Ethan broke up with me without any warning. I stared at the words on my phone, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. “Being with you is exhausting.” “I thought love was enough to make it to the end, but I’ve realized… I’m just not interested anymore.” There was no cheating, no big fight. Seven years of my life, erased by the simple, brutal need for something new. My thumbs hovered over the screen. I typed and deleted a dozen frantic paragraphs until only one word remained. “Okay.” 1 It was raining the day I moved out of our apartment. Ethan didn’t answer my calls. He just sent a text: “Just take your stuff. Leave the key in the usual spot. I’m not coming back.” He’d ended it last night. I’d thought maybe it was because I’d been so buried in work lately, that I’d neglected him. But scrolling back through our messages, I saw the truth. During all those days I was drowning in deadlines, he hadn’t just been quiet; he had been absent. The silence had been growing for weeks. I’d sent a flurry of texts. Playful ones, apologetic ones. All of them were met with a wall of silence, until finally, five words appeared. “We should break up.” The message hit me like a physical blow. I didn’t understand. Just a few days ago, we were curled up on the couch watching a movie. We were laughing, teasing each other, loving each other like we always had. Now, we were strangers. This had to be a joke. “Did I do something to upset you?” I typed, my hands shaking. The three little dots appeared and disappeared for a long time. “No.” “It’s me,” Ethan wrote. “I’m stuck.” “I tried to get the feeling back, I really did. But our conversations… every day just feels so draining.” “I think we’ve just reached the end of the line.” A heavy pressure built in my chest. I fought back the lump in my throat, trying one last time to salvage us. “Maybe it’s just a rough patch. That doesn’t mean the love is gone.” “Is that all it is?” he texted back. “At first, I thought so, too. But then I realized.” “Sophie, I’m not in love with you anymore.” My fingers froze over the keyboard. I looked at that final line from him, then methodically deleted the long, pleading paragraph I’d been composing. All that was left was a single word. “Okay.” 2 The summer air was thick and sticky. I stood on the sidewalk with my suitcase, watching the cars hiss by on the wet pavement. Ethan and I met in college. He pursued me for a solid year, bribing my roommate with coffee and concert tickets to engineer moments for us to be alone. He planned elaborate surprises, never forgot a birthday or an anniversary. We even survived two years of long-distance before finally ending up in the same city. Our friends always joked that when we finally got married, they’d better be on the guest list. Ethan would just grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he pulled me tighter. “Of course,” he’d say, his voice full of certainty. But even the most certain promises crumble under the weight of the seven-year itch. In the face of time, commitment is fragile. Rain pattered against my umbrella. My eyes started to burn. I picked up my suitcase to cross the street, but a car sped through a puddle, sending a wave of grimy water arching through the air. I couldn’t move fast enough. A dark, muddy spray splattered across my white sneakers. I looked down, staring at the stain. I remembered when I first bought these shoes. I treated them like treasure, carefully stepping around any potential scuffs or smudges. I was terrified of someone stepping on them. But after a while, I stopped caring. They got dirty, they got old. You just throw them out. To Ethan, I was that pair of shoes. My phone buzzed. It was my best friend, Maya. “Soph? What do you mean you’re moving your stuff to my place? Since when does Ethan let you out of his sight?” My throat tightened. I forced the words out. “We broke up.” She laughed, a loud, disbelieving bark. “You broke up? No way. Ethan would have a full-blown meltdown if you even joked about that.” I cut her off, my voice coming out colder than I intended. “He dumped me.” The other end of the line went silent. Maya let the weight of it sink in. “The key code is the same,” she finally said, her voice soft but firm. “I’ll be back from my business trip in a week. When I get home, we’re going out.” 3 In the week after Ethan and I broke up, we didn’t speak. It was a mutual, unspoken agreement. We vanished from each other’s lives as if we had never met. I went to work, ate my meals, went to the movies, all by myself. I was slowly, painfully, getting used to the quiet. He went on a trip to the mountains in Colorado with a new group of friends. His Instagram told the whole story. A nine-photo grid. A group shot of six people, three guys and three girls, all beaming. The caption: Got my joy back. The irony was a physical ache. Breaking up with me had brought him freedom, happiness. The only time he was unhappy, apparently, was when he was by my side. I buried my face in my pillow. It was raining again. A week later, Maya came home. The second she walked through the door, she dropped her bags and just wrapped me in a hug. She didn’t say anything for a long time. “You’re so damn lucky,” she finally whispered into my hair. “You’re lucky you saw his true colors before you married him.” A laugh escaped my lips, but it quickly choked into a sob. There hadn’t been a dramatic fight, no cheating scandal, no earth-shattering betrayal. It was just… over. Like a train pulling into its final destination. We both got off and walked away in different directions. It was painfully, crushingly, ordinary. “Come on,” Maya said, wiping a tear from my cheek with her thumb. She pulled back, a fierce grin spreading across her face. “We’re going for a drink. I’m introducing you to some hot guys.” The bar was loud, the lights strobing and overwhelming. But the deafening music was a relief. It filled up all the empty spaces in my head, leaving no room for my own thoughts. Maya was scrolling through her phone while nursing a vodka soda. “Hah,” she scoffed, taking a long drink. “Look at him, living his best life. Hiking, climbing… He’s really been set free, huh?” She kept scrolling, but then her brow furrowed. Her expression shifted. “He’s in a relationship.” My hand, holding my glass, froze mid-air. I tried to hide the tremor, bringing the glass to my lips and taking a huge gulp. I feigned indifference. “Oh, really?” Ethan was handsome. A strong jaw, a great physique. Girls were always after him in college. It wasn’t surprising that he’d moved on so quickly. But still… how could he let go of me, of us, so easily? “Wait a minute,” Maya said, squinting at her screen. “This girl… isn’t she the one from that Colorado trip? That was just a few days ago, and now they’re together?” In the photos, Ethan had his arm around the girl’s shoulder, planting a shy-looking kiss on her cheek. There was a shot of them silhouetted against a sunrise, locked in a deep embrace. Another one on a mountain peak, gazing into each other’s eyes. Holding hands, hugging, kissing. Everything that was once mine, he had given away to someone else without a second thought. I pulled out my phone and opened Ethan’s contact. His profile picture had been changed. His feed, once filled with pictures of us, was completely blank. A clean slate. “He blocked me.” “Are you sure?” Maya leaned over to look. She scrolled up and down my screen. “Maybe he just… deleted you?” she suggested, her voice uncertain. “Try sending him a dollar on Venmo.” I navigated to the app and tried to send the payment. As expected, a notification popped up: This user is not on your friends list. Maya had no words. A bitter laugh escaped me. “Guess he doesn’t want the new girlfriend to get the wrong idea.” I navigated back to his contact, found the ‘delete’ button, and pressed it without hesitation. Maya watched me, then a slow smile spread across her face. She clinked her glass against mine. “He’s got a new life, Sophie. Now it’s time for you to get one that’s a hell of a lot better.” The glasses chimed. We looked at each other and smiled. I have to live better than him. 4 I poured everything into my work. I hustled, I saved, and I finally moved out of Maya’s place and into my own apartment. My proposal for a new ad campaign got approved, and I was made the lead on the brand’s biggest fall athletic line project. My life was becoming full again, one day at a time. Then, one morning, a new hire started at the office, fresh out of college. My boss, wanting to get her acclimated, assigned her to me as her mentor. I looked at the sweet, smiling girl and my world tilted on its axis. I wasn’t mistaken. She was Ethan’s new girlfriend from the Instagram post. Lexi. “Hi, I’m Lexi,” she said, beaming at me. “It’s so nice to meet you. I’m really looking forward to working together.” I just stood there, frozen. It took a nudge from my boss for me to stiffly extend my hand. “Hi. Sophie.” “Sophie?” Her eyes widened with delight. “Wow, what a coincidence! We have to stick together!” I forced a tight-lipped smile and mumbled a few pleasantries before making a quick escape. Lexi fit in at the office immediately. She was young, energetic, and everyone seemed to gravitate toward her. Ethan was like that, too. Always buzzing with an infectious energy, pulling me into new adventures, trying new things. Until he wasn’t. I took a deep breath, pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes. Stop thinking about him, I told myself. Ethan has a new life. But seven years of love doesn’t just disappear. It grows roots deep in your soul. I couldn’t just rip it out like he had. I could only try to untangle it, one painful inch at a time.

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He always cherished me, swearing that his only birthday wish, year after year, was for us to have a child. For our fifth anniversary, I clutched the positive pregnancy test in my purse and slipped aboard the same yacht, melting into the masked ball I knew he was hosting. I was going to give him the ultimate surprise. Instead, I found him on the starlit deck with another woman, wrapped in an embrace that screamed honeymoon, not a business gala. My world tilted. I stumbled, knocking over a tower of champagne flutes. The crash echoed in the sudden silence. His brow furrowed in annoyance. He didn’t recognize me behind the Venetian mask and elaborate makeup. He snapped his fingers, and his security team materialized from the shadows. “Get this damn trash out of my sight,” he snarled, his voice a low thunder that vibrated through the deck. “She’s ruining the surprise honeymoon I planned for my wife.” He then turned to the woman in his arms, his voice softening to a caress. “Sweetheart, you’ve always wanted to see sharks up close, haven’t you? We’ll give them a little taste. Bleed her, and draw them in.” I dropped to my knees, the words catching in my throat, ready to beg, to tell him I was pregnant. But he just sneered, his polished Italian shoe connecting with my stomach in a brutal kick. “Oh, look at that,” he drawled, a cruel smirk playing on his lips as I gasped for air. “A pregnant bitch. Even better. My girl gets to see what a live feeding looks like.” Then, he pressed the cold muzzle of a pistol to my knee. “Break her legs first. I don’t want her spoiling the show.” 1 “Damn it, she’s a tough one, isn’t she?” Damien Blackwood’s voice was a blade of ice from somewhere above me. The kick had sent me flying, my back slamming against the ship’s railing with a sickening crack. A supernova of pain exploded from my spine, shooting straight to my skull. I curled into a ball on the cold teak deck, my hands instinctively shielding my abdomen. Our baby. The child Damien and I had prayed for, for five long years. Thick, theatrical makeup, meant for the masquerade, was now a grotesque, colorful paste streaked with cold sweat and tears. I tried to speak, to scream his name, but a rough hand tangled in my hair, yanking my head back. He shoved my face into a towering anniversary cake on a nearby table. Buttercream and sugary frosting clogged my nose and mouth. The cloying sweetness mingled with the primal terror of suffocation, and I began to thrash wildly. And the architect of this nightmare was my husband of five years, Damien. I heard a woman’s saccharine voice. “Darling, don’t you think this is a bit much?” Damien chuckled, a cold, empty sound. He pulled her waist possessively against his. “Baby, you’re too kind. This piece of trash ruined our honeymoon. She doesn’t get to walk away so easily. You wanted to see sharks? I’m giving you a front-row seat.” My blood ran cold. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would never have believed it. This vicious, terrifying monster was the same man who had worshipped the ground I walked on. We met in college, a whirlwind romance that led to the altar. In the five years since, he had carved my name into the city’s list of untouchables, a name whispered with fear and respect in circles both legal and not. Even the corner hustlers would change direction if they saw me carrying a latte. The day he slipped the ring on my finger, a new file appeared in his office safe: the deed to every asset, every company, every shell corporation, with my name signed as the sole beneficiary. And now, the man who built a fortress around me was the one tearing me apart. Before I could process the whiplash, Damien snapped his fingers. Two of his men hoisted me up by my arms. “Bleed her,” he ordered, his tone as casual as if he were ordering dinner. “Lure them in.” My voice, when it finally came, was a raw, ragged shriek. I clawed at the guards, my nails digging bloody furrows into their forearms. The next second, a leather shoe ground down on my fingers, a pain so sharp and absolute it felt like a thousand needles driving into the bone. I heard the distinct crack of my own knuckles breaking. This wasn’t a threat. This was real. Primal survival instinct took over. I swallowed my pride, the agony, everything. I shuffled forward on my shattered knees, my hand trembling as I grabbed the cuff of his tailored trousers. Tears mixed with the frosting smeared across my face. “Mmph…” I tried to speak, but my throat was still blocked with cake. I clutched my stomach as a violent cramp seized me, sharp and terrifying. “Ah!” A strangled cry escaped my lips. I collapsed, and a river of crimson flowed down the inside of my thighs, staining the pristine deck a shocking, lurid red. The violent movement dislodged a folded piece of paper from my dress pocket. It fluttered to the deck, landing right in Damien’s line of sight. My name at the top was obscured by a fold, but the words [CONFIRMED PREGNANCY] were stark and clear under the moonlight. He glanced down, his gaze colder than the ocean itself. “Well, would you look at that,” he said, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “A pregnant bitch. Perfect. Now my baby gets to see what it looks like when you feed a fetus to the sharks.” I lay twisted on the deck, my body a raging fire of pain. The blood pooled around me. No! I shook my head desperately, trying to crawl, to move, to do anything. The cramping in my abdomen was so intense it was stealing my thoughts. Damien watched me from above, that monstrous smile still playing on his lips. Then, he leveled the gun at my knee again. “Break her legs,” he repeated, his voice dangerously soft. “I don’t want her thrashing around and ruining the main event.” 