The photo that broke the internet wasn’t of Leo in a steamy movie scene or accepting an award. It was of him, my impossibly cool, notoriously stoic movie star brother, clutching a six-pack of Yoo-hoo like it was a national treasure. The internet, predictably, lost its mind. #LeoLovesYoohoo #ToughGuySoftDrink #HollywoodsChocolateMilkSecret I was scrolling through the trending topics, absolutely howling with laughter as we sat in the back of his black Escalade. We were on our way to pick up my sister-in-law for a family dinner, and this was just too perfect. “Leo, you look ridiculous. A tough guy with a carton of Yoo-hoo? This is gold.” Leo Ford, a man who could freeze a camera with a single glare, was currently looking like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He shot a fist out, stopping an inch from my face. “You want a matching bruise, Tessa?” I leaned into it, grinning. “Go ahead. I’ll tell Iris.” His fist retracted instantly. “Is that all you ever do? Tattle?” “Pretty much,” I said, sticking my tongue out. It was true. I was Iris’s most loyal soldier, and I never let him forget that he owed their entire relationship to me. It all started when Leo’s film needed a last-minute replacement for a cameo role—a concert pianist. The actress they’d booked got sick, and the director was panicking. They needed someone who could actually play, someone who looked the part, and they needed them that afternoon. Leo, out of sheer desperation, called me. He was shooting on a different location, so when I arrived at the sprawling studio lot, I didn’t even see him. The part was small, just a few scenes, and I was wrapped in under two hours. I thought that was the end of it, until the assistant director cornered me on my way out. He started talking about “expanding my role,” and how we should “discuss the details” back in his hotel room. 1 When I refused, he grabbed my arm. His grip was surprisingly strong. For the first time that day, I felt a spike of fear. I’d come to my brother’s set, so I hadn’t brought my usual security. My phone was in a locker with my street clothes. I was alone. And then, like a scene out of one of Leo’s action movies, a woman appeared out of nowhere. She peeled the director’s fingers off my arm with brutal efficiency and, in a fluid motion I still can’t quite comprehend, had him on the ground, groaning. I just stood there, clapping like an idiot. The assistant director, his face purple with rage, screamed at us to get off his set. As we were walking out, a pyrotechnics test went off on the adjacent lot. The explosion was deafening. Without a second thought, the woman beside me threw herself over me, shielding my body with her own. The next thing I knew, I was waking up in my own bed. My first thought was of her. Was she okay? My mom was there, stroking my hair. She told me to rest, that Leo had already gone to the hospital to thank her personally, gifts in hand. And somehow… during that hospital visit, a spark ignited. By the time I had fully recovered two weeks later, my perpetually single, workaholic brother and my anonymous hero were already giving each other looks. The kind of looks that could melt steel. A soft voice pulled me from the memory. The car door opened. “Fighting again?” Iris’s melodic voice filled the car. I immediately put on my best wounded expression. “Babe,” Leo started. “Iris,” I whined. We spoke at the same time. Iris slid in, wrapping an arm around me and fixing Leo with a playful glare. “Were you bullying my Tessa again?” She’d just come from a grueling day of stunt work and clearly hadn’t seen the news. I pulled up the picture on my phone. Her expression shifted from concern to pure delight. She zoomed in on the photo, saved it, and then burst out laughing. “Who took this? It’s adorable!” “Great. You’re ganging up on me,” Leo grumbled, snatching his phone and tapping furiously. A moment later, my own phone buzzed with a notification. 2 #LeoFordClarifies #LeoFordSecretlyMarried I clicked on the trending topic. It was a link to his latest tweet: [That wasn’t for me. It’s my wife’s. She’s the one who loves it.] Leo waggled his phone at us smugly. “I’m not taking the fall for this. The whole world might as well know I have a wife.” It always amazed me how the cold, ruthless persona he projected to the world melted away into this childish, pouting man the second Iris was around. She just shook her head with a fond smile, completely accustomed to his antics. Love, I mused, was a strange and powerful force. Who would have guessed that the formidable Leo Ford was, in private, a hopelessly devoted husband? An hour later, we pulled up to the family estate in Connecticut. Mom, Dad, Grandma, and Grandpa were all there. I ran to my grandmother, hugging her tight. “Grandma, I missed you so much!” She pinched my nose affectionately. “Oh, you charmer.” “She and Leo are polar opposites,” Grandpa chimed in from his armchair. “He’s been stone-faced since birth, and this one learned to sweet-talk before she could walk.” Leo and Iris walked in behind us, their arms full of groceries. “Is she talking trash about me again?” Leo asked. I peeked out from behind Grandma’s shoulder and stuck my tongue out at him. Iris playfully swatted his arm. “Iris, honey, you must be exhausted,” Mom said, coming out of her study to greet us. “Coming straight here from the set.” “Not at all, Mom. I love what I do,” Iris said with a genuine smile. My sister-in-law was a force of nature. She’d loved martial arts since she was a kid and broke into Hollywood as a stunt double for A-list actresses, taking the hits without ever showing her face. She never complained, just worked her way up, step by step. After she and Leo got married, she refused to let him pull strings for her, so they kept their marriage a secret. Of course, that didn’t stop Leo from quietly passing her name to a few trusted directors. Her talent and work ethic did the rest. She landed a gritty role in a 1940s spy series, full of physically demanding scenes, and she was happier than I’d ever seen her. As we were finishing dinner, Leo’s agent showed up at the door, looking like he was about to have a heart attack. “Leo! This is a disaster!” he wailed, shoving a laptop in our faces. After Leo’s clarification tweet, some paparazzo had dug up another photo: me, at a different film set, also holding a six-pack of Yoo-hoo. 3 Wait a second. That was from the day I went to pick up Iris from her set. #LeoAndTessaFord #IncestScandal The trending topics now paired my name with my brother’s. The implication was nauseating. I glanced at Leo and Iris, then immediately grabbed my phone. I wasn’t an actress and didn’t care what internet trolls said about me, but if this blew up, it could expose their secret marriage and create a truly toxic narrative. The last thing they needed was a fake scandal about a love triangle. My fingers flew across the screen: [That wasn’t mine! It was my sister-in-law’s! She’s the one who loves it!] There was no other way. I had to out him. Leo had entered the industry without using our family name, determined to make it on his own merits. He never wanted to be the rich kid who had to fall back on his inheritance if acting didn’t work out. But he had made it. He was at the top of his game now. Surely, this wouldn’t matter anymore. Especially not when it was for Iris. Leo immediately retweeted me, adding a photo of his driver’s license with everything but his name blacked out. The name was crystal clear: Leo Ford. Below it, he typed two words: [My actual sister.] The internet pivoted in an instant. #TheFordsCanActuallyUseTheirWords #TessaFordResponds I scrolled through the new, much more lighthearted, trending topics. “You know,” I said to Leo, “I bet some thirsty wannabe is going to post a picture of themselves with a Yoo-hoo and claim to be your wife just to get some attention.” Leo scoffed. “After how fast we shut that down? No one would be that stupid.” He spoke too soon. A notification popped up on my phone. I had been tagged in a post. [Tessa Ford, I thought you were married for a second and my heart broke. But now… it looks like I might still have a shot.] 4 I stared at the username: Rhys Callan. The Rhys Callan? The indie singer who just won Best New Artist? What did he have to do with any of this? A moment later, a friend request popped up on my private social account. The name was attached: Rhys Callan. I accepted it immediately. My first message to him was blunt: [Are you trying to make a complicated situation even crazier?] His reply was instantaneous. [No. I’m being serious. I really like you.] [Can we meet?] His directness was disarming. I wanted to understand what was going on, so I agreed to meet him the next day at a quiet café near my place. “Hi,” he said as I sat down. “Hello,” I replied. We sounded like two strangers on an awkward blind date, which, I supposed, we were. “First, I want to show you something,” Rhys said, sliding his phone across the table. He played a video. It was me, a few years ago, on a trip to Europe. My friends had gone to the restroom, and I’d found a public piano on the street and started playing a melody I was working on. The video was shaky, filmed by a tourist, but unlike most of the clips that had surfaced online—which were mostly of my back—this one clearly showed my face in profile. The video’s location tag confirmed he was there. “You might not remember,” he began, his voice earnest, “but I used a piece of this melody in my new song.” “I’ve tried to find you for years,” he continued, rambling a little, as if he was nervous. “When I finally figured out who you were, the internet was convinced you were married to your brother. Your clarification came so fast… I knew I had to take my chance. That melody… it was incredible. I went home and couldn’t get it out of my head. It, and you. The way you looked when you were playing… It’s crazy, I know. I can’t believe I’m even saying this, but…” He paused, taking a breath. “We can sort out a contract. Royalties, writing credits, whatever you want. I’d love to collaborate with you properly. Your compositional style is brilliant.” He kept talking, filling the silence when I didn’t respond. I stirred my coffee, the spoon clinking against the porcelain. “So you asked me here to talk about royalties?” A faint blush crept up his neck. “No. I asked you here because I wanted to tell you that I like you.” My eyes widened. “But… you don’t know me. We’ve never even met.” “Then let me get to know you,” he said, his gaze steady. “We have plenty of time for that.” This guy… he was unbelievably direct. Just then, I heard a familiar, rustling sound from a few tables behind me. My head whipped around, and though I couldn’t see them clearly, I recognized the clumsy attempt at spycraft. I turned back to Rhys, forcing a polite smile. “I’m so sorry, something’s come up. Can we reschedule?” “Oh. Sure. I’ll get the check.” After Rhys paid and left, I pretended to leave as well, then doubled back and marched straight to the booth in the corner. 5 “Leo? Iris? What are you two doing here?” My brother, wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, and my sister-in-law, in a hoodie with a mask pulled up to her eyes, looked like the world’s worst spies. “What a coincidence,” Leo said, his voice flat. “We were just in the neighborhood.” Iris elbowed him. “Don’t listen to him. He was worried about you, so we came to check things out. Honestly, Tessa, he seems like a decent guy. Very sincere.” “I already ran a background check on him yesterday,” Leo added gruffly. “His record is clean.” “A background check doesn’t tell you who a person really is,” Iris countered. “I know,” Leo said, a new idea dawning in his eyes. “A trip.” Iris caught on immediately. “Yes! A trip is perfect. You learn everything you need to know about a person when you travel with them.” And just like that, the two of them were plotting a full-scale vetting operation for Rhys Callan. Leo’s powers of persuasion—and investment—were formidable. Within a week, he’d funded and co-produced a new celebrity travel reality show. When the director called Rhys, who had famously never done television, and mentioned my name was on the list of participants, he signed on without a second’s hesitation. Rhys Callan’s reality TV debut sent his fans into a frenzy. The network, playing up the drama, kept the rest of the cast a secret. The show would be a mix of live-streaming and pre-recorded segments, a brilliant way to keep viewers hooked. On the first day, we all gathered at the villa that would be our home base. The director announced there would be five cast members. I walked into the living room and saw two familiar figures. Leo and Iris were already there, sitting on opposite ends of a long sofa, pretending to be strangers. I hesitated for a moment before taking a seat next to Iris. My loyalty was clear. Leo had revealed he was married, but not to whom. To the world, Iris was just another actress. The live-stream comments started pouring in. [Why isn’t Tessa sitting with her brother??] [The Ford siblings’ first show together! The producers are geniuses.] [Leo said he’d drop hints about his wife on this show! I can’t wait to see who the lucky woman is!] The front door opened again, and a wave of cloyingly sweet perfume washed over the room. Before I even turned around, a saccharine voice echoed through the villa. 6 “Leo, darling!” My brother’s brow furrowed into a deep V. [It’s Seraphina Vance! Oh my god, my old ship is sailing again!] [Are Seraphina and Leo finally going to happen? I’m here for all the drama. /popcorn] I recognized the name. Seraphina Vance. Leo had mentioned her once. They’d worked on a movie together, and she’d tried desperately to manufacture a showmance during the press tour. Leo, who was in the early stages of pursuing Iris, had expertly shut her down every time. But that hadn’t stopped Seraphina from dropping vague, suggestive hints about him in interviews for months afterward. I glanced at Iris, who looked completely unbothered, then at Leo, whose expression was pure disgust. Oh, this was going to be good. I just needed a bowl of popcorn. Before I could get too comfortable, the door opened one last time. Rhys Callan walked in, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on me. A slow, warm smile spread across his face as he walked directly over. “Tessa. It’s good to see you again. I brought you something.” [I’m shipping these two so hard! The earnest musician and the quiet pianist!] [Tessa looks like she could juggle eight boyfriends at once, but the second he smiles at her she blushes. It’s adorable!] [Looks can be deceiving. Did Leo look like a guy who chugs Yoo-hoo?] [The Ford family motto: ‘Exterior does not match contents.’] [OMG, someone just posted a leaked pic of Leo chugging two Yoo-hoos on set just now. GO LOOK!] A photo appeared in the feed: Leo, mid-chug, looking defiant. [I knew it. They’re cut from the same cloth.] [Someone get this family a lifetime supply of Yoo-hoo. And maybe some Capri Sun while you’re at it.] Rhys, ever the gentleman, had brought gifts for everyone. 7 He gave Leo a bottle of vintage wine from the year I was born. He gave Iris a stunning necklace from a high-end designer’s latest collection. Seraphina preened, watching him, clearly expecting her turn. We had all received something; surely she was next. Rhys looked at her, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “Ah, my manager told me another actress was supposed to be here, so the gift I prepared was for her…” He opened a large box to reveal a high-end, professional set of kitchen knives. “You can have them, if you’d like,” he offered. The set was easily as expensive as Iris’s necklace, but it was the wrong gift for the wrong person. Seraphina’s eyes, clouded with disdain, barely glanced at the box. “She had a last-minute conflict. Since we’re with the same agency, my boss asked me to fill in.” Before we left, Leo had been raving about the original actress, a woman famous for her warm personality and incredible cooking skills. He’d been looking forward to some decent meals. Now, we were stuck with Seraphina. “And besides,” she added, inching closer to my brother, “I knew you would be here, Leo. I feel so much safer with someone I know.” She was practically draped over him. Leo’s jaw tightened. “Tessa,” he barked, his voice strained. “Switch seats with me.” Iris placed a calming hand on my arm. “It’s fine, Tessa. Stay where you are.” Her tone was even, without a hint of anger. I knew what she was doing. She trusted Leo completely and didn’t want him to cause a scene on a live broadcast that would inevitably lead to negative headlines. The director finally stepped in to break the tension. “Alright, everyone! As a welcome, your first lunch is on us. After that, you’ll have to earn your meals!” 8 The dining table was already set, but seating once again became a strategic battle. It was a rectangular table with three chairs on one side and two on the other. My instincts kicked in. I spotted my favorite dish and quickly claimed the seat in front of it—one of the two-seaters. Iris immediately sat down next to me. Seeing this, Leo swiftly moved to the chair directly opposite Iris and pulled Rhys down into the seat beside him. That left Seraphina with the last seat, directly across from me. The entire meal was a masterclass in tension, though I was too busy enjoying the food to let their bizarre psychodrama ruin my appetite. After lunch, we chose our rooms. The villa had two floors. The men would take the downstairs rooms, the women upstairs. My luggage was light, just a small suitcase, so Iris and I carried ours up. Seraphina, however, stood at the bottom of the stairs, pouting. “Leo, honey? Could you possibly help me with my bag?” It was a massive, hot pink monstrosity. Leo wordlessly dragged the suitcase not up the stairs, but outside to the small service elevator on the patio. He shoved it inside and pressed the button for the second floor. “There’s an elevator.” “Oh! Thank you, Leo!” she chirped to his retreating back. Upstairs, there was one single room and one double. Iris and I naturally gave the single to Seraphina. We unpacked and settled in for a short afternoon break. At 3 p.m., the director’s voice came over the house-wide intercom, announcing our first challenge to win ingredients for dinner. It was a game of telephone, but with mimed movie lines while wearing noise-canceling headphones. Since it was a live-stream day, this was prime content. Rhys went first. He chose a line from the cards and turned to me, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I love you,” he mouthed dramatically, forming a heart with his hands, his expression full of theatrical devotion. 9 “I love you?” I mouthed back, feeling a blush creep up my neck. [The sly dog! He picked the one line with ‘I love you’ in it!] [Look at his smile when she says it back! He can’t hide it!] He nodded, then mouthed the next part. “I would do anything for you. I will be there for you, wherever and whenever you need me.” I recognized it immediately. It was a famous line from one of Leo’s movies. His delivery was so clear that I got it instantly. I turned to pass it on to Seraphina. I mouthed each word carefully, and she repeated them back to me, nodding that she understood. Then she turned to Leo. “I love you!” she mouthed, her eyes wide and fluttering. Leo just stared at her. “And?” he mouthed back. She tapped her head. “Oh, darn it! What was it? I forgot! I would… do something? Oh, it doesn’t matter. Just remember that I love you, okay?” She flapped her hands in frustration, but the only words she kept repeating were “I love you.” [Silly Seraphina! She sees Leo’s face and her brain just shorts out.] [Haha, can’t blame her. I’d forget my own name if he looked at me like that.] [It’s easy to get lost in those eyes.] “She’s a professional actress and she can’t remember two lines?” I muttered to Rhys, who was standing beside me now. “A lot of actors rely on voice-overs and teleprompters these days,” he whispered back. [Gossip is human nature. Look at Tessa, she doesn’t want to miss a thing. She’s walking backward and is about to crash right into Rhys.] [Did you see that? He totally took two steps back just so she would run into him. He wants her to feel those pecs.] Leo, ever the professional, managed to piece it together from her charade. He held up a hand to stop her. “Okay, got it.” He turned and gently tapped Iris on the shoulder. “I love you,” he mouthed, his entire demeanor softening. Iris’s eyes widened in surprise for a split second before a look of recognition dawned. She smiled. “Is it from your movie?” she mouthed. Leo just grinned, a rare, boyish grin that he saved only for her. “I love you,” she recited perfectly, “I would do anything for you. I will be there for you, wherever and whenever you need me.” She hadn’t even needed him to say the rest. She knew it by heart. [Wait… am I crazy or is there some serious chemistry between those two?] [That’s the first time I’ve ever seen Leo smile at another actress like that.] [Okay, new ship unlocked? What is happening?] Because Iris got the line perfectly, we won our pick of any ingredients for dinner. As the game ended, Seraphina scurried over to Leo. “Leo, I’m so sorry, I was so clumsy back there! As a punishment, I’ll watch your movie ten times tonight, how about that?” The look of pure panic on Leo’s face was priceless. He practically sprinted away, hiding behind me like a human shield.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385054”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

