before you make a bigger fool of yourself.” Then, she grabbed my necklace and yanked. It snapped, falling to the floor. She stomped on it with her heel, then leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re up to. First, you tried to ruin my face, and now you’re wearing the same necklace to seduce my boyfriend. I won’t let you win.” “Get out!” she shrieked for all to hear. I let out an annoyed sigh and slapped her hard across the face. Twice. “You’re so loud,” I muttered. Stella stumbled and fell to the floor, her eyes wide with disbelief and welling with tears. Just as she was about to launch into another tirade, a new voice cut in. “What’s going on here?” It was Nathan Prescott. Stella immediately grabbed his arm, her face a mask of tearful misery. “Nathan! She said the necklace you gave me is a fake! And then she hit me!” “Who would dare?!” Nathan snapped, his gaze sweeping over to me with an air of authority. I just smiled, a playful glint in my eye, and met his gaze. The moment our eyes locked, the arrogant expression on his face shattered as if he’d been struck by lightning. His voice cracked, rising several octaves in panic. “Sis… Sister-in-law?! What are you doing here?!”

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Everyone in our world knew I’d been chasing Pierce Hayes since we were kids. When he went to boarding school, I followed. When he decided to master eight languages, I mastered eight languages. When he majored in finance, I declared my major in finance. It was an open secret, a foregone conclusion. The Prescott and Hayes empires were so deeply entangled that a union between us was not a matter of if, but when. Then, on our wedding day, on the way to the church, Pierce’s car took a detour. He drove straight to the airport and boarded a flight to save her—the ghost of his first love, the one that got away. Our entire childhood, a lifetime of shared history, became the punchline to the year’s cruelest joke. Dressed in a custom Vera Wang that cost more than a penthouse, I walked down that aisle and completed our lavish wedding ceremony. Alone. In the flood of press that followed, my name, for the first time in our lives, appeared before his. Fool, they probably thought. But men are a dime a dozen. A fully formed corporate empire? There’s only one of those. And I wasn’t just hungry for his body. I was starving for his kingdom. 1 Pierce’s plane was in the air, and I had locked myself in the bridal suite, allowing a single tear to fall. Beyond the door, I could hear my father’s rage, a storm of curses rattling the hallway. Mr. Hayes, his face a mask of fury, was barking into his phone, arranging for Pierce to be apprehended the second he landed. Two texts lit up my screen. The first was from Pierce: [Sloane, wait for me. I’ll make this right.] The second was a photo of him, sent from an unknown number. He was at the gate, head bowed, phone pressed to his ear. He was still wearing the custom Tom Ford tuxedo I had spent months agonizing over with the tailor. The silk tie I’d chosen, a deep charcoal gray, was hanging loose around his neck. His expression was tender, his eyes soft with an indulgence I knew so well, yet had never been directed at me. He was clearly murmuring reassurances to the person on the other end of the line. Anyone looking at him would have sighed and said that the girl he was comforting was the luckiest in the world. I zoomed in, studying his face for a long, quiet moment. It was a shame, truly. A waste. But I had given him a choice, and he had made it. The pieces were on the board. There was no taking the move back. I reapplied my makeup, smoothed down the silk of my gown, and gathered the ridiculously long train. Then I opened the door and faced the gauntlet of anxious, angry family members, a perfect smile fixed on my face. “The wedding,” I announced, my voice clear and steady, “will proceed as planned.” 2 It was three days before Pierce returned. For those seventy-two hours, I was a viral sensation. The tabloids, the financial news, every gossip blog online—they were all dissecting the story of Sloane Prescott, the heiress left at the altar who still went through with the entire, elaborate charade. Some lamented the cold realities of the ultra-wealthy. Some championed my resilience. And, of course, some reveled in my humiliation. Regardless, in the deluge of headlines, my name was finally billed before Pierce’s. To show the depth of the Hayes family’s apology, my father-in-law, Mr. Hayes, Sr., hosted an intimate dinner to personally make amends to my family. As wine was poured and courtesies were exchanged, the atmosphere finally softened. Mr. Hayes, Sr. raised his glass to me. “Sloane, this is from your father-in-law,” he said, his voice thick with sincerity. “You’re every bit your father’s daughter. Thank you. For your decisiveness, for seeing the bigger picture, for saving both our families from total disgrace. We wronged you, and I promise you, I will give you a full accounting for this.” I raised my glass, my eyes demurely lowered. Just as I was about to speak, the doors to the private dining room swung open. Pierce stood there, travel-worn and exhausted. My father’s face instantly darkened. He slammed his wine glass down on the table. The sprawling room fell silent. Mr. Hayes, Sr. shot a look at my father, then gritted his teeth and barked at his son, “On your knees.” Pierce walked, step by deliberate step, until he stood before my father. He gave a slight bow. “Dad,” he said, using the familial term, “I know what I did was wrong.” My father just grunted, refusing to acknowledge him. Pierce straightened up and placed a thick file on the table. “I’ve come to make amends,” he said. “While I was in the States, I acted as a representative of the Prescott family—as Sloane’s husband—and I finalized the partnership with the Blackwood Group.” 