2 I forced my heavy eyelids open, seeing only the merciless silhouette of my husband against the moon. In that instant, despair consumed me whole. A deafening BANG ripped through the night. The bullet tore through my kneecap. I tried to scream, but they had stuffed a rag in my mouth, turning my agony into a muffled, pathetic whimper. Blood gushed from the wound, spreading across the deck in a warm, sickening tide. Through a haze of excruciating pain, I finally got a clear look at the woman’s face. It was Hannah. A university student Damien had recently sponsored through a new charity initiative. She stood beside him in a pure white sundress, looking like some fragile, innocent blossom. But her eyes, fixed on me, were glittering with a rabid excitement. She was devouring the sight of my suffering. “Darling, look at all that blood!” she cooed, feigning fear as she burrowed into Damien’s chest. The corners of her mouth, however, were twitching, fighting a triumphant smirk. Damien stroked her back soothingly. “Don’t be scared, baby. Filth like this isn’t worth your sympathy.” My heart felt like it was being ripped to shreds. Three months ago, Damien had his arm around me, telling me he wanted to set up a scholarship for underprivileged students. He’d asked me to help him vet the candidates. I was the one who chose Hannah’s file. Parents deceased, supporting herself on academic scholarships. The girl in the photograph had such clear, innocent eyes. Damien had even praised my choice. You have a good heart, Ava. The irony was a blade twisting in my gut. “Hoist her up,” Damien commanded, nudging my blood-soaked chin with the toe of his shoe. “The blood is more effective if it drips into the sea, one drop at a time.” As the cold iron chains were fastened around my wrists and ankles, the party on the other side of the deck continued, the sound of popping champagne corks a festive counterpoint to my torture. They suspended me upside down over the side of the yacht. The sea wind whipped my hair, carrying the coppery scent of my own blood into my nostrils. The bullet hole in my knee throbbed, a relentless fountain of heat that trickled down my leg, over my foot, and dripped into the dark water below. Each drop bloomed into a dark flower on the navy-blue surface of the ocean. “Darling, look!” Hannah suddenly shrieked, pointing. In the moonlight, several dorsal fins sliced through the waves. The sleek, gray-blue skin of the sharks glinted with a cold, dead light as they circled below. The pain was making my vision swim, but I could still clearly see one of Damien’s men—a man who usually called me “Mrs. Blackwood” with a respectful nod—plunge a dagger into my abdomen and twist. A guttural, animalistic sound tore from my throat. Suddenly, the first shark breached the surface, its jaws gaping. Rows of serrated white teeth were less than two feet from my stomach. A foul, fishy spray coated my chest. “Time it,” Damien said, toying with a lock of Hannah’s hair. “Cut the baby out of her. Let’s see how long the bitch lasts after that.” My world turned crimson. One of Damien’s men grinned grotesquely as he thrust his hand into the open wound in my belly. His fingers were like icy iron tongs, churning inside me. My body convulsed in a violent spasm of agony, but I couldn’t make a sound. My throat was already shredded from screaming. “You stupid bitch,” he whispered in my ear, his breath hot and foul. “You should have known better than to cross the boss.” Then, with a savage tug, he ripped something vital from my body. A gush of warm liquid, and a profound, hollow emptiness. The man held up my bloody uterus, a gruesome trophy in the moonlight. My child. The child Damien and I had wanted for five years was now a prop in a blood sport. “Throw it in,” Damien commanded, lighting a cigar with an indifferent flick of his wrist. My womb was tossed into the sea, trailing an arc of blood through the air. The water below erupted into a frenzy. The gray-blue fins churned the ocean into a froth of white water and blood. The sound of tearing flesh was sickening, visceral, and it echoed in the sudden, dead silence of my soul. “The sharks still look hungry!” Hannah chirped, tilting her head with a look of angelic innocence. “Darling, is there anything else we can feed them?” Damien gestured towards me with his cigar. “We’ve still got one right here, don’t we?” 3 Hannah covered her mouth, a perfect portrait of feigned shock. “Oh, can we really? I’m still a little scared.” Damien exhaled a plume of smoke, pinching her cheek with fond indulgence. “Whatever you want, baby. I told you, you can play however you like. I’ve always got your back.” My blood-soaked body was hauled back onto the deck. Hannah, in her pristine white dress, approached me, the sea breeze making her skirt blossom around her like a flower. She leaned in close, her voice a conspiratorial whisper only I could hear. “How does it feel, Ava? To be tortured by your own husband?” My pupils constricted. A strangled, rattling sound escaped my throat. She knew. She knew who I was the entire time. Her fingers, tipped with baby-pink nail polish, traced the wound on my knee before she jabbed a nail deep into the raw flesh. “Aaargh!” A hoarse scream finally tore from my raw throat. My vision went black for a second. “The position of Mrs. Blackwood,” she murmured with a soft laugh. “I’ve wanted it for a very, very long time.” She smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry. After you’re dead, I’ll take very good care of Damien for you.” The cold glint of the dagger flashed before my eyes. My costume was ripped open, and the blade traced a line across my skin. First the cold, then a searing, fiery pain. Beads of blood welled up, merging into a thin red stream. “Did you forget to eat breakfast?” Hannah scolded the guard, her voice as sweet as melting honey. “Put some muscle into it. I want the cuts deeper!” Then I was hanging over the edge again, and this time, they plunged me into the ocean. The shock of the frigid, salty water was absolute. It flooded my nostrils, and the sting of the salt in my countless wounds felt like a thousand steel needles piercing every inch of my body. The sharks began to circle closer, their rough skin grazing my toes, the chilling promise of their teeth a palpable presence in the dark water. They hauled me up again, soaked and shivering. The seawater had washed away the layers of cake and makeup. A cold wind howled, and my wet hair was plastered across my face, obscuring my vision. Suddenly, one of the younger guards stumbled back, his voice trembling. “Holy shit! Doesn’t this woman… doesn’t she look exactly like the boss’s wife?!” Another guard laughed dismissively. “Are you crazy? What would Mrs. Blackwood be doing here?” But as he spoke, a fierce gust of wind swept across the deck. It caught the folded pregnancy report, sending it tumbling through the air. It danced on the breeze before finally settling beside the polished leather of Damien’s shoe. As if guided by some unseen hand, he glanced down, an air of casual annoyance on his face. He looked at the paper. And then, his entire body went rigid. His pupils contracted to pinpricks. “That’s impossible!” He bent down, his fingers snatching the paper, clutching it so tightly his knuckles turned white, threatening to shred it. On the pregnancy report, washed partially clean by the sea spray but still terrifyingly legible, was my name. Ava Blackwood. Pregnancy: 6 Weeks. A sound ripped from his throat, something animal and broken, a roar of pure, unadulterated agony that tore through the night. “GET HER UP!!!”

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My husband’s ‘one that got away’ is hooked into some kind of hustle-culture cheat code, and all the exhaustion from her relentless ambition gets funneled directly into my body. She once worked for seven days straight without sleep to land a multi-million-dollar deal, becoming a legend in their field. Meanwhile, I was rushed to the emergency room with heart failure. When I tried to explain the impossible connection to my husband, he looked at me with pure disgust. “You’re just lazy,” he spat. “You’re jealous that she’s so young and successful, so you’ve invented this crazy story to curse her.” After that, every all-nighter she pulled chipped another piece away from my health. It escalated from nervous exhaustion to organ failure, until I was on the brink of death. The doctors could find no physical cause; they gently suggested I was suffering from persecutory delusions. Then came the final push for their company’s IPO. She locked herself in the office for two solid weeks. While she was doing that, I died in our home from exhaustion-induced cardiac arrest. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. It was the night of her very first all-nighter. This time, I locked the bedroom door and took out a full blister pack of sleeping pills. “Sweetheart,” I whispered to the empty room. “It’s time for bed.” 1 A phantom hand squeezed my heart, a violent, crushing grip that stole my breath and shot me upright in bed. Cold sweat soaked through my pajamas in an instant. I gasped for air, my eyes darting around the familiar shadows of our bedroom. I wasn’t dead. A glance at the clock confirmed it. I was back. Back to the night it all began, the first night Chloe pulled an all-nighter. In my first life, that night was the start of a slow, deliberate execution. Chloe was Ethan’s ‘one that got away’—the brilliant college friend turned business partner. She was a natural-born workhorse, the hustle-culture queen worshipped by everyone at their startup. She could go seven days without sleep to land a multi-million dollar deal, then stand in the spotlight, radiant, soaking in the applause. And I, Ethan’s wife, was the one who ended up in the emergency room after every one of her manic sprints. First, it was crushing anxiety. Then heart palpitations, shortness of breath, and finally, congestive heart failure. I tried to explain the bizarre connection to Ethan. He dismissed it as petty jealousy. “Ava, can you be an adult for once?” he’d said, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Chloe is killing herself for our future. The least you could do is be supportive, not fake an illness for attention.” His eyes were cold, full of a contempt that cut deeper than any illness. “If you’re jealous, just say so. Don’t resort to these pathetic little tricks.” From that day on, every late night Chloe worked was another nail in my coffin. My health deteriorated. Insomnia bled into heart palpitations, which led to a constant struggle for breath. Every hospital visit was the same: batteries of tests that revealed no physical cause. My doctors eventually suggested I see a psychiatrist, gently implying I was suffering from a persecutory delusion. And Ethan’s disgust for me grew. In his eyes, I had become a lazy, spiteful shrew who couldn’t stand to see another woman succeed. The end came just before their company’s IPO. Chloe locked herself in the office for two weeks, a final, brutal push to the finish line. And I died. Quietly, alone, from exhaustion-induced cardiac arrest in the home we had once filled with love. My soul lingered, a spectator to my own tragedy. I watched Ethan hold Chloe, pressing a reverent kiss to her forehead. “We did it, Chloe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Once the company is stable, I’ll divorce that lazy woman and give you the wedding you deserve.” And now, I’m back. The familiar, suffocating pressure returned to my chest. I knew, with chilling certainty, that somewhere across town, Chloe was burning the midnight oil. If her exhaustion transfers to me, I thought, then what happens if I go to sleep? Does she have to sleep, too? This time, there was no panic. No desperate calls for help. I calmly walked to my dresser and took out a full blister pack of sleeping pills. As a therapist, I’d gotten them for a research paper on insomnia. I popped out every single pill. Without a moment’s hesitation, I swallowed them all with a glass of water. The drug hit my system quickly, a heavy, syrupy wave of drowsiness. I lay down, closed my eyes, and just before the darkness consumed me, I whispered into the silence. “Good night, Chloe.” 2 I expected to sleep until morning, but a spike of pain, sharp and blinding, ripped me from the darkness in the middle of the night. It felt like someone was driving steel needles into my temples, twisting them again and again. Pain. It was a pain that went bone-deep. I fought my way into a sitting position, my body trembling. I’d been asleep for hours, yet I felt more exhausted than before I’d taken the pills. The medication hadn’t worked. I had forced myself to sleep, but it hadn’t stopped the transfer of fatigue. In fact, the sedatives had only heightened my senses, amplifying the agony and weariness tenfold. Just then, Ethan’s phone lit up the nightstand. A new post from Chloe. It was a photo of her at her desk, bathed in the glow of a lamp, pen flying across a page. The caption read: Burning the midnight oil for the dream. This is when the magic happens. In the picture, her eyes were bright, electric. Not a hint of sleepiness. And in the comments, the first like and reply were from Ethan: Go get ’em, my girl. So proud of your hard work. My hands shaking, I grabbed my own phone, found Chloe’s contact, and hit the video call button. She answered almost immediately. Her face, crisp and clear, filled my screen. “Ava? It’s late. What are you still doing up?” I fought through the searing pain in my head, my eyes locked on hers. “Chloe, what did you do to me? Why does it hurt me when you work late?” She was silent for a few seconds, and then a small, cruel smile played on her lips. Her soft laugh was undisguised mockery. “What on earth are you talking about, Ava? Did Ethan praise my work ethic again? Did that make you jealous? I have to say, for a grown woman, your jealousy is really something else.” “I’m just built different,” she continued, her voice syrupy sweet. “I have more energy than most people. It’s a gift. You can’t learn it, and you certainly can’t fake it.” “Stop lying! You know exactly what’s happening!” I screamed, the sound tearing from my throat. “Please,” I begged, my voice breaking as the pain crested. “Stop. I’m begging you…” My grip on the phone was failing. “You’re just pathetic, Ava.” Her voice turned sharp as ice. “But what can you do? You’re useless. You do nothing but hold Ethan back.” “Oh, and by the way,” she added, her eyes glinting. “I’m planning on pulling an all-nighter tonight. I’m going to finish this whole proposal in one go. You better hang in there, Ava.” Before I could say another word, she ended the call. I stared at the black screen, a roaring sound filling my ears. The world tilted, went dark, and the phone slipped from my grasp. I tumbled from the bed and knew nothing more. 3 When I woke up, it was to the sterile smell of a hospital VIP room and the cold, rhythmic beeping of machines. Ethan was sitting by the bed, his face a mask of irritation and disgust. He didn’t ask how I was. He didn’t offer a word of comfort. He launched his attack the moment my eyes opened. “What the hell is your game now, Ava? Do you enjoy pulling these stunts in the middle of the night?” My heart still ached with a thousand tiny needles. Every breath was a chore. “I…” “You what?” he snapped, cutting me off. “The doctor said you’re suffering from exhaustion and stress. I told you to just stay home and relax. What could you possibly be so stressed about?” “It’s Chloe…” I whispered, my voice hoarse. “It’s always Chloe!” Ethan shot to his feet, looming over me. His eyes burned with disappointment. “Can’t you just be happy for her for once? The company is at a critical stage, and she is carrying the whole thing on her back! Instead of encouraging her, you’re here pulling this childish, manipulative crap!” He leaned in closer, his voice a low threat. “I’m warning you, Ava. Stop using these disgusting tactics to go after her. She is the most important partner I have. If you do anything to ruin her, I swear to God, I will make you regret it.” I was discharged after three days. During that time, Chloe hadn’t pulled any more all-nighters, and my body had started to recover. I used Ethan’s phone to send Chloe a text, perfectly mimicking his tone. I told her he wasn’t feeling well and needed her to swing by the house to pick up an urgent file for him. She didn’t suspect a thing. Half an hour later, she was at our door. She was dressed in a sharp power suit, her makeup flawless, radiating energy. The contrast with my own pale, fragile state was stark. “Ava. The file?” she asked, her tone polite but distant. I ignored her question and handed her a glass of water instead. “You must be thirsty. Have some water. You look like you were rushing.” Chloe hesitated for a moment, then took the glass and drank. I had dissolved a mild hypnotic I used in my therapy practice into the water. The air in the room was already filled with the calming scent of sandalwood, another part of my preparation. I began to speak in the low, soothing cadence I used with my clients, guiding her toward the sofa. “Chloe, look at my eyes.” “You’re so tired. You just want to sleep…” Her gaze started to soften, to lose focus. Her breathing steadied. “Tell me,” I pressed, my voice a hypnotic whisper. “Why do I feel your exhaustion when you stay up all night?” Her lips parted, and just as the truth was about to spill from them, the front door crashed open with a deafening bang. Ethan stormed in, his face contorted with rage. He shoved me aside and rushed to Chloe, frantically checking if she was okay. “Ava! You psychotic bitch! What are you doing to her?!” He spun around, his eyes bloodshot, glaring at me as if he wanted to tear me apart with his bare hands. “I should have known! You’re just jealous! You can’t stand that she’s better than you, so you resort to this… this witchcraft to destroy her!” He had pushed me so hard I stumbled backward, the corner of the coffee table digging sharply into my hip. “That’s not…” “Don’t you dare lie to me!” He rifled through my purse, pulling out the empty blister pack of sleeping pills. His face was a mask of fury. “You say you’re tired? I think you’re just bored! Since you love sleeping so much, I’ll help you get all the sleep you want!” He lunged at me, grabbing my chin in a vise-like grip. He brutally forced the remaining pills from the pack I’d left in my purse into my mouth, then grabbed the glass of water and poured it down my throat. “Swallow! Swallow it all!” Icy water and bitter pills flooded my airway. I choked, coughing violently as tears streamed down my face. He watched my desperate struggle without a flicker of pity. “If you ever touch a single hair on her head again,” he snarled, “I will make you disappear from this world.” He then lifted the still-drowsy Chloe into his arms as if she were a priceless treasure and carried her out. The door slammed shut, sealing me in. I collapsed to the floor, jamming my fingers down my throat, forcing myself to vomit up the pills he’d tried to kill me with. My stomach heaved, but I ignored the searing pain. With the last ounce of my strength, I crawled to the front door, unlocked it, and collapsed onto the welcome mat, surrendering to the encroaching darkness. 