My boyfriend had a ghost. Everyone says you can’t compete with the dead. Fine. Then I’ll bring the dead back to life, and then I’ll defeat her. I used a time machine to become her high school classmate, the one who would save her from the edge. I’d give her light. I’d give her love. I’d be the one in her corner. I never expected that in the end… I would become the ghost in her story. 1 I finally saw him—Ethan’s ghost, the girl who died too young. Seraphina. Here I was, standing in the senior classroom of Northwood High’s advanced track, listening to our new homeroom teacher, Mr. Davison, introduce me. “Class, this is Lia. She’s a transfer student from out of state. Let’s make her feel welcome.” A wave of warm applause broke out, but it didn’t stir the girl buried in a book in the back of the room. Seraphina. She sat alone in the last row, an empty seat on every side of her, like a deserted island. Mr. Davison told me to pick any open seat. My mission was clear. I walked straight to the empty desk beside her. I dropped into the chair and beamed at her. “Hey, new desk buddy. I’m Lia. Hope we can get along.” She finally lifted her gaze from her book. And I finally saw her face. She was a classic, fragile kind of beauty. Skin so pale it seemed to glow, features like they were painted on, but her expression was numb, vacant. Honestly, the group photo I’d seen at Ethan’s house didn’t capture a tenth of her beauty. So my rival was this stunning, I thought, a little smugly. At least I won’t lose face. My self-congratulation was cut short by her voice, as cold and flat as a frozen lake. “Find another seat. I don’t like people sitting next to me.” That sharp? Weren’t these idealized ghosts supposed to be gentle, kind, the epitome of all things good? Had I gotten the stereotype all wrong? But I had traveled through time for her. I wasn’t about to give up that easily. I brazenly reached for her hand, my voice dropping into a playful, wheedling tone. “But you’re so pretty. I have a thing for sitting next to gorgeous girls.” She froze. I could tell she had never in her life encountered someone so completely shameless. It took her a solid moment to react. She snatched her hand back and ducked her head, pretending to focus on her book again. She was trying to act like nothing happened, but I could see the blush creeping up her neck. I hid a triumphant smile. When it comes to winning people over, if I’m number two, no one dares claim to be number one. 2 Within a single lunch period, I’d managed to get friendly with most of my new classmates. They were more than happy to share the local gossip. “Seraphina’s mom is terrifying. Like, a total psycho, straight out of a psych ward.” “She forbids anyone from getting close to Sera. She told us if anyone even talks to her, she’ll kill them.” “Sera already had early admission to Yale, but her mom forced her to give it up. She wants Sera to apply the normal way, and she has to be valedictorian with a perfect SAT score.” “She even made our last homeroom teacher cry. He couldn’t take it anymore and transferred, that’s why we have Mr. Davison now.” … From these scattered bits of information, I pieced together a picture of Seraphina’s life. A single-parent household. A controlling, mentally unstable mother. A mandatory six-foot bubble around Seraphina, devoid of any human contact. I finally understood why she had given up. Trapped in a suffocating, toxic environment like that for so long… I’m not sure I could have survived it either. “Just wait until you see her mom at the parent-teacher conference. Lia, you should get away while you still can,” a girl named Maya warned. Just as she said it, Seraphina walked back into the classroom, holding a lunchbox. Her face was a mask of calm as she returned to her seat. She opened the box. Inside was a steaming, home-cooked meal. She picked up her spoon and began to eat in silence. As she raised her arm, her long sleeve slid down, revealing a series of shocking, jagged scars across her wrist. I stared, frozen. Those were… Her senses were razor-sharp. She noticed my gaze instantly. She didn’t say a word, just pulled her sleeve back down with a blank expression, hiding her wrist once more. An inexplicable tightness formed in my chest. I wasn’t sure if she had overheard what Maya said when she came in. After a moment of hesitation, I leaned in and made her a promise. “Don’t worry, Seraphina. I’m not switching seats. I’m staying right here.” The movement of her spoon paused for a fraction of a second. “They’re right,” she replied, her voice soft. “It would be better for both of us if you moved.” She didn’t look at me when she spoke, her eyes fixed on the food in her lunchbox. The steam rose, clinging to her long, curled lashes. Her expression was so cold, yet she looked like she could shatter into a million pieces. Her words said go away, but I could have sworn her soul was screaming: Don’t leave. Save me. I spoke with a fierce determination. “What do you mean, no one is allowed within six feet of you? Screw that. I’m getting closer.” And I didn’t just get closer. I leaned over and wrapped my arms around her in a tight hug. “Seraphina,” I whispered, “whether you believe me or not, I came here for you.” “Let’s be friends, Sera.” If no one else is going to save you, then I will. And then, I’ll beat you, fair and square. 3 Seraphina stared at me, her eyes suddenly turning red and welling up with tears. She didn’t dare blink. She frantically lowered her head to hide her face, shoveling food into her mouth in big, desperate bites. Fat tears rolled down her cheeks with each movement, falling silently into her lap. Damn it, I sighed internally. Seraphina’s mom was a real piece of work, pushing her own daughter to the brink. We spent the next two weeks like this. While Seraphina still greeted me with a cool expression, the numbness in her eyes had begun to fade. She was slowly getting used to my presence. It had been almost half a month since I transferred, and there was still no sign of Ethan. I was getting antsy, so I decided to ask Maya about him. Her face lit up with the expression of someone who’d just stumbled upon prime gossip. “Tsk, tsk,” she clicked her tongue. “I knew it. Why else would someone go through all the trouble of transferring schools in the middle of senior year? You’re here for the golden boy, Ethan, aren’t you?” I started to deny it. “No, I—” She made an ‘O’ with her fingers and playfully clamped it over my mouth, shushing me. She gave me a conspiratorial wink, her face saying, No need to explain, I get it. “Don’t even try. You can lie to me, but can you lie to your own heart?” What was with the cheesy soap opera dialogue? “You’re wasting your talent,” I said, my head aching. “You should be writing novels.” Her eyes lit up as if she’d found her soulmate. “You think so too? I should write a story about you and Ethan! A brave girl fearlessly pursues her love, conquering the untouchable prince of the school…” She was off, lost in her burst of inspiration, rambling on and on. I turned away in exasperation and found myself looking directly into the eyes of Seraphina, who was standing right behind me. I had no idea when she’d returned. She stared at me, her expression unreadable, her eyes a little cold. I felt a strange pang of guilt, though I had no idea what I had to feel guilty about. I fidgeted, suddenly awkward. Seraphina silently returned to her seat. After a moment, she spoke, her voice calm and even. “Ethan already has early admission. He doesn’t have to attend classes. You’ll have a hard time finding him at school.” I scratched my head. “Oh, okay. I see.” He’d never mentioned that when we were dating. So, he had gotten early admission too. He and Seraphina really were a match for each other. My state school degree felt completely inadequate in front of these two academic powerhouses. 4 I couldn’t tell if it was my imagination, but it felt like Seraphina was angry with me. For days, she barely gave me the time of day. That afternoon during lunch, I went to a coffee shop and bought two Caramel Macchiatos, planning to make a peace offering. When I walked back into the classroom, I found it in chaos, a crowd of students gathered in a circle. I pushed my way through the throng. My heart sank at what I saw. Desks and chairs were overturned. Notebooks and pens were crushed and scattered across the floor. The entire area was a disaster zone. Seraphina stood in the middle of it all, soaking wet, her head bowed as she stared blankly at the ground. She was alone, the silent epicenter of a storm of whispers and stares. Everyone was just watching. No one had even bothered to get a teacher. The ringleader, a girl with long, straight black hair, had a lollipop stick hanging from her lips. She stood with her arms crossed, giving a cold command. “Do it.” A guy with a buzz cut standing behind her surged forward, grabbed Seraphina by the hair, and slammed her head against a desk. “You’re just as disgusting as your psycho mom! Freaks like you don’t deserve to be alive—” A hot rush of rage flooded me. I lunged forward and kicked him squarely where it counts. “Say one more word!” The buzz-cut guy crumpled to the floor, curled into a ball, whining and crying. I was completely enraged. I went into a blind fury, landing a few more kicks for good measure, seeing red. “Garbage like you gets to live, but a wonderful girl like Sera doesn’t? Who the hell do you think you are?!” “The person I’ve worked so hard to protect is not about to be bullied by some worthless piece of trash like you! You think you have the right?!” After the furious assault, I still wasn’t satisfied. I spun around and slapped the lollipop girl across the face several times. “You could be anything, and you choose to be a wannabe gangster? Today, I’m going to give you a taste of what real life is like.” Lollipop girl shrieked. “Where did this psycho come from?! What are you standing there for? Help me!” Another one of her goons, a guy with bleached-blond hair, finally snapped out of it and rushed toward me. “Are you looking to die?!” I held up a hand. “Hold it!” The blond guy, confused and wary, actually stopped. I took off my school jacket and draped it over Seraphina’s shoulders. I held her gently, forcing her to look me in the eye. “Seraphina, you listen to me. You are not alone. You have me!” “We promised to be friends, remember? And what are friends for? They’re the ones who have your back when trouble starts!” She looked at me, her eyes slowly clouding over with a film of tears. But I smiled. “Give me the length of one song. I’ll take care of them, and then we’ll have our coffee.” With that, I took the Sony headphones from around my neck and placed them over her ears.

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The words appeared in the air right as the new girl started her introduction. Bright white, shimmering like a glitch in my vision, like subtitles for a movie I was suddenly trapped inside. 【Here we go. The female lead falls for the male lead at first sight. She’s going to chase him relentlessly, even though he already has a girlfriend.】 【He’ll go from annoyed to completely captivated by her! God, I can’t wait for this to start!】 【Look, they just made eye contact!】 And then, as if on cue, the transfer student, Lila Jensen, finished her “hi, my name is” and walked straight toward my desk. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice a little too sweet. “Can I sit here?” Beside me, my boyfriend, Liam, let out an annoyed scoff. “Who the hell do you think you are, asking to sit next to me?” The subtitles exploded in a frenzy. 1 【Ugh, the male lead is so harsh! I can’t wait until he’s hopelessly in love, begging for forgiveness and apologizing for this very moment!】 【Seriously, this side-piece has no self-awareness. Just get up and give her the seat. Maybe Liam will spare you later if you do!】 The information flooded my brain, delivered by this bizarre, impossible feed. I was the villain in a romance novel. The “evil girlfriend.” The childhood friend. The story was simple: Lila, the heroine, falls for Liam at first sight. I, consumed by jealousy, try to sabotage her at every turn, framing her, humiliating her, until I become a twisted, unrecognizable version of myself. My descent into wickedness would, of course, make Liam despise me. He’d finally see Lila for the tenacious, pure-hearted girl she was and fall for her instead. To make his new love happy, he would systematically destroy me and my family, pushing us to the brink until we had nothing left, culminating in a family suicide by jumping off a bridge. I frowned, the phantom words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. As Liam’s insult landed, Lila’s eyes immediately welled with tears. Her body swayed as if she’d been struck, and a wave of whispers washed over the classroom. I stood up, shrugging. “Whatever. You want the seat? It’s yours.” He’s just a boy. A boy whose heart, according to my new paranormal ticker tape, was destined to change anyway. Why should I care? Besides, Liam was the one who’d chased me. Lila stared at me, her expression a perfect mask of disbelief. But Liam grabbed my wrist, his eyes shooting daggers at her. “Get lost,” he snapped. “You’re ruining my day.” Lila’s face went pale, a picture of delicate heartbreak. She looked at Liam, her voice trembling. “I-I just thought… you seemed familiar. I’m new here, I don’t know anyone, so…” Then, as if pumping herself up, she added, “And I’m a really good student. I was first in my class at my old school. I could help you with your work!” Liam let out a short, brutal laugh. “First in your class? Paige is first in our class. You think you’re qualified to tutor me?” In the end, she didn’t get the seat. Lila walked to the only empty desk, the one by the trash cans in the back corner of the room. 2 The moment class ended, Lila returned with a large bag filled with boba tea. She passed them out, her cheeks flushed with a shy smile. “I’m new here, so I just wanted to thank everyone for being so welcoming. This is for you guys.” The class erupted in cheers. But when she got to my desk, the bag was suddenly empty. Lila looked at me, her face a canvas of remorse. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Paige. I must have miscounted. Here, you can have mine.” She held her cup out to me. I instinctively raised a hand to refuse. “No, that’s okay, thank—” Before I could finish, the cup tilted. Icy, milky tea cascaded down the front of her shirt. Lila gasped, her eyes instantly filling with tears as she stared at me. “Paige… I know what I did this morning was presumptuous, and I already apologized. You already made me sit by the garbage cans. What more do you want from me?” Her words were a lit match in a gas-filled room. The class turned on me. “I knew she was a bitch. She always acts so high and mighty just because Liam likes her. And now she’s bullying the new girl?” “So that’s why Lila is sitting by the trash! I thought there were other seats. Paige must have forced her!” “Doesn’t Paige’s family have money? Why is she tormenting someone over a cup of boba?” Lila was only wearing a thin, white blouse. The dark tea made the cheap fabric translucent, revealing the outline of her bra. The subtitles scrolling in front of my eyes were all praising her genius, not a single one calling her out for being a homewrecker. They saw it as a noble sacrifice for love. I opened my mouth to explain, to say that I hadn’t touched her, but Liam, who had been silent until now, cut through the noise. He pulled off his own jacket and threw it at her, then glared at the rest of the class. “All of you, shut up! Get out!” The other students, intimidated by Liam, fell silent but continued to stare at me with open hostility. After Lila scurried away, clutching his jacket, Liam leaned closer to me, his voice a low murmur. “I only love you, Paige. You don’t have to go after her.” I blinked. “What?” He just turned away, pretending to sleep on his desk. A heavy, frustrating pressure built in my chest. The subtitles were right. This was exactly how it was supposed to go. To avoid a worse fate, I decided to go to our guidance counselor and request a seat change. If I couldn’t fight this narrative, maybe I could outrun it. But when I returned to the classroom, I found Lila sitting in my chair, her body pressed against Liam’s as she pointed at something in his textbook. She was drowning in his oversized jacket, the entire scene an intimate portrait of dependence and protection. The second they saw me, they sprang apart. Lila jumped to her feet, her voice laced with panic. “I’m so sorry! Liam helped me earlier, so I just wanted to return the favor by helping him with this problem!” Then, she did the most theatrical thing I had ever seen. She knelt and started wiping down my stool with the sleeve of his jacket. “You don’t like me here, I’ll clean it for you!” Before I could speak, Liam pulled her to her feet, his voice cold and pointedly directed at me. “We’re all human beings. You don’t have to be afraid of us.” He turned to me then, his expression flat. “It’s not what it looks like.” I managed a smile. “I know.” With as much grace as I could muster, I walked to the desk, gathered my books, and moved them to an empty seat in the very front row. Liam shot up, his hand grabbing my arm. “What are you doing?” Lila’s voice was a wounded whisper. “Do you hate me that much?” I sighed, looking at the faces around me, all poised to condemn me again. “You’ve misunderstood,” I said, my voice calm and even. “Finals are coming up, and I want to focus. Sitting in the front will help. Besides,” I added, glancing between them, “Lila wanted to sit next to you, Liam. This way, everyone gets what they want, right? And I’d hate for her to have to sit by the trash cans. We wouldn’t want that to affect her grades.” Liam’s jaw tightened. “Can you just stop it?” I stared at him, genuinely confused. He let out a cold laugh and, without another word, walked to the back of the room, grabbed Lila’s things, and dumped them on my now-empty desk. “From now on, you’re my deskmate.” The class hooted and whistled as Lila’s face turned a triumphant shade of crimson. I thought that if I just removed myself from their orbit, I’d be safe. But then, the subtitles began to scream again. 3 【Lila is so clever! She realized Liam is just using her to make the villainess jealous. So, she’s decided to completely destroy the villainess’s reputation during tomorrow’s midterms!】 【Ruin her image in Liam’s eyes completely!】 A cold dread washed over me. What was she planning? The day the midterm results were posted arrived far too quickly. Our teacher, Ms. Albright, stood at the front of the class, beaming. “I’m thrilled to announce that the top score in our grade belongs to one of our own, Paige Miller! Congratulations, Paige!” A stunned silence fell over the room, followed by a ripple of whispers. Ms. Albright continued, “And in second place, our new student, Lila Jensen, with an impressive score herself! Come on up, you two, and get your academic awards!” Lila stood up, but she hesitated, her eyes downcast. “Ms. Albright,” she said, her voice just loud enough to carry. “I… I can’t accept this.” I felt a familiar knot of dread tighten in my stomach. The teacher paused, her smile faltering. “What’s wrong, Lila?” Lila glanced at me, her expression a mess of inner turmoil, before finally speaking. “I saw Paige with a cheat sheet during the exam. This test wasn’t fair. I want to give my award to the next person on the list.” The room exploded. In seconds, someone had posted the accusation on the school’s unofficial gossip blog. Ms. Albright’s face grew stern. “Lila, that’s a very serious accusation. You need proof to say something like that.” Lila burst into tears. “But I saw her! If you want to protect her, there’s nothing I can do, but it’s wrong! It’s not fair to the other students, and it’s not fair to herself!” The tide of opinion turned against me in an instant. “I knew her grades were too good to be true. She probably cheated her way through high school!” “Lila is a goddess! So brave for speaking up!” Even Liam was looking at me, his face a complicated mask of doubt and disappointment. Ms. Albright called for quiet, then turned to me. “Paige? Do you have anything to say?” I stood up, my gaze locked on Lila. “You’re saying you saw me cheat?” Lila, with the air of a martyr facing down a tyrant, nodded defiantly. A small smile played on my lips. Thank God for the subtitles. I had come prepared. “Okay,” I continued. “Which subject was I cheating in? And at what point during the exam?” “All of them!” she declared. “You were cheating the entire time!” “Funny,” I said, pulling a small USB drive from my pocket. “Because I have evidence that someone else was the cheater.” The triumphant look on Lila’s face froze, replaced by a flicker of panic. “What… what do you mean?” I handed the drive to Ms. Albright. “This is the security footage from the exam hall. I got a copy from the office this morning. It’s the full, unedited, high-definition recording.” As Ms. Albright walked to her computer to plug it in, Lila suddenly cried out, her eyes pleading with me. “Wait! Maybe… maybe I was mistaken!” I smiled sweetly. “Seeing is believing, right? And the camera doesn’t lie. Besides, I don’t particularly enjoy being framed. What are you so afraid of, Lila?” Her face went ashen. The subtitles, ever loyal to their heroine, were in full-blown meltdown. 【When is this bitch finally going to get what she deserves? Why isn’t the plot working?】 【Lila was just a little stressed from chasing Liam, that’s why her test scores were a bit off and she felt the need to cheat. Why does the villainess have to be so petty and expose her?】 【Why isn’t she falling for it? If she’d just let herself be framed, Liam would be completely won over by Lila’s righteousness! Lila has worked so hard these past few days, he’s already falling for her! Our Lila is so adorable!】 4 But it was too late. The video was already playing on the projector screen. Halfway through, the camera’s view clearly showed Lila, hunched over her desk, furtively taking pictures of the test paper with her phone. Then, she looked up, shooting a venomous glare directly in my direction. The entire class gasped. The video continued, showing me completing my test, never once looking at anything other than my own paper. The so-called cheat sheet never appeared. The atmosphere in the room shifted. A girl in the front row muttered, “Oh my God, she’s one of those psycho girls. And isn’t Liam officially Paige’s boyfriend? What’s with this chick bringing him lunch and hanging all over him every day?” “Right? Anyone who didn’t know better would think she was his girlfriend.” Lila’s face was chalk-white. Her eyes, brimming with tears, rolled back in her head, and she collapsed gracefully into Liam’s arms. Liam’s expression hardened. He scooped her up, then turned to me, his voice dripping with contempt. “You went too far. You’re the one who moved away, and now you come back and bully her like this. Why do you have to be such a bitch, Paige?” He carried Lila out of the room without a backward glance. I didn’t care. All that mattered was that the truth was out. But then, the subtitles flashed a new spoiler. 【Lila looks like a heartbroken child in the male lead’s arms. But she just fell in love with him, what did she do wrong?】 【Look! To comfort Lila, Liam just promised her he’d make sure the villainess fails her finals!】 【Lila is too soft. If it were me, I’d just have her killed.】 【Don’t worry. Even if Lila doesn’t do anything, that bitch won’t get off easy. The school gossip blog is already full of people calling her a cheater. That’s definitely going to mess with her head.】