3 Prescott Industries had been chasing the Blackwood deal for six months. Every detail had been hammered out, but Blackwood kept dragging their feet on the final signature. We’d used every contact we had, but we couldn’t find a way to break the deadlock. My father had been losing sleep over it for months. I had to hand it to him; Pierce knew how to play the game. That contract was a monumental victory for my family’s company. My father’s anger was caught in his throat, a bitter pill he couldn’t swallow. He was trapped, unable to scowl at Pierce but unwilling to welcome him with a smile. Pierce stood before him, hands at his sides, eyes lowered, a faint, confident smirk playing on his lips. Mr. Hayes, Sr. let out a breath he’d been holding. He began to applaud. “Well, Robert,” he said to my father, “what do you think? My boy comes through, doesn’t he? Landed you the Blackwood deal in one fell swoop. That’s got to be worth something.” Following his lead, the other guests at the table began a hesitant, then more enthusiastic round of applause. The tension in the room began to dissipate. But you don’t get to publicly humiliate the Prescott family and expect to just wipe the slate clean, Pierce. My brow furrowed and I felt my eyes well up with tears. I walked over to him and looked him up and down. “Pierce,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “You’re still in the tuxedo from… from that day. Were you working so hard taking care of Miss Collins that you didn’t even have time to change?” The room went dead silent. The smile froze on Pierce’s face. I forced a brittle smile of my own and gently pushed him toward the door. “You should go home, get a shower, change your clothes. Get some rest. Don’t worry,” I added, my voice catching. “I’ll handle things here.” Behind me, a fist slammed on the table. I didn’t have to turn to know it was my father. “Stay right where you are!” Mr. Hayes, Sr. roared. “You’re not going anywhere!” The standoff was broken by a delicate figure bursting through the door and rushing between Pierce and me. “Please, don’t be hard on him,” she cried. “It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.” 4 It was her. The reason for all of this. His sainted first love, Anna Collins. Even in the late autumn chill, she was wearing a thin, white cotton dress. Her frail body was trembling. In front of everyone, Pierce didn’t hesitate. He shrugged off his suit jacket and wrapped it around her, pulling her into his arms. “I told you to wait in the car. Why did you come up here?” he murmured. “Are you cold?” Anna’s face was ghostly pale. She leaned against his chest, her eyes red-rimmed. “Pierce, please don’t fight with your father because of me. It’s not worth it. I don’t have much time left. I can’t leave you with a mess.” She’d barely finished the sentence before she was overcome by a wracking cough. Pierce’s brow knitted into a tight knot. Without another word, he swept her up into his arms. “It’s okay, Anna. I’m taking you to the hospital.” He started for the door, ignoring everyone else in the room, his head bent low as he whispered comforts to her. “Pierce Hayes! You stop right there!” His father was apoplectic. “If you walk out that door, everything this family has built will have nothing to do with you!” Pierce stopped. He turned, his gaze cold as ice as he stared down his father. “My biggest regret is letting you send her away all those years ago. You really think you can control me now like you did back then?” Mr. Hayes, Sr.’s face turned a mottled shade of purple, but he was rendered speechless. My father just shook his head. “It seems you’re no longer the one in charge of your own house, Edward.” Pierce’s gaze shifted to my father, a smirk touching his lips. “Robert, the first thing I did when I got back wasn’t taking Anna to the hospital. It was bringing you that Blackwood contract. That is the ultimate proof of my commitment to the alliance between our families. There are some things better left unsaid.” Then, he turned to me, his eyes devoid of any warmth. “Sloane, I promised I’d marry you, and I did. The title of Mrs. Hayes is yours. I guarantee you a life of comfort and luxury. But affection? Don’t ever expect that from me.” With that, he turned and carried Anna out of the room. As he left, she shifted in his arms, her head turning just enough to look back at me. Her lips curled into a tiny, triumphant smile. 