4 I woke up in a hospital bed. Again. A nurse told me a neighbor had found me unconscious in the doorway. They’d pumped my stomach, but the overdose had kept me in a coma for three days and three nights. I lay there, feeling weightless, boneless. But even after all that sleep, the bone-deep exhaustion was still there, a constant companion. My chest was tight, every breath a dull ache. Ethan never came. Good. Lying in that sterile room, I raised a weak hand to block the harsh fluorescent light. And then, I saw it. I shot up in bed, ignoring the nurse’s protests as I ripped the IV from my arm. Of course. That was the truth. That was how she was siphoning the life out of me. I finally understood. A few days later, I checked myself out of the hospital. I didn’t go home. I took a cab straight to my grandfather’s wellness clinic. My grandfather was a renowned acupuncturist and herbalist. When I was a child, my health was fragile, and he was the one who nursed me back to strength with his traditional remedies. The clinic smelled of dried herbs and earth, a scent that always calmed me. He took one look at my ghostly pale face and his own grew grim. He took my pulse, his brow furrowed. “My dear girl, how did you let yourself get into this state? Your energy is scattered, your pulse is weak… this is a severe depletion of your vital essence. If this continues, it could be life-threatening.” I didn’t explain. I just begged him to help me. He sighed and wrote out a long, complex prescription of herbs to nourish my blood, calm my spirit, and strengthen my body. Besides the foul-tasting teas, he taught me a series of gentle movements. “Tai Chi,” he said. “Practice every morning and every evening. It will rebuild your foundation, slowly bring back the energy you’ve lost.” He performed acupuncture, and as the silver needles found their points, a warmth spread through my limbs. For the first time in months, the hollowed-out feeling of exhaustion began to recede. For the next few weeks, I lived with my grandfather. My days were simple: I drank my herbal brews, practiced my movements, and let the needles work their magic. I blocked all calls and texts from Ethan and Chloe, vanishing completely from their world. I needed to conserve my strength. I was waiting for the perfect moment to watch the show. So, Chloe. You’re the queen of the grind, are you? You love to burn the candle at both ends? Let’s see how long you can last on your own.

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The day my husband was diagnosed with end-stage renal failure, I walked out of my office, told my boss I was taking an indefinite leave, and dedicated my life to the antiseptic-smelling halls of Saint Jude’s Hospital. My world had shrunk to the size of his hospital bed. Until one afternoon, when the weight of it all finally crushed me. I ducked into a concrete stairwell, the heavy fire door sighing shut behind me, and let the sobs I’d been swallowing for weeks rack my body. That’s when I heard their voices from the landing below. His voice, and the voice of another woman. “Are you sure that bitch has no idea you’re faking it?” the woman’s voice was a low, conspiratorial murmur. “She watches you like a warden. We can’t even get a minute alone. The baby’s starting to miss his daddy, you know.” And then, his voice. My husband’s voice. The one that whispered my name in the dark. “Relax. She’s an idiot. You could walk in there, tell her to her face this is all an act, and she wouldn’t believe you.” A low chuckle. “Right now, she’s probably calling her mom, getting ready to sell their house to raise the money for me. The second that three hundred grand hits our account, I’m divorcing her. Then it’s just you, me, and the baby. You know you’re the only one for me. Just hang in there a little longer.” My nails dug so deep into my palms that I should have bled, but I felt nothing. When I walked back into the room, I arranged my face into a mask of weary devotion and played my part. On the day of the surgery, however, he was the one on his knees, weeping in front of me. 1 I was floating in a fog of exhaustion when I got back to the room. Mark wasn’t there. I stood blinking in the pale afternoon light until the door clicked open and he walked in. He immediately wrapped his arms around me, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead. His voice was thick with a carefully crafted sympathy. “Anna, sweetheart. I can’t stand seeing you like this. So run down. I know you’re trying to pull the money together, but you can’t destroy yourself doing it. Maybe we should just hire a private nurse? You’ve lost so much weight this week.” I said nothing, keeping my head bowed so he couldn’t see the hollowness in my eyes. He took my silence as an invitation, pulling me tighter against his thin hospital gown. As if he couldn’t bear the thought of losing me. If I hadn’t heard that conversation with my own ears, I would have gone to my grave believing this man, my husband of five years, was my devoted partner. The depth of his deceit was a canyon at my feet. I shifted, avoiding another kiss, and buried my face in his chest. “It’s my duty,” I murmured into the fabric. “You’re my husband. You worked so hard for us, for our home, for five years. That’s why you got sick. I’d sell the shirt off my back to make you well.” I pulled back just enough to look at him, my eyes shimmering. “We’re still short on the surgery fee, so a nurse is out of the question. Every penny counts. I don’t mind being tired… I just don’t want to have any regrets. If something were to happen to you…” Two perfectly formed, treacherous tears slid down my cheeks. It worked. His face crumpled with what looked like pain. “Don’t say that. Don’t even think it,” he whispered, crushing me to him again. “Having a wife like you… God won’t be cruel to us. We have so many good years left. After I get better, we’ll have a baby. Everything is going to be okay.” We were tangled in this pathetic embrace when the door swung open again. It was Jess, clipboard in hand. “Whoa, guys, get a room! Some of us are trying to work here,” she teased, a broad smile on her face. “My shift is hard enough without having to watch all this PDA. Save it for when he’s discharged.” Jess is my best friend. My maid of honor. She is also Mark’s attending physician. From the day he was admitted, Jess had used her position to ensure he got the best of everything, all for my sake. She’d even pulled strings, calling in a favor with the top surgeon in the state to have him lead the operation. Mark’s cheeks flushed a little, and he loosened his grip. I saw it then—a flicker of a glance between them. Swift, silent, and full of meaning. I pretended not to notice, stepping away to pour them both a glass of water from the pitcher on the nightstand. Jess did her routine checks, murmuring that Mark’s condition was stable, but she never offered specifics about his labs or his prognosis. Odd, for a doctor who was also my best friend. I’d spent hours online, poring over medical journals and patient forums. The symptoms of uremia—the swelling, the nausea, the constant fatigue—Mark had none of them. A chill snaked up my spine. One second Jess was saying he was stable, and the next she was sighing dramatically, her face a mask of concern. “You two have been through so much to get here. It’s just so unfair…” She looked at me, her eyes soft with pity. “How’s the fundraising going? You know the hospital has its policies, I can’t bend the rules too much. But if you’re short, just tell me. I’ll figure something out.” A slow smile spread across Mark’s face. He reached for my hand, his grip proprietary. “Don’t you worry, Jess. I have the best wife in the world. She’ll get the money for me.” He squeezed my hand, turning his gaze on me. “Right, honey?” I felt their eyes on me, twin lasers of inquiry. I smiled back, a bright, brittle thing. “Of course. I’ve already got a realtor working on selling the condo. It should be quick.” I added another detail for good measure. “And my mom managed to borrow from some relatives. She has fifty thousand for us.” The relief that washed over both their faces was instantaneous and profound. 2 “Oh, that’s fantastic news,” Jess breathed out. “That’s great. The surgery is in three days, so we need to move fast. Everything else is in place. We’re just waiting on you.” If this were yesterday, I would have thought she was sharing my burden, my best friend worried sick for me. We’d been like sisters since kindergarten. But now, having heard the truth, I understood. The “everything else” she was talking about wasn’t medical preparation. It was their plan. Watching them chat, so casual and relaxed, with no trace of the anxiety that should precede a life-or-death operation, I saw my opening. “Jess,” I began, my voice wavering just enough. “I’ll have to be gone for most of the next two days, dealing with the closing paperwork for the condo. Mark… could you please keep an extra eye on him? You know I can’t afford a private nurse, and I don’t know anyone else here.” Before the words were fully out of my mouth, she was nodding eagerly. Her eyes flashed with a joy she couldn’t quite conceal. “Of course, Anna, don’t even worry about it. Mark is your husband, which makes him my brother-in-law. I’ll check on him every half hour. And I’ll tell the floor nurses to be extra attentive. You go do what you have to do. Call me anytime if you need anything.” I feigned overwhelming gratitude, bowing my head and thanking her profusely. Then I turned and walked out of the room. I didn’t go far. I slipped into the shadows of a recessed doorway down the hall. Ten minutes later, I crept back, my sneakers silent on the linoleum. As I neared the door, I heard it. The low, unmistakable sounds of desperate, hurried passion. “That idiot really bought it,” Mark’s voice, rough with arousal. “We were just complaining about not having time alone, and she walks right out. It’s like the universe is on our side.” “Mmm, Jess, I’ve missed you so much… I’m dying for you. We could… right here in the hospital…” “Mark, you’re awful,” she giggled, but there was no protest in her tone. “Gently, okay? Don’t let a nurse walk in. And be careful of the baby… he can’t take too much of a rough ride.” The wet, sloppy sounds of their mouths meeting echoed through the thin wood of the door. My own body threatened to fold. I fled, my retreat a clumsy, stumbling disaster. I made my way to the nurses’ station. I found the one Jess was always complaining about, a stern, older woman named Brenda who, I now suspected, was probably just a person of integrity. Under the guise of a worried wife, I asked her if she could pay special attention to my husband while I was away. I told her I had a bad feeling. She agreed immediately. But when I tried to slip her a folded hundred-dollar bill, she pushed my hand away gently. “Not necessary, dear. I’ll keep an eye on him.” I got her number and, armed with a copy of Mark’s medical file that I’d requested earlier, I left the hospital. Their plan was meticulous. But they’d missed one crucial detail. Mark wasn’t faking his illness. He was genuinely sick. Just not with kidney failure. It was stage four liver cancer. I’d been hiding the truth from him, terrified the diagnosis would shatter what little hope he had left. My plan had been to tell the lead surgeon right before the procedure, to have them re-evaluate everything. But after what I’d seen today, I’d decided on a different course of action. I was going to help him on his way. I called the realtor and told her to accept the first lowball cash offer we received. With the power of attorney Mark had signed over to me, his signature wasn’t needed. I signed the contract on the spot. As soon as the wire transfer cleared, I moved every last cent from our joint accounts, plus the money from the sale, into my mother’s name under the designation of “filial support.” Her phone showed a balance of over three hundred thousand dollars. A moment later, she called me, her voice frantic. “Anna, honey, was this a mistake? Mark has his surgery coming up! Why did you send all this money to me?” “I’m sending it back right now, you need to pay the hospital. His condition… you can’t delay this!” My mother is a good woman. Kind, trusting, and completely fooled by Mark for the last five years. I told her everything. The affair. The fake illness. The plan to fleece me and my family. There was a long, heavy silence on the other end of the line. Finally, she sighed, a sound brittle with disappointment. “That boy… I never would have… well. What you kids do is your own business.” Her voice firmed up. “You leave the money with me. It’s safe here. When you’ve dealt with the divorce, I’ll transfer it right back to you.” She spent another ten minutes calming me down before we hung up. I looked up at the sky. It was a brilliant, cloudless blue, but all I could feel was a suffocating gloom. This marriage was over. 3 I called my lawyer and had him draw up divorce papers. With no shared assets left, the division was simple. By the time I was done, night had fallen. A stream of messages had come in from Brenda, the nurse. Jess had been in Mark’s room almost constantly. They were keeping their voices low. A few times when Brenda had entered to check his vitals, they’d both jumped, looking flustered. I smiled grimly and texted her my thanks. For the next two days, with me absent, they grew bolder. Jess would stroll into his room, her white doctor’s coat barely concealing a black lace teddy. She’d stay for hours. Once, Brenda noted, she came out looking flushed, her legs unsteady. The nurse saw what was happening. She texted me several times, gently suggesting I should come back to the hospital. I politely declined each time. It wasn’t time to show my hand. I wasn’t idle. I hired a private investigator to dig up every wire transfer, every gift, every hotel stay Mark had ever paid for on Jess’s behalf. Evidence for the lawsuit to come. On the morning of the surgery, the hospital’s finance department noted the bill was still unpaid. That’s when Mark’s composure finally cracked. My phone blew up. “Anna, where are you? The surgery is this afternoon. Did