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I was supposed to be a ghost. The first love, the one enshrined in memory, the wife who died too young. Ten years after the fire, a System brought me back. My mission: to save him, the villain my husband had become. The only problem? I couldn’t remember a thing. Not him, not our life, not even my own name until the System gave it to me. So when I saw him from a distance, a man carved from shadow and ice, I didn’t get close. His security saw to that. As they threw me against the alley wall, the world spitting me out like something bitter, a series of comments flickered into existence before my eyes, a ghostly feed only I could see. 【Here we go again. I’ve lost count of how many have tried to ‘save’ the big bad wolf.】 【For a decade, the System has been terrified he’ll burn the world down. So it keeps sending these candidates, these replacements, to try and pacify him.】 【There have been girls who looked just like his dead wife, girls who had her exact personality, even one who came armed with all of her memories…】 【They all failed. Spectacularly.】 【So this one? This painfully average girl? How many days does she get?】 1 When the System dropped me into this life, the man whose moods dictated the stability of the entire world was thirty-four years old. And he had a son who was nearly ten. I woke from a long, dreamless sleep into a world of total unknowns. All I knew was my name—Nora. I was twenty-three. The System had just informed me of this. Beyond that, it gave me a litany of warnings, a thousand cautions about the man I was supposed to save. It urged me not to end up like the others who came before me, who had their lives extinguished the moment they entered his world. The System told me his name was Damian Shaw, a man who sat at the absolute apex of global wealth and power. He was brutal, vindictive, a caged animal pacing the confines of his own gilded world. The only shred of humanity he had left, it seemed, was reserved for his young son. I stared at my reflection in the mirror for a long time. “I don’t see anything special in me,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “Nothing that would make a man like that even look my way.” The System was silent for a moment. When it spoke again, its tone was heavy with meaning. “You’re the last chance, Nora. If you can’t do this—” It cut itself off, the voice hardening with a strange resolve. “No. You can. You have to.” 2 The System’s warnings were not an exaggeration. The first time I managed to even get a glimpse of Damian Shaw, I was detected almost instantly. He was standing outside the gates of an expensive-looking private school, waiting for his son. He wore a tailored black coat, the collar turned up against the wind, his frame a stark silhouette against the pale afternoon sky. He never once glanced in my direction. I watched the sharp, cold line of his profile, and a strange, uncontrollable emotion bloomed in my chest. It was a grief so sharp, so sudden, it brought tears to my eyes. The feeling stunned me, rooting me to the spot. I didn’t even notice his security approaching until they were on me—two mountains in bespoke suits. A universe of pain erupted as they heaved me into the brick wall of a nearby alley. One of them, his face a mask of professional menace, leaned down. “You don’t look at people you’re not supposed to see,” he growled, the threat hanging in the cold air. He gave my pathetic, crumpled form on the ground a final, dismissive glance. “Next time, it won’t be this simple.” 3 At that exact moment, the sky began to bleed snow. I cradled my throbbing arm, leaning against the cold brick. From the mouth of the alley, I watched Damian greet his son. Even with the boy, his expression didn’t soften. He just stubbed out his cigarette, his movements precise and economical, and reached down to take the small hand offered to him. They turned and walked to a black car waiting at the curb. Maybe my stare was too intense, too desperate. Just before he got in, the boy turned his head and looked directly at me. I must have been a sorry sight, a mess of snow and blood and bruised dignity. And yet, instinctively, I managed a small, gentle smile for this beautiful, serious-looking boy. His gaze was as indifferent as his father’s. His eyes, a deep, quiet gray, assessed me calmly. He only looked for a second. A bodyguard stepped forward, pulling the car door open. It closed with a solid, final thud, sealing them inside. The car pulled away from the curb without a backward glance. 4 My heart plummeted, a sudden, sickening feeling of freefall. Before I could even begin to process the strange tide of emotions washing over me, the white text reappeared, scrolling rapidly in my vision. 【A new player has entered the game.】 【Ten years. I’ve lost count of how many there have been. Dozens? Hundreds?】 【The System is so damn scared of this guy. Terrified he’s gonna have one bad day and just delete the whole world.】 【So it keeps trying to shove people into his life.】 【But Damian only loves his dead wife.】 【That’s why the System keeps sending these ‘substitutes.’】 【Some look like her, some act like her, one even had a complete memory download…】 5 I stared at the frantic stream of text, my brow furrowed. I’d forgotten how to blink. “This guy,” as they called him, had to be Damian Shaw, the man holding the world hostage with his grief. And the failed players… that’s why the System had been so insistent on his danger. It had tried everything. Which begged the question: why did it think I, someone so painfully ordinary, could possibly succeed where all the others had failed? As if reading my mind, the feed’s commentary shifted to me. 【Honestly, though, it’s not some substitute player who’s been keeping him stable all these years.】 【It’s the son his wife left him.】 【She was gone, just like that. Nothing left of her but that boy.】 【That kid is Damian’s only remaining tether to this world.】 【If it weren’t for him, Damian probably would’ve destroyed everything, himself included, years ago. He would have followed his wife into the grave.】 【Which is why every single one of these players has failed.】 【His wife is his ghost, his sacred ground.】 【It’s the one pure thing left in his heart.】 【He will not let anyone defile her memory by wearing her face or claiming her place.】 【That’s why the fakes all die. Each one worse than the last.】 【So what about this one?】 【This plain, unprepared girl with absolutely nothing going for her?】 【How many days do you give her?】 A betting pool started. 【I give her until the next time she meets him.】 【That’s when she dies. I’m in.】 【I’ll take that bet.】 【Same.】 Then, a laughing emoji appeared. 【Dude, she took a pretty nasty fall just now.】 【And it’s snowing. Hard.】 【Who’s to say she even survives the night…?】 6 I lowered my gaze, ignoring the cascade of cruel text. I focused on the bloody scrape on my arm instead. But, to everyone’s surprise, my next interaction with the world of Damian Shaw came not from me, but from his son. He came to me. I have no idea how he found me. I only know that when I opened the door of my room in the cheap motel I could barely afford, he was standing there, a backpack slung over his shoulder, alone. He had his father’s face in miniature, the same serious, impassive expression. I froze in the doorway. He tilted his head back slightly to look up at me, his gaze fixed on my face. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice low and clear. It was a strange question. He had sought me out, only to ask who I was. “My name is Nora,” I answered, my voice steady despite my confusion. The instant the name left my lips, his brow tightened into a deep frown. 7 The white text in my vision never stopped. As I spoke, it erupted in a chorus of unified mockery. 【Has the System just given up?】 【It’s tried look-alikes.】 【It’s tried act-alikes.】 【This is the first time it’s been this blatant. Just dropped in a player with the exact same name.】 【The System really isn’t afraid of making him angry, is it?】 【It might as well just gift-wrap her, drop her on his desk, and say: ‘You wanted Nora? Here’s a Nora for you.’】 Unlike the boisterous feed, the boy in front of me was dead serious. “My name is Liam,” he said quietly. His gaze intensified, studying my face, waiting for a reaction I didn’t know how to give. Nora. Liam. His name felt… connected to mine somehow. And combined with what the feed had revealed… Perhaps Damian Shaw’s dead wife, his ghost, was named Nora. 8 But my mind was a perfect, silent blank. I couldn’t give Liam the reaction he was clearly looking for. I had nothing to give. The hopeful intensity in his eyes slowly cooled into a familiar indifference. Just then, a man in a tailored suit came hurrying down the hall from the elevators. He was a head taller than Liam, but he stopped before the boy and bowed his head respectfully. “Young master,” he said, his tone urgent. “The car is waiting downstairs. You’ll be late for school.” Liam’s dark lashes lowered for a moment. It looked like disappointment. He turned to leave, his movements sharp and decisive. But after a single step, he paused. He frowned again, looking not at me, but at the grimy glass of the hallway window opposite my door. “You should get those injuries looked at,” he said. I followed his gaze to the window and saw my reflection. The crude bandages wrapped around my arm and right leg. The System hadn’t given me any advantages, no magical starting funds. The little cash I had was barely enough for this motel room and cheap food. A hospital was a luxury I couldn’t imagine. Liam was already gone. My eyes lingered on the window, on the blurry, distorted image of my own face. 9 There was a mottled scar on my right cheek. The System said I died in a fire ten years ago. It drew its energy from the world it managed, but Damian Shaw was a man who repaid every debt, real or imagined, a thousand times over. His wife had died in an “accident” connected to the world’s original hero and heroine. So he had, without mercy, destroyed everyone involved. That hero and heroine, the world’s designated protagonists, had been dead for five years. With them gone, the world had fallen completely under Damian’s control. The System itself was barely surviving, starved for power. It had only managed to restore my body to about 80% of its original state. I was healthy, but my skin was a roadmap of faded and raised burn scars of varying sizes. I looked at the strange face in the glass. It was a plain face, made ugly by the scar. Choosing me, this version of me, to win over a man like Damian… I couldn’t see a single glimmer of hope. No wonder the feed was filled with nothing but laughter at my expense. 10 Hope or no hope, I still had a mission. I had to win him over. That was the purpose of my resurrection, and the only way I was allowed to keep living. But before I could even think about Damian Shaw, I had to solve the immediate problem of my own survival. After days of searching, I found a job as a night-shift stocker at a bookstore in the lobby of the building directly across from Shaw Corp headquarters. My shift ended at midnight. The tower opposite was still blazing with light. I sat on the steps outside the bookstore, opening a box of cold takeout. At 12:07 AM, Damian’s black Maybach swept past. The tinted windows were impenetrable, a wall of black glass. I knew he was in there. The white text was buzzing with commentary. It seemed they had a better view than I did, a camera inside the car itself, and they used it to continue their running critique of me. 【Looks like the System gave up and now the player has given up, too…】 【Every other candidate who came here was immediately scheming, trying to get in front of him, trying to find an angle.】 【Her? She’s casually getting a job and living her life.】 【Guess that first meeting with his security guards scared her straight, huh?】 【Am I really just supposed to sit here and watch her organize bookshelves every night?】 【If you’re this useless, you shouldn’t have taken the mission from the System in the first place…】 I dropped my gaze, tuning out the hostile words. That’s when I noticed a stray dog, tail wagging hopefully, nosing at my leg. I picked out the only two pieces of meat from my meal and gave them to him. We shared the rest of my cold dinner under the city lights. 11 I worked at the bookstore for nearly a month. My injuries had mostly healed. It was then that I saw Damian again, by accident. It was 11 PM, and my boss asked me to deliver a stack of specially ordered books to an office in the tower across the street. After clearing multiple security checkpoints, I finally set foot inside the monolithic building for the first time. I dropped off the books and was heading back to the elevators. The building was quiet at this hour, most of the floors dark. As I waited, I heard a faint sound from the end of the long, empty corridor. It sounded like someone trying to choke back a cry of extreme pain. The elevator was taking forever. I hesitated, then looked toward the end of the hall. The feed screamed at me not to get involved, to mind my own business. They were even giving me strategic advice: use this chance to sneak down to the parking garage and ambush Damian when he left for the night. But I could still hear that muffled, desperate sound. I stood there for a long moment, then turned and walked toward the sound. 12 I don’t think anyone could have expected who I found. Crouched on the floor of the starkly lit emergency stairwell landing, it was Damian Shaw. He was dressed in a crisp black shirt and trousers, his shoulders broad even when he was curled in on himself. It was a picture of profound, shocking vulnerability. The moment I pushed the heavy door open, his head snapped up. His eyes were alert, sharp with suspicion and pain. Sweat beaded on his temples. I had stumbled into something I was never meant to see. I froze, my hand still on the door. Trapped in his gaze, I forced myself to speak. “…Do you need me to call a doctor?” He just stared at me, his expression cold and unreadable. I instinctively raised a hand to my face, pressing the plain white mask I wore more securely against my skin. Because of the scar, I always wore one in public, afraid of frightening customers or children. The weight of his stare was immense. I wanted to back away, to disappear. But then I saw the vein throbbing at his temple, the bloodless press of his lips, and a strange, unwelcome wave of empathy washed over me. I took a step forward and pulled a small bottle of painkillers from my pocket. I’d never seen a doctor for the injuries his men had given me. When the pain was unbearable, I’d just chewed one of these and waited for it to pass. It seemed the cheap pills I kept in my bag finally had a use. 13 Under his relentless gaze, I placed a single pill on the cool concrete beside him. I turned to leave, but his hand shot out and clamped around my wrist. His grip was ice-cold, the chill seeping straight into my bones. I had no choice but to look down at him. Our eyes met, the distance between us suddenly gone. “Who are you?” he finally asked, his voice a raw rasp. The light was dim, but I saw something flicker in the depths of his black eyes, a ghost of a reflection that was there and then gone. He moved too fast for me to react. Before I could protest, his other hand came up and hooked the elastic of my mask, pulling it down. His dark pupils reflected the stark geography of the scar on my face. We were so close. I saw his eyes… tremble. Just for a fraction of a second. This face of mine. It was still a shock. I reached up, pulling the mask back into place. As I did, I saw his hand fall open slightly, as if from a sudden loss of strength. A silver chain spilled from his palm. It was what he had been clutching so tightly. A silver locket. I could just make out the faded, smiling face of a young woman etched onto its surface. I pulled my gaze away. I left the pill and walked away. This time, he didn’t stop me. At the door, I glanced back one last time. He was still sitting there, a figure of absolute black in the sterile white light. A monument to ruin. 14 The white text was criticizing me again. They called me an idiot, hopeless. 【I’m done…】 【She is officially the most useless player I have ever seen.】 【She just stumbled onto a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, a total stroke of luck, and she didn’t even know how to use it?】 【She just walked away?】 【Shouldn’t she have stayed? Comforted him? Shown some concern?】 【She finally gets a moment alone with him and she just LEAVES?】 【WHAT IS SHE EVEN DOING?】 Some of them were even more vulgar, suggesting I should have thrown myself into his arms, used the oldest tricks in the book to seduce him. They were convinced I was a lost cause anyway. A person like me could never complete the mission. They were practically begging for me to do something stupid, to provoke Damian and get myself killed so they could move on. They didn’t want to watch my story anymore. If I died, a new, more competent player would take my place. 15 The bookstore owner signed a long-term contract with a client in the Shaw Corp tower. I started volunteering for the delivery runs. Occasionally, I would catch a glimpse of Damian from a distance. He was always in black, not a hint of color on him, save for the occasional flash of a white shirt collar at his throat. He moved with a relentless purpose, a coterie of suited subordinates trailing in his wake, their heads bowed. In public, he was the cold, unapproachable king. There was no trace of the pale, vulnerable man from the stairwell. Sometimes, passing by the break rooms, I’d overhear employees gossiping. They said the terrifying CEO’s office was a black hole of color. No fresh flowers, no art, just oppressive shades of gray and black. The story of Damian’s dead wife was an open secret in the company. Maybe it was because his son was a frequent visitor. Or maybe it was because of the simple, plain wedding band he wore, a ring that was never, ever removed. They whispered that he was living like a monk, that he was keeping himself pure in her memory. I clutched a heavy stack of books to my chest and walked silently through the crowds of bright, successful people. For the first time, I began to seriously question whether agreeing to this mission had been a mistake. 16 I’d been in this world for over two months. Everything I learned pointed to one fact: Damian Shaw had loved his wife with a terrifying, all-consuming devotion. No wonder so many players had come and gone, all of them failures. The chances of my success were zero. Even the white text seemed to have accepted my incompetence. They barely bothered to insult me anymore. It felt like my very existence was a desecration of the love between Damian and his dead wife. I had no past. And it seemed I had no future, either. Should I even continue with this hopeless mission? I was lost in thought, the tall stack of books in my arms obscuring my view. I didn’t see the woman in the crisp white suit, a coffee cup in her hand, until I walked right into her. Coffee splashed across the books and, more damningly, all over the front of her pristine white jacket. I immediately started trying to wipe the books, apologizing profusely. The woman’s voice was sharp. She grabbed my arm. “Who let you in here?” I explained I was from the bookstore downstairs. She let out a cold laugh. “I wasn’t aware this company was in the habit of collaborating with some shabby little bookstore.” 17 More and more people were turning to stare. I kept my head down, repeating my apologies. “Your jacket… I can have it cleaned for you. Or, I can pay for a new one.” “Can you afford it?” she sneered, looking me up and down. Her fingernails were long and sharp. With a flick of her wrist, she hooked my mask and pulled it away from my face. It fluttered to the ground. My face was exposed to everyone. I heard a collective gasp from the onlookers behind me. “You…” The beautiful woman’s voice trailed off, her eyes wide. I closed my eyes for a brief second. Then I bent down, picked up the mask, and put it back on, hiding my shame. “I’m sorry,” I said, bowing my head again. “Whatever you think is fair, I’ll accept it.” The entire floor was silent. And in that silence, an elevator chimed, a crisp, clear ding. The doors slid open. A man stepped out. His tall frame cast a long shadow that fell right at my feet. 18 “I’m the one who signed the contract with their bookstore.” Damian’s voice was low and cool, devoid of any warmth. The moment he spoke, every head in the vicinity bowed. The white text reacted even faster than I did. My vision was flooded, a blizzard of white. This time, the message was simple and uniform. Question marks. A screen full of question marks. 【Did I miss an episode?】 【I’ve been watching this whole time, I haven’t been gone, can someone PLEASE tell me what is happening right now?】 【Damian… bro… why did you suddenly show up?】 【Wait… I’ve had my eyes on this girl 24/7. Is it possible she did something I don’t know about?】 I slowly looked up. Damian’s polished black shoes were stopped right in front of me. A cool touch on my wrist. Damian had taken hold of it. His grip was firm, a silent command that allowed for no resistance. I didn’t dare try to pull away. I couldn’t have, even if I wanted to. My hand went limp, and the stack of books I was holding tumbled to the floor. I turned my head and met his gaze. He was looking down, his dark eyes fixed on mine, seeing something deep inside me. But just as I tried to read the emotion there, he subtly shifted his gaze away. “Same as always,” he murmured, his words meant only for me. “No improvement at all.” Despite the criticism, the hand holding my wrist didn’t loosen in the slightest. 19 With Damian’s arrival, the entire situation inverted itself. The System, the feed—they had all described his terrifying nature to me. But this was the first time I had witnessed his cold, absolute power firsthand. He didn’t listen to a single word of the woman’s stammered explanation. He simply raised a hand, a slight, dismissive gesture. Two of his security guards appeared as if from nowhere and dragged the woman away. No one dared to object. No one even dared to look up. The man in front of me was a dangerous enigma. I watched the woman disappear down the hall, then slowly looked up at Damian. A strange, inexplicable smile was playing on his lips. It was directed at me. His thumb began to gently stroke the inside of my wrist. He leaned in slightly. “I just took care of that for you,” he said, his voice a low murmur. He then asked, his tone deceptively casual, “How are you going to thank me?”