5 Under the stunned gaze of our families, I finally let the tears fall. Pierce and I had grown up together, our lives intertwined like honey and oil. I was his shadow, following him everywhere. I learned languages, business, equestrianism, and wine tasting because he did. I had no hobbies of my own. Pierce’s hobbies were Sloane’s hobbies. Our families’ businesses had been inseparable for a generation. My father and his were partners, friends, rivals. Our marriage was the logical conclusion, a fact accepted by everyone. The only disruption to that perfect plan came in our junior year of high school, when Anna Collins transferred to our class on a scholarship. She was like a wildflower growing in the ruins—delicate but tenacious. She effortlessly captured Pierce’s pity, which quickly blossomed into affection. That budding high school romance was crushed before it could bloom. Mr. Hayes, Sr. intervened. Despite Pierce’s furious protests, Anna was sent to a school abroad, and his father made sure he lost all contact with her. After that, Pierce became quiet, withdrawn. He channeled his silent rebellion into work, quickly growing into a formidable force and shouldering the weight of the Hayes Corporation. When he proposed, I had asked him what he would do if Anna ever came back. His eyes, full of starlight then, had been fixed on mine, deep and sincere. “Sloane, she was just an insignificant detour. Mrs. Hayes will be you. It can only be you.” The ghost of his kiss on my eyelids that day still felt warm. In the blink of an eye, everything had changed. 6 I rarely cried in public. Seeing my tears was probably harder on my father than taking a punch. He lost all composure, unleashing a torrent of fury at Mr. Hayes, Sr. before my mother and he flanked me, guiding me out of the restaurant and back to my childhood home. I didn’t forget to take the Blackwood contract with me. Pierce never called. News of him and Anna came through my best friend, Chloe, my ever-reliable source for gossip. Anna had cancer. She didn’t have long, but she refused to be hospitalized. Instead, she made a near-psychotic demand: to live in the marital home Pierce and I were supposed to share. And Pierce, unbelievably, had agreed. Chloe was practically vibrating with rage on my behalf. “Sloane! Aren’t you going to do anything? Doesn’t this make you furious?” Furious? I paused my work, placing a hand over my heart and closing my eyes for a moment. There was a dull ache, but it was distant. Manageable. Seeing Chloe about to burst a blood vessel, I smiled and tapped her on the forehead. “The first payment milestone for the Blackwood deal is coming up. I need to stay on top of it. Money, my friend, is a hundred times more important than a man.” Chloe made a disgusted sound. “Oh, please, Sloane! You’re not exactly hurting for cash! Between the Prescotts and the Hayeses, you could buy a small country!” She looked like she was about to faint from secondhand frustration, so I decided to throw her a bone. “Don’t worry,” I said calmly. “This isn’t over. Anna Collins will be coming to see me very soon.” 7 As I predicted, my complete lack of reaction to her provocations made Anna impatient. She sought me out. We sat in the cafe on the ground floor of the Prescott Industries building. I studied her for a moment before smiling. “You’re looking well, Miss Collins. It seems Pierce is taking excellent care of you.” She slid her hand across the table toward me. On her wrist was a familiar jade bracelet. “Recognize this, Mrs. Hayes? The Hayes family heirloom. If I recall correctly, Pierce gave this to you on the day he proposed.” She smirked. “It was pathetic, really, seeing it locked away in your safe, wrapped in velvet like some holy relic. All I had to do was admire it, and Pierce took it off your dresser and gave it to me. All you have is your family name, a title you use to chain him to you. Other than that, you have nothing. I, on the other hand, have everything but the title.” Her arrogance was almost comical. “Congratulations on living your dream, Miss Collins,” I said smoothly. “But there’s a small detail you might have overlooked, and I feel I should point it out. Mr. Hayes, Sr. sent you abroad all those years ago, and for a decade, you couldn’t reach Pierce no matter how hard you tried. Have you ever wondered who, precisely on the eve of my wedding, leaked the news to you? And why, after ten years of silence, Pierce’s number suddenly started working for you?” Anna froze. Her eyes widened in disbelief. “It couldn’t have been you. You’d have to be insane.” I leaned back in my chair, holding her gaze with a serene smile, and said nothing. She stared at me, and after a moment, a flicker of uncertainty—of fear—crossed her face. She was panicking. “Sloane, what is your endgame?” I laughed as if she’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Miss Collins, you just called me Mrs. Hayes. Do you even need to ask? Obviously, I intend to defend my marriage and protect my husband. I spent more than twenty years positioning myself to marry into the Hayes family. Do you really think I’d just hand him over to you?” Anna’s face contorted with rage. She reached for her coffee cup, intending to throw it at me. I slid a document across the table and placed it in front of her. When she saw the letterhead and the words printed on it, the healthy color drained from her face, leaving it a stark, waxy white. “You… you…!” she stammered. “How do you have this?” I smiled, picked up my purse, and stood. “I’m not letting go, Miss Collins. May the best woman win.”