you get the money?” “Why aren’t you answering? Is there a problem with the sale? Don’t try to handle it all alone, I’m here for you. If it doesn’t work out, then we just forget the surgery. My life isn’t worth you suffering like this.” “When I’m gone, find a good man and remarry. I won’t blame you.” I stared at the screen, a fresh wave of cold fury washing over me. A masterclass in manipulation. This wasn’t a man preparing for his death; this was a con artist afraid his mark was about to walk away. Jess was less composed. She called, again and again. Each time with a new, frantic story. Mark was coughing up blood. Mark had slipped into a coma. The hospital had issued three separate critical condition alerts, all of which she had heroically intercepted on my behalf. I answered the last call, my voice calm. “I’m on my way.” I heard her exhale in relief. And just before she hung up, I heard Mark’s triumphant laugh in the background. Laugh all you want, I thought. After today, you won’t have the strength to cry. The private investigator had found more than just financial records. He’d delivered an unexpected little bonus. When I arrived at the hospital, Mark’s mother was already there, holding court with a flock of relatives outside his room. The moment they saw me, they swarmed. “Anna, you poor thing, you’ve been through so much,” his mother gushed, grabbing my hands. “I only just heard Mark was in the hospital! Thank you, thank you for not abandoning him. Having a daughter-in-law like you is the greatest blessing our family could ask for…” Jess pushed through the crowd, her face a perfect portrait of anxious urgency. “You’re finally here! The doctors are saying if we wait any longer, it’ll be too late! Thank god you made it. Go pay the fee, quickly! I’ll get the surgical team prepped right now!” Mark’s mother shot Jess a subtle glance. When she turned back to me, her eyes were instantly red-rimmed and brimming with tears. She grabbed my arm and began pulling me toward the billing office. “Let’s go, hurry. Mark is waiting.” The look that passed between her and Jess confirmed it. She was in on it, too. Of course. It explained why she’d been conveniently absent until the very day the money was due. I always thought Mark was just trying to spare her the worry. Now I saw it clearly. The three of them were a pack of wolves, and my mother and I were the prey they intended to devour. Surrounded by the expectant faces of his family, I stopped in my tracks. I pulled my arm free and held up my empty hands. “What surgery fee?” I said, my voice clear and steady. “I couldn’t get it. I don’t have any money.” 4 His mother’s face transformed. The grief vanished, replaced by sheer disbelief. “What?” her voice screeched, echoing down the sterile corridor. “You don’t have any money? Anna, what kind of joke is this?” “You’ve been gone for three days selling the condo! My son gave you power of attorney! We paid over two hundred thousand for that place, how can you have no money?” The relatives, sensing a shift, closed in. “That’s right, that condo was in the city’s hottest neighborhood! Even if you didn’t get two hundred, you must have gotten one-eighty, one-ninety! How can you say you have nothing?” “He’s your husband, Anna! What are you hiding from him? He needs that money to live!” “Don’t forget the fifty thousand dollars your family gave as a wedding gift! Even if the condo sale fell through, you should have that!” The mention of the wedding gift hardened my expression. “A gift that was supposed to be for our future, you mean? The gift he ‘borrowed’ fifteen thousand from a month after we were married because he said his mom was sick? That, plus his expenses these past few weeks, is long gone.” “My family paid the lion’s share of the down payment on that condo. What are you all implying? That I’m lying?” I let my voice rise, matching their outrage. “I told you, there’s no money! If you can’t pay for the surgery, then it doesn’t happen. Maybe it’s just his fate to die!” The words were barely out of my mouth before his mother lunged, the flat of her hand cracking against my cheek. “You bitch! How dare you say that? It’s a son’s duty to care for his mother!” “Are you blaming me for getting sick? Or blaming him for helping me? For a married couple, you certainly keep close track of your money! Fine, I’ll write you an IOU! I’ll pay you back!” she shrieked. “Now stop this nonsense! My son is dying!” My cheek stung, a hot bloom of pain, but my heart felt like a block of ice. “Nonsense? Think whatever you want. I told you, I don’t have the money. I just came today to say my goodbyes.” Her eyes darted around, and then she did something theatrical. She threw herself onto the floor, slapping her thighs and wailing at the ceiling. “Oh, the injustice! God in heaven, everyone come and see! My daughter-in-law is letting my son die! She won’t pay for his surgery! She’s just going to watch him die!” “My poor family! How did we end up with such a venomous woman! Somebody, please, tell me what’s right! My son is on his deathbed and she’s murdering him!” “If my son dies, I’ll die with him! What has this world come to? Once money is in a wife’s pocket, you can’t get it back! Everyone look! Look at this heartless monster!” Her performance was flawless. Passersby stopped to stare. Hearing her version of events, they turned on me, their faces etched with disapproval. “Young lady, how can you be so obsessed with money? That’s your husband in there! You can’t buy health! You’ll regret this for the rest of your life!” “You look like such a nice girl, but your heart is so ugly. Is a surgery fee really more important than a human life? God is watching. You have to live with your conscience!” “Exactly! Look at your poor mother-in-law, she’s a wreck! Do you want her to have a heart attack right here in the hospital? We just heard them say it! You can save his life by selling your place. We don’t have that kind of money, but you do! To have the money and not use it… you’re no better than an animal!” One of the aunts whispered something in the mother’s ear. In a flash, she was on her feet, launching herself at me and kicking me hard in the shin. “You liar! You already sold the condo! Where is the money? Half of that belongs to my son! You have no right to take it all!” Her words were gasoline on the fire. The crowd’s murmurs turned into a roar of condemnation. Through it all, my expression remained eerily calm. “The money? I wired it to my mother. My cousin is getting married and needs a down payment for a house, so I loaned it to him. In any case, I don’t have it.” Mark’s mother was trembling with rage, her finger jabbing at my face. “She’s lying! Only an idiot would loan that kind of money to a cousin! Hold her down! The money has to be on her!” Rough hands grabbed my arms and legs, pinning me to the floor. His mother began frantically patting me down, her hands like spiders all over my body. She found my debit card in my pocket. She thrust it at a billing clerk who had come to see what the commotion was about. “Try this!” The clerk swiped it. Once. Twice. The machine beeped. Insufficient funds. In an instant, I was drowning in a sea of insults. The dark lenses of cell phone cameras were pointed at my face, broadcasting my humiliation to the world. Jess finally arrived, pushing through the crowd. She saw the scene and her eyes went wide with alarm. She knelt beside me, her voice a stage-whisper of urgent persuasion. “Anna, Mark is fading. You told me you were selling the condo these past three days. You haven’t spoken to your cousin in two years, you wouldn’t lend him money. Where is it? Are you really going to stand by and watch Mark die?” Before I could even get to my feet, a nurse rushed over, her face pale. “It’s bad! Mr. Evans also has late-stage liver cancer! The surgeons just discovered it during the pre-op scan! The original surgical plan is useless!” Jess’s face didn’t change. The nurse, seeing her confusion, added pointedly, “This time, for real.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “385041”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I was cuddling the little tabby cat I’d just rescued, burying my face in his soft fur, when a string of text suddenly floated in my vision: 【She has no idea, does she? That little furball is actually her ex-boyfriend.】 【Leo broke up with her because he’d just learned to shift into his human form and couldn’t control his… barbs. He was afraid he’d hurt her…】 【Tsk, tsk, the poor guy went away to practice for a whole year. Even his ‘equipment’ is much more behaved now.】 【If only she knew that her favorite flannel pajamas were already shredded to ribbons by a certain someone…】 【Can’t wait to see her crying and begging for mercy while Leo gets more and more intense…】 My eyes drifted down to the cat currently making biscuits on my chest. I snatched him up by the scruff of his neck. Sure enough, his little pink rocket hadn’t been retracted in time. Well, well. If he’s having that much trouble keeping it to himself, then maybe… I should take him to get the snip. Right now. 1 The cat struggled in my grip for a moment before going limp, staring up at me with a look of pure theatrical betrayal. If it weren’t for those ghostly comments, I never would have thought a cat’s face could be so expressive. Come to think of it, he did look a bit like my ex-boyfriend, Leo. Especially that accusing glint in his eyes. It was the exact same look he’d give me whenever he came crawling back to apologize after a fight. But how could Leo be a cat? In the two years we were together, everything was normal—except for the fact that he never, ever slept with me. He had a respectable job; I’d even met his parents. Then he broke up with me by vanishing into thin air. To this day, I still don’t understand how a living, breathing person could just ghost someone so completely. I even filed a missing person’s report, half-convinced he’d been kidnapped by a backwoods cult. And now these… whatever they are… are telling me he’s not just a man, but some kind of cat-shifter? A cold dread crept up my spine as I replayed the last few days in my head. When I was on the toilet, he’d lounge by my feet. When I took a bath, he’d hop right in and paddle around. When I slept, he’d find the warmest spot right in the crook of my neck. And don’t even get me started on the relentless biscuit-making on my chest. If he really was Leo… My gaze turned sinister as I looked at the tabby, whose ears were now flattened against his head in the classic “airplane” mode of feline terror. I grabbed him and stuffed him into the pet carrier. There was one way to find out for sure. A little trip to the vet should clear things up. 2 I hummed a cheerful little tune as I drove, while the cat huddled in the corner of the carrier, letting out a series of high-pitched, pathetic mews. It was a sound so saccharine it could give you cavities, and normally, I would have pulled over to comfort him. But now, all I could think about was him being Leo, and my teeth started to grind. He ghosts me without a word, and now he sneaks back into my life as a cat to feel me up? Oh, hell no. If he thought he was getting away with that, he had another thing coming. “Don’t you worry, Milo,” I cooed, giving the carrier a little shake. “After today, you’ll be able to start your new, carefree kitty life. Trust me, Mommy knows best!” The tiny body in the carrier went rigid for a split second. But he just stared at me with those wide, innocent eyes, let out a soft “mew,” and started to purr, a low rumble vibrating through the plastic. I hid a smirk. If he really was Leo, I wondered if he’d still be purring in a few minutes. The vet’s office was close. The moment I pushed open the door, the spectral comments flared up again. 【She’s really doing it! She’s going to get him neutered! Mia, you cruel, cruel woman! Leo’s family jewels are in danger!】 【Don’t just sit there, Leo, unleash your powers! Show her who’s boss!】 【I’ll bet a bag of tuna treats the King of the Shifters is about to have his cover blown!】 King of the Shifters? Him? Please. The young woman at the front desk smiled sweetly as I walked in. “Are you Milo’s mom?” she asked, her voice bright. “You’re here for the male neutering appointment you booked online, right?” I nodded, lifting the carrier. “That’s the one.” As the words left my mouth, the tabby’s head snapped up. Through the metal grate of the carrier door, I could see genuine, unadulterated terror in his eyes. The soft purring was replaced by a series of short, sharp hisses. His fur stood on end, making him look like a fluffy, electrified pom-pom, and his little paws, with their bread-roll toes, dug into the plastic floor in silent protest. 【Oh shit, Leo’s panicking. He’s finally panicking!】 【I can feel the terror vibrating through his very soul…】 【Snap out of it, Mia! If you actually get him fixed, think of all the fun you’ll be missing out on…】 【WARNING: SCALPEL AHEAD! HANG IN THERE, YOUR MAJESTY!】 The receptionist peered into the carrier at the bristling cat and giggled. “Oh my gosh, he’s so cute! Do you think he understands what we’re saying? He looks so scared. Aww, someone’s about to lose his little nuts…” A sharp hiss was her only reply. This just seemed to delight her even more. She reached out and poked one of his paws that was clinging to the grate. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. See? When you’re small and helpless, even your threats come off as adorable. 3 After a few minutes in the waiting area, a door to one of the exam rooms opened. A doctor’s deep voice called out. “Next, Ms. Thompson? You can bring the cat in now.” “Coming!” I chirped, feeling like a soldier marching into battle as I scooped up the carrier and headed in. The room was bright, clean, and smelled faintly of antiseptic. Dr. Evans, a kind-looking man in a white coat, adjusted his glasses and took the carrier from me. “Alright, let’s not be nervous. Let’s just take a look at the little guy and see how he’s doing.” The second he opened the door, the tabby shot out of the carrier like he’d been launched from a cannon. He did a few laps around the room, scrambling up the walls like a furry little ninja, before landing right next to my phone on the counter. His pink little paw pads started frantically tapping the screen. He’d already managed to type “9” and “1.” Ha… Was he actually trying to call the cops? I quickly snatched the phone and turned off the screen, giving him a tight, toothy smile. Dr. Evans, recovering from his shock, just chuckled. “Wow, what a spitfire. He’s certainly got good reflexes. The surgery should be no problem at all.” He called in two male assistants wearing thick, bite-proof gloves. The three of them cornered the cat with practiced ease and scooped him up. The tiny animal was pinned to the cold, metal examination table, letting out a series of blood-curdling screeches. His claws were fully extended, swiping wildly at the air. But he was just too small. He was no match for two grown men. He lay there like a furry, furious fish on a cutting board, utterly defeated. His amber pupils had contracted into thin, vertical slits, and his gaze was locked on me. I cleared my throat, pretending not to notice, and studied a chart on the wall. Whether Milo was Leo or not, getting him neutered was the responsible thing to do for any male cat. Dr. Evans seemed unfazed by the drama. He expertly began his examination. “He’s got quite the temper, this one. But don’t you worry, a male neuter is a very simple procedure. It’ll be over before you know it.” After the check-up, he picked up a clipboard. “Okay, Ms. Thompson, if you could just sign the surgical consent form, we’ll run a few pre-op tests and then we can take him in.” I took the pen he offered. As I did, my eyes met the cat’s pleading gaze from the table. Instead of feeling pity, a wicked little flame ignited inside me. Probably my inner troll taking over, but I leaned in close to the cat, who now looked more like a terrified little seal, and spoke in a low, deliberate voice, making sure every syllable landed perfectly in his furry little ears. “You know, Dr. Evans, when you do the surgery… could you make sure to get them… all of it? I just really, really don’t want him spraying. Ever.” The spectral comments went into a full-blown meltdown.