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It all started because my six-year-old son tripped and fell in the garden, crushing a single rose bush. For that, Ethan, my husband, flew into a rage. He ordered our son, Leo, locked inside the garden’s wrought-iron gates, demanding he plant 999 new roses as penance. What he didn’t see was the bee that stung Leo’s leg. He didn’t see our son collapse onto the manicured lawn, his small body convulsing. I screamed, pounding my fists against the cold iron bars, my voice tearing itself raw. “Ethan, for God’s sake, open your eyes! A bee stung Leo! He’s allergic! Open the gate, or he’ll go into shock—he could die!” Ethan stood on the veranda, his arm wrapped around Tessa, his high school flame. He stared down at me, his face a mask of cold disappointment. “Leah, I’ve told you. This is my garden, built for Tessa. It’s not a playground.” His voice was calm, which made it crueler. “You let Leo run wild, and now you can’t handle a little bee sting? This allergy nonsense is just another thing you’ve coddled into him.” Tessa, nestled against his chest, rolled her eyes with theatrical boredom. “Honestly, Leah. Spare the rod, spoil the child. Your son has destroyed dozens of my flowers. A little lesson in consequences is long overdue.” They turned and walked back into the house, their silhouettes merging into one. I grabbed a rusted garden spade and slammed it against the lock, again and again, the metal screeching in protest. But it was too late. Through the bars, I watched the red welts bloom across my son’s skin. I saw his frantic struggles grow weaker, smaller, until they stopped completely. The terrible silence that followed was louder than my own screaming. I collapsed, my pleas turning to dust in my mouth. I begged him to wake up, to say “Mama” just one more time. He never did. An hour later, the lock finally shattered. I stumbled through the gate. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. A notification. Ethan had posted on Instagram. It was an ultrasound photo. The caption read: One more precious life to protect. @Tessa, my hero. My heart didn’t break. It just turned to ash. I walked back inside the cold, silent house, found the divorce papers I’d drafted months ago, signed them, and left them on his desk in the study. Then, I arranged for the funeral home. And under his post, I tapped out a comment and hit send. 【May your little miracle have a long and happy life.】 1 A second later, my phone rang. Ethan’s voice, incandescent with rage, exploded into the solemn quiet of the funeral home. “Leah, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” The sound was a desecration in this quiet, sterile place. “Tessa and I have history. It’s my duty to take care of her. You know that!” he bellowed. “And what did you do to the garden? You break the gate, you drag Leo out, and then you stomp holes all over the lawn? What is wrong with you two? Is destruction your only purpose?” He took a breath, his fury gathering steam. “Don’t think for a second I’m letting this go. You get Leo and you bring him back here to plant every single one of those roses, or you can forget about ever setting foot in this house again!” I looked down at my hands, swollen and red from battling the gate. The pain was a dull, distant throb, a faint echo of the gaping wound in my chest. Across the room, the mortician was gently removing the stinger from my son’s small, still body. The very thing that had stolen his life. “Ethan,” I said, my voice hollow. “Leo is dead. And I will never set foot in your house again.” There was a pause. Then, a short, sharp laugh of disbelief. “Wow, Leah. You’ve really taken this whole victim act to a new level, haven’t you? Cursing our own son to death just to win an argument?” Then I heard it. A soft, feminine gasp in the background, cutting off whatever I might have said next. The ultrasound photo flashed in my mind. He had a new child with his new love. He didn’t actually care if our son was alive or dead. I let out a long, shuddering breath. “Ethan, the divorce papers are on your desk. I’ve already signed them. Sign them, and you can be with your childhood sweetheart forever. No one is stopping you.” Just as I finished speaking, the doors to the viewing room swung open. Two stooped, elderly figures hurried in, leaning heavily on their canes. Ethan’s grandparents. “Where’s my Leo?” his grandfather demanded, his voice trembling. “What is this nonsense? What happened?” Seeing their faces, etched with genuine love for my son, the dam inside me finally broke. The tears I’d been holding back streamed down my face as I collapsed into Grandma Blackwell’s arms. “It’s my fault,” I sobbed. “I’m a terrible mother. I couldn’t protect him. He was in so much pain.” She wept with me, holding me tight. Grandpa Blackwell, his face pale, forced himself to walk to the small casket. He stood there for a long moment, his shoulders shaking, before two lines of tears carved their way down his wrinkled cheeks. “I had every beehive on this property removed!” he rasped, his voice thick with grief and rage. “I hired men to patrol the grounds! Where did this bee come from? It was that bastard’s private garden, wasn’t it!” A bitter smile touched my lips. Ethan knew. Of course, he knew Leo was deathly allergic. Years ago, after the first bad reaction, Ethan had torn up the entire estate, poured concrete over every flowerbed, terrified that a stray bee might find its way to our son. But that was before Tessa came back. After she moved in, everything changed. Ethan didn’t just allow her to replant the gardens; he let her install beehives, calling it a “return to a natural symbiosis.” When I’d come to him, holding Leo, his face swollen from another, milder sting, Ethan had barely looked up. “Fine,” he’d said with an annoyed sigh. “I’ll have a fence put up. That way Leo can’t get in, and he’ll be safe.” A fence. As if an iron fence could stop something with wings. The image of Leo’s final moments flooded my mind again. His body twitching on the grass. My desperate, useless assault on the gate. His big, beautiful eyes, wide with a final, lingering look at a world he didn’t want to leave. I had begged the mortician to cover the marks, the horrifying welts and rashes. As if hiding the evidence of his pain could somehow bring him back, as if the sweet boy who whispered “Mama” would just wake up from a bad dream. It was all a fantasy. The mortician covered the last red mark on his cheek and set down his brush. He walked toward me, his expression full of a gentle sorrow. “Ma’am,” he said softly. “The young master is ready. He’s at peace now.” It was only then I realized the line was still open. Ethan’s voice, dripping with sarcasm, crackled through the phone. “Are you serious, Leah? You’re really putting on a show. Dragging my grandparents into your little melodrama wasn’t enough? Now you’ve hired an actor to talk about him being ‘at peace’? What, are you guys actually at a funeral home?” I was too tired to fight anymore. “Yes, Ethan. Our son is at the funeral home. If you come now, you can see him one last time.” He scoffed. “Leah, have some damn self-respect! It was a bee sting. If he had a reaction, you take him to the emergency room. It’s not a death sentence. Do you think I’m that stupid?” He wasn’t finished. “Like mother, like son. No wonder Leo’s become such a liar lately. So needy.” That was it. Grandpa snatched the phone from my hand. “You bastard!” he roared. “Are you still with that little tramp? You get your ass over here right now!” He’d barely gotten the words out before he clutched his chest, gasping, and the phone crashed to the floor. “Arthur!” Grandma cried, rushing to his side, but he pushed her away, his face contorted in agony. “Our family is cursed!” he wailed, tears of rage and sorrow streaming down his face. “The grandson you raised… he just told me… he said it doesn’t matter if Leo is dead. He said that tramp has another one in her belly, a better one! That animal!” Grandma froze, her own tear-filled eyes wide with shock. She turned to me, her voice a desperate plea. “Leah, don’t you listen to him. Don’t you dare. You are our family. Leo is our only grandson.” She squared her shoulders. “Your grandfather and I are going home right now. We’re throwing that witch out on the street, and we are going to drag that boy here to get on his knees and beg for your forgiveness!” A sourness rose in my throat. I shook my head. “Grandma, it’s okay. Ethan’s heart is somewhere else now. It’s better for Leo and me to just go.” I looked at them, my voice barely a whisper. “I’m so tired. It’s time to go.” They stared at me, their faces a portrait of helpless grief. There was nothing left to say. The three of us stood before the cremation chamber all night, a silent, heartbroken vigil, until a technician handed me a small, heavy box. I held it tight, hailed a taxi, and went home. Leo’s things were still in that cold house. I would be damned if I was going to leave them for the father who didn’t love him. But when I pushed open the front door, I was hit by a wall of sound and light. It was a party. “Whoa, Tessa, you’re amazing! A little princess for our man Ethan!” 2 The entire house was draped in pink. Ethan and Tessa’s friends were raising champagne flutes in a toast. One of them was waving my signed divorce papers in the air. “Hey, Ethan, this charity case wife of yours has some nerve. Divorcing you, and she’s even walking away with nothing.” “She’s insane,” another laughed. “A broke single mom? Does she have any idea what she’s getting into?” “Hey, if she wants to take the kid, let her,” someone slurred. “That little brat was always so… common. An embarrassment to the Blackwell name.” “Exactly! Cheers to Tessa! Let’s hope the next one’s a boy—a real Blackwell heir!” The room erupted in laughter. I pushed the door fully open and stepped inside. The noise died instantly. Ethan glanced at me, his eyes cool and dismissive, then tightened his arm around Tessa, deliberately turning away. “Heir, princess, what’s the difference?” he said to the crowd, pretending I wasn’t there. “My daughter will be brilliant. Tessa and I are starting her education in the womb.” He picked up a small model airplane from the coffee table and held it against Tessa’s slightly rounded belly. My breath caught in my throat. It was Leo’s favorite toy. The first model Ethan had ever built with him. I had bought him dozens of newer, more expensive toys since, but Leo insisted on sleeping with that little plane every night. Because, he said, it smelled like Daddy. And now, his beloved father was giving it to another woman’s child. Something inside me snapped. I lunged forward, my voice a raw scream. “Ethan! Our son’s body isn’t even cold! How could you do this to him?” The air around Ethan dropped ten degrees. His hand flew out, and the crack of his palm against my cheek echoed through the room. “Leah, what did I tell you about the theatrics? Hasn’t this ‘dead son’ act gone on long enough?” My head snapped back, hitting the sharp corner of the console table. A warm trickle of blood slid down my neck. And the model airplane, Leo’s most precious treasure, fell to the floor. Ethan brought his heel down on it, crushing the delicate wings into splinters. “It’s just a toy! What’s the big deal about giving it to his sister? Is this how you raised him? To be selfish?” He sneered, his face ugly with contempt. “He didn’t plant a single rose, just left a mess of holes in the lawn. And now you two think you can defy me?” Looking at his face, all I could see was the agony on my son’s. A wave of hatred so pure washed over me that I wanted to drag him by the hair and force him to kneel before Leo’s ashes. But then, my son’s voice from that terrible afternoon echoed in my ears. He had been holding a tiny rose seedling, his eyes puffy from crying, trying to comfort me. “Don’t cry, Mama. Don’t be mad at Daddy. It’s my fault. I can do it.” “He was a little mean, though. He didn’t even hug me when I fell, he just yelled. If he does it again, I’m not going to talk to him anymore.” “Mama? Can we not talk to him together?” I closed my eyes, forcing down the tidal wave of grief. When I opened them, my voice was steady. “You’re right. I’m not fit to be a mother. And I’m not fit to be a Blackwell. Just sign the papers. Then we are done with each other, forever.” A cruel smile twisted Ethan’s lips. “You want me to sign? Fine. Get on your knees. Apologize to Tessa. Tell her you’re sorry for letting your son ruin her garden. Tell her you’re sorry for ruining her party.” He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper. “When she’s satisfied, I’ll sign.” At his words, Tessa straightened up, a smug, triumphant look on her face. The other guests leaned in, their eyes gleaming. Someone started placing bets. “A hundred bucks says she won’t do it. She really thought she could drive Tessa away. Idiot.” “Nah, she’ll be bawling in a minute, begging Ethan for forgiveness. Maybe that kid she’s hiding will come crawling back, and they can plant the roses together.” The next sound was the soft thud of my knees hitting the floor. “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I was wrong.” I bowed my head, and my forehead struck a shard from the broken airplane. A sharp, searing pain, and then more blood. I didn’t feel it. I began to crawl, moving toward them, bowing my head to the floor with each movement. But it was a game. As I moved forward, Tessa would take a laughing step back, leading me around the room like a dog on a leash. The mood in the room shifted. The drunken jeers turned to nervous murmurs. “Ethan, man… maybe that’s enough. She’s bleeding a lot. This is getting out of hand.” “Yeah, look at her face, she’s white as a ghost. What if something really happens?” “Just sign it, man. She wants to leave, let her leave. It’s time you made things official with Tessa anyway.” I paused, glancing behind me. A long, dark smear of blood trailed behind me on the polished floor. It looked shocking, even to me. I ignored it and prepared to bow again. But this time, a foot shot out, and Ethan kicked me onto my side. The signed divorce papers fluttered down onto my face. “Fine! It’s signed!” he snarled. “Stop playing the martyr. You think I was afraid to do it?” “Get out,” he spat. “Take your kid and get out! But you remember this: the second you walk out that door, your son forfeits every penny of his inheritance. Don’t ever come crawling back to me.” 3 I’d lost too much blood. The room spun as I struggled to my feet, clutching the papers in my hand. Ethan’s eyes were locked on me, daring me to break. I just opened the document to the last page, saw his signature, and smiled. “Good,” I said. “Now I’m going to pack Leo’s things.” I turned and walked to my son’s room. The moment I closed the door, the noise of the party vanished. I sagged against the wood, a film of tears blurring my vision. Leo’s little quilt was still rumpled on his bed. The fairy tale book we were reading was on his nightstand, open to the page we’d left off on last night. It felt like at any second, he would leap out of the closet, pretending to be a ghost, trying to scare me with his giggles. Wiping my eyes, I pulled a suitcase from his closet and began to pack. His clothes, his toys, his books, the little clay animals he made in preschool. I cried and I smiled, placing each precious item inside, until my fingers brushed against a small, glass bottle. Inside were slips of faded paper. I tipped them out, my hands trembling. They were IOUs, written in two different hands—one a man’s elegant script, the other a child’s clumsy scrawl. It was from when Leo was three, when he was so attached to me that he refused to sleep anywhere but in my bed. Ethan, frustrated, would sneak into the room in the middle of the night and carry me back to ours. “This is ridiculous,” he would mutter, half-joking. “I gave birth to my own rival.” “I miss my wife,” he’d whisper. “Can’t you spend a little time with me?” But our little boy would wake up, toddle after us, and pummel Ethan’s legs with his tiny fists, calling him a “Mama thief.” So they made a deal. They would take turns. If one of them wanted an extra night, he had to write an IOU to the other. Ethan, with his charming, silly arguments, always managed to convince Leo, and soon, he had a thick stack of IOUs from his son. Then Tessa came back. The nights I spent in Leo’s bed grew more and more frequent. I thought he would be happy to have me all to himself, but instead, a shadow fell over him. “Mama,” he’d asked one night, his voice small. “Did you and Daddy have a fight? He hasn’t come to see me in a long time.” He took my hand and led me to the master bedroom, knocking softly on the door. He told me he would write an IOU to Daddy, so I could sleep with him. When the door opened, Tessa was on the bed, her face flushed, her body languid. The memory of that night, a new and different kind of pain, stabbed at me. I shook it away, my hands fumbling with the last slip of paper from the bottle. It was from Leo. The crayon letters were wobbly and huge. 【I want Mommy and Daddy to take me to Disneyland to see the fireworks!】 He’d been asking since the beginning of the year. But Ethan always had an excuse, always something to do with Tessa, and we never went. And now, he never could. Swallowing the regret that burned in my throat, I booked a flight for the following afternoon and closed the suitcase. On impulse, I lay down on my son’s little bed, pulling his quilt up to my chin, trying to breathe in the last trace of his scent. Exhaustion washed over me, a deep, pulling tide, and I fell asleep. I was woken hours later by a rhythmic rocking. I opened my eyes, my mind thick with sleep. And saw Ethan and Tessa, kissing, on my son’s bed. “Ethan,” Tessa purred, noticing I was awake. “I thought we were just looking at how to redecorate this room for our little princess. You’re being naughty.” I shot upright. Ethan met my gaze with a defiant smirk and didn’t stop kissing her. Tessa’s eyes gleamed with malice. “Don’t be mad, Leah. We just want Leo to get used to the idea of having a little sister. After all, they’ll be growing up together.” Her voice was sickly sweet. “Can’t we all just be one big, happy family?” They were on my dead son’s bed, defiling the last sacred space I had, and a violent nausea rose in my throat. Seeing me tremble with rage, Ethan pulled back, not with guilt, but with accusation. “Leah, I had my assistant check. Leo was never admitted to any hospital for an allergic reaction. Where are you hiding him?” He scowled. “This has gone far enough. If you keep this up, I swear to God, I will be done with both of you for good.” I couldn’t hold it back any longer. A wretched, guttural sound escaped my lips, and I vomited all over them. Ethan froze. Tessa’s face twisted in disgust, and then, suddenly, she clutched her stomach, her expression contorting in pain. “Ethan,” she gasped. “My stomach… it hurts… it hurts so much…” Instantly, Ethan was all frantic concern. He scooped her into his arms, knocking me aside as he rushed for the door. “If anything happens to this baby, I’ll make your son pay with his life!” he yelled over his shoulder. And then I was alone again. I stood up, took the handle of the suitcase, and walked out of the house. The sky was still dark. The streets were empty. A cool night wind snaked under my collar, making me shiver. Every step sent a wave of dizziness through me from the blood loss, but I didn’t stop. By the time the sun rose, I had reached the cemetery. The plot I’d bought for Leo held an empty coffin. I knelt beside it, opened the suitcase, and began to place his favorite things inside, one by one. When I was finished, only one space remained, a spot for the small box I held in my hands. I cradled the urn, as if I were holding my son one last time. “We’re going to see the world, baby,” I whispered. “And when we’re done, we’ll come back here to rest. Okay?” At the hospital, Ethan paced anxiously while Tessa underwent a battery of tests. It was only after the doctors confirmed the fetus was unharmed that he finally let himself breathe. He sank onto a chair outside her room, rubbing his temples. The vomit on his clothes had dried, but the foul smell lingered. Normally, he would have dragged me back by my hair to clean it up, but in that moment, for some reason, he felt a flicker of fear. He’d seen the empty closets, the packed suitcase. He’d seen the bottomless grief in my eyes. Just then, Arthur, the long-time family butler who looked after his grandparents, hurried down the hall. Ethan waved a dismissive hand. “Arthur, if you’re here to sell me the same story about my son being dead, you can save your breath. I don’t believe it.” A complicated, sorrowful expression crossed Arthur’s face. He gave a slight, formal bow. “Sir, this isn’t about Master Leo. It’s your grandparents. They’ve both been hospitalized with heart trouble. They’re asking for you.” Ethan rushed to the cardiac wing. The second he pushed open the door to his grandfather’s room, a water glass flew through the air and shattered against the doorframe. His grandfather, a breathing mask strapped to his face, glared at him with pure hatred. “You animal,” he rasped, his voice weak but full of venom. “You killed your own son, and you have the nerve to show your face here? Get out!”