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I wasn’t sick, but I was chewing through a bottle of Tums like they were candy. I was doing it because in my last life, my roommate—a girl who ordered her curries mild and scraped the jalapeños off her nachos—transferred every agonizing side effect of her viral “Spicy Food Challenge” career directly into my body. She would swallow a bowl of ramen designed to melt steel, her expression as placid as a lake, while I collapsed in our dorm room, my stomach twisting in violent cramps. She skyrocketed to fame as a competitive eater, a social media darling, while my tongue swelled and blistered until drinking water felt like swallowing shards of glass. I remember sobbing, begging my boyfriend, Alex, to help me. He’d just yanked his hand away, his face a mask of disgust. “God, Leah, you’re just jealous she’s famous,” he’d sneered. “You probably binged on Flamin’ Hot Cheetos behind her back and now you’re trying to blame her for your own mess.” After that, my roommate, Maya, grew bolder. Right in front of me, she’d accept challenges that were less about food and more about masochism: the Ghost Pepper Gauntlet, the Wasabi Scream, the Inferno Noodle Nightmare, even a single drop of a military-grade pepper extract. The last thing I remembered was the taste of blood as it poured from my nose and mouth, then darkness. The doctors could find nothing wrong. They ran every test, scanned every organ, and found no pathological cause. In the end, they chalked it up to a complete system collapse brought on by extreme psychological stress. I died from multi-organ failure, triggered by a massive gastric hemorrhage. Maya became a seven-figure influencer, living her best life with my boyfriend. Then I opened my eyes. And I was back on the day she signed up for her very first spicy challenge. 1 “Guys, you will not believe this,” Maya chirped, waving her phone in the air. The screen glowed with a fiery red promotional poster. “The King of Spice Inferno Ramen Challenge. First prize is five grand!” She fluffed her hair in the mirror. “Leah, what do you think? Should I do it? If I win, I’ll be the first real food influencer on campus.” Our other roommate, Chloe, laughed from her desk. “Maya, get real. You order your pad thai with zero stars. You’re going to take on the ‘Inferno’ anything?” Maya’s face flushed, and her eyes darted to me, pleading for backup. In my last life, I had been her earnest friend. I’d told her it was a terrible idea, that her stomach was too sensitive, that she would destroy her health for a stupid stunt. She’d smiled gratefully, thanked me for my concern, and then proceeded to channel a private, personalized hell directly into my digestive system. This time, I met her expectant gaze and let a slow, wide smile spread across my face. “Do it,” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “Why wouldn’t you?” I swung my legs off my bunk and walked over to her, looping my arm through hers. “This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, Maya. This is how stars are born.” She blinked, clearly thrown by my enthusiastic support. I ignored her surprise, pulling her toward the door. I pitched my voice just loud enough for the entire dorm hallway to hear. “Everybody! Big announcement! Our Maya is entering the King of Spice challenge! She’s going to put the Communications department on the map!” Instantly, heads popped out of doorways. Curious, excited faces turned toward Maya. “For real? Maya’s doing it?” “Damn! We have to go cheer for her!” I pushed her gently into the center of the growing audience. “Maya’s our secret weapon,” I announced with a conspiratorial grin. “She can handle more heat than anyone I know. She’s just always been too modest to show off.” I leaned in, my voice full of manufactured pride. “But for the honor of our department, she’s decided to finally unleash her true power.” Across the hall, a freshman girl filming a “day in the life” vlog for her YouTube channel brightened, immediately swinging her camera toward us. I caught the movement, and my smile deepened. The cheers and sudden attention were like a drug to Maya. She couldn’t back down now, not from this. She visibly straightened her spine, basking in the spotlight. “Of course,” she said, her voice ringing with newfound confidence. “I always do what I say I’m going to do.” Her calculating gaze landed on me. “Besides, Leah, you’ve always been my biggest supporter. I have to do something amazing. I can’t let you down.” I just smiled, saying nothing. As she moved to hug me, I took a subtle half-step back, ensuring there was no chance for her skin to touch mine. 2 I’d barely made it to my morning lecture when a hand slammed against the classroom door, pinning me against the frame. “Are you insane, Leah?” It was my boyfriend, Alex, his face dark with fury. “You know what Maya’s stomach is like! The girl thinks black pepper is spicy. You’re her friend, and instead of talking her out of it, you hyped her up in front of the entire dorm? You basically forced her into it! What the hell is your problem?” I shoved him back, my own