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It was our tenth anniversary, so I booked an appointment at my salon. A full works kind of appointment. While settling the bill, I noticed an extra charge on my account history: a perm and color treatment. Judging by the price, it was for someone with hair down to their waist. I’ve had a pixie cut for the better part of a decade. I called my husband, Ethan. “Did you use my card at the salon recently?” There was a distinct pause on the other end of the line before he chuckled, a sound that was just a little too smooth. “Oh, right. I let my partner, Leo, borrow it a few days ago for his girlfriend.” Leo, his business partner, was dating some art student with a cascade of natural curls. She was famously obsessive about them, swearing she’d never let a single chemical touch her hair. More importantly, the salon chain was owned by Leo’s older sister. Why on earth would she need to use my account? I didn’t press him. I just ended the call. Then I pulled up the location history for the charge and started driving. In a sun-drenched coffee shop downtown, a young woman with long hair was nestled against his chest. Her freshly permed waves were soft and romantic, framing a face flushed with adoration. Ethan always used to complain that my short hair wasn’t feminine enough, that it lacked a certain softness. Looking at this girl, I could see he’d finally found exactly what he was looking for. 1 I waited until she got up to go to the restroom, then followed her in. As I leaned over the sink next to hers, the sharp, chemical scent of fresh hair dye hit me. It was her, alright. Her eyes met mine in the mirror. I saw the flicker of panic in them, the way her hands moved just a little faster under the running water. As she turned to leave, I stopped her, a polite smile fixed on my face. “Excuse me, do you work here?” Her body went rigid. Her fingers curled into a tight fist at her side, and her voice trembled almost imperceptibly. “Yes… I just work here part-time between classes.” A cold laugh echoed in my mind. She could barely handle a simple question from a stranger. I wondered where she found the courage to be a mistress. My gaze drifted over her, landing on her hair. My tone was casual, almost bored. “Don’t be nervous. I was just admiring your hair. You just had it done, right? I’d love a recommendation.” The color drained from her face. She ducked her head, her voice a mumble. “My boyfriend likes it curly. He took me. I wasn’t really paying attention to the name of the salon.” She hesitated, then risked a quick glance at me. “A perm like this wouldn’t really work on your short hair, anyway. It might… age you.” Impressive. Playing the victim while simultaneously taking a jab at me, highlighting her own youth and beauty. Even now, she couldn’t resist a little provocation. Unfortunately for her, it had zero effect. I reached out, letting a single curl wrap around my finger. “How long did it take you to grow it this long?” She flinched back as if I’d burned her. “A little over three years.” The number was a punch to the gut. Three years ago. That was a turning point in my career. My artisanal coffee brand, Solstice Roasters, had just become the number one seller in the region. I was constantly flying back and forth to our growers in South America. I was either on a plane, or heading to one. But whenever I was in the same city, Ethan would meticulously plan the most elaborate dates. I’d felt a mix of profound love and nagging guilt. I remember asking him if he resented me for pouring so much of myself into the business, for neglecting our life together. He’d just smiled. “You go out there and conquer the world,” he’d said. “I’ll be right here, holding down the fort.” I knew juggling a career and a family wasn’t as easy as he made it sound. That guilt was a stone I carried in my pocket for years. Only now did I realize what a joke my self-reproach had been. He hadn’t been neglecting himself at all. I shut down the thought, pinching the bridge of my nose to mask the emotion in my eyes. That’s when my gaze fell on the necklace she was wearing. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “That’s a beautiful necklace,” I said, my voice laced with mock admiration. “It looks like an Antoine Dubois piece. That must have cost a fortune.” The necklace. It was so damn familiar. It was the gift my mother had given me for my twenty-first birthday—a custom piece by the independent jewelry designer Antoine Dubois. It was also to celebrate my winning the National Barista Championship that year. I’d lost it during a move, and I had been heartbroken for months. Ethan had comforted me, saying my style had changed anyway. It was just a thing. How funny. Now I saw it for what it was: a carefully orchestrated theft, followed by the most hypocritical performance of sympathy. Hearing my words, the girl—Chloe, I remembered her name was Chloe—instinctively touched the pendant at her throat. Her eyes darted around nervously, her lips trembling, but she couldn’t form a single word. Just then, someone from the cafe called her name. Relief washed over her face. She mumbled a goodbye and practically fled. Watching her hurried escape, a smirk played on my lips. I dried my hands with deliberate slowness, turned, and walked out of the restroom. Pulling out my phone, I dialed my brother’s number. He’s the CEO of Summit Enterprises, and, as it happens, Ethan’s most important business partner. My voice was perfectly calm, betraying nothing. “Liam? Cancel the partnership with Ethan. I’m filing for divorce.” I paused. “That’s right. He’s been keeping a college student.” 2 The legal team at Summit moved fast. By that evening, a secure hard drive was delivered to my apartment. I plugged it into my laptop, and the truth that Ethan had so carefully concealed began to unfold, frame by painful frame. October 10th. Our anniversary last year. I was in Paris on business. We had a plan to meet for a romantic dinner cruise on the Seine, but he canceled at the last minute, claiming a work emergency. I spent the night walking along the river alone, catching a chill that turned into a fever for three days. It turned out he was with Chloe, attending a “Lover’s Retreat” workshop hosted by some luxury brand. November 4th. A small fire broke out at one of my new cafe locations. I was treated for minor injuries, but the shock caused a miscarriage. I was devastated. In the hospital, I cried until I had no tears left, calling his phone over and over, but he never picked up. He was with Chloe at a spa. November 6th. I was at home, recovering, sunk in a deep depression after losing the baby. He brought me a rare, collector’s edition vinyl of the Casablanca soundtrack, telling me he’d called in a dozen favors to find it. We had a candlelit dinner, listening to “As Time Goes By.” Now I know it was just a freebie he and Chloe won in a raffle at some event. That entire “thoughtfully prepared” evening, from the menu to the music, was an exact replica of a date they’d had the day before. The very next morning, he claimed he had an urgent business trip and took Chloe on a weekend cruise. The photos showed them laughing and toasting with a crowd of people, many of whom I recognized as our “mutual friends.” Some had even sat at the head table at our wedding. What a perfect, silent conspiracy. I scrolled through the files, a cold dread settling in the pit of my stomach. Just as I was about to close the laptop, a document titled “Pharma-Analysis Report” caught my eye. An icy chill seized my breath. My hand trembled as I clicked it open. It was a chemical breakdown of a potent, prescription-only birth control pill. The accompanying photo was of my daily vitamin bottle. At the bottom of the report, a clinical note was highlighted: This medication is known to have a significant impact on early-term pregnancies, often inducing spontaneous miscarriage. Further down was a screenshot from Chloe’s private social media. She had posted a picture of the same bottle. The caption read: He said he only wants a baby with me. A friend had commented: “Getting ready to start a family? ” Chloe had replied with a blushing emoji. A roaring sound filled my ears. My miscarriage wasn’t an accident.