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I was Asher Blackwood’s canary, kept in a gilded cage. My performance in bed was, to put it mildly, uninspired. A few minutes in, and I’d start complaining, my voice a delicate whine about aches and pains. But when it came to shopping? I was an Olympic sprinter, my mission to bleed his bank accounts dry. It was a good gig, until the day the text appeared. Not on my phone, but in my vision, a string of text hanging in the air like a glitchy subtitle in my own life: 【THE TOXIC SIDE PIECE’S REIGN IS ALMOST OVER. THE BELOVED HEROINE IS ABOUT TO MEET THE MALE LEAD.】 【SHE WILL TRY TO SABOTAGE THE HEROINE AT EVERY TURN, EARNING HIS DISGUST.】 【BEFORE HE CAN EVEN DUMP HER, SHE’LL DRAIN HIS ACCOUNTS AND RUN OFF WITH A FAKE HEIR. HE’LL TAKE EVERYTHING, HAVE HER GUTTED FOR HER ORGANS, AND LEAVE HER TO DIE IN A ROACH-INFESTED APARTMENT.】 【SHE DESERVES IT! ONLY A KIND, PURE-HEARTED WOMAN LIKE THE HEROINE DESERVES THE BILLIONAIRE’S LOVE!】 I had no intention of losing my fifty-thousand-dollar-a-month job. So I stopped coasting. I became a dynamo in bed, a woman possessed, leaving absolutely no room—not a single opening—for some other woman to slip in. Asher watched me with a smirk playing on his lips. “Are you trying to kill me in bed so you can inherit everything?” 1 Asher had a thing for bunny costumes. He wanted me in one, in the middle of the afternoon, sunlight streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse. He wanted me to do this, and then he wanted me to do that. A job is a job, even the good ones have their tedious moments. I draped myself over his chest, my breath a practiced whimper. “My back hurts, Asher. I’m so tired I can’t even lift a finger.” His hand clamped down on the small of my back, his thumb pressing hard into the dimple there. He loved leaving his marks on me—fingerprints, bruises from his lips, the faint imprint of his teeth. “You seem to manage just fine when you’re sprinting through Bergdorf’s,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. “No complaints then.” He gave up on waiting for me to take the lead. In one fluid motion, he flipped me onto my back, reversing our positions. The rhythm became harder, faster, more demanding. Later, sated and slick with sweat, Asher rose and began to dress. I saw my chance. His mood was always pliable after sex. I crawled across the silk sheets and wrapped my arms around his waist from behind, pressing my cheek against the warm skin of his back. “Asher,” I cooed, “I saw this bag online… you’ll get it for me, won’t you?” I slyly held up my phone. Without even looking, Asher cleared my entire online shopping cart. I stared at the twenty-six “order confirmed” notifications, a giddy thrill shooting through me. I leaned up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “You’re the best boss in the world. Thank you!” I don’t know what I said wrong. The faint smile on his lips vanished, and the temperature in the room dropped ten degrees. I watched him, my own smile freezing on my face. “You’re coming with me to the gala tonight,” he said, his voice clipped. “Oh. Okay.” The tension in his shoulders eased slightly. That was my cue to push my luck. I pressed closer, pulling him into a deep, lingering kiss that left us both breathless. And that’s when it happened again. The text, shimmering in the air right in front of me: 【THE TOXIC SIDE PIECE’S REIGN IS ALMOST OVER. THE BELOVED HEROINE IS ABOUT TO MEET THE MALE LEAD.】 【SHE WILL TRY TO SABOTAGE THE HEROINE AT EVERY TURN, EARNING HIS DISGUST.】 【BEFORE HE CAN EVEN DUMP HER, SHE’LL DRAIN HIS ACCOUNTS AND RUN OFF WITH A FAKE HEIR. HE’LL TAKE EVERYTHING, HAVE HER GUTTED FOR HER ORGANS, AND LEAVE HER TO DIE IN A ROACH-INFESTED APARTMENT.】 【SHE DESERVES IT! ONLY A KIND, PURE-HEARTED WOMAN LIKE THE HEROINE DESERVES THE BILLIONAIRE’S LOVE!】 A violent shiver racked my body. “Cold?” Asher asked. I clung to him, burying my face in his chest. “Yeah. Just… hold me.” He did. But as his arms wrapped around me, all I could see were those terrifying words, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. 2 With my arm looped through Asher’s, I stepped into the grand ballroom. The first thing I saw was a woman’s back, her spine a perfect, elegant line in a shimmering gown. Every eye in the room was on her. “I thought Chloe was a showstopper,” someone whispered nearby. “She is, but compared to Seraphina Hayes, she just… fades.” “I’ve never seen anyone wear a dress like that. Pure old Hollywood.” They were all captivated. And just like that, I was the drab “before” photo to her radiant “after.” A bitter sound escaped my lips, a quiet hiss of displeasure. The woman turned, and as her face came into view, the text appeared again, sharp and clear: 【THE MALE AND FEMALE LEADS ARE ABOUT TO DRINK SPIKED WINE, LEADING TO A NIGHT OF PASSION.】 【FROM THIS NIGHT ON, HE WILL BE ADDICTED TO HER, NEVER TOUCHING THE TOXIC SIDE PIECE AGAIN.】 So, this Seraphina was the heroine. Asher’s soulmate. I couldn’t lose this job. Not the fifty grand a month, not the surprise six-figure bonuses he’d drop whenever the mood struck. I had to change the script. Seraphina moved toward us with an air of refined grace, lifting two glasses of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray. “Mr. Blackwood, hello.” Her voice was like honeyed silk. “I’m Seraphina Hayes, the director of Crimson Dusk. I can’t thank you enough for investing in my film. I’d like to propose a toast.” Those were the glasses. The spiked ones. They couldn’t drink them. “I’ll drink for him,” I said, stepping forward and taking the second glass. Then, feigning a stumble on the hem of my gown, I lurched forward, crashing into Seraphina. Both glasses tumbled from our hands, shattering on the marble floor. There. Mission accomplished. But somehow, Seraphina lost her footing. For someone who looked so delicate, she was surprisingly strong. She grabbed onto my arm as she fell, pulling me down with her. I saw her hand heading straight for a shard of glass. In a split second, I shoved her sideways. My own left hand landed squarely on the broken glass. A sharp, searing pain shot up my arm. Blood, dark and slick, began to well from a deep gash in my palm. My expression, my posture, the way the tears welled in my eyes—it was all a carefully choreographed performance. I looked up, my voice trembling with manufactured fragility. “Seraphina… I don’t understand. We’ve never even met. Why would you push me onto broken glass?” She was speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a frightened rabbit. “I didn’t… It was you! You fell on purpose!” I angled my head just so, looking up at Asher with the most beautiful, tragic expression I could muster. But his eyes were like chips of ice. He was angry. Angrier than I had ever seen him. A knot of dread tightened in my stomach. Had he fallen for her already? After a single glance? I held up my bleeding hand for him to see. “Asher… it hurts.” He strode forward and scooped me into his arms. Seraphina reached out, grabbing his sleeve. “Mr. Blackwood, you can see what she did, can’t you?” He didn’t even break his stride. Her hand fell away. He ignored her completely, his long legs carrying us swiftly toward a private lounge. Over his shoulder, I shot her a triumphant little smirk. Seraphina just stood there, utterly lost. A doctor arrived with a medical kit and began cleaning my wound. Asher, a man who rarely showed emotion, was radiating a silent fury. When he got like this, you knew someone was about to pay, dearly. “You’re not getting your allowance next month.” Fifty thousand dollars. My world tilted on its axis. “Why?!” “So you’ll learn your lesson.” His voice was low and dangerous. “If you didn’t want me drinking with her, you could have just said so. You didn’t need to hurt yourself.” Of course, he’d seen right through me. He was a survivor of brutal family wars, a man who’d clawed his way to the top. My little theatrics were child’s play to him. But if Seraphina had drunk that wine, the script would have taken over. They would have ended up in bed together, one way or another. A wounded hand in exchange for derailing their first night? Worth it. My throat felt raw as I launched into my most pathetic, wheedling plea. “Asher, please~~ How about just twenty thousand?~~” He didn’t bother to answer, just turned and walked out. I scrambled to follow him. I couldn’t let him out of my sight, not with the heroine lurking. But I had underestimated the power of the story. The wine had been spiked by Marco Ricci, an underworld princeling and the story’s obsessive, dangerous secondary love interest. He was trying to force Seraphina into his bed. In the main hall, Marco was threatening her, demanding she leave with him. But Seraphina had a spine of steel. She smashed a wine bottle over his head. Then she ran straight to Asher, pulling an antique pocket watch from her purse. “Mr. Blackwood, do you remember this? Seven years ago, you were badly injured. I was the one who saved you.” She held out the watch. “You left this with me. You said I could ask for one favor, anything at all.” She took a deep breath. “Mr. Blackwood, I need to stay at Blackwood Manor.” I was about to protest. “Fine,” Asher said. With that one word, he was publicly declaring her under his protection. Marco, clutching his bleeding head, could only watch in fury. He couldn’t touch someone Asher Blackwood had decided to shield. New text popped into my vision: 【THE HEROINE MOVES INTO THE MANOR. THE TOXIC SIDE PIECE USES EVERY TRICK IN THE BOOK TO HARM HER, BUT THE HEROINE CLEVERLY THWARTS THEM ALL.】 【ASHER FINDS HIMSELF FALLING FOR SERAPHINA DURING THEIR TIME TOGETHER.】 My hand clenched into a fist, sending a fresh wave of pain through my palm. Blood seeped through the white gauze. Fine. Let the games begin.