anger flaring hot and real. “She said she wanted to do it. She said she could win. What right do you, an outsider, have to stand here and yell at me about it?” I jabbed a finger at his chest. “And let’s get something straight, Alex. I’m your girlfriend. Not Maya.” A slow, deliberate clap echoed from the doorway. Our department advisor, Ms. Albright, stood there, a wry smile on her face as she nodded at me. “Ms. Miller is right.” She adjusted her glasses, her eyes sharp and intelligent behind the lenses. “This is a time for encouragement, not doubt. This isn’t just an opportunity for Maya, it’s a fantastic publicity opportunity for the Communications department.” Alex’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “But what if she fails? She’ll be a laughingstock! Her reputation will be ruined!” Looking at him, so desperately worried about Maya, I almost laughed out loud. Ms. Albright’s expression was one of pitying disappointment, the kind reserved for a student who just doesn’t get it. “If she fails,” she explained slowly, “we frame it as a testament to her courage. ‘Northwood Student Bravely Takes on Impossible Challenge.’ It’s a story of ambition. The attempt alone gets us clicks, boosts our department’s profile. It’s perfect material for our submission to the University Excellence Awards this year.” She paused, letting the brilliance of it sink in. “And if she succeeds? Even better. We’ll have a bona fide celebrity in our ranks. Think of the value for student recruitment and alumni engagement.” Alex, who had been shouting at me moments before, was utterly silenced. Ms. Albright gave him a pointed, warning look. “This is about our department’s reputation now, Alex. As a member of the Student Government, you need to understand the big picture. Don’t make this messy.” That single bucket of ice-cold pragmatism extinguished Alex’s fiery crusade for Maya’s honor. After Ms. Albright swept down the hall, Alex turned his glare on me. “You knew she couldn’t do it. You’re just letting her walk right into a train wreck. You make me sick.” He leaned in closer. “I’m telling you, Leah. If anything happens to Maya, I will never forgive you.” Looking at his pathetic, posturing face, I honestly couldn’t believe I’d ever loved him. A past life of blindness. I let out a cold, short laugh. “Then we’re done.” Alex froze. “What? I was just angry, I didn’t mean… If Maya—” I had no interest in hearing him squirm. I shoved him out of the classroom and slammed the door shut behind him. “Don’t make me call your parents!” I shouted through the wood. Outside, Alex’s protests died instantly. His footsteps faded down the hall in a furious retreat. His parents were respected academics, obsessed with their reputation. If they knew their son was blowing up his long-term relationship to champion another girl, they would ground him until he was thirty. 3 Three days later, the King of Spice challenge went live. Onstage, under the glare of streaming lights, Maya calmly consumed an entire platter of ramen swimming in a blood-red chili oil. She didn’t even break a sweat. The crowd went wild. That evening, I was in the library trying to study when a familiar, savage cramp seized my stomach. It felt like a vise grip tightening around my organs. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out, a cold sweat instantly drenching the back of my shirt. It was the exact same pain as before. But this time, I hadn’t touched Maya. I hadn’t even accepted a bottle of water from her. The pain had found me anyway. I realized with a sickening lurch that this wasn’t about physical contact. It was something deeper, something parasitic. A transfer of pure harm. I immediately left the library and went to the nearest urgent care. The diagnosis came back quickly: acute gastric mucosal lesions with erosive hemorrhaging. My phone buzzed. It was Alex. His voice was electric with excitement. “Leah, Maya won! The whole team is at O’Malley’s celebrating. Get over here and cover the tab, will you?” I pressed a hand to my mouth, fighting back a wave of nausea. “I can’t,” I rasped. “I have a fever. I don’t feel well.” A saccharine voice cut in from the background. It was Maya. “Oh, don’t be such a baby, Leah. What’s a little cold? But if you need anything, just let me know. I can have Alex take you to the ER.” She knew. The triumphant smirk was audible in her voice. She knew exactly how I was feeling. “That’s so thoughtful of you,” I managed to say, my voice dripping with irony. “My best friend.” “Maya, you’re too nice!” another girl’s voice chimed in. “If it weren’t for Leah pushing you into this, you wouldn’t have had to take such a risk! If I were you, I would have dropped her as a friend ages ago.” I had no desire to listen to their little performance. I ended the call and shut off my phone. Just like last time, Maya became an overnight campus celebrity. She immediately capitalized on the momentum, announcing a month-long “Ultimate Spice Tour,” where she would take on the Ghost Pepper, the Wasabi Scream, and the Inferno Noodle Nightmare in succession.

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