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After seven years together, he finally proposed. I was ecstatic, already planning the white dress I’d wear to City Hall, when I suddenly heard my six-year-old son’s thoughts: What is this stupid woman so happy about? Dad’s only doing this to make his real love jealous. And she actually fell for it. Outside, a helicopter was creating a storm of petals for another woman. All I could see was his face—cold and merciless—the day he refused to send that same helicopter to save my dying mother. My marriage was a lie. My own son saw me as the enemy. This time, I decided to disappear from his life. Completely. 1 In the seventh year of living with Landon Hayes, he finally agreed to marry me. My heart soared. I was already planning to buy a simple white dress for the day we’d go to City Hall. Then, I heard my son’s voice in my head. A voice no one else could hear. What is this stupid woman so happy about? Dad only said that to piss off Angel Chloe. She actually believes him! To make it up to Angel Chloe, Dad’s having a helicopter create a petal storm for her. Tonight, they’re having a romantic candlelit dinner. Hehe. I’m going to have a new mom and a little brother soon. The moment the thought ended, a soft rain of petals began to drift down from the sky. I looked up, my eyes tracing the path of the helicopter circling tirelessly overhead. A sharp, tearing pain ripped through my chest. I remembered the day my mother collapsed. I had been on my knees, my forehead bloody against the floor, begging Landon to send that same helicopter to fly my mom to New York for emergency surgery. He had refused without a second thought. Wiping a tear from the corner of my eye, I sent a text to his mother, Eleanor. You once told me that when Leo turned six, you wouldn’t stop me if I wanted to leave. Do you still mean that? “Did you go crying to my mother?” It was ten o’clock at night. Landon, who had said he wouldn’t be home, stood in the doorway, his face a mask of displeasure. His eyes landed on the bouquet of wildflowers on the table, and his irritation hardened into anger. “I told you I never want to see these things in this house again!” They were Queen Anne’s Lace, the kind that grew wild all over my hometown. A birthday gift from my old friend, Mike. Landon snatched the bouquet and slammed it into the trash can before turning on me, his body closing the space between us. His fingers wrapped around my throat. Just as the world began to blur at the edges from lack of air, his mouth crashed down on mine. The cloying scent of an unfamiliar woman’s perfume enveloped me, and I instinctively recoiled. He countered by clamping a hand on the back of my head, his kiss growing more savage. A hot hand forced my legs apart. “Don’t,” I gasped. “Maria is here.” My panicked resistance only fueled his aggression. The sound of fabric tearing echoed in the silent room as he ripped my skirt to the top of my thigh. When the coppery taste of blood filled my mouth, he shoved me, sending me sprawling onto the sofa. “What’s with the act?” he sneered. “Where’s the little slut who drugged my drink and crawled into my bed all those years ago?” His words were knives, carving out my heart. I clutched the torn pieces of my skirt, scrambling up and fleeing to my room. I heard his cold voice questioning the housekeeper in the hall. “Who bought the cake?” “It’s Ms. Aria’s birthday today,” Maria answered softly. “She made it herself.” A bitter, self-mocking smile touched my lips. Last year, to convince me to donate a lung to his mother—a risky procedure for me, given my bleeding disorder—Landon had casually promised he would celebrate my birthday with me every year from then on. How could I have been foolish enough to believe him? After a long silence, Landon’s tone softened slightly. “From now on, call her Mrs. Hayes.” I steadied my breathing, picked up a book, and walked to our son Leo’s room. And then, that little voice again. Ugh, so annoying. She always makes me read these stupid, boring stories before bed. Not like Angel Chloe. She lets me play games on her iPad. I froze. Leo has dyslexia. His doctor recommended we read together for thirty minutes every night. I hadn’t missed a single day since he was two. I looked at the innocent-looking face on the pillow and lowered my gaze. “Not tonight, Leo. Let’s just go to sleep.” “Awesome!” The joy in his voice was palpable. He quickly switched off his lamp and dove under the covers as if afraid I’d change my mind. When I returned to the living room, Landon was gone. Maria told me he’d gone out to buy me a birthday present. “He asked me for your ring size, ma’am,” she said, giving me a conspiratorial smile. I thought of Landon’s promise to get married in four days, and my mind became a tangled mess. My phone buzzed. It was a text from Landon. Don’t sleep. Wait for me. 2 I woke up on the sofa again. It was after three in the morning. Landon still wasn’t back. I opened my phone and saw a new post from Chloe—the woman Leo called “Angel Chloe.” Her caption read: Nights aren’t for sleeping. They’re for making memories. The photo was of the Hayes’ lavender estate in the Hamptons, a place I had always dreamed of visiting, a place Landon had never once taken me. A sour knot formed in my stomach. I stood up and threw the half-melted birthday cake into the trash. The next morning, I drove Leo to the gates of his private school. That familiar inner voice piped up. All the other moms are so pretty and stylish. You’re the only one who’s embarrassing and frumpy. I always have to tell my friends you’re our nanny. No wonder Dad never takes you anywhere. My heart seized. I used to wear makeup. I used to care about how I looked. But Leo has severe rhinitis, and the scent of any cosmetic triggers an allergy attack. I hadn’t touched a single product since he was born. I stopped the car short of the drop-off line. My voice was brittle. “You can walk from here.” His eyes widened in surprise. “Bye, Mom!” he chirped, then vanished from sight before I could blink. At the Hayes’ family mansion, Eleanor’s brow was furrowed with the same worry it had held years ago. I was twenty-two, a graduate student, and she had instructed my mother to have me bring a gift of farm-fresh eggs to thank them for their generous scholarship. Back then, she and her husband were furious with Landon for constantly getting into trouble to defend Chloe. But that day, the moment Eleanor saw me, the storm clouds on her face had cleared. Later, after I drank a glass of milk she handed me, I remember Landon’s eyes glazing over before he pushed me down onto a bed. “I know my son’s nature,” Eleanor’s voice pulled me back to the present. “Just give him a little more time.” A grim smile played on my lips. Seven years we had lived together, and not once had Landon ever publicly acknowledged me as his partner. When I was pregnant, he let Chloe send me a barrage of bloody, threatening videos, which caused so much stress that I hemorrhaged during labor and nearly died. Back then, I couldn’t leave. I needed the Hayes’ money for my mother’s medical bills. After my mom passed away last year, Landon started being kinder. He’d occasionally answer my texts. He’d bring home gifts for me and Leo. I started to think that maybe this was enough—a home, a child. That maybe I could live like this forever. But now, I had changed my mind. Seeing my resolve, Eleanor pressed on. “And what about Leo? Can you really bear to leave him?” My expression darkened at the thought of the one thing that had kept me chained to this family for so long. He would probably rather have Chloe as his mother. “Fine,” she finally sighed. “The Hayes family owes you. I’ll make the arrangements for your departure.” The woman who had ruined half my life to pry her son away from Chloe was finally letting me go. Before I left, she handed me a plane ticket to France. It was for three days from now—the very day Landon had said we would get married. 3 “Get to the hospital. Leo’s in the ER.” The moment Landon’s call came through, I told the driver to turn the car around. I had barely stepped into the hospital corridor when he slammed me violently against the wall. “Just because I forgot your birthday, you feed our son a mango cake?” My eyes shot wide with shock. Leo is deathly allergic to mangoes. As his mother, it was a mistake I could never, ever make. My gaze flickered past Landon’s shoulder and landed on Chloe, who was watching with a triumphant smirk. It all became sickeningly clear. “Daddy…” Leo, now awake, buried his face in Landon’s chest. “Who gave you the mango cake?” Landon asked gently. Leo’s eyes darted around nervously before finally settling on Chloe. “It was Mommy,” he whispered. I stared in disbelief, unable to process what he was saying. And then, his other voice, the one only I could hear. This mom is the worst. I can’t eat this, I can’t do that. Angel Chloe promised that if she becomes my mom, I can have soda every day and I won’t have to practice piano anymore. Leo’s eyes welled up with real tears. “Mommy said… she said you only come home when I’m sick, Daddy.” “He’s lying!” I surged forward. “Chloe taught you to say that!” Landon shoved me back. My head cracked against the wall. “Get out,” he snarled, his eyes filled with a disgust so sharp it flayed me alive. “How can you be so venomous? To use your own son like this?” They didn’t need me at the hospital, so I went home to pack. In the middle of it, Landon called and demanded I bring a change of clothes for Leo to the hospital. When I walked into the room, Chloe blocked my way. She snatched the bag from my hands and dumped everything—the clothes, the toys, even the contents of my own purse—onto the floor, grinding them under her heel. “So, Landon agreed to marry you?” She tilted her chin up, a sneer on her face. “He only said that to make me angry. Did you really think he would marry a backwoods nobody like you?” My fingernails dug into my palms. I met her gaze. “If it was a lie, why do you care so much?” Her face flushed with rage, and she slapped me, hard. My cheek stung, burning hot. I raised my hand to strike back, but she didn’t flinch. “Landon,” she cried out. I turned to see him standing in the doorway. Chloe threw herself into his arms, her tears flowing like a spring shower. “I was just trying to tell her to be a little kinder to Leo…” Landon’s eyes were chips of ice. “Apologize.” I bit my lip. “She hit me first.” His gaze darkened. He turned to our son. “Leo. Tell Daddy, is what your mother saying true?” Leo nodded. Landon rubbed his temples, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. “Chloe, why don’t you go home and get some rest.” She clutched his arm, unwilling to concede. “Landon…” Leo glanced at me. “Daddy,” he said, his voice small. “Actually… Angel Chloe didn’t hit her. Mommy told me to say that.” 4 Landon’s expression froze. He stared at Leo, trying to decipher the truth in his son’s face. Leo shrank back under his father’s intense gaze but held his ground. “You taught me not to lie, Daddy.” A brutal hand squeezed my heart, the pain acidic and unbearable. I couldn’t believe the child I had raised for six years would stab me in the back for her, again. “You teach our son to lie? You’re irredeemable.” Landon’s leg shot out, kicking me squarely in the back of my knee. I collapsed, a shattering pain radiating from my kneecap. “I didn’t.” Tears burned in my eyes. “Landon, don’t you ever believe me?” His face was cold, a mocking sneer twisting his lips. “Believe you? You’re the one who drugged me to get into my bed. Is there anything you’re not capable of?” Something inside me crumbled into dust. “Apologize,” Landon commanded again. Seeing my numb expression, he yanked the silver locket from around his neck and held it out the open window. “No.” It was the only thing I had left of my mother. I’d given it to him years ago for protection when his company was going through a crisis. I took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’m sorry.” The two words cost me every last ounce of strength I had. “I don’t think she heard you,” Chloe whined, pressing her advantage. “That’s enough,” Landon said, his voice softening as he turned to her. “You said you were craving that steakhouse on the waterfront, right? If we don’t leave now, they’ll close.” Though reluctant, Chloe looped her arm through his, and they left. I walked home in the pouring rain and by nightfall, I was burning with fever. I only woke when Landon shook me. “Maria has the day off. You’re cooking.” Chloe was with him. “Chloe likes her food lightly seasoned,” Landon instructed, his voice casual. “And no chicken or fish. She doesn’t like them.” “I’m sick,” I rasped. “Make it yourself.” “You look fine to me,” he said, his voice laced with annoyance, and dragged me into the kitchen. The cooking fumes made me feel like I was going to cough up my own lungs, drowned out by the sounds of laughter from the dining room. “Mommy, I want some juice,” Leo called out. “There isn’t any.” “Why?” “Just because.” Seeing my stern face, Leo’s lip quivered, but he said nothing more. Suddenly, Chloe spat out a mouthful of steak. “Are you trying to poison me with salt?” In an instant, Landon swept the entire contents of the table onto the floor. “I ask you to do one simple thing—make one meal—and this is the attitude you give me?” he roared. “Look at yourself. Do you see a single thing about you that resembles a Mrs. Hayes?” I froze. I remembered Chloe slipping into the kitchen earlier. I knew this was her doing, but I was too tired to even bother defending myself. My silence only enraged him further. “We’ll talk about getting married when you’ve learned to reflect on your behavior.” A faint smile touched my lips. A wave of profound relief washed over me. Thank God we weren’t married. He locked me in the wine cellar. The cold, damp air seeped into my bones. Not long after, the door opened, and a bucket of ice water was thrown over my head. Chloe’s shrill laughter echoed in the small space. “Just helping you cool off, Aria.” My teeth chattered uncontrollably, but my body felt hotter and hotter. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. The first person I saw was Chloe. “I was here for a check-up and ran into Maria. She told me you’d been admitted.” She gently stroked her flat stomach. The flower-shaped diamond on her hand was blinding. “It’s from Landon. Though, I think it’s a little small for an engagement ring, don’t you think?” She held up her hand theatrically. “Speaking of which, I don’t think I ever properly thanked you for saving my life.” Seeing my confusion, she covered her mouth in mock surprise. “Oh. You don’t know?”

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My sister and I spent our lives fighting over the family fortune. She hit me with her car, putting me in the hospital. I snuck into her room in the middle of the night and pulled the oxygen tube from her nose. The year our hatred for each other finally peaked, the family went bankrupt. We were forced into a truce, each of us left to fend for ourselves. Ten years later, my sister, Ava, was a titan of the business world. The first thing she did when she returned to the States was smash the art studio that was my entire life. She ripped the family portrait I’d painted to shreds with her own two hands and screamed for me to come out and fight her. “Leo! We’re not done yet! Don’t be a goddamn coward.” “You love these paintings so much, don’t you?” “If you don’t show your face, I’ll burn every last one of them to the ground!” I threw a punch at her, but my hand passed right through her body. It took me a long moment to remember. I’d been dead for three years. These paintings were my last gift to my sister—to the world. 1. Ava Ashford’s return was an event. The media swarmed the airport, a frenzy of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Business leaders from every sector vied for a meeting. But she turned down every invitation, every partnership offer, and instead sped directly from her private jet to my studio. Studio was a generous term. It was the top floor of a crumbling pre-war building, five flights up and no elevator. Ava was heaving for breath by the time she reached the top, muttering a stream of curses under her breath. “Leo, you son of a bitch. Hiding in a shithole like this just to avoid me.” “You just wait. When I find you, I’ll break your other leg!” I floated a glob of spit at her, wishing I could claw at her perfectly made-up face. She was complaining after one trip up the stairs. For years, I had dragged my shattered leg up and down those same stairs, over and over again. A sudden, violent crash snapped me out of my thoughts. Ava had kicked the door to my studio clean off its hinges. She stood silhouetted in the doorway, a cloud of dust billowing around her. She wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Does a person actually live here?” “Leo, you used to complain if a mattress cost less than ten thousand dollars. What happened to you?” She plopped down on my painting stool, her breathing still ragged. Our last battle had cost me my leg. But Ava hadn’t walked away unscathed. The oxygen deprivation had left her with permanent brain damage, subtle but there. Her heart and lungs were severely weakened. She’d spent a fortune on a dedicated medical team just to keep her alive a few extra years. “Useless,” I muttered, rolling my ghostly eyes. I watched, cold and detached, as Ava directed her men to tear my studio apart. But they were as useless as she was. They found the stash of morphine bottles under my bed, but not a single trace of me. Ava scanned the room, her eyes landing on an empty prescription box. She kicked it across the floor. A bitter smile twisted her lips. “No wonder your life turned into this garbage fire. Got yourself hooked on the hard stuff, didn’t you?” “And you wanted to fight me for the inheritance? Leo, if the Ashford fortune had ended up in your hands, I wouldn’t have been able to rest in my grave.” At that, Ava’s expression flickered, a shadow passing over her eyes. She seemed to be remembering something distant. Remembering the moment our war began. When she looked up again, her face was pure ice. Her gaze swept the room, finally settling on the large painting in the center: the family portrait. The sight of my face, so familiar, finally shattered her composure. She stormed forward and ripped the canvas from its easel. With two violent tears, she shredded it. “You think you deserve to be in a family portrait?” she spat. “I told you, there’s no place for you in the Ashford family. I don’t have a brother like you!” “I have one brother, and one brother only. His name is Noah!” That name, one I hadn’t heard in so long, made my spectral form flicker. Still not satisfied, Ava screamed for me to come out and face her. The dusty studio remained silent. She pulled a Zippo from her pocket, flicking it open. The flame danced dangerously. “Leo, you spineless bastard. What’s the point in hiding?” “I swear to God, I won’t stop until you’re dead! If you don’t come out right now, I’m going to burn every single one of these pathetic paintings!” As the words left her mouth, a small, hidden compartment behind the destroyed portrait clicked open. A single videotape clattered to the floor. And from a digital voice recorder on a nearby shelf, my voice echoed through the room. “Ava, if you dare touch my paintings, I’ll haunt you from the grave.” 2 For a moment, Ava froze. Then, with a snarl, she stomped on the voice recorder, crushing it under her heel. “You think a cheap trick like that is going to scare me? Leo, you haven’t changed at all!” But when her eyes fell on the videotape, she hesitated. After a long three seconds, she drew her foot back. “Let’s just see what other pathetic games you have planned.” The screen flickered to life, revealing my pale, gaunt face. The moment she saw me, Ava’s expression soured with disgust. In the video, I gave a wide, unnerving smile. “Ava. It’s been a while. You’re still alive? What a shame.” “But don’t get too comfortable. I have a little gift for you.” “Watch it. Then you can die.” The camera’s view shifted, panning around a small, cramped bedroom. I was bent over, carefully organizing a stack of canvases. The sleeves of my oversized robe fell back, revealing arms that were nothing but skin, bone, and a constellation of needle marks. I held up the topmost painting to the camera. It was the family portrait. A version of it. In the painting, there were four of us. A younger me was holding Ava’s hand, my smile shy but blissfully happy. The date painted in the corner was July 8th, 2013. The day before I came home to the Ashfords. The police had just busted a major trafficking ring. My “adoptive parents”—the couple who beat me for breathing too loud—were taken away in cuffs. They told me the man and woman who had raised me weren’t my parents at all. They were my kidnappers. They were the monsters who had ruined my life. A kind social worker stroked my hair, her touch so gentle it felt alien. She pressed a few photographs into my hand. “Don’t be scared, Leo. We found your real family. As soon as the paperwork is done, they’re coming to take you home.” That night, I was too excited to sleep. I stared at the three faces in the photos and painted the family I imagined. A beautiful, gentle mother. A tall, strong father. And a big sister who would protect me and play with me. When I finally walked into that house, I saw they had a family portrait of their own hanging over the fireplace. It was almost exactly like the one I had painted. Except I wasn’t in it. My father, Mr. Ashford, explained awkwardly, “After you were taken… your mother was never the same. She was so heartbroken.” “We… we adopted a boy from the local orphanage. He was about your age. It was the only thing that helped.” My mother pulled me into her arms, her tears soaking my shirt. “It’s okay, Leo, my baby. You and Noah are both my sons now. God has given me back what I lost.” “We’re a family again. We’ll never be separated again!” They hired therapists to help me adjust. They scheduled appointments at the best cosmetic clinics to treat my scars. Noah, my new brother, was the first to notice the whip marks on my back and my missing tooth. When he found out my kidnappers had done it, he broke down and sobbed, clutching my hand and repeating over and over, “I’m so sorry, Leo. I’m so sorry.” There was no dramatic rivalry, no fighting for affection. My new family did everything they could to treat us equally. Anything Noah had, I had too. Anything I wanted that Noah didn’t have, they gave me without a second thought. I could always feel it, though—a faint, invisible barrier between us. But after a lifetime of starvation and pain, having a full stomach and people who loved me was more than enough. I was content. Watching the video, Ava’s hands clenched into tight fists. “Leo, I knew you were a manipulative bastard.” “Mom, Dad, and Noah… they were so good to you. And you…” “After all these years, you’re still using that stupid painting to torment me.” “You’re shameless, Leo. You deserve to rot in hell!” Ava shot to her feet, raising her hand to smash the VCR. But just before her fist came down, she stopped dead, her eyes wide with shock.