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All the children born to Arthur Croft’s girlfriends had something wrong with them. Only the daughter from his first marriage was perfect, and he adored her for it. The son I bore him—the sweet, challenged boy I loved—was thrown to his death by that same daughter. Then, she stabbed me, her voice a venomous whisper in my ear. “So what if you had a son? He was a defective. He was never going to be a Croft.” Now, I’m back. Reborn in a moment before the end, and this time, I’ve woken up with something new. A power I’ll call the Legacy System. The System allows me to conceive with ease. More than that, it lets me choose the sex and the intelligence of my children. This time, I will give Arthur Croft a litter of brilliant, perfect sons. 1 I returned to find my son’s body on the polished marble floor. Sophie, Arthur’s daughter, stood over him, a triumphant smirk on her face. “It’s what he deserved,” she said, her voice chillingly casual. “A defective thing like that has no place here.” I collapsed, gathering my little boy into my arms, the sheer force of my hatred a physical blow. The crack of my palm against her cheek echoed in the cavernous foyer. In the life that was stolen from me, this girl, Sophie, was the one who ended me with a knife. This time, I would settle that debt. She struggled against my grip, her arrogance melting into a child’s panicked tears. “Dad, help me! This psycho is attacking me!” Arthur appeared in seconds, his tailored suit unruffed, his expression unreadable. He saw our son, lifeless in my arms, and his face showed no flicker of pain. His first instinct was for her. “Are you all right, Sophie?” Arthur is my husband. He was always kind to me, in his own distant way. I was, after all, the only woman who had ever given him a son. The fact that the boy had developmental issues, that he could never inherit the Croft empire, was a constant, unspoken tragedy between us. “What’s going on? Who is bullying my granddaughter?” His mother, Mrs. Croft, swept into the room. Seeing me on the floor, she marched over, her hand raised to strike. I caught her wrist, my grip like iron. “She killed my son. Don’t I have the right to touch her?” In my last life, I was a doormat. I absorbed every slight from Sophie, every backhanded comment from her grandmother, and said nothing. Not again. “He’s dead, so he’s dead. He was a defective,” Mrs. Croft said, her voice utterly devoid of warmth. “Sophie was just… cleaning house. Culling a useless person from the Croft line.” I looked at Arthur. He remained silent. Sophie, emboldened, jutted out her chin. “Grandma’s right. Useless things should be disposed of. I’m the future heir to the Croft legacy. I have the right to make these decisions.” She turned her angelic, deceitful face to her father. “Dad, since this woman can’t give you a smart child either, why don’t you just get rid of her?” My heart seized. I couldn’t leave. The Crofts were titans in this city, their fortune woven into its very foundations. To be cast out was to be erased, to be left with nothing. “Arthur,” I said, my voice shaking but clear. “I can give you a brilliant son.” His head snapped toward me, his eyes wide with disbelief. Even his mother paused, her cold fury replaced by a flicker of intense curiosity. Arthur had been with many women, fathered many children. All of them, save Sophie, were born with severe cognitive or physical disabilities. He’d had them all… taken care of. Quietly institutionalized and erased from the family record. He dreamed of a healthy son to carry on the family name, a tradition of male primogeniture that stretched back generations. His generation was the first to falter. But now, I had the Legacy System. Just moments ago, a voice had bloomed in my mind: [Host, you have been activated. If you use the Legacy System to bear Arthur Croft four children, your mission will be complete. You will be granted infinite wealth.] [Furthermore, you can use this system for vengeance. You may bear as many children as you desire, and you may determine their sex and level of intelligence at will.] I had agreed without a second’s hesitation. I would have my revenge, and I would complete my mission. 2. “Dad, don’t listen to her,” Sophie pleaded, rushing to his side. “How could she possibly guarantee a smart son? That’s not something you can just decide to do.” Arthur’s brief flicker of hope died. He looked at me, his expression hardening. “You already gave me a son with problems. That suggests any others would be the same.” He sighed, a gesture of finality. “But you were always the most obedient of my wives, and the only one to give me a boy at all. I’ll give you two million dollars. It’s time for you to leave.” He turned to walk away. I scrambled forward and wrapped my arms around his leg, looking up at him with every ounce of conviction I possessed. “Trust me one more time. I promise you, I can do this. If I fail, if the child isn’t perfect, you can throw me out then. It won’t be too late.” “You manipulative bitch,” Sophie spat, trying to kick me away. But Arthur stopped her. He looked down at me, his voice a low murmur. “You’re sure?” “I swear it.” My certainty caught his mother’s attention. A flame of desperate hope ignited in her eyes. “If you can actually do it,” she said slowly, “then I will finally accept you as my daughter-in-law.” Arthur was swayed. “Fine,” he said. “We’ll try.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and tightened my grip on my son’s cooling body. Don’t worry, my love, I thought. Mommy will make them all pay. Sophie threw a tantrum. “Dad, you can’t believe her! She’s lying to you!” “Sophie,” I whispered, my voice trembling with practiced vulnerability. “I know you’ve always been afraid a brother would challenge your position as heir. Don’t worry. I would never let him compete with you.” I saw a flash of pity in Arthur’s eyes. He bent down and pulled me into his arms, then looked coldly at his daughter. “That’s enough!” he snapped. “Whether she can do it or not is not for you to decide. We will find out soon enough. And if it is a boy, and if he is healthy… he will be the Croft heir.” The color drained from Sophie’s face. She opened her mouth to argue but choked on the words, silenced by her father’s authority. I hid a smirk against Arthur’s chest. You want the inheritance so badly, Sophie? I will make sure you never see a single dime. 3. My promise to produce an heir transformed my status overnight. Arthur’s demeanor toward me softened, and he even arranged a lavish funeral for our son. At the cemetery, Sophie glared at me, her eyes burning with a hatred so intense it was almost palpable. I ignored her, tightening my grip on Arthur’s arm. In my mind, I whispered to my lost child: Rest now, my sweet boy. Mommy’s work is just beginning. “Darling,” I said to Arthur as we walked back to the car. “Let’s start trying again. Tonight.” A slow smile spread across his face. “All right, Vivi. I’ll trust you this one time. If you can really give me a high-IQ son, I’ll give you the world.” “I will,” I promised. Later that day, I found Sophie waiting for me in the rose garden. Her expression was venomous. “Don’t get too comfortable. When you fail to produce a boy, my father will throw you out so fast your head will spin. And you will fail. After all, it’s his genes that are defective.” “If his genes are defective,” I said, stepping closer until we were inches apart, “then how are you so perfect?” Panic flared in her eyes. She stammered, “I… I misspoke.” In that instant, everything clicked into place. The cold, brutal truth of it settled in my gut. Of course. That was why all of Arthur’s other children had problems. His genetics were flawed. And if Sophie was perfectly healthy… it meant she wasn’t his daughter at all. I said nothing more and walked away, leaving her flustered and exposed. That night, Arthur and I were together. I asked him about the genetic issue, and he admitted he’d been undergoing treatments for years. He believed the problem was likely resolved by now. It didn’t matter to me. Even if his genes were still a mess, the System would correct for it. Afterward, as I lay in the dark, the System’s voice echoed in my mind: [Host, a fertilized egg has implanted. You may now select its sex and intelligence level.] Without hesitation, I gave my command. Boy. High intelligence. I had already lost one son. This next one, and all the ones to follow, would have the world at their feet. They would live the life their older brother never could. 4. A month later, the test was positive. I was pregnant. Arthur was ecstatic. He lifted me up and spun me around the living room, laughing with pure, unadulterated joy. “This is it, Vivi! I love you! The Croft heir is on his way!” “I hope it’s a boy,” he murmured against my hair. “Dad, aren’t you afraid she’ll just pop out another defective one?” Sophie’s voice cut through the moment like a shard of glass. She turned to her grandmother. “Grandma, you know Dad has genetic problems. That’s a fact. So this baby of hers is guaranteed to be a defective, too!” “But if Arthur’s genes are the problem,” I asked softly, “how did you turn out so perfectly normal?” I couldn’t believe she’d be foolish enough to fall into the same trap twice. The expressions on Arthur and his mother’s faces soured as the same realization dawned on them. The air grew thick with suspicion. Just as Arthur was about to speak, his ex-wife, Eleanor, swept into the room. “The doctors explained this years ago,” she said smoothly, coming to her daughter’s rescue. “They said that even with Arthur’s condition, there’s a small chance of a child being born without any issues. Sophie was just our miracle.” She shot a sharp, warning glance at Sophie. Sophie quickly caught on. “Right! Besides, I look just like Dad. How could I not be his daughter?” She rounded on me, her voice dripping with accusation. “I see what you’re doing, Vivian. You’re trying to drive a wedge between us!” “No, I’m not,” I whispered, shrinking back into Arthur’s arms. “Arthur, you believe me, don’t you? I would never.” I knew my husband’s weakness: he had a savior complex. He was drawn to fragile women. As expected, he tightened his hold on me, his protective instincts kicking in. He glared at Eleanor and Sophie. “That’s enough. I don’t want to hear another word about my genes in front of her. I have faith that Vivi’s baby will be perfectly healthy.” But later, in the privacy of our bedroom, his confidence wavered. I saw the worry etched on his face. I wrapped my arms around his neck, my voice a soothing balm. “Don’t worry, Arthur. This child is perfect. I have a friend who’s a doctor, a specialist with cutting-edge equipment. She already ran some preliminary tests for me.” His eyes lit up. “Really?” “Of course,” I lied smoothly. “It’s a healthy baby.” Relief washed over him. He pulled me close, kissing me again and again, his eyes wet with grateful tears. He cared so much about this child. I would use that devotion to control him completely. The Croft fortune, the Croft legacy—everything would belong to my sons. The next morning, Sophie brought me a glass of milk. She was smiling, a saccharine, unsettling expression. “Aunt Vivian, I’m so sorry for how I’ve been acting. Please accept this as an apology.” I looked at the milk. Does she really think I’m that stupid? I knew it was drugged. But I smiled back at her, thanked her, and drank every last drop. Minutes later, a searing pain ripped through my abdomen. Blood streamed down my thighs. I collapsed onto the floor, screaming for help. Sophie stood over me, spitting on the floor beside my head. “There goes your precious baby,” she sneered, her voice full of laughter. “Hahaha! Let’s see how you win my father’s favor now.”

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The day I was brought to the Redwood house, I was a secret made flesh. And Owen, my half-brother, shattered every piece of furniture he could get his hands on. “My mother has been dead for three days! And you bring this… thing into her house?” “A sister? I don’t have a goddamn sister!” Shards of glass from a shattered vase nearly sliced my eye open. The shock of it all stole my voice, clamping my throat shut until not a single sound could escape. My father had brought me here, but that was the extent of his involvement. He never looked at me, never spoke to me. Owen hated me, which meant he ignored me completely. Later, when the Redwood fortune crumbled and our father was gone, I was the only family he had left. Owen grabbed my tiny arm, ready to throw me out onto the street. The tears I had held back for so long finally broke free. I clung to his leg, my sealed lips finally parting, forcing out broken, clumsy words. “Owen… I’ll be good. Please… don’t throw me away…” 1 Owen Redwood hated me. I learned this on my very first night in his house. I was sitting on a velvet sofa, my small hands turning over the brand-new Barbie my father had bought me. Owen walked in, his school backpack slung over one shoulder, his face a mask of indifference. The first time he saw me, his voice was flat, lifeless. “Whose kid are you?” I scrambled off the sofa, suddenly self-conscious, hiding the doll behind my back. “Dad brought me,” I whispered. Owen tilted his head, repeating the word without any inflection, as if it were foreign. “Dad?” Just then, my father’s voice drifted down from the second-floor landing. He was wearing a silk robe, a placid smile on his face. “Owen, you’re home. Come meet your sister. She’s only four. Her name is Poppy. From now on, we’re all a family. You’re the big brother, so you need to take care of her.” My eyes widened with a cautious sort of wonder. Before this, I’d lived with a nanny in a small town down south. Dad didn’t visit often. The nanny rarely fed me enough and always called me the child of a homewrecker. She said my mother was Dad’s mistress, that she’d used my existence to squeeze a fortune out of him. The neighborhood kids would point and shout names at me—dirty little secret, bastard child. I didn’t understand all the words, but I understood the feeling behind them. I was a child who was meant to be hated. Then, yesterday, Dad had shown up out of the blue and said he was taking me to a new home. I peeked at the boy in front of me, a tiny bud of happiness blooming in my chest. I have a brother. I bit my lip and took a hesitant step forward, my hand reaching out to take his. “Hi, Owen.” He stared at me for a long moment, and then a strange, brittle laugh escaped his lips. As he laughed, his eyes slowly filled with red. He dropped his backpack, jerked his hand away from mine, and snatched a water glass from a side table. With a furious roar, he hurled it toward the second floor. “My mother has been dead for three days! And you bring this… thing into her house?” “A sister? I don’t have a goddamn sister!” It was like a dam had broken inside him. He was gasping for breath, his chest heaving. He kicked a chair over, sending it crashing into the wall. A vase. An ashtray. Anything within his line of sight, he grabbed and smashed onto the floor. He screamed like a caged animal, his rage directed at our father, who watched from the landing with an unnerving calm. I was frozen, paralyzed by the storm of his fury. Then, an explosion of sound erupted right next to my ear. A sliver of broken glass shot past my face, so close I felt its wind. My mouth fell open. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird. A wave of pure, absolute terror washed over me, and from that moment on, I couldn’t speak another word. 2 “Poppy, go tell your brother it’s time for dinner.” My father sat at the head of the long dining table, his tone gentle but firm. I clutched my little bowl, glanced at him nervously, and shook my head. I was afraid of Owen. After his rampage, a doctor had come to the house. He said I had selective mutism. After many tests, he concluded it was a psychological issue. My father’s gaze sharpened, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “Poppy, Owen is your brother. Your own flesh and blood. Where’s the deep-seated hatred in that?” He set down his chopsticks. “I have some business to attend to, so I won’t be home much for a while. You need to learn to get along with your brother.” My head drooped. I pushed myself off my chair, my body feeling heavy and numb. I had been in this house for nearly a week. I’d learned a few things in that time. My mother and Owen’s mother weren’t the only women in our father’s life. There were countless other pretty ladies. Which meant he had countless other homes. Holding a small bowl of soup, I shuffled to Owen’s bedroom door. My mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Dad told me to get along with him. I sniffled and knocked softly on the door. As expected, there was no answer. I sat down on the floor, leaning against the wall with the soup in my lap, and waited for him to wake up. I hadn’t been sleeping well. The exhaustion was a heavy blanket, and sitting there in the quiet hallway, my eyes fluttered shut. A shadow fell over me. I rubbed my eyes and looked up. Owen was standing there, his hands shoved in his pockets, looking down at me with that same blank expression. I scrambled to my feet and offered him the bowl of soup. Owen. Dinner. A cold smirk twisted his lips. He slapped the bowl from my hands. The clatter of shattering ceramic on the hardwood floor made my scalp tingle with fear. My lower lip trembled, and I wanted to cry, but I held it in. I wanted to go home. But I didn’t know where home was anymore. 3 The Redwood’s housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, was kind. She would make me a soft, creamy custard and sit by my bed at night, patting my back until I fell asleep. I adored her. I followed her around the house like a little duckling. One evening, she was leaving earlier than usual. A lump formed in my throat, and I wrapped my arms around her leg, refusing to let go. Mrs. Gable sighed, then scooped me into her arms. She pointed toward Owen’s room. “Poppy, you need to remember, your brother is your family now. You have to make him like you,” she whispered. “He just seems cold, that’s all. A sweet girl like you… he’ll come around. He will.” I looked toward his closed door, my vision blurry with tears. Her reassuring gaze gave me the strength to loosen my grip. My father never came back. Owen was eighteen and about to graduate high school, so he was rarely home either. Most days, I was alone, curled up on the sofa with my doll. At nine-thirty, Owen finally came home from school. I watched him, my eyes wide and hopeful. Even though I was scared of him, even though I knew he hated me, some broken part of me still clung to him. I had no one else. This house was so big, and besides Mrs. Gable, no one ever spoke to me. As usual, Owen acted as if I were invisible. He dropped his bag and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. I trailed behind him slowly, my head bowed, not daring to meet his eyes. When he finished his water, he found me blocking his path back to his room. “Move.” I scurried out of his way. But then I followed him, step for step, up the grand staircase. Owen stopped on the landing. “Stop following me. My mother only had one child. I don’t have a goddamn sister.” The words were like a slap. Humiliation stung my eyes, and tears began to fall. My throat felt tight and raw. I wiped my eyes and ran. 4 Owen’s final exams were approaching. Mrs. Gable told me this was a very important time for him. The memory of his harsh words faded, replaced by a surge of childish purpose. I sat at the kitchen table, drawing with a box of crayons. When Owen came downstairs the next morning, his expression as cool as ever, I was waiting for him by the front door, holding up my drawing. On it, I had written in big, wobbly letters: GOOD LUCK OWEN. YOU ARE THE BEST BROTHER. I HOPE EVERYTHING GOES WELL. I hid my face behind the paper, peeking over the top with hopeful eyes. Owen glanced at it as he walked past. He didn’t say a word, didn’t even break his stride, but after the front door clicked shut, I jumped up and down with pure joy. He saw it! He saw it! … For three straight mornings, I waited by the door to see him off. On the evening of his last exam, he came home. I ran toward him excitedly, then stopped a safe distance away, a hopeful smile on my face. But Owen just walked past me in silence and went straight to his room. He didn’t even come down for dinner. Later that night, I crept out of my room for a glass of water. As I passed his door, I heard a sound—a choked, stifled sob. I instinctively moved closer and pushed the door open a crack. In the moonlight streaming through the window, I could see Owen tossing and turning in his sleep. Tears stained his cheeks, and his lips moved, as if he were trapped in a nightmare he couldn’t escape. I held my breath, then tiptoed over to his nightstand, pulled out a tissue, and clumsily reached out to wipe the tears from his eyes. That’s when I heard him whisper. Over and over, his voice was small and lost, full of a pain I didn’t understand. He was calling for his mom. He said he was grown up now, so why couldn’t she have waited for him just a little longer? Is my brother missing his mom? My hand trembled as I touched the tissue to his face. The movement startled him. His eyes snapped open. The instant our gazes met, I spun around and bolted from the room, terrified that his anger would erupt all over again. 5 After that night, the fragile tension between us seemed to ease, just a little. He started letting me sit at the same table with him for meals. I was so happy I ate an extra half-bowl of everything. Just when I was beginning to think that this was how we would live, together, a single phone call shattered the fragile peace. Our father was dead. I watched Owen take the call, saw him rise from the sofa, his brow furrowing into a tight knot. I stood up too, clutching my doll, my mind a complete blank. It happened so fast. Moments later, a group of strangers burst into our home. They started grabbing things, smashing things. I scrambled into a corner, shaking. A burly man grabbed Owen by the arm, his voice gravelly and mean. “You’re the Redwood kid, right? Last month, your old man’s company had some structural issues. To get a controlling stake, your dad borrowed a hefty sum from us. He promised to pay it back this month, but now I hear his partners took the money and ran.” The man flicked ash from his cigarette onto our marble floor and sneered. “We went to his office to have a talk, but he took a leap off the damn roof instead. The old man can run, but the kid can’t. So, you tell me. How are you gonna make this right?” Owen looked stunned, but he collected himself quickly. “Let’s all calm down. I’ve already contacted my father’s lawyer and his assistant. If he truly owes you money, I will pay back every cent, as long as it’s within legal bounds.” It was as if Owen’s slender frame suddenly grew taller, stronger. His calm, steady demeanor actually made the burly man raise an eyebrow. “Big words from a kid who hasn’t even started shaving.” The man took a step forward, ready to issue another threat, but he was suddenly shoved backward, stumbling. I stood there, my face pale, my small hands trembling as I pushed him with all my might, planting myself in front of Owen. You will not bully my brother anymore! 6 Soon, a team of lawyers arrived. After a tense standoff, a final resolution was reached. Our father’s company would be liquidated. The mansion, several other properties, and a fleet of luxury cars would be auctioned off. It was just enough to cover the debt. Owen let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for days. “We’ll be out by tomorrow. Thank you for your assistance.” The lawyers gave Owen a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and left with the group of thugs. Silence descended upon the house once more. I sat close to Owen, unable to help in any way. I don’t know how much time passed before he finally moved, rolling his stiff neck. His eyes swept over the grand, empty room, and finally, they landed on me. I pressed my lips together, about to offer him a small smile. But Owen suddenly shot to his feet, grabbed my arm, and started pulling me toward the door. I stumbled along behind him as he dragged me outside. He pushed me out onto the porch and his voice was as cold as ice. “The Redwood name is gone. Go back to wherever you came from.” He pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket and threw them on the ground. “Find a cop. They’ll know what to do with you.” He turned to shut the heavy oak door. The finality of it shocked me back to life. I lunged forward, wrapping my arms around his leg and shaking my head frantically. I won’t go. But Owen was surprisingly strong. He pried my hands off, his own eyes now red and raw as he roared at me, “Go! This was never your home! How long are you going to freeload here? I never accepted you as my sister! You’re nothing but a burden! A leech! Get out!” My face crumpled. The tears I’d held back for so long finally streamed down my cheeks. I lunged for him again, clinging to his leg with all my strength. He’s all I have left. My mouth opened, and a broken sound finally escaped my dry, tight throat. “O-Owen!” The sound was hoarse, unfamiliar. “I’ll be… good! I’ll be so good! Please… don’t throw me away.” “You’re all I have. Please don’t leave me, please don’t leave me.” I was sobbing now, great, heaving cries, clinging to him as if he were the last lifeboat on a sinking ship. I just want my brother.