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A customer ordered a mango smoothie and asked me to hold the ice. I told her I couldn’t. She filed a complaint. My manager called me useless, fired me on the spot, and withheld my entire month’s paycheck. The next day, I walked straight up to the counter and looked my former manager in the eye. “One mango smoothie.” “Hold the ice.” 1 “I’m sorry, what did you say, ma’am?” I held the blender pitcher in my hand, convinced I was hearing things. The woman in front of me, dressed in a chic pantsuit that probably cost more than my entire summer’s earnings, gave me an impatient eye-roll. “Are you deaf? I said, hold. The. Ice. Got it?” I took a patient breath. “Ma’am, a smoothie is made by blending fruit with ice. Without the ice, it’s not really a…” “I’m on my period. I can’t have anything cold,” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Just do what I’m telling you! You’re a minimum-wage worker, you don’t get paid to argue.” Her voice climbed an octave, ringing with an astonishing level of entitlement. Trying to find a solution, I grabbed a mesh strainer. “If I strain the ice out, it’s just going to be a cup of sugary syrup. Are you sure that’s what you want?” “Syrup? Are you kidding me?” she shrieked. “Who drinks syrup? I want a smoothie! A smoothie! Don’t change the texture! Understand?” A wave of despair washed over me. She wanted the texture of a smoothie without the one ingredient that creates the texture. This was a mission impossible. I was just a college kid on a summer job. What cosmic joke was this? I shot a desperate look at my coworkers. They were a blur of motion, slinging drinks and rattling shakers, completely oblivious to my predicament. “Maya! What’s taking so long? It’s a smoothie, not rocket science!” Brenda, the store manager, barked my name from across the room. Sweat beaded on my forehead. I just needed to get this woman out of the store. “Ma’am, I really can’t meet your request. How about I refund your money, and you can have this one on the house?” I pushed the perfectly normal, ice-filled smoothie I’d made toward her. The words had barely left my mouth when a flash of icy cold exploded across my face. She had thrown the entire drink at me. “On the house? This cup of garbage?” she sneered, her face twisted in contempt. “Who the hell do you think you are? Am I some kind of beggar?” The store fell silent. Every customer, every delivery driver, turned to stare. Standing there, dripping with mango pulp and sticky ice, a hot, bitter shame pricked at my eyes. I’d never been so humiliated in my life. The service industry… it was brutal. I blinked hard, forcing the tears back, and silently wiped the slush from my cheeks. I processed the refund with trembling fingers. “Your order has been canceled and your money returned. Have a nice day.” The woman exploded. “I never said I wanted to cancel! Who told you to do that?” I ignored her and turned to the next order. That’s when she completely lost it, her voice a hysterical screech. “Oh, so now you’re giving me the silent treatment? Is this your attitude? Do you have any idea who I am? I’ll have your job for this!” A man in the line behind her finally spoke up. “Lady, give it a rest! Can’t you see they’re slammed?” “Yeah, if you’re not gonna buy anything, get lost! You’re holding everyone up!” someone else chimed in. “Is order 987 ready yet? I’m going to be late!” Amid the chorus of complaints, the woman’s face turned a shade of mottled purple. She shot me one last venomous glare before shoving the door open and storming out. I shouldn’t have been surprised when, later that day, I was officially notified of a customer complaint filed against my name. 2 Brenda stormed over to me, holding her phone out like a weapon. Her face was as dark as the bottom of a burnt coffee pot. “Maya! Look what you’ve done! A customer complained about your terrible attitude and said you canceled her order without permission!” “Brenda, you were right there,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “She was being completely unreasonable, demanding a smoothie with no ice. I only refunded her because…” “You refunded her?” Brenda slammed her hand on the counter, and I flinched. “Did the customer agree to a refund? You took matters into your own hands without her consent, and you think you’re in the right?” Her finger was practically in my nose. “The customer is God, do you understand? If God wants a smoothie with no ice, you figure out a way to make it happen!” A bubble of incredulous laughter escaped my lips. “Even God has to obey the laws of physics, Brenda. A smoothie without ice is impossible. Not even a miracle worker could do it.” “Oh, you want to talk to me about physics?” Brenda sneered, her voice dripping with a familiar, acidic sarcasm. “Right. You’re the genius from Northwood University. You’re the one with the fancy education. You understand physics.” She leaned in closer. “We’re just the uneducated idiots here, right? The blue-collar morons. Is that what you think of us, Maya?” And just like that, it all clicked into place. I finally understood why, from my very first day, Brenda had targeted me. Why I always got the worst shifts, the grimiest jobs, why she encouraged the others to give me the cold shoulder. It was because of something the district supervisor had said during his last visit. “Maya’s one of our star hires! A real brain from Northwood. She’s got a different perspective than the rest of us lifers.” Brenda had been holding onto that resentment ever since. I swallowed my anger and tried again. “Brenda, that’s not what I meant. But the customer’s request was literally impossible. I couldn’t do it.” “You couldn’t do it?” She rolled her eyes, her voice rising to a shout for the whole store to hear. “Wow! So that big, expensive university just teaches you how to be useless, huh?” “If you can’t do the job, then get out! Stop wasting my oxygen!” A surge of fury shot through me. I pointed at the blender. “You’re so capable, Brenda. Why don’t you show me how to make a smoothie with no ice?” Her face flushed a deep, blotchy red. For a second, she was speechless. “You… Maya! What is that tone?” she finally sputtered. “Are you talking back to your manager? You think you’ve earned the right to challenge me?” “You get a single complaint, and suddenly you’re this arrogant? This little store is clearly too small to contain your massive ego!” “I’m making an executive decision. You’re fired! Get your things and get out. Now!” 3 “On what grounds? I did nothing wrong! That customer was harassing me!” “Harassing you?” Brenda let out a short, ugly laugh. “Whether a customer is right or wrong is for me to decide, not you! Now get out!” “Fine! I’ll go!” I ripped my name tag off and threw it on the floor. “Just give me my final paycheck, and I’m gone.” “Your paycheck?” Brenda looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “You got a formal complaint filed against you and single-handedly generated a dozen one-star reviews online! Do you have any idea how much damage that does to this franchise?” “You should be on your knees thanking me for not suing you for damages! And you want a paycheck? In your dreams.” “You can’t just withhold my wages.” “That pathetic check of yours doesn’t even begin to cover the cost of your screw-up!” she spat. “Consider the fact that you’re a student, and I’ll be merciful and waive the rest of what you owe me. Now pack your crap and get the hell out of my store!” I was shaking with rage. Brenda had me on the schedule for a full shift every single day for a month. I came in an hour early to prep and stayed an hour late to clean, never taking a single day off. Over ten hours a day, every day. All for her to tell me it was for nothing? I clenched my fists. “Withholding wages is illegal!” “So what? Go ahead and sue me!” Brenda laughed coldly. “You think you know everything, you little brat? I was running scams in this city when you were still drinking from a bottle.” Her eyes narrowed. “You read a few books and think you’re hot stuff. Let me tell you something, sweetheart. Today, I’d sooner feed that money to a dog than give it to a useless waste of space like you.” She shoved me toward the entrance and slammed the door behind me. I stared at my reflection in the dark glass, a fire of humiliation and rage burning in my chest. My paycheck. That was my money, earned with every drop of my sweat. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot. 4 I went straight to the office of the brand’s regional supervisor, Mr. Peterson. It didn’t take long for Brenda to get wind of it. She burst through the door, immediately launching into her performance. “Mr. Peterson, you have no idea. Maya is completely incompetent!” she cried, playing the part of the long-suffering manager. “Her drinks are a mess, and she argues with customers! She got one so angry they filed a complaint on the spot!” She pulled out her phone, frantically tapping the screen. “Look at this! The internet is flooded with one-star reviews from that one incident! I only fired her to protect the store, to protect the brand’s reputation!” Mr. Peterson held up a hand. “Okay, Brenda, I hear you. But what’s this about withholding her wages?” he asked, his tone weary. “Even if she was terminated, you have to pay her for the hours she worked. That’s basic labor law.” “Oh, I didn’t withhold them! She forfeited them voluntarily.” I thought my lungs would explode. “You’re lying, Brenda!” “When did I voluntarily forfeit anything? Forfeit what? That was my paycheck! Why would I ever agree to give that up?” Brenda suddenly let out a small, condescending chuckle that grew into a full-blown laugh. “What’s so funny?” I demanded. “I’m laughing at you, Maya. The thief who cries thief.” She calmly slid a piece of paper across the desk. “This is the part-time employment agreement you signed on your first day. It’s all right there, in black and white.” Her sharp fingernail jabbed at a line of dense, tiny text. “Open your eyes and read it carefully.” I leaned over the desk. The moment I processed the words, all the blood rushed to my head with a roar. Printed in nearly microscopic font was a single sentence: In the event that my professional misconduct results in financial or reputational loss for the store, I voluntarily agree to forfeit the entirety of my monthly salary as compensation. Brenda’s voice was a syrupy, triumphant purr. “It’s right there, Maya. In black and white. That’s your signature, isn’t it? You’re not going to back out of a signed agreement, are you?” My fists were clenched so tight my knuckles were white. I remembered signing it. Brenda had flipped straight to the last page, tapping it impatiently. “Hurry up and sign! We’re getting slammed, I need you on the floor.” “What about the first few pages?” I had asked. “What’s there to see? It’s all legal boilerplate, you wouldn’t understand it anyway,” she’d said with a dismissive wave. “This is a major franchise, you think we’re going to scam you? Sign it. I’m busy.” I was the new girl. I didn’t dare argue, terrified of being labeled “difficult” or “uncooperative” before my first shift even started. Who could have possibly imagined she’d hidden a clause like that in the middle of the paperwork? 5 Mr. Peterson picked up the paper, his brow furrowing as he read. He let out a long sigh. “Well, Ms.…” he trailed off, forgetting my last name. “Maya… you signed it. Your signature means you agreed to the terms.” He shook his head, his expression a mask of corporate helplessness. “This was a compensatory agreement between the two of you. As a supervisor… there’s really nothing I can do to intervene.” He pushed the agreement back toward me as if it were radioactive. My own sloppy signature stared up at me, a mocking grin. I shot to my feet. “I was never given a chance to read that contract properly!” I said, my voice rising. “I was tricked into signing it! It should be invalid!” Mr. Peterson sighed again. “The agreement was made in duplicate, wasn’t it? You should have your own copy. Why didn’t you notice this clause until now?” He looked at me expectantly. “Bring out your copy, let’s compare.” “I…” I stopped short. It was true, I had signed two copies. Brenda had handed one to me. But somewhere between my shift and getting home that first day, the folded papers in my bag had vanished. I hadn’t thought anything of it at the time. It was just a contract for a two-month summer job. What did it matter if I lost it? Now I knew. It was all part of Brenda’s plan. She stole my copy. My head drooped. “I… I can’t find it. It’s gone.” “Gone?” Brenda let out a sharp, theatrical gasp. “Or maybe you’re just too scared to show it because you know you’re lying.” She blinked, her face a picture of false sincerity. “Maya, in the professional world, we have something called ‘contractual integrity.’ This is a legally binding document. This isn’t like some game you play at school, you know.” Looking at her smug, fake smile, a chilling realization washed over me. This was a setup. Brenda had been planning this from the very beginning, using the dirtiest trick in the book to steal a month’s worth of my labor. I turned and walked out of Mr. Peterson’s office in a daze. “Look at the pathetic little stray!” Brenda’s voice called after me. She caught up in the hallway, jabbing a finger hard into my chest. “Big shot from Northwood, huh? Still ended up crawling on your knees for me.” “Sue me? Don’t make me laugh. You should take a good long look in the mirror and ask yourself if you’re even worthy.” “You should thank me, Maya. I just gave you an early lesson in how cruel the real world is.” I leaned against the cold wall of the corridor, my entire body trembling. Brenda laughed. “Can’t even handle a little setback like this? What a loser.” Her footsteps faded down the hall. Slowly, I pushed myself upright. I wiped a single, furious tear from the corner of my eye. You think you’ve won, Brenda? You are so naive. You may have fired me, but I have plenty of ways to make you pay. 6 The next day, I pushed open the door to Sip City. “One pineapple smoothie.” Brenda’s head snapped up. I met her shocked gaze, pulling the baseball cap from my head. “Hold,” I said, pausing for effect. “The. Ice.” For a split second, I saw a flicker of genuine fear in her eyes. “Maya… is… is that you?” “Is it customary for employees to address customers by their first name in this establishment?” The color drained from Brenda’s face. It took her a long moment to compose herself, forcing her lips into a brittle, professional smile. “I’m sorry, miss, but we can’t make a smoothie without ice.” “You can’t?” I asked, my voice light and breezy. “But the customer is God. And God’s requests must be unconditionally met.” I took a step closer to the counter, letting my presence loom over her. “Aren’t those your words, Manager Brenda?” “Right now, I am your God.” I adopted her condescending tone from the day before. “And. I. Want. A. Smoothie. With. No. Ice.” With every word, her face grew paler. “The shape and texture must remain unchanged,” I added. “Please, satisfy your ‘God,’ Manager Brenda.” Her face cycled through shades of red and white. “I can’t do it! I won’t sell you a smoothie. Please go somewhere else.” “You can’t do it?” I let out a soft laugh. “You were so high and mighty yesterday when you were calling me useless. But now that it’s your turn to serve God, you’re chickening out?” My eyes swept over the other employees and the curious customers. “Where’s that energy you had when you were tricking me into signing that contract? When you were stealing my paycheck?” I leaned forward. “If you put half that devious energy into your job, I bet you could make me a hot ice cream, let alone a smoothie without ice.” Brenda’s jaw was clenched. “Maya! You’re just here to cause trouble!” “So what if I am?” I shot back. “‘Even if the customer wants the stars from the sky, you have to find a way to get them.’ That’s another one of your lessons, isn’t it, manager?” “I don’t want the stars. I just want a smoothie without ice. For someone of your talents, that should be easy. Right, Manager Brenda?” She looked like she was about to have an aneurysm. “Maya! What the hell do you want from me?” she finally screamed. I smiled. “Simple. Fulfill my request. Or. Apologize. Publicly.” As every eye in the store fixed on her, Brenda’s face went from red to purple to a ghastly pale. A few seconds later, she squeezed a single word through her gritted teeth. “…Fine.” She stiffly removed her apron and walked out from behind the counter. In front of everyone, she bowed deeply to me—the employee she had insulted, cheated, and conspired against. “I’m sorry, I cannot fulfill your request. I apologize.” I reached out and patted her rigid shoulder, my voice dripping with false magnanimity. “See? A true manager. So flexible.” Then, I leaned down to her ear, whispering so only she could hear. “But don’t think for a second, Brenda, that a little bow erases what you did to me.” “I have all the time in the world. And I’m going to enjoy playing with you. Slowly.”

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The rookie mistake was not checking his pockets. Two plane tickets, shredded into pulp by the spin cycle in his suit pants. The moment I could make out the destination—”Maldives”—the Comments flickered into view, superimposed over the laundry room wall. 【There’s no way the side character thinks he’s taking her, right?】 【Fun fact: He needs pills to touch the side character. The main character is his own personal aphrodisiac.】 【Place your bets. How is she going to flip out on him this time?】 That’s when I finally focused on the names. His, yes. And another woman’s. But I didn’t flip out. I just waited for Ethan to come home, and offered him a placid smile. “I ruined the tickets in the wash. You’ll probably need to print out a new set for her.” 1 The washing machine chimed, its cycle complete, just as I was placing the last shirt on a hanger. Ethan’s custom suit trousers were usually empty, but today my fingertips brushed against the stiff corner of something left in the pocket. I pulled them out. Two plane tickets. First class to the Maldives. The departure date was next Wednesday—the same week he’d told me he had a business trip to Singapore. The passenger names were his and another woman’s. The cardstock felt like a branding iron against my skin. My fingers began to tremble. And then, as if summoned by the dread, translucent text began to scroll through the air in front of me, like subtitles in a movie I didn’t want to see. 【This isn’t the first time for her, is she really going to chase him down for answers again?】 【God, this woman is so annoying. Can’t she just learn her place?】 【When is she getting written out of the show?】 【Ethan, just divorce her already. You and Chloe would be so much better together…】 “What are you looking at?” Ethan’s voice came from behind me. I flinched, nearly stepping on the ruined tickets I’d dropped on the floor. He had just showered, his hair still dripping, beads of water tracing a path down his neck and into the loose collar of his bathrobe. His gaze fell to the tickets in my hand. His pupils contracted. A sharp, throbbing pain started in my temples. More Comments floated past. 【Come on, Ethan, think of an excuse!】 【Just say you bought them for a coworker. Easy.】 【Here we go. She’s about to lose it.】 “They were a prize from Chloe’s company raffle,” Ethan said, his voice terrifyingly calm as he reached for the tickets. “Her husband can’t go, so…” I pulled back, dodging his hand. “So she gave them to you? Are you two really that close?” The feed went wild. 【It’s just a plane ticket. What’s the big deal?】 【As a woman, even I don’t get her.】 【Dump her, Ethan! Just dump her!】 Ethan’s expression darkened. “Ava, do you have to do this?” “Do what?” My voice started to shake. “You’re the one who lied about a business trip, when you were really…” “Because I knew you’d overthink it!” he snapped, his volume jumping. He snatched the tickets from my grasp. “Chloe and I are just colleagues. Can you stop being so paranoid?” A chorus of cheers erupted in the Comments. 【That’s the way, Ethan!】 【That’s how you handle a woman like her.】 【Break up with her already…】 My nails dug into my palms, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping me upright. “Ethan, where were you last Friday night?” His face froze for a fraction of a second. “Working late.” “Really?” I pulled out my phone, bringing up a text thread with his colleague. “Should I show you the rest?” The feed exploded. 【Holy shit, the side character is investigating him?】 【That’s terrifying. What a control freak.】 【Run, Ethan, run!】 The color drained from Ethan’s face. He grabbed my wrist, his grip so tight I winced. “You’re spying on me?” “I just want the truth!” I struggled against him. “You always come home smelling like a perfume that isn’t mine, your phone is filled with locked photo albums, and now this—” “Enough!” He shoved me away, the tickets fluttering to the ground. “If you can’t trust me, then maybe we should just break up.” The Comments boiled over. 【He finally said it!】 【Attaboy, Ethan!】 【Get lost, side character!】 I stood frozen, watching his back as he slammed the door behind him. My vision blurred with tears. 2 I curled up on the sofa, the crumpled tickets still clutched in my hand. Outside, a torrential rain began to fall, the drops hammering against the glass like a thousand mocking voices. My head was splitting. My phone buzzed. A text from Ethan. Let’s talk when you’ve calmed down. It was followed by another. Delete the screenshots. Don’t do something you’ll regret. 【He’s still too kind…】 【She doesn’t deserve it.】 【Just block her already.】 The doorbell rang, a shrill, unexpected sound. Through the peephole, I saw Chloe. She was wearing a red dress, the color of fresh blood. “Ava, sweetie~” Her voice was syrupy sweet. “Ethan left his stomach medication at my place. He asked me to drop it by.” I opened the door and she pushed her way inside, the heel of her shoe landing squarely on one of the fallen tickets. “Oh, dear. Did you find these?” she feigned surprise, pulling a small bottle from her purse. “And it’s not just for his stomach, you know. Ethan’s been under so much stress lately. He needs a little something to help him sleep.” I stared at the unlabeled pill bottle, my mind flashing back to a memory of Ethan stirring a white powder into my coffee once. “You two…” My voice was a raw, unfamiliar croak. Chloe leaned in, her lips close to my ear. “Did you know,” she whispered, “that he has to take something… to get it up for you? Otherwise, he can’t perform.” She let out a soft giggle. “It’s different with me, though.” The feed scrolled furiously. 【Chloe is such a queen!】 【The look on the side character’s face is priceless.】 【Get her out of his life!】 I raised my hand to slap her, but she caught my wrist in a vice grip. “Did I hit a nerve?” Chloe tilted her head. “It’s a shame, really. Nothing you do will ever work.” “Ethan will only ever be mine.” 3 … When I opened my eyes, the biting scent of antiseptic flooded my senses. White ceiling tiles, a cold IV drip, and—Ethan, sitting by the hospital bed, holding my hand. He saw I was awake and his brow relaxed slightly, but his voice was still cold. “You’re awake?” I yanked my hand away, pressing myself against the headboard. “Don’t touch me.” My voice was hoarse, my throat burning as if I’d swallowed fire. Ethan’s expression tightened for a moment before smoothing over into a calm mask. “The doctor said you were emotionally unstable. You need to rest.” 【Here she goes with the drama again.】 【Ethan is being more than patient with her.】 【Just get discharged and break up already.】 I stared at him, my gaze unwavering. “Where is Chloe?” His eyes darted away for a second. “She just came by to drop off the medicine. You fainted, and she called the ambulance.” “Is that right?” I gave a cold laugh. “Then why was she wearing my necklace?” Ethan frowned. “What necklace?” I didn’t answer, just looked toward the door of the hospital room. Chloe was standing there, holding a fruit basket, a sweet smile plastered on her face. “Ava, sweetie, you’re awake!” Around her neck, gleaming under the fluorescent lights, was the diamond necklace Ethan had given me for my birthday. The Comments went into a frenzy. 【What’s wrong with Chloe wearing the necklace?】 【The side character is so petty.】 【Ethan, tell her to get lost!】 Ethan turned, his frown deepening. “Chloe, you should go.” Chloe’s lip trembled in a perfect pout, but she nodded obediently. “Okay, Ethan. Remember to eat something.” As she turned to leave, her fingertips brushed against the back of his hand, and she shot me a look of pure triumph. I closed my eyes, my nails digging into my palms again. “Ethan, let’s break up.” He shot to his feet, the chair screeching against the linoleum. “Ava, have you not had enough?” “Enough?” I opened my eyes, my voice chillingly calm. “The tickets to the Maldives, her wearing my necklace, you going to her apartment in the middle of the night—and you think I’m the one making a scene?” The feed scrolled faster and faster. 【Is she ever going to shut up?】 【Just agree to the breakup already!】 【End this, please!】 Ethan took a deep, steadying breath, as if physically restraining himself. “I told you, we’re just friends.” “Are you?” I picked up my phone and pressed play on a recording. “Ethan, sweetie, if Ava finds out about us, do you think she’ll go crazy?” Chloe’s sickly-sweet voice filled the silent room. “She won’t find out,” Ethan’s voice was low and cool. “And even if she does, there’s nothing she can do about it.” The recording stopped. The blood drained from Ethan’s face. The Comments froze for a full second, then erupted. 【HOLY SHIT! The side character recorded them!】 【Ethan is so busted!】 【This is getting good…】 I looked at him, my voice barely a whisper. “Now. Are you still going to tell me she’s just a friend?” His fist clenched and unclenched at his side. Finally, without another word, he turned and left the room. The sound of the door slamming shut made my eardrums ache. A final, gold-lettered message flashed in the air. 【SYSTEM ERROR…】

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