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I was Aidan Blackwood’s fixer. When he confessed his love to the scholarship kid, I was the one leading the applause. When they had a secret rendezvous, I was the lookout. After graduation, she went abroad to chase her dreams. And I became Aidan’s placeholder girlfriend. He said I’d step aside the moment she came back. But I waited. And waited. I went from his girlfriend to his fiancée, and from his fiancée, I nearly became his wife. Finally. Right before the wedding. Aidan flew halfway across the world and brought her back. I slipped the ring off my finger and breathed a sigh of relief. On my way out, I even thoughtfully closed the door behind me. 1 I wasn’t surprised when I heard Aidan had chartered a private jet on a moment’s notice. This was about Isabelle, after all. When my best friend found out, she was furious. “You two are getting married in a month! Has he lost his mind?” He hadn’t. Isabelle Valois was the fashion world’s new darling, a designer on a meteoric rise. It was also an open secret that she was the first love of Aidan Blackwood, the CEO of Blackwood Industries. Reporters had tried to confirm it with her once. “It doesn’t matter who was whose first love,” Isabelle had said, her voice cool and crisp as winter air. “I got to where I am today on my own merit. Please focus on my work, not on tabloid gossip.” But last week, that work became the center of a scandal. A dazzling, starlit gown she’d designed was suddenly at the heart of a plagiarism accusation. And the original creator was a complete unknown, an amateur who went by the name “Sirius.” The story blew up. In response, Isabelle posted a single, cryptic message on her Instagram story: Are you all trying to drive me to my death? That morning, Aidan had been glued to his phone during breakfast. We had a crucial meeting scheduled about a new partnership, a deal he had casually promised my father’s company. When Aidan ghosted the meeting, his VP took the opportunity to award the contract to a cousin’s firm. My father called me ten times in a row, each call a fresh wave of fury. I tried Aidan’s cell. No answer. On the third try, it went straight to voicemail. His phone was off. The next time I saw him was eleven o’clock that night. He texted me an address—a vacant penthouse he owned on the Upper East Side. A place I’d never been. The moment I stepped out of the elevator, I was hit by the scent of hundreds of pink roses filling the foyer. They were the same flowers Aidan had once given Isabelle—a flashy, extravagant gesture, his sports car’s trunk overflowing with them the day he first told her he loved her. The decor wasn’t his style, either. None of his sterile, minimalist-chic nonsense. This was all her. As I neared the master bedroom, I heard a woman’s soft sobs. The scene inside was exactly what I’d imagined. Isabelle, pale and fragile, sat on the edge of the bed, a pristine white bandage wrapped around one wrist. She was crying, a perfect, tragic portrait. Aidan, tall and powerful, stood beside her, looking completely helpless. His impeccably tailored suit, usually a suit of armor, was wrinkled and rumpled. The only thing holding the look together was a face that could have been carved from marble. I couldn’t figure out why he’d called me here. Postmates delivers, after all. He turned and saw me, and for a second, his eyes lit up with relief. I knew that look all too well. It was the same look he’d given me in high school when the dean nearly caught him and Isabelle making out in the woods behind the football field. Isabelle’s too shy for this, his eyes had pleaded. Take the fall for her. It was the same look he’d give me when he couldn’t decide what gift to buy her, or when he’d done something to piss her off and needed me to fix it. Usually, I was no help. We’d both end up getting kicked out, Isabelle scolding Aidan for thinking his money could solve everything and calling me his pathetic little lapdog. I’d just shrug. “I prefer ‘personal assistant.’ It sounds better on a resume.” That had made Aidan laugh. In the end, though, Isabelle always took his money. She had a dream of being a designer. In high school, if he bought her an expensive birthday present, she’d insist on working for three months to buy him something of equal value. Not me. I took whatever he offered, practically checking his pockets for loose change. Then, Isabelle bombed her SATs. She climbed to the roof of the school, threatening to jump. Aidan stood on the lawn below, tears streaming down his face, begging her to come down, promising he would make her dream happen. And he did. He sent her abroad. The Blackwoods were wealthy. Not old-world, untouchable royalty, but wealthy enough to bend the world to their will. Behind his family’s back, Aidan accessed the trust fund that became available to him when he turned eighteen. He spent millions to get Isabelle into a prestigious design school in London. Honestly, I’d always suspected she was only with him for the money. But then again, so was I. The difference is, a girl with a crush does it for free. A girl with a job sends an invoice. 2 The year his family found out, all hell broke loose. Aidan was cut off and forced into an engagement with a girl from a suitable family. His grandfather, a terrifying patriarch of the old school, laid down the law. “You will marry a woman of your own class!” But Aidan didn’t want anyone but Isabelle. So he came up with a truly terrible idea. He brought me to his grandfather’s imposing estate, orchestrating a scene where a maid would “accidentally” walk in on us exploring the mysteries of our youth. He’d cornered me in a guest room, urgently pulling me toward the bed. My heart hammered against my ribs. For a dizzying, stupid moment, I, barely eighteen myself, thought maybe he actually wanted me. A few minutes later, the door banged open. A crowd of servants and family members stood in the doorway, their faces a mixture of shock and disapproval. I yanked the duvet up to my chin, my own face burning with a shame so absolute it felt like drowning. But the humiliation of that moment was nothing compared to what Aidan said next. He looked at the crowd, a triumphant smirk on his face. “Chloe is my girlfriend,” he declared. “She’s a Rhodes. Chloe Rhodes.” Then he delivered the killing blow. “She started it. She’s the one who took my shirt off.” I’ve always been a quick study. If I weren’t, I never would have been the only one of my father’s illegitimate children he bothered to bring home. In that instant, I understood Aidan’s entire pathetic little scheme. He was using me as a shield. Not only that, he was using me to make Isabelle look like a saint by comparison. See? he was saying. This is the kind of girl you want me to marry? From a good family? Look at what she does the moment she’s in your house. It worked. Later, he spoke to me as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. “Chloe, you know who I love.” “When Isabelle comes back, you’ll leave. Don’t worry,” he’d added, a king bestowing a favor. “I’ll make it worth your while.” A girl’s reputation was a small price to pay for his epic love story. So I sold mine. For cash. I nodded. Aidan looked pleased, almost relieved. “See? This is why I like you, Chloe,” he’d said with a sigh. “You’re so practical.” And now, it seemed, my final invoice was due. 3 It all made sense now. That’s why Aidan had wired five million dollars to my account this morning. And here I was, thinking it was an early anniversary gift. Our fifth “anniversary” was in three days. After accepting the money, I’d actually felt a pang of guilt. I hadn’t gotten him anything, and I couldn’t exactly wire him cash in return. Not that he needed it. And okay, fine, I’m not that generous. So instead, I’d made a reservation at a Michelin-starred restaurant. I booked the entire place. I was even putting together a slideshow to project on the wall. I was juggling several massive projects at work, so I’d stayed up all night to finish the presentation. I’d just emailed the final version to the restaurant when Aidan’s text came, summoning me here. The slideshow was a collection of our five years together. College. Me, signing him in for attendance and answering questions in lectures while he slept beside me. When the professor called me out, I’d said, completely deadpan, “I’m his future wife. We’re a team. My answer is his answer.” The whole lecture hall had erupted in laughter. Travel. He loved extreme sports—skydiving, heli-skiing in treacherous terrain. His circle of trust-fund friends were all too precious to risk their necks, so I was the one who always went with him. Afterward, I’d be shaking so badly I could barely stand, my legs trembling as he’d catch me, pulling me into a steadying embrace. Living Together. Well, sort of. We watched TV together, shopped for groceries together, cooked together… Correction: I cooked, he ate. Aidan hated having maids or housekeepers around. And somewhere along the line, he started doing the dishes without being asked. My trip down memory lane came to a screeching halt. As I wondered if it was too late to get a refund on the restaurant, Aidan’s voice cut through my thoughts, sharp with irritation. “What took you so long?” I’d barely slept in two days, and my head was swimming. Isabelle looked up at me, her eyes puffy. “You’re… Chloe?” I managed a polite smile and a nod. She wiped a tear from her cheek. “I’m so sorry you have to see me like this,” she whispered. “Aidan said you’re very good at taking care of people…” I glanced at Aidan. He looked completely unfazed. “Take care of her,” he ordered. “She hasn’t eaten in two days. Make her something. And that dress is too thin, go buy her some clothes to change into…” He rattled off a list of demands, and I just kept nodding. Yes. No problem. On it. I’ll go right now. My complete and total compliance seemed to throw him off. He stopped talking abruptly. I was busy typing notes into my phone and, hearing the silence, I looked up, confused. “Is that everything, A— Mr. Blackwood?” A slip of the tongue. “Aidan” was the name he’d instructed me to use back when we had to put on a show for his grandfather. We’d had to perform so often that the name just stuck. But now, with Isabelle back in the picture, calling him that felt like stepping on a landmine. One jealous glance from her, and Aidan would have my head. His gaze darkened. Seeing that he was done, I turned to leave. “Chloe, stop right there!” he suddenly barked. I jumped, startled by the force in his voice. I spun around, my most helpful expression plastered on my face. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood? Is there something else?” His jaw was clenched so tight I could see the muscles twitching. The words seemed to be squeezed out from between his teeth. “Don’t you have anything to ask me?” Ask him what? He glared at me, his cheeks puffed out slightly in anger. It made him look like a handsome, furious bullfrog. I thought for a moment. “What size are Miss Valois’s clothes?” I could already tell, of course. She was a size zero. She was even thinner than she’d been in high school, either from catering to the fashion industry’s brutal standards or because life hadn’t been kind to her. Maybe both. Not me. I ate well and slept better. I was a good thirty pounds heavier than I was back then. When my friends told me to lose weight, I’d tell them it was the look of prosperity. I’d been poor, and I was terrified of ever being hungry again. I liked myself this way. If I got any thinner, the male models I sometimes hired for an evening would be getting the better end of the deal. Aidan laughed, but it was a cold, sharp sound. “You’re really something, Chloe.” “Hey, thanks, boss!” I said with a cheerful salute. 4 I bought an entire wardrobe from Chanel. Everything from lingerie to outerwear, top to bottom. Then, I called the restaurant. When they confirmed that my six-figure deposit was non-refundable, I almost choked. “You can’t even refund half?” I pleaded. “I’m sorry, madam. That’s our policy.” “Okay, new plan,” I said, thinking fast. “I won’t be coming tomorrow night. Can you just make the food now and deliver it?” I gave them the address to the penthouse. “Don’t go crazy, but, you know, don’t be cheap about it either.” With food and clothing sorted, I did a final mental check. Was I missing anything? Ah. Of course. Basic human needs. I opened an app and ordered a pack of 0.01mm condoms. The size was a complete guess. I chose the smallest they had. Hope it fits. Not my fault if it doesn’t. It’s not like he ever showed me. When I got back to the penthouse, Isabelle seemed to have cried herself to sleep. Her eyes were closed, her hand clutching the sleeve of Aidan’s jacket like a lifeline. He was standing in the exact same spot as when I’d left, a silent, motionless guardian. As I pushed the door open, I saw him lean down, about to steal a kiss from Isabelle’s sleeping lips. Seriously? Couldn’t he wait until she was awake? Was he that desperate? The thought was so jarring it scrambled my syntax. I froze, then quickly backed out. After a moment’s thought, I tiptoed back in and quietly placed the essentials on the floor just inside the bedroom. Then, I gently pulled the door shut. Before I left, I sent Aidan a text. Me: Mr. Blackwood, the clothes and the dinner are in the living room. I’ve left them on the main console table. Me: You can get them whenever you two are finished. As I sent the message, my eyes fell on our previous conversation from earlier in the day, back when he was at the office. He’d been complaining about the old guard at the company, the board members with his last name who made his life hell. Then he’d turned playful, trying to convince me to go bungee jumping with him again. He’d said we should go to Nice in a few days to see the ocean, and then Switzerland at the end of the year to ski, to “wash the office stink off.” Maybe it’s because the future is so uncertain that we love to plan it. I’d replied with a simple: [Received.] That had annoyed him. He sent back an angry cat emoji. I scrolled through my own emojis for a long time before finding one of a hand petting a cat’s head, and sent it to him. Afraid he was genuinely upset, I’d followed up with: [What do you want for dinner tonight?] But by then, he must have seen Isabelle’s social media post. He never replied. The conversation just… stopped. A fitting preamble to the end of our entire relationship. It had started my freshman year of high school and ended two years after college graduation. I couldn’t help but feel a strange sense of nostalgia. Aidan was bossy, childish, selfish, and foolish. But I couldn’t deny he was also decent, in his own way. And very generous. At our engagement party, he’d had a little too much champagne and said, his voice thick with arrogant affection, “Chloe, I’m officially permitting you to stay with me forever.” For a while, I’d actually let myself believe we would get married. Clearly, I’d misunderstood. But the cold, hard number in my bank account was doing a remarkable job of warming my spirits. I twisted the engagement ring off my finger and placed it gently on the living room table. As fate would have it, though I’d told the restaurant to just throw something together, they’d kept one item from my original order. The cake. Written across the top in delicate script were the words: Happy 5th Anniversary, A. I left my engagement ring right beside it. 5 Aidan’s lips stopped a millimeter from Isabelle’s. For some reason, the desire to kiss her vanished. This was the woman he had thought about for years, right here in front of him. He told himself it was out of respect. Isabelle wasn’t that penniless scholarship kid anymore. For the past four years, Aidan had flown to London for every one of her birthdays. He’d celebrated with her, introduced her to influential people. But nothing ever happened between them. Back then, Isabelle had told him plainly that she wasn’t coming back to the States and didn’t want to hold him back. “Who said I’m waiting for you?” Aidan had retorted, his pride stung. “I’m with Chloe now!” Isabelle had just smiled. “I’m glad she’s with you. It puts my mind at ease.” Then she’d added, “She’d do anything for you. She’ll take good care of you.” “Aidan, even if we can’t be together, you should know that I want you to be happy more than anyone else in the world.” His anger had evaporated instantly. This was what love was, wasn’t it? The beautiful tragedy of it. You couldn’t be together, but you were still number one in each other’s hearts. Isabelle deserved to soar. He had to set her free. She was like a rose he had cultivated himself. She had fought her way out of the mud, and now she deserved to bloom for the whole world to see. He couldn’t keep her trapped by his side. He should only be there when the rose needed watering. This was the truth he had slowly come to accept. He only needed someone like Chloe by his side—a woman who was greedy, practical, and transactional. He couldn’t give her his heart, but he could give her a marriage, money, and status. That’s how these things worked in their world. It’s why he’d sent her the five million for their anniversary. His friends told him to make it $5.2 million—a number that sounds like “I love you” in Chinese—but he’d found the idea too sentimental, too cheesy. Chloe didn’t even deserve to carry Isabelle’s shoes. She should be grateful for what she got. Thinking of Chloe, a strange irritation pricked at him. Even though nothing had happened between him and Isabelle, wasn’t Chloe even a little bit jealous? No. She was definitely angry. That’s why she was being so formal, calling him “Mr. Blackwood.” His friends always joked about how utterly obedient she was. “Man, Aidan, you’ve got her trained. My wife goes ballistic if I even look at another woman.” “I bet when Isabelle comes back, Chloe would even agree to be the other woman.” “The other woman? More like the maid. If Aidan booked a hotel room, she’d be the one to show up and deliver the condoms!” Aidan had never corrected them. Because it was true. Just then, his phone buzzed. A text message. It was from Chloe. She’d come and gone. He glanced casually toward the bedroom door. And then he saw it. A small, square box on the floor. Aidan shot to his feet and strode over to it, snatching it up. He stared at it in disbelief, his hand crushing the small cardboard box out of shape. Chloe had even thought of this for him. It was the exact scenario his friends had joked about. But now that it was actually happening, Aidan felt a sudden, sharp surge of fury. A suffocating tightness filled his chest. Isabelle stirred, her eyes fluttering open. She saw the box in his hand. A blush crept up her neck, but a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes. “Aidan, please don’t,” she murmured. “When I asked you to get me out of there, I didn’t mean… I’m so sorry if I gave you the wrong impression…” Before she could finish, she watched him toss the small box into the trash can. Isabelle’s expression froze. “Do I look like some kind of animal to you?” Aidan snapped. She let out a quiet breath of relief. So, he wasn’t rejecting her. He was respecting her. “Besides,” Aidan continued, “you have a career to build back in Europe. How could I possibly stand in your way?” For a moment, an ugly look crossed Isabelle’s face. She tested the waters. “What if… what if I wasn’t planning on going back?” Aidan cut her off. “Don’t lie to me. I know you better than that. You’re meant to chase your dreams. You’re not like all those other women who just want to get married and have kids.” Isabelle swallowed the words she was about to say. Aidan brought in the clothes Chloe had bought. Isabelle looked at the shopping bags, and her face soured. Aidan glanced at the brand names and understood immediately. He pulled out his phone and texted Chloe. [Isabelle doesn’t like this designer’s aesthetic. She won’t wear their clothes. Go buy something else.] Next, they went to the living room. Seeing the lavish spread of food from the restaurant, Isabelle frowned again. Aidan texted Chloe again. [Isabelle doesn’t eat food like this, it’s too fattening. And she doesn’t want Western food right after coming back. Go to that Cantonese place I like and pick up a new order. Bring it here.] Isabelle put on a gracious expression. “It’s fine, really. I can eat this.” Aidan looked at her pale face, his heart aching for her. He thought for a moment, then sent one more text. [Isabelle’s not feeling well. I’m taking her out of the city for a few days to get some fresh air. We’ll be back before the anniversary.] He waited. The person who usually replied in seconds was silent. Annoyed, Aidan tried to call Chloe. The call went straight to voicemail. Did she block me? Suddenly, his eyes landed on the cake sitting on the console table. The inscription made him pause. Why would she have the anniversary cake delivered here? Then, a flash of light caught his eye. Next to the cake, sat her engagement ring. 6 The weather was clear and bright. A perfect day for a trip, or a move. With a five-million-dollar severance package in my bank account, I made a clean and efficient exit. I wanted to be long gone before Isabelle woke up. I checked into an executive suite at The St. Regis and immediately passed out. Before I did, I posted a vague, melodramatic Instagram story hinting at a breakup, officially announcing my split from Aidan. When I woke up, my phone was dead. I plugged it in, and the moment it turned on, it began to vibrate uncontrollably, a relentless stream of notifications. Dozens of missed calls and messages from Aidan. I scrolled through them, my eyes flying across the screen. [Chloe, what the hell is this? Are you throwing a tantrum now?] [Are you mad because I asked you to take care of Isabelle?] [She was in a bathtub trying to kill herself when I found her. Do you have any compassion at all?] He’d also sent a picture. My engagement ring, tossed into a wastebasket along with the five-year anniversary cake. My eyes stopped on the last message. [You have the nerve to do this? Fine. Don’t even think about coming back!] Oh. Okay. So he wanted me to not come back. Feeling entirely justified, I ignored his calls. But it didn’t take long for me to see his activity on social media. The story of Isabelle’s plagiarism had followed her from London to New York. The amateur designer she’d allegedly stolen from, Sirius, was apparently an American citizen of Chinese descent. And, just hours ago, he had landed back in the country. A blurry paparazzi shot from the airport flashed across my screen. A man with dark hair and striking green eyes, six-foot-two at least, so handsome he didn’t look real. The photo was deleted almost as soon as it went up, suggesting he was someone important. At the height of the scandal, Aidan posted a single, arrogant sentence on his X account: [The ants always rejoice when the swan stumbles.] The comments were a bloodbath of mockery, with a few of their die-hard “shippers” mixed in. Thankfully, sane people still seemed to rule the internet. Then, Sirius himself posted something. [The blind man plucked the moon from the sky, but didn’t know how to cherish it.] [So, I’ve come to chase the moon once more.] It was cryptic and poetic, and no one knew what to make of it. People guessed it had nothing to do with the plagiarism case. After all, he wasn’t the one who had posted the original proof that Isabelle had copied his design. This felt different, like a declaration of intent from someone coming to win back a lost love. One commenter asked: [Did you come back to pursue someone you love?] The author liked the comment. Immediately, internet sleuths discovered that years ago, the Sirius account had posted from a location tag that matched Isabelle’s old high school. The speculation exploded. [Wait, is he so magnanimous that the person he’s chasing is ISABELLE?!] The shippers went wild. [Sirius: I did all this just so you would finally see me!] [So we’ve been dragging this plagiarist for weeks, and it turns out it was just some kind of weird lover’s game?!] The comments section devolved into chaos. Sirius remained silent. But Isabelle, who had been hiding for days, suddenly emerged. She posted: [You cannot force love. To grasp at the moon in the water is only to push it further away.] Suddenly, dozens of new accounts popped up, all pushing the same narrative: The “moon” Sirius was talking about was Isabelle. The starlit dress was designed for Isabelle. Sirius had used the plagiarism accusation as a twisted way to get her attention. And so on. It was at that exact moment, as I stood in the hotel lobby scrolling through this mess, that someone called my name.

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On our tenth wedding anniversary, my husband and I were walking downtown when a girl stopped us. Her eyes were bright, sparkling with a youthful shyness. She didn’t dare look directly at Liam, turning instead to me. “Ma’am,” she said, her voice a nervous flutter, “I just think your son is super cute. Would you mind if I, like, got his number?” It wasn’t the first time a woman had hit on Liam. It was, however, the first time one had mistaken me for his mother. Usually, Liam would lean in and kiss me, a performative display of affection. “Sorry,” he’d say, “but my heart is already taken.” Today, he hesitated. Just for a beat. Then he said, “No, I’m with someone.” I froze, my hand still linked in his arm. He hadn’t said that the someone he was with was me. Standing right beside him. I looked at him, at the face that had somehow defied the last decade while mine had dutifully recorded every second of it, and for a sliver of a moment, a cold dread washed over me. Did I make a mistake? Was I wrong all those years ago, ignoring everyone who told me not to be with him? He was nineteen when he loved me most. A nineteen-year-old with a thirty-one-year-old woman could, with some effort, earn a few reluctant blessings. But a twenty-nine-year-old man with a forty-one-year-old woman? It just sounded wrong, a mismatch of seasons. One was in his prime; the other, to put it bluntly, had one foot inching toward the grave. And in the years we’d been together, he had gained everything. Not yet thirty, and already a titan in his field. There was a never-ending line of young, beautiful girls ready to throw themselves at him, their eyes full of adoration. The only thing I had to hold onto was the fact that he loved me. But that night, when a private investigator delivered the evidence of Liam’s affair into my hands, I realized I was wrong. The man who took my money thought I was Liam’s mother, bowing his head obsequiously. “Ma’am, five million is a bargain for proof of your son’s infidelity.” I opened the video file. Liam’s voice, laced with a dark, mocking humor, filled the car. “Audrey’s old. We walk down the street and people think she’s my mother. In bed, she can’t even keep up with me anymore.” “I was crazy in love with her back then, I’ll admit it. But the family business needs an heir, and Sierra is young. When she has the baby, we’ll let Audrey raise it.” “That’s the least I can do for her, right?” On the passenger seat, a pregnancy diagnosis lay still and white. My hand went to my stomach as I dialed the number for the clinic. 1 I hung up the phone after scheduling the appointment. The video was still playing on the tablet in my lap. A group of them, packed into the leather booth of some dark, expensive club, the air thick with smoke and liquor. “Liam, my man,” one of his friends slurred, “that old lady of yours… she’s gotta be what, forty now? And you’re not even thirty. It’s just not right!” Liam, holding court in the center of the sofa, let out a low chuckle and corrected him. “Forty-one.” “I threw her a fortieth birthday party last year,” he continued, his voice smooth. “She’s exactly twenty years older than Sierra.” Sierra, all sharp angles and coltish limbs, leaned against him to light his cigarette, her hand tracing a lazy circle on his chest. “Oh my god,” she cooed. “Doesn’t that mean she’s getting, like, age spots? Liam, baby, how can you even stand to touch her?” Liam exhaled a plume of smoke, his expression unreadable in the dim light. “She was a knockout back in the day, I’ll give her that. But even a goddess gets old. The other night, I was in the mood for a second round. I took a shower, and by the time I came out, she was fast asleep.” “She can’t keep up with me,” he said, a note of finality in his tone. “And that’s now. Imagine a few years from now, when my parents start getting sick. I’ll be stuck taking care of three senior citizens.” The recording went silent for a second before the booth erupted in raucous laughter. Another friend piped up. “But was Audrey ever really that hot? I mean, hotter than Sierra?” Sierra looked at Liam, her eyes wide with expectation. He casually lifted her chin, blowing a stream of smoke into her face. A strange, nostalgic look flickered across his own. “Our Sierra is… average, in most respects. Except for her eyes…” He paused, his voice softening. “They’re really beautiful.” Sierra turned her head, a shy smile playing on her lips. In that instant, I saw her face clearly. The eyes—a mix of defiance and pleading—were a five-out-of-ten copy of my own. Or rather, a copy of my younger self. “Just focus on a healthy pregnancy,” Liam said, his tone uncharacteristically gentle as he gazed into those eyes. “As long as it’s a boy, I’ll take good care of you.” A blush crept across Sierra’s young, pretty face. She touched her belly and nodded obediently. 2 I sat in the car, a deep, cellular cold spreading through me. On the dashboard were two small clay dolls, a birthday gift from Liam five years ago, which he’d made himself. A boy doll for him, a girl doll for me, their painted smiles pressed happily together. I could never bring myself to put them away. There were twelve years between us. I had just divorced my first husband when we met. A failure in love, a success in business. Our paths crossed while competing for a major real estate development. I was thirty-one then, at that specific age critics call a woman’s prime, a vintage of confidence and grace that younger girls, for all their taut skin and bright eyes, couldn’t yet possess. It was love at first sight for Liam. He pursued me with a single-minded, almost manic intensity for an entire year. He even bought the contested property at an exorbitant price, only to sign it over to me, no strings attached. He told me I was wearing a black fishtail dress the day he first saw me. He said that until that moment, he’d never known a simple piece of clothing could look so stunning, so impossibly elegant. No one dislikes a compliment, and Liam was young, handsome, his features alive with the kind of reckless confidence that I found undeniably magnetic. From dating to marriage, everything moved at lightning speed. To marry me, he leveraged his entire future against his parents’ wishes. He dropped out of grad school. He walked away from the family company. He even threatened that if they didn’t let him marry me, he would renounce the family name and tell them to have another son. His father was hospitalized from the stress of it all, but in the end, they couldn’t stand against their only child. They consented. For two years, the tabloids were filled with stories about us. The entire city of New York was convinced of Liam’s undying devotion. For that one year, at least, no one doubted how much he loved me. And now, this video sat in my hands. A stark, cruel contrast. Ten years. You could get attached to a dog in ten years. To say my heart didn’t ache would be a lie. It felt like it was tearing itself apart. Running on the last fumes of my strength, I drove home. The moment I pushed open the door, the rich aroma of braised short ribs filled the air. Liam was at the stove, an apron tied around his waist. He turned off the heat and smiled when he saw me. “Working late again? Leaving me all alone here.” I calmly slipped off my coat and changed my shoes, stumbling slightly as I stepped into the living room. Liam rushed to my side, steadying me. “You look awful. Did someone at the office give you a hard time? Tell me who it was, I’ll take care of them tomorrow.” I looked down. The hand on my arm was young and strong. In contrast, my own skin, no matter how much money I poured into maintaining it, was inevitably losing its fight against time. A wave of utter exhaustion washed over me. I pulled my arm away. “Who were you with tonight?” Perhaps it was my expression, or perhaps it was Liam’s own deeply suspicious nature. He was quiet for two seconds, then his face changed. A humorless smirk twisted his lips as he tossed the serving spoon onto the counter with a clatter. “So you know? What exactly do you know?” I looked up at him. “Should I know something?” He slowly, deliberately, rolled down his sleeves. His voice was terrifyingly calm. “Sierra isn’t half the woman you are. No family, no education, she’s crude. But she’s twenty-one. And she has your eyes.” He reached out and touched my cheek, but there was no tenderness in his gaze. “I never had you at twenty-one. Back then, you were still sleeping with your ex-husband, having his baby. Doesn’t that seem a little unfair to me?” A violent tremor ran through me. So, after all these years, he still couldn’t let go of Elliot. He suddenly laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He forced me down onto a stool at the kitchen island, my body trembling uncontrollably. “You should have just pretended you didn’t know. I didn’t want to hurt you.” “If you can live with it, we can stay married. If you can’t…” He trailed off. “If I can’t?” I pressed. When Liam smiled, he had these boyish canine teeth that I used to adore. Now, he smiled as he delivered the cruelest words I’d ever heard. “If you can’t, you’ll learn to. At your age, who else is going to want you? Some sixty-year-old who can’t even get it up?” He leaned in closer. “You have such a high sex drive. You think they could satisfy you?” I couldn’t take it anymore. My hand flew up and I slapped him. Hard. He licked his lips, a slow, chilling smile spreading across his face as he pushed me back onto the stool. “Even though you’re old, we have ten years between us. There’s a history there. I won’t let Sierra replace you. I can even promise you that her child will call you ‘Mother’.” “That,” he said, his voice dropping to a confidential whisper, “is my promise to you.” After Liam left, I sat alone in the kitchen all night. The pot of rich, fragrant soup grew cold on the stove, a greasy, opaque film congealing on its surface. A wave of nausea rose in my throat, and I retched. 3 The investigator double-crossed me. The next morning, the story of Liam’s affair was all over the internet. Page Six, TMZ, every gossip blog imaginable. My phone vibrated nonstop. I forced myself to read two of the articles. Every hateful, humiliating word from that video was laid bare for the world to see. In the boardroom, I was known for being decisive, even ruthless. But maybe I really was getting old. I was starting to fear the whispers, the comments sections filled with the kind of casual cruelty that felt like a thousand tiny knives. I knew, without looking, how vicious the words would be. I used to hate avoidance, but now it was all I could do. I turned off my primary phone, leaving on only the private number that only family knew. My parents had passed away a few years ago. The number of people who had this line could be counted on one hand. An entire day passed. Liam never called. No comfort, no explanation. The phone sat on the nightstand, its silence a cold weight in the room. I hadn’t eaten all day. I was shuffling toward the kitchen, my mind a fog, when the phone suddenly rang. I answered, dazed. The other end was silent. There was only the sound of steady, even breathing. Familiar, yet distant. It wasn’t Liam. I glanced at the caller ID. It was a string of numbers I could recite from memory, even without a name attached. It was my ex-husband, Elliot, whom I hadn’t spoken to in years. I assumed he was calling to gloat. After all, during the worst year of our divorce, I had deliberately terminated his child’s pregnancy, and he had been merciless to me in the business world. I braced myself for the verbal assault. Instead, he asked, his voice low and even, “Are you okay?” Just three words. And my eyes burned with tears. I wasn’t. Elliot and I had a marriage of convenience, an alliance of two powerful families. We were the same age, from the same background. We looked perfect together. But our personalities clashed like fire and ice. His family was old money, a dynasty. At the height of their influence, it was a twenty-minute drive from their front gate to the main house. No matter how polite he was, he had an aristocrat’s pride woven into his very bones. And when I was young, I was even worse, demanding that the world revolve around me, unable to tolerate a single criticism. In the beginning, we managed a polite, respectful coexistence. Then, I misread a situation with his assistant, convinced he was having an affair. In a fit of rage and pain, I had an abortion and filed for divorce. He didn’t try to stop me. His signature on the divorce papers was as calm and steady as always. He never remarried. The media speculated for years that he was waiting for me. Only I knew that was impossible. He had to hate me. I didn’t answer his question. He didn’t hang up. We stayed on the line in silence, until the front door to my penthouse was kicked open with a violent crash. I gasped, the phone tumbling from my hand and sliding under the bed. The call was still connected as Liam, his face contorted with rage, stormed in and yanked me to my feet. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked at me as if I were his mortal enemy. “Did you leak this to the press? Was it you?!” He held me by the collar of my robe, his grip choking me. “Our stock is plummeting! Sierra got hounded by reporters and had to drop out of college! Are you satisfied now?” I choked out a cough, and he finally let go, letting me slump to the floor. He lit a cigarette, his hand shaking slightly. He watched me for a long moment, then sneered. “Why bother? Even if you force my hand like this, it won’t make me desire this old body of yours.” He stubbed out his cigarette on our wedding portrait that hung on the wall, grinding the embers into the white silk of my dress. “Fix this,” he snarled. “That’s my advice to you.” I stared at the black smudge on the photograph for a long time. When I finally picked up my phone, I realized the line was still open. My most humiliating, vulnerable moment, laid bare for the one person I never wanted to witness it. I forced myself to bring the phone to my ear. The breathing on the other end was heavier now, almost ragged. For a second, I thought I heard a choked sob, but maybe I was imagining it. But the next words were perfectly clear. “Don’t be afraid, Audrey.” His voice was a low anchor in the storm. “Divorce him. Come home.” 4 I didn’t have time for self-pity. Liam’s scandal was dragging my company’s stock down with his. I had to contain the damage, and the fastest way was a press conference. It took three days to prepare. In that time, I went to the hospital for the procedure. It was a private, expensive clinic. As I was walking to the surgical suite, I saw Liam and Sierra in one of the consultation rooms. “Doctor, is there a high chance it’s a boy?” Sierra was asking, one hand protectively on her stomach. “If it’s a girl, is there any way to… you know… change that?” The doctor’s face twitched. “It’s too early to tell the sex for sure, but we can see it’s twins. The probability of at least one being a boy is very high.” Sierra burst into happy tears. Liam stood beside her, stroking her hair with a look of soft, doting affection. Just then, my nurse walked over. “Mrs. Hale, what are you still doing out here? It’s time for your surgery.” I forced myself to turn away. “Okay. Let’s go.” There was a complication during the procedure. I have a notoriously low pain tolerance, so I had requested to be put under general anesthesia. It wasn’t until the cold, metal instrument entered my body that I realized they hadn’t given me anything. A searing, violent pain shot through me, so intense it felt like I was being torn in half. I grabbed the nurse’s wrist, my grip so tight it startled her. “Why… no… anesthesia?” I gasped. “We need restraints in here! Now!” she yelled to someone outside. Only after I was strapped tightly to the table, enduring a pain that felt like torture, did the nurse explain. “Your husband’s assistant called. He said you have a severe allergy to anesthesia and that we were to proceed without it.” Her voice was strained. “Just hold on. It will be over soon.” Liam? My consciousness began to fade from the pain. Just before I passed out, I thought I saw a familiar face in the crack of the doorway. It was Sierra. I was forced to stay in the hospital for observation due to excessive bleeding. I hadn’t told anyone about the surgery. But on the day of my discharge, a bouquet of white lilies was delivered to my room. There was no name on the card, but I knew who sent them. I had always loved flamboyant, fire-red roses. For ten years of marriage, Liam had given me roses on our anniversary. Only one person had ever told me I was like a lily. My ex-husband, Elliot.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385045”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel