1 I converted my family’s old five-story building into a shared apartment complex. It was prime real estate, right in the heart of downtown, complete with a large courtyard. I knocked out all the non-load-bearing walls and redesigned the space from the ground up, creating a mix of single, double, and quad rooms to cater to different needs. The rent was half the market rate for the area. My only rule? Tenants had to be young professionals, no more than three years out of college. Instead of building on the courtyard, I turned it into a gym and a cafeteria. The gym equipment was brand new. I hired two chefs for the cafeteria, and the prices were the same as a university dining hall. For the first month, all meals were free. I thought I was doing a good thing. I was giving these young people, just starting their careers, a place to breathe, a place to call home. They called me their “guardian angel landlord.” They brought me plaques and wrote glowing reviews online. Seeing their bright, hopeful faces made it all worthwhile. Until Liam showed up. He stood at the entrance of “The Haven,” dragging a silver suitcase behind him. He pushed his gold-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes scanning the name of the building. Then, he smiled. I handled Liam’s check-in myself. His resume was impressive: a law degree from a top university, a string of scholarships. I gave him the grand tour. “The gym is free,” I explained, “and the cafeteria serves three meals a day. Utilities and internet are all included.” I pointed to the menu on the wall. “Two mains and a side for twelve bucks.” He nodded, his eyes lingering for a moment on the kitchen door. As we walked down the hallway, he suddenly stopped and pointed to a fire extinguisher in the corner. “Ms. Chen,” he said, his voice polite but firm, “this fire extinguisher’s inspection tag is out of date.” I was taken aback. “Oh, the maintenance guy must have forgotten to replace it. I’ll get him on it right away.” “Safety is no small matter,” he said. His tone was level, but there was an undercurrent of something that brooked no argument. A flicker of annoyance went through me, but I forced a smile. “You’re right. I’ll have it replaced immediately.” He moved into 301, the best single room in the building, south-facing with a balcony. In the days that followed, a subtle shift began to occur in the building. Liam was always in the common areas, helping the cafeteria staff chop vegetables, playing chess with the security guard, patiently showing a shy new tenant how to use the gym equipment. He quickly became a popular and well-liked figure. Everyone started calling him “Liam.” “Liam knows so much about everything.” “He’s such a great guy, so down-to-earth.” “That’s what you get from a top-tier education.” Hearing their praise, my initial unease faded. Maybe I was just being paranoid. A bright, helpful young man like him was an asset to the community. A week later, I went to the cafeteria after dinner to discuss the next week’s menu with the chefs. A group of tenants was gathered around Liam. He was holding a document, explaining something with a serious expression. As I got closer, I heard his clear, measured voice. “…according to the city’s housing regulations, any rental unit must be a self-contained, original room. Subdividing rooms is not permitted.” A tenant whispered, “But Ms. Chen’s rent is so cheap. The partitioned rooms are fine.” Liam smiled. “It’s cheap because it’s illegal and unsafe. Have you considered what would happen in a fire? These partitions are a major safety hazard. We pay rent, we have the right to a safe and legal living environment. It’s not a gift, it’s a right.” He emphasized the word “right.” Another tenant chimed in. “Liam’s right! That fire extinguisher was expired. I told Ms. Chen about it, and she didn’t even replace it right away!” I distinctly remembered having the guard replace it that same day. I stopped at the entrance of the cafeteria. The evening breeze was cold. I turned and walked away. Back in my office, I sat in silence for a long time. I pulled out all the rental agreements. Attached to each one was a “Safety Disclosure” form, signed by me, which clearly stated: “Some rooms in this building have been modified. The tenant acknowledges this and agrees to rent the unit as is.” Every single tenant had signed it. 2 The next day, the building’s group chat exploded. Liam had posted a three-thousand-word “Proposal for Improving the Living and Safety Standards of The Haven.” It was a masterpiece of legal jargon, citing everything from fire codes to health regulations to contract law, complete with screenshots of the relevant statutes. He concluded with a list of “proposals”: I was to remove all partitions and restore the building to its original layout. I was to register the gym and cafeteria as businesses and obtain the proper licenses and permits. We were to sign new, “legally compliant” rental agreements that explicitly stated the gym and cafeteria were free amenities. The chat was flooded with messages of support. “Yes, Liam! He’s saying what we’ve all been thinking!” “Housing justice! We’re not trying to take advantage, we just want what’s right!” “To be honest, I’ve always been a little worried about the cafeteria’s hygiene.” “Yeah, what if we get food poisoning? Who’s responsible?” I recognized the username of the person complaining about the hygiene. It was Leo, from the second floor. Just yesterday, he’d bought four meals to take to his girlfriend. I put down my phone and rubbed my temples. That afternoon, I called Liam to my office. He was the same as always: gold-rimmed glasses, crisp white shirt, calm and polite. “Ms. Chen, you wanted to see me?” I placed a printed copy of his “proposal” on the desk. “Liam, why didn’t you come to me with this first?” He adjusted his glasses. “Ms. Chen, this isn’t just my opinion. It’s the collective will of the majority of the tenants. A public discussion is more efficient and transparent than a private conversation.” “Transparent?” I picked up the document. “You want me to tear down the partitions. What about the fifty-plus people who live in those rooms? Where are they supposed to go?” “That’s a problem for you, as the landlord, to solve. You can refund their rent and offer compensation, or you can find them alternative housing.” His answer was flawless, and infuriating. “The gym and cafeteria are a bonus, a gift I provide for free. You want me to get business licenses? Do you have any idea what that entails? The taxes, the regulations, the inspections… Do you have any idea how much that will cost?” “Ms. Chen, it’s not a gift,” he interrupted, his voice hardening. “When these facilities are tied to your rental business, they are part of a commercial service. Whether you charge for them or not, they are subject to legal oversight. This is to protect us, the consumers.” Consumers. He used that word. I laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “So, you enjoy the cheap rent, the free gym, the subsidized food, and now, as ‘consumers,’ you want me, the ‘business owner,’ to bear all the legal risks and operational costs?” “The law is the law,” he said, his eyes cold. “Sentiment doesn’t trump legality. You should have anticipated these issues when you renovated the building. All we’re doing is bringing things back into compliance.” I took a deep breath. I pointed to the signed contracts on my desk. “Everyone signed the disclosure. They all knew about the modifications. It’s in writing.” A ghost of a smile touched Liam’s lips. “Ms. Chen, you, of all people, should know about ‘unconscionable contract terms.’ When a contract violates a mandatory provision of the law, or exempts one party from their primary responsibility while increasing the other party’s, that clause is void. Those ‘disclosures’ you had everyone sign? They’re not worth the paper they’re printed on in a court of law.” There was a knock on the door. A young woman who lived on the fourth floor, Sarah, poked her head in, holding a lunchbox. She looked embarrassed when she saw Liam. “Ms. Chen… I was just wondering if there was any of that braised pork left from dinner?” Before I could answer, Liam turned to her with a warm smile. “Sarah, I’m just discussing our proposal with Ms. Chen. Don’t worry, we’ll make sure we get a safer and more hygienic dining environment for everyone.” Sarah’s eyes widened. She nodded enthusiastically. “Go, Liam! We’re all behind you!” She backed out of the room, forgetting all about the braised pork. I looked at Liam, a chill running down my spine. 3 The negotiations failed. I rejected all their “proposals.” I told them the gym and cafeteria were a privilege, one I could revoke at any time. The partitions were a known condition of their tenancy. If they were unhappy, they could give a month’s notice and move out, as per their contracts. The next day, a notice was posted on my office door. It was an “ultimatum.” I had 72 hours to respond positively to their demands and begin implementation. Otherwise, they would take “all necessary legal measures.” It was signed: The Haven Tenants’ Rights Committee. Chairman: Liam. The atmosphere in the building changed overnight. The young people who used to greet me warmly now avoided my gaze, hurrying past me in the hallways. The group chat I had created to foster a sense of community had become their war room. I didn’t leave the group. I watched as they assigned tasks, gathered evidence. “Who can get photos of the kitchen? Try to get the grimy corners.” “Check the gym equipment for expiration dates.” “Everyone write a statement. Emphasize that we didn’t know the partitions were illegal, that we were misled by the landlord.” “I have a friend who’s an intern at a local news station. They’re very interested in a ‘graduates’ rights’ story.” Liam was the general, directing his troops. “Remember, everyone, our goal is not to cause a scene, but to ‘defend our rights according to the law.’ All evidence must be obtained legally. And when you talk to Ms. Chen, remember to record the conversation.” I saw Leo, the one who’d complained about the hygiene, was the most active in the chat. “Don’t worry, Liam! I’ve already taken pictures of the cracks in my wall! We can say the building is structurally unsound!” I remembered those cracks. He’d made them himself when he tried to hang a bookshelf. He’d even come to me and asked if I could help him patch them up. I sat in my office, chain-smoking. The ashtray was overflowing. The 72 hours passed. I did nothing. On the fourth day, I was served with a summons. The plaintiffs: Liam and ninety-eight other tenants. The defendant: me. The charges: breach of contract and illegal business operations. I looked at the long list of familiar names. The last one was Sarah, the girl who’d wanted the braised pork. I called my lawyer. “Old friend,” I said, “I have a problem.” He was silent for a long time after I explained the situation. “This is bad,” he finally said. “Very bad. The other side’s leader is a pro. He’s got you on two major points: the structural modifications and the unlicensed businesses. Legally, you have almost no chance of winning.” “What about the contracts they signed?” “Like the kid said, they’ll likely be deemed unconscionable. And with so many young people, the so-called ‘vulnerable group,’ they’ll have the judge’s sympathy. You’re at a disadvantage, legally and in the court of public opinion.” “So there’s nothing I can do?” “Your only option is to settle out of court. Offer them a rent reduction or some compensation, and get them to drop the lawsuit. It’s the least costly option.” I hung up the phone. Settle? I looked out the window. A few tenants were laughing and chatting in the gym, using the equipment I had bought for them. I picked up my phone and typed a single sentence in the group chat. “See you in court.” There was a three-second silence. Then, a reply from Liam: a thumbs-up emoji. 4 The day of the trial, the sky was a gloomy gray. The courtroom was packed. The tenants of The Haven, and a gaggle of reporters. Liam represented himself. He was dressed in a sharp suit, his hair perfectly coiffed. He stood before the judge and delivered a powerful, eloquent opening statement. He presented a mountain of evidence: photos of the partitions, close-ups of the “unhygienic” kitchen, news articles about the fire hazards of subdivided apartments. And a hundred-page document of a joint testimony from all the tenants, each one a tear-jerking account of how I had taken advantage of their youth and inexperience, luring them into my “illegal” deathtrap. They painted themselves as innocent lambs, exploited by a greedy, heartless landlord. Liam’s speech was masterful. “Your Honor, we are not here to be unreasonable. We are recent graduates, full of hope for our future in this city. We sought a safe haven, but what we found was a web of lies and danger! The defendant, Ms. Chen, paraded herself as a ‘guardian angel landlord,’ basking in the praise of the media while engaging in illegal and dangerous practices, putting the lives of over a hundred young people at risk! We are not seeking monetary compensation! We are seeking justice!” His voice rang with passion. In the gallery, his supporters looked on with expressions of outrage and admiration. The reporters were scribbling furiously. When it was my lawyer’s turn, he presented the signed contracts and safety disclosures. Liam immediately objected. “Your Honor, I have already demonstrated that these so-called ‘disclosures’ are a textbook example of unconscionable contract terms! The defendant used her position of power to impose an illegal living situation on us and then attempted to absolve herself of all legal responsibility!” My lawyer tried to argue, but Liam shut him down with a barrage of legal terminology and flawless logic. The judge’s expression grew colder and colder. I knew I had lost. I had lost from the very beginning. This lawsuit was a perfectly orchestrated performance, with Liam as the writer, director, and star. A perfect hunt, with “the law” as the weapon and “justice” as the banner. During the recess, I was smoking in the hallway. Liam approached me. “It’s not too late to surrender, Ms. Chen,” he said. “If you agree to our terms, we can drop the lawsuit right now. It’s for the best, for everyone.” “And if I don’t?” He smiled. “Then we’ll win. And you’ll lose everything. The building will be shut down. You’ll face massive fines. And your ‘guardian angel landlord’ reputation will be destroyed. You’ll be a pariah. Is it worth it?” I stubbed out my cigarette. “See you in court,” I said again. His face darkened. “You’re a fool,” he said, and walked away. 5 The verdict was no surprise. I lost. The court ruled that the clauses in my rental agreements regarding the structural modifications were void. I was ordered to remove all partitions and restore the building to its original layout within one month. The gym and cafeteria were deemed illegal businesses, and I was fined two hundred thousand dollars. The common areas were sealed off immediately. When the verdict was announced, the courtroom erupted in applause. The tenants hugged each other, celebrating their “victory.” The reporters swarmed Liam, their cameras flashing. “This is not a personal victory,” he said to the cameras, his face flushed with triumph. “This is a victory for the law, for justice! It’s a message to all young people: when you face injustice, do not be silent! Do not compromise! Stand up and fight for your rights!” A reporter shoved a microphone in my face. “Ms. Chen, what do you have to say about the verdict? Will you appeal?” I said nothing. My lawyer escorted me through the crowd. As I was getting into my car, I heard Liam’s voice behind me. “Landlord.” I stopped, but I didn’t turn around. He walked up to me, the reporters trailing behind him. He looked at me, a smirk on his face. “It’s a new era,” he said, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “The days of cutting corners and playing the sympathy card are over. Young people aren’t so easily fooled anymore.” I looked him in the eye. The victory in his was blinding. I said nothing. I just gave him one long, hard look. Then I got in my car and drove away. As I pulled away, I saw him in the rearview mirror, surrounded by his cheering fans, a conquering hero. I took out my phone and turned it off. Then I closed my eyes. One week. That’s all I needed.

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The first time Chloe’s new boyfriend, Leo, set foot in our office, he made it his mission to mark his territory. And by territory, I mean my boss. His opening move? He grabbed Chloe’s phone, found my contact, and deleted it right in front of my face. He held up his own phone, a smug yet innocent look plastered on his face. “Sam, my man. From now on, if you need Chloe, just hit me up. I’ll pass the message along.” He winked. “I’m just, like, super insecure, you know? Don’t want any… misunderstandings between us.” I looked over at Chloe, expecting her to shut this down. She was the CEO, for God’s sake. Instead, she was gazing at Leo with a look of pure adoration, like he’d just discovered a cure for cancer. She turned to me, her voice syrupy sweet. “That’s actually a great idea. Sam, from now on, just do me a favor and look out for Leo, okay?” Cornered, I had no choice but to add Leo on my phone. The second he accepted the friend request, my phone blew up. [Hey Sam. This client you’re meeting tomorrow, Mr. Harrison. Man or woman?] [Where’s the meeting? And you better wear something super casual. Like, don’t even wash your hair. I don’t want you trying to steal my girl.] [I trust that you and Chloe are just friends, but you can’t betray me, bro. I’m counting on you as my brother now!] [Oh, and new daily task for you—remind Chloe to send me a voice memo saying ‘I love you’ every thirty minutes.] I stared at the messages, a disbelieving laugh escaping my lips. I silenced my phone, tossed it on the nightstand, and went to bed. The next morning, I woke up to the sight of dozens of missed calls. 1 My stomach lurched. I thought there must have been a major emergency at work. I immediately called back. The moment the call connected, Leo’s shriek ripped through my eardrum like a lightning strike. “Sam Taylor! What the hell were you doing last night? Why didn’t you answer my calls!” “Were you hiding something? Where did you sleep? Turn on your location services! I need to check!” “I’m warning you, if I find out you’re making a move on Chloe behind my back, I will skin you alive!” His hysterical tirade left me speechless. I was the COO of our company, not his and Chloe’s personal assistant. I fought to keep my voice even. “Leo, I have no obligation to report my personal schedule to you. If you have questions for Chloe, you can ask her yourself.” I added, “After work, my time is my own. What I do and where I am is my business, not yours.” Leo just scoffed, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re not answering because you’re guilty! You think I won’t just have Chloe fire you?” “Leo,” I couldn’t help but push back, “you call her your ‘girl,’ but you two aren’t even engaged, are you? If I make a professional mistake, I’ll accept the consequences. But firing me for ‘being guilty of something’ you imagined? I don’t think that’ll hold up.” He completely ignored my point. “Just tell me! Why didn’t you answer my calls? What were you doing?” I was already exhausted by this conversation. “I was sleeping,” I said, my patience wearing thin. “It was the middle of the night. What else would I be doing?” “Sleeping?” His voice suddenly became righteous, as if he’d caught me in a lie. “Were you sleeping alone? Where do you live? Did you secretly move into an apartment next to Chloe’s?” “I don’t care what you say. Send me your live location right now, or you’ll regret it!” I was done. I hung up and sent him my location pin just to shut him up. As expected, the barrage of calls and texts stopped instantly. Two minutes later, a new message popped up. His tone had completely changed. [Hey man, I’m sorry. I just get really paranoid. Chloe’s so amazing, I’m always afraid someone’s gonna try and take her from me. You’re not mad, are you?] [When you guys get to the meeting, can you send me a few pics of her? Just so I can see her pretty face.] I rolled my eyes so hard I think I saw my brain. Shaking off the deep sense of annoyance, I got ready and headed for the office. 2 Leo was some college kid Chloe had recently started dating. The moment he figured out she owned her own company, he came sprinting over to “stake his claim.” The problem was, the guy was either dumber than a box of rocks or he’d watched way too many cheesy rom-coms. He treated every man in the office as a rival, which meant that I—the guy who’d been Chloe’s classmate in college and co-founded this company with her from the ground up—was Public Enemy Number One. He watched me like a hawk, completely oblivious to the fact that I’d poured my soul into making money and had zero interest in office romance. At 9:30 AM, Chloe and I walked into the conference room at Mr. Harrison’s firm, ready to finalize the details of a major partnership. The meeting wasn’t until 10, but my phone, sitting on the table, started buzzing nonstop. The notification sounds were like nails on a chalkboard in the quiet room. Chloe shot my phone a dirty look, then put on her boss hat. “Phones on silent during work hours, Sam. Do I have to remind you of the basics?” I glanced at the screen. Of course, it was all from Leo. [Bro, you at the conference room yet? You seen Harrison? Send me a pic!] [And a full-body shot of you! I need to approve your outfit!] [You’re with Chloe, right? Why isn’t she answering my texts? Tell her to check her phone NOW!] A vein started throbbing in my temple. I took a deep breath and said to Chloe, as politely as I could, “Your boyfriend is looking for you.” The second she heard the word “boyfriend,” she snatched her phone, scanned the messages, and immediately stood up and walked out of the room. I was left there, completely stunned. Mr. Harrison was due to arrive any minute, and she was leaving to text her boyfriend? Sure enough, two minutes after she left, Mr. Harrison and his assistant walked in. His eyes fell on the empty chair beside me, and his brow furrowed. “Where is Ms. Vance?” Mr. Harrison was in his fifties, an old-school titan of the industry known for his emphasis on punctuality and professionalism. The displeasure on his face was impossible to miss. I quickly smoothed things over with a smile and a convenient excuse, then took the lead and started walking him through our proposal. Over the next thirty minutes, he was nodding along, and the atmosphere in the room felt great. Just then, Chloe strolled back in without a hint of urgency. She sat down beside me and asked how it was going. When I told her it was going well, shevisibly relaxed and then took over, wanting to dive into the fine print with Mr. Harrison. I used the opportunity to slip out for a glass of water. The moment I was in the breakroom, I pulled out my phone. 99+ notifications. Dozens of missed calls. I didn’t even need to look to know who it was. Before I could even open the app, a video call from Leo popped up. I declined. It popped up again. Declined. Again. After the third time, I knew he wouldn’t stop. I braced myself and answered. His roar blasted through the speaker. “Sam Taylor! You’re ignoring my calls again! What are you hiding!” I was about to lose it. “Leo, I told you I was in a meeting! This is a multi-million dollar contract. If we lose it, are you going to take responsibility?” He sneered. “Well, if I get into a fight with Chloe because of you, and it affects her work, are you going to take responsibility for that?” I was floored. I honestly couldn’t comprehend the twisted logic rattling around in his brain. Before I could respond, he became even more demanding. “Turn on your camera. Right now! I want to see where you are and who’s around you. Pan 360 degrees, nice and slow!” A wave of pure frustration washed over me. I gripped my phone, my knuckles white. “Leo, I’m in the middle of something. Can you please stop? If you need something, talk to Chloe. I’m her COO, not your couple’s counselor.” “Turn it on! That’s the only way I’ll believe you! Otherwise, you’re just lying!” My conscience was clear, so I figured, what the hell. I switched to the camera and pointed it at the conference room door I had just exited. “See? Happy now? I told you I was in a—” My words were cut off by a piercing scream. “Aaargh! You bastard, Sam! You’re trying to have a little office romance with Chloe, aren’t you? Not on my watch! As long as I’m around, you will never lay a hand on her!” That was it. My last shred of patience evaporated. I ended the call, and in one fluid motion, deleted and blocked his number. The sudden silence was bliss. Looking at my clean, quiet phone, I felt like I could finally breathe again. 3 When I returned to the conference room, Chloe and Mr. Harrison were getting along splendidly. It looked like they were just about to sign the contract. Mr. Harrison picked up the pen and smiled at Chloe. “You know, a lot of bigger firms were fighting for this project, some with higher bids. But we go way back, and I trust doing business with people I know. Besides,” he said, nodding in my direction, “your Mr. Taylor here is a rare talent. Sincere, professional, incredibly competent. An employee like that is hard to find.” I didn’t let the praise go to my head. I’d earned that respect with my work. Chloe looked relieved and started exchanging pleasantries with him. Just as Mr. Harrison’s pen was about to touch the signature line, the conference room door was thrown open with a loud bang. His assistant was trying desperately to hold Leo back, apologizing profusely. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Harrison. This gentleman said he’s Ms. Vance’s boyfriend and insisted on ‘supervising the meeting.’ I couldn’t stop him…” Before she could finish, Leo shoved her aside and stormed right up to me. He swung his hand and slapped me hard across the face. CRACK! The sharp sound echoed through the silent room. Everyone froze. I held my hand to my stinging cheek, my eyes ice-cold as I stared at Leo. His face was streaked with tears, his eyes swollen and red. He had clearly cried his way over here. But he was acting like he was the one who had been wronged. Chloe rushed to his side. “Leo! What are you doing here?” Instead of answering, Leo’s eyes darted around the room, scrutinizing everyone present. He looked at Mr. Harrison, at the still-active PowerPoint presentation on the screen, at the documents scattered on the table—all clear evidence that this was nothing more than a standard business meeting. Realizing he’d just made a massive mistake, he instantly switched into ‘damsel in distress’ mode, grabbing Chloe’s arm. “I… you weren’t answering my messages,” he whimpered. “I was so worried something had happened to you.” He shot a timid, accusatory glance at me. “And Sam deleted me… he wouldn’t answer my texts, and he was so rude…” His voice trailed off, his eyes welling up again as he mumbled, “I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to.” I was still reeling, fighting back a storm of rage, when Chloe grabbed my arm. Her tone was like steel. “You. Apologize to Leo.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “Chloe, I’m the one who just got assaulted for no reason!” “So what?” she snapped, her brow furrowed in a look of profound, baffling righteousness. “You knew he’s sensitive and insecure. Why didn’t you just answer his messages? That’s a failure on your part! And I never told you to delete him. Who gave you the right?” If Mr. Harrison hadn’t been in the room, I would have thrown my entire portfolio right at their stupid faces. Clenching my jaw, I took out my phone and cast the screen to the large monitor at the front of the room. The hundreds of messages from Leo filled the display—a scrolling testament to his insanity, from interrogations about my location and outfit to demands that I act as their personal love-note courier. Leo fell silent, his eyes darting away. Chloe stared at the screen, momentarily stunned. “So, Chloe,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “what you’re saying is, I should have abandoned this multi-million dollar contract to go play therapist for your boyfriend?” I paused for effect. “Tell me, who’s his partner here? You, or me?” Her face flushed crimson. She immediately tried to deflect. “Sam Taylor! Is that how you speak to me? Do you even want this job anymore?” She doubled down on her twisted logic. “This contract is important, but Leo’s feelings are more important! You’re a senior partner, my right-hand man. It should be your job to handle these things for me, both in and out of the office!” I had no words. There’s no arguing with a brick wall. Seeing Chloe’s attention was off him, Leo started his drama act again. He clutched her arm, his voice breaking. “Chloe, stop… It’s okay. I know Sam just can’t stand to see me happy. He probably has a thing for you and is just jealous that I’m with you, so he’s doing all this on purpose…” He turned to leave, the picture of a wounded soul. “I’ll go! I know nobody here cares about my feelings…” With a final sob, he ran out of the room. Chloe didn’t even glance at me, let alone our most important client. She just bolted after him. 4 The conference room fell silent. It was just me, Mr. Harrison, and his assistant. Mr. Harrison’s face was as dark as a thundercloud. He let out a cold, humorless laugh. “So, Ms. Vance values her boyfriend’s tantrum over a multi-million dollar contract. I see now what your company’s ‘sincere commitment’ looks like.” His tone had turned to ice, all the previous warmth gone. “We will need to re-evaluate your firm’s capabilities. That will be all for today. You can see yourselves out.” A wave of defeat washed over me. I was the only one who knew how many sleepless nights I’d spent on this proposal, how many trips I’d made to iron out every detail, how much personal effort I’d put into building a rapport with him. And now, all of it was destroyed by my love-struck boss and her pathologically insecure boyfriend. A flicker of ice formed in my own gaze. If Chloe was going to be this foolish, then she couldn’t blame me for what came next. As Mr. Harrison stood up to leave, I spoke. “Mr. Harrison, if you’ll just wait one moment.” He turned, his expression wary. I took a deep breath, reached into my briefcase, and pulled out a different folder. I walked over and handed it to him. “Sir, before you make a final decision, perhaps you’d be willing to take a look at this proposal instead.”

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I make seven figures as a top sales executive. My husband, Mark, is a stay-at-home dad. Everyone tells me what a huge sacrifice he’s made for our family. But lately, I’ve noticed our six-year-old son growing more and more distant. He even wrote in his journal, “I wish Mommy would disappear.” It broke my heart. I thought maybe I was being too hard on him. Then my neighbor cornered me in the elevator, her face grim. She told me if I didn’t stop beating my son at night, she was going to call the police. But during those times, I was miles away, stuck in meetings at the office. Until the night I came home early, unannounced. And as I stood in the hallway outside my own apartment, I heard it. My own voice, screaming at my child. 1 “Leah, I’m warning you.” In the elevator, Mrs. Gable from across the hall stared me down, her eyes blazing with a mix of anger and disgust. “You stop hitting that boy at night! You do it again, and I swear, I’m calling the cops.” I had just gotten out of a six-hour international conference call. I was bone-tired, and my head was pounding. “Mrs. Gable, I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” “I’ve been working late all week. I haven’t been getting home until after midnight.” “A misunderstanding?” Her voice shot up, and the other people in the elevator turned to stare. “I heard it with my own ears!” she hissed. “The sound of your voice, screaming at him. And that poor boy’s crying… the whole hallway could hear it!” “What good is a big career if you treat your own son like that?” she continued, her voice dripping with judgment. “To lay a hand on your own flesh and blood… you’re a monster!” The elevator dinged open. Mrs. Gable pointed a trembling finger at my face. “A good man like Mark,” she spat, “must have been blind to marry you!” I stood frozen as the doors slid shut, then walked the final few feet to my apartment on heavy legs. I fumbled for my keys, my hand shaking uncontrollably. The door opened to a scene of domestic warmth. My husband, Mark, was in an apron, carrying a steaming bowl of soup from the kitchen. He saw me and his face broke into that gentle smile I knew so well. “Leah, you’re home. Rough day?” “Come on, sit down. I made your favorite.” He took my briefcase and knelt to help me out of my heels. He’d been like this for seven years, ever since we got married. He’d given up a promising career of his own, despite his Ivy League degree, to be the man behind the woman, managing our home with perfect care. “Mark, Mrs. Gable, she…” I couldn’t finish. Mark sighed and pulled me into a soft hug. “I know,” he said, his voice muffled in my hair. “She came by this afternoon, threatening to call the police.” “Leah, don’t listen to her. She’s just getting old, her hearing’s not what it used to be.” The knot in my chest loosened slightly. “But why would she say that?” “Who knows. Maybe someone had their TV on too loud.” He rubbed my back soothingly. “Don’t even think about it. You’re just under too much stress.” “Go wash up. Dinner’s ready.” I nodded and walked to the bathroom. The woman in the mirror looked haggard, with dark circles under her eyes like bruises. Maybe he was right. Maybe I was just exhausted. At dinner, our six-year-old son, Leo, kept his head down, pushing food around his plate without a word. I put a piece of his favorite honey-glazed salmon on his plate, but he flinched back as if my fork were a hot poker. The fish fell onto the table. “Leo?” I frowned. He wouldn’t look at me. “I’m full,” he mumbled. He scrambled from his chair and ran to his room, shutting the door behind him. A sharp pain went through my chest. The little boy who used to cling to me, begging for one more bedtime story, now couldn’t stand to be in the same room. Mark sighed, picking up the piece of salmon and placing it on my plate. “Don’t be too hard on him, Leah. He’s just a kid.” “You’ve been so on edge lately. He’s a little scared of you.” I opened my mouth to argue, but the words wouldn’t come. With the pressure of the new product launch, I knew my patience had been thin. I had been stricter about his reading practice. Was it really my fault? Late that night, I couldn’t sleep. I found myself drawn to my son’s room. He was fast asleep, his cheeks still damp with old tears. His journal was lying open on his desk. I picked it up. In his childish scrawl, a single sentence sent a chill down my spine. “I wish Mommy would disappear.” 2 I didn’t sleep a wink. The next morning, with my eyes swollen and red, I went to see my best friend, Maya. She’s a child psychologist, the only person I can tell everything to. After I finished my story, her expression was grave. “Leah, this is serious,” she said. “Kids are like emotional barometers. He wouldn’t be acting this way without a reason.” “And your neighbor hearing things? That’s not a coincidence.” I buried my face in my hands. “But I didn’t do it, Maya! I have airtight alibis for all those times!” “I believe you.” Maya took my hands, her gaze steady. “But we have to figure out what’s really going on.” She hesitated. “Mark… is it possible he…?” I shook my head instantly. “No way. Not Mark. He gave up everything for this family. He loves Leo and me more than anything.” Maya sighed. “You never know what goes on behind closed doors. Look, let me help. I have a friend who runs a security company. I can have him install a discreet camera in the hallway outside your apartment. See what it picks up.” “Okay,” I said, nodding gratefully. “Don’t say a word to anyone,” she warned. “Especially not to Mark. We don’t want to tip anyone off if something is going on.” A small flame of hope ignited in my chest. That afternoon, Maya called to say the camera was installed. I spent the rest of the day on edge, checking my phone constantly, waiting for a break in the case. Nothing. When I got home, Mark was his usual perfect self, with a beautiful dinner waiting. Leo was even colder than before. He wouldn’t even eat at the table with me, taking his plate into his room. My heart felt like a lead weight in my chest. At 10 PM, I was in my home office answering emails when my phone rang. It was Maya. Her voice was colder and more brittle than I had ever heard it. “Leah.” “Maya? What is it? Did the camera catch anything?” I asked, my voice tight with anticipation. There was a long silence. “Maya?” “I saw it,” she said, her voice sounding like it was being squeezed through a keyhole. “No. I heard it.” “Just half an hour ago. I heard your voice.” My stomach dropped. “My voice?” “Yes, your voice! You were screaming at Leo, saying the most horrible things. And then… then I heard hitting. And Leo was crying, screaming for you to stop…” “That’s impossible!” I yelled, jumping to my feet. “I’m right here, in my office! I haven’t moved an inch!” “Stop lying to me!” Maya’s voice was suddenly sharp, accusatory. “Leah, I can’t believe you! Do you have any idea what you’re doing? That’s your son!” “I didn’t do it! Maya, you have to believe me!” Tears were streaming down my face. “Believe you? How can I? I spent all these years looking up to you, thinking you were this icon of female empowerment!” “Leah, listen to me. You either go to the police and turn yourself in, get some serious psychological help, or we’re done. Our friendship, everything. It’s over.” “I will not stand by and watch you destroy that little boy, and yourself.” “Beep… beep… beep…” She hung up. I tried calling back, but a cold, automated voice informed me, “The person you are calling is unavailable.” Over and over, I tried. The same result. She’d blocked me. My best friend of fifteen years, the woman who was like a sister to me, had just cut me out of her life. A chilling numbness spread through my body. I collapsed back into my chair, the room spinning around me. Why? Even Maya heard it. Was it… was it possible that I was sick? That I was doing these things in some kind of fugue state, with no memory of them? Fear, cold and suffocating, wrapped around my throat. 3 I stumbled out of my office in a daze. Mark was in the living room, holding a glass of milk, watching me with a gentle expression. “What’s wrong, Leah? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” I looked at him, my lips trembling. “Mark… am I… am I sick?” “Do I have some kind of disease I don’t know about?” A flicker of something complex—pity? triumph?—crossed his face, so fast I couldn’t be sure I’d seen it. He set the milk down and came to me, wrapping me in his arms. “Don’t be ridiculous. You’re just exhausted. Your nerves are shot.” “But Maya… she heard it too. She ended our friendship…” I choked out the story of our phone call. Mark’s brow furrowed. “How could she say that to you? What kind of friend is she?” he said, his voice full of indignation on my behalf. Then, his tone softened again. “Leah, listen to me. There has to be a misunderstanding.” He paused, choosing his words carefully. “Maybe… maybe the stress has triggered something. Like a dissociative episode?” “It’s sometimes called… a split personality.” He said it so gently, as if he were afraid the words themselves would break me. “Sometimes, when a person is under extreme pressure, their mind creates another personality to cope. Maybe… maybe that other personality did those things, and you have no memory of it.” My mind went blank. Dissociative Identity Disorder? “No… that can’t be…” “Leah, don’t be scared.” Mark cupped my face in his hands, his eyes filled with sincerity. “No matter what happens, I’m here with you. We’ll face this together, okay? I’ll make an appointment with the best psychiatrist in the city for you tomorrow.” Looking into his concerned eyes, the chaos in my mind quieted a little. He was right. I still had him. Just then, the doorbell rang. Mark answered it. A young, pretty woman I’d never seen before was standing there, holding a covered dish. “Hi, Mark. I… I just made some lasagna,” she said softly. “Mrs. Gable mentioned Leah’s been under a lot of stress, and I just wanted to bring something over.” Her name was Clara. The new neighbor from downstairs. “Clara, that’s so thoughtful of you,” Mark said, taking the dish. “Come on in.” Clara stepped inside but flinched slightly when she saw me, as if I were a wild animal. She directed her words to Mark. “Oh, no, I can’t stay. I just wanted to drop this off.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper, just loud enough for me to hear. “Is… is Leah okay?” She paused. “I heard some noises last night, too… Leo’s crying was just heartbreaking. Mark… you should really look after Leah. Maybe she’s working too hard?” Her words were like a knife in my gut. Even the new neighbor heard it. Mark’s expression darkened. He glanced from Clara back to me and sighed. “I know. Thanks, Clara. We’ll handle it.” After he closed the door, the gentle concern on Mark’s face vanished, replaced by a deep, weary frustration. “You see, Leah? Even Clara heard it.” He rubbed his temples, and for the first time, spoke to me in a tone that was less suggestion and more command. “You have to see a doctor. For your own good, and for Leo’s.” “He’s terrified of you, do you understand that? If you keep on like this, you’re going to destroy this family!” I stared at him. Was this the same man who catered to my every whim? His eyes, his tone… it was all so foreign. My heart sank like a stone. He put his hands on my shoulders, his voice softening again, but with an unyielding edge. “Just listen to me, Leah. Take some time off work. I’ll go with you to the doctor.” “And until you’re better, I think it’s best if you don’t get too close to Leo. Okay?” “It’s for his own good.” 4 I was a prisoner in my own home. Under the guise of “getting better.” Mark called my office and requested an extended leave of absence for me, citing a mental health crisis. He took my phone, my laptop, and my car keys, severing my connection to the outside world. Every day, he brought me meals and a cocktail of colorful pills. They were from the doctor, he said, to help stabilize my mood. After a few days on them, I was in a constant, groggy fog, sleeping most of the time. I wasn’t allowed to see my son. Whenever I tried to leave the bedroom, Mark would block my path with a look of profound sadness and pity. “Leah, please. The doctor said you need complete rest.” “If Leo sees you like this, it will only scare him more.” Trapped, I felt my strength and my will to fight draining away. I started to believe it myself. Maybe I really was sick. Maybe everything Mark was doing was for the best. Until one night, I woke up, nauseous from the medication, and knocked over a glass of water on the nightstand. The water soaked the inside of the drawer. As I frantically pulled it open to wipe it out, my fingers brushed against a small, unlabeled pill bottle tucked away in the very back. I opened it. The pills inside were identical to the “sedatives” I’d been taking every day. A seed of suspicion took root. The next time Mark went out for groceries, I hid a few of the pills in my pocket. Later, I staged a complete breakdown, screaming and crying and smashing a vase against the wall. When Mark came home to the wreckage, his eyes were filled with disappointment. He didn’t yell. He just quietly cleaned up the mess and doubled my dosage. The next day, I pretended the new dose had knocked me out cold. As soon as I heard the front door close—Mark, Clara, and Leo leaving for the day—I shot out of bed. My years in sales had taught me to be cautious and prepared. I always kept a burner phone and a prepaid SIM card hidden in a secret compartment in my closet. I powered it on and called the one person I knew I could trust completely: a private investigator. I asked him to run a chemical analysis on the pills. Then, I started planning my escape. I couldn’t just sit here and let this happen. I had to know the truth. I became the model patient. I pretended to take my pills every day, but flushed them down the toilet. I acted more stable, more compliant. Mark seemed to let his guard down. Finally, my chance came. He told me he was taking Leo to a “family fun day” at the park, and that Clara was coming with them. They would be home late. I smiled sweetly and told him to have a good time. The moment the door clicked shut, the smile vanished from my face. I picked the lock on my office door, where I had a spare key and an emergency stash of cash. I changed into inconspicuous clothes, put on a hat and a mask, and slipped out of my own home. I didn’t run. Instead, I hid in the stairwell, tucked behind the fire extinguisher case. My gut told me something was going to happen tonight. Darkness fell. At 9 PM, the door to my apartment opened. Mark came back. Alone. He didn’t turn on any lights. He walked straight to Leo’s room. A few moments later, I heard it. A sound that was both intimately familiar and bone-chillingly terrifying. My voice. “Leo! You got another B on your spelling test? You’re worthless!” “I work my fingers to the bone for you, and this is how you repay me?” “I told you, if you’re not number one in your class, you don’t get to eat!” The voice was shrill, cruel, filled with a venom I didn’t recognize. It was followed by the sharp crack of a belt and the sound of my son’s muffled, agonized sobs. My blood ran cold. I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming. That wasn’t me. It was a recording. He was using a recording of my voice to torture my son. Then, I heard Mark’s voice, flat and devoid of any emotion. “Cry louder. Or your real mommy will come back and give you worse.” Tears streamed down my face. My boy… my little Leo… A woman’s voice joined in. Clara’s. She hadn’t left. “It’s okay, Leo, sweetie,” she cooed. “Just do what your daddy says. This way, your real mommy won’t hurt you. We’re protecting you.” “Your mommy is sick, she’s a bad person now. We’re the only ones who really love you.” Vile. Despicable. A white-hot rage erupted in my chest. I clutched the burner phone in my pocket—it was already recording. I shot to my feet. I couldn’t wait another second. I had to expose them. I had to save my son. I rushed to the door, ready to break it down— Ding. The elevator doors opened. Mrs. Gable stepped out, holding a bag of trash. Her head snapped toward the sounds of screaming and crying coming from my apartment. Then her eyes landed on me. The look she gave me was one of pure hatred. She put one hand on her hip and pointed at me with the other, her voice echoing down the hall. “There you are! I knew it! You shameless, sick woman, you came back for more!” “I’m calling the cops right now! They’ll lock you up, you psycho!”

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The night before my promotion, my girlfriend Lana gave the biggest account of the quarter to her pet project, a junior associate named Leo. I saw red. I cornered her in our apartment, my voice shaking with a rage I couldn’t control. She just stared back, her eyes like ice, and dropped two words that shattered my world. “We’re done.” Then she turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind her. My first instinct was to chase after her. But then, a series of pop-up comments, like a live-stream chat feed, materialized in front of my eyes. [Dude, don’t be an idiot! She’s just pissed! She’s right downstairs, practically burning a hole in her screen waiting for you to call. One text and she’ll be back up here in a second.] [Seriously, you were so busy with this account you almost forgot her birthday today. She only gave the deal to Leo to get back at you. She’s already regretting it, probably pacing and cursing herself out. Call her! That promotion is yours tomorrow, and you’ll get your perfect, devoted girlfriend back!] [Look, you can practically see her chewing her lip raw from here. God, I wish I had a girlfriend who cared that much!] [Bro, it’s starting to rain out there. You’re not gonna let her get soaked, are you? This girl is so deep in love, I’m shipping this so hard!] For a second, the comments almost calmed me down. I walked over to the window and pulled back the curtain. The street below was empty. Then I opened Instagram. Lana had just posted a picture of her and Leo, smiling, blowing out the candles on a birthday cake. I let out a bitter laugh. Eight years. All down the drain. I turned, walked to the trash can, and threw away the gift I’d spent a month planning. Then I picked up my phone. And replied to a text I’d received earlier that day. [Seven figures. If the offer still stands, I can start in three days.] The reply was instantaneous. [Deal.] 1 A wave of relief washed over me as I read the confirmation. I immediately started packing. But the pop-ups flared to life again. [No, no, no, my dude, don’t say things you can’t take back! Lana didn’t get your call, and just then, Leo said he had a power outage at his place. That’s the only reason she went over! The cake was for you, he just didn’t know and ate it himself!] [For real, don’t do this. She hasn’t seen your text yet. Retract! Retract! Retract! She cleared her entire schedule for her birthday, just for you two. She had no idea you’d be stuck at work until 11 PM. If you break up with her now, she’s going to lose it.] [You know the story. Her mom left her on her birthday when she was a kid. It’s a huge trigger for her. She gets terrified that the people she loves will abandon her. You’ve always been so patient with her about it. Come on, man. Just hang in there. For her.] I looked away from the comments, but my hands were still trembling as I folded a shirt. She knew. She knew how hard I’d worked for this account. How many humiliating meetings I’d endured for this promotion. How many client dinners I’d choked down. To land this deal, I’d spent the last month picking up the client’s kindergartener from school every damn day. The kid was a menace. He told all the neighbors I was their new housekeeper. I felt my face burn with shame, but I swallowed my pride and kept smiling. I was this close. Then I got the text. “Hey Sean, my hands are tied here. Right before signing, your boss, Ms. Lin, insisted the account go to a Mr. Leo Chen. I’m really sorry about this.” The message had turned my blood to ice. I rushed home to confront her, and all she gave me was a cold stare and two words before walking out. If it weren’t for those damn pop-ups, I would still be in the dark about why she did it. She was always like this. The slightest disagreement, and she’d threaten to leave. Tell me to get out. The first time, I believed her. I was heartbroken for weeks. When I finally couldn’t take it anymore and sent her a novel-length apology text, she showed up at my door in minutes. She held me so tight I could barely breathe. “Sean, when I’m angry, nothing I say is real,” she’d whispered. “Promise me you’ll never leave, no matter what I say. Please?” “I just say things I don’t mean. Every time I say we’re done, it’s just because I need you to love me more.” “I can’t live without you, Sean.” That night, we went through a whole box of condoms. Back then, I could excuse her behavior. I told myself she was just insecure. I forgave her again and again, coaxed her back from the edge every time. But why this? Why now? At the most critical moment of my career. When she saw, day in and day out, how much I was sacrificing. How could she just wipe it all away with a single, careless decision? How could she use my future, the one thing she knew I valued most, as a weapon to make me bend? Lana. Did it ever occur to you? That I get hurt, too. That I get tired. That eventually, I wouldn’t be able to hang on anymore. 2 For eight years, Lana was my entire world. Ever since that night in high school. Her mother had walked out on her right after her eighteenth birthday party, and Lana fell apart. With graduation right around the corner, she started skipping school, spending all her time at internet cafes. I tried everything to pull her back. I lectured her, I pleaded with her, but nothing worked. Then one night, I was following her home when a homeless man grabbed her, trying to drag her into the bushes. I nearly beat him to death. That was the night she clung to me and sobbed, “Sean, don’t you ever leave me.” With her tears hot on my neck, I made a promise. A promise I kept for eight years. I gave up my first-choice college and followed her to a city I hated. She took over her family’s business, and I started at the bottom, working my way up, determined to become her equal. And now, it was all just a bad dream. 3 After I finished packing, I left and went to the apartment I’d been renting on the side. I got it after the last time Lana kicked me out. My crime? I’d cooked some fish in the microwave. She hated the smell. I thought she was out of town, but she came home early and flew into a rage, screaming that I was inconsiderate, that I didn’t love her. She threw my suitcase into the hallway. I ended up getting a hotel, then renting a cheap studio nearby. It took three days of non-stop, groveling apology texts before she finally let me come back. It wasn’t the first time I’d been kicked out. Subconsciously, I think I knew I needed a backup plan. I never terminated the lease. Tonight, it came in handy. No need to even look for a place. 4 The next morning, I walked into the office with my resignation letter in hand. The elevator doors opened to a POP! Confetti rained down on me. My colleagues crowded around, cheering. “Alright, Mr. Director, where are you taking us for lunch? I’ve been eyeing that new sushi place. You’re paying!” “Yeah, Sean! You owe us!” I opened my mouth to tell them it wasn’t a sure thing, but the elevator dinged again. Lana and Leo stepped out. “Well, well. Looks like someone’s celebrating a little early,” Leo said with a smirk, his eyes locking on me. “See, Lana? Told you he’d do anything to get ahead. What do you think?” That last part was directed at Lana, who stared straight ahead, refusing to even look at me. “Everyone, gather around. I have an announcement,” she said, her voice cutting through the chatter. My stomach sank. I took a step back. Once everyone was quiet, she continued. “I’m not sure where certain people got their information, but there seems to have been a misunderstanding.” Her eyes finally flickered to me, a cruel glint in them. “The new Director of Sales… is Leo Chen.” Her words hung in the air, nailing me to a cross of public humiliation. My colleagues awkwardly tried to hide the confetti cannons behind their backs. “Hey, Sean,” Leo chimed in, “you might be older, but promotions aren’t based on seniority. Otherwise, we’d have to make old Jerry from security the new director, right?” A few people snickered. I bit down on my lip, hard. The damn pop-ups were going crazy. [Dude, just apologize. Say you were wrong. Lana will demote Leo on the spot. She knows how hard you’ve worked. She can’t stand to see you hurting like this. Look, her eyes are all red. She was up all night waiting for your call.] [You know how she is! She’s just being difficult! Just play along, and I guarantee she’ll be on her knees tonight begging for your forgiveness. She’s probably already bought more condoms. A night of amazing make-up sex is just one apology away!] I ignored them. If seeing me publicly shamed was her idea of “caring,” then I had nothing to say. I had just gotten back to my desk when another colleague approached, holding a folder. When I saw what it was, I shot to my feet. “What? You want me to compile all of my client files and hand them over to Leo?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. The colleague avoided my gaze. “Look, Sean, it’s a direct order from Lana. Don’t make this hard for me.” The same guy who was just congratulating me was now looking at me with a mix of pity and morbid curiosity. 5 I took a deep breath. “Fine. I get it.” But he didn’t leave. “Uh, one more thing, Sean. Lana said… well, your office has the best view, and she wants you to clear it out for Director Chen.” I actually laughed. A hollow, empty sound. So this is what it felt like to be completely broken. Lana was showing me exactly what the last eight years of my life had been for. I took off my employee ID badge and walked toward her office, resignation letter in hand. As I reached the door, I heard Leo’s voice inside. “So, Lana, does he really send you a whole essay every time you break up? Hahaha, that’s pathetic. What does he say? ‘It’s all my fault, my sweet Lana, please forgive me?’ Ugh, I’m getting goosebumps. You poor thing. I feel so bad for you.” My hand, raised to knock, clenched into a fist. Tears pricked my eyes. Unbelievable, Lana. Just… unbelievable. 6 [Oh no, you’re crying! Baby, she didn’t mean to show him your texts! Leo was just using her phone to look something up and saw them by accident! Don’t overthink it!] [Yeah, and once he asked, she couldn’t really say no, right? Besides, her mind is completely on you right now. She wasn’t even listening to what Leo was saying. Don’t misunderstand!] [She just ordered that ring you wanted online! She knows she messed up big time and she’s planning to propose to make it up to you! Dude, don’t be mad! Just go in there, say you’re sorry, and Leo will be packing his desk by lunch. Trust me!] I didn’t believe a word of it. Lana’s phone was a fortress. No one touched it but me. The fact that Leo had it, and was reading my private messages out loud, meant only one thing. He was special to her now. I closed my eyes, took a breath, and knocked. The voices inside stopped. “Come in.” I opened the door. When she saw it was me, she raised an eyebrow, surprised. She knew I never knocked. “What is it?” she asked coolly. I placed my resignation letter and my ID on her desk. Her brow furrowed. Before she could speak, Leo jumped in. “A resignation letter? Sean, don’t tell me you’re actually upset about the promotion. This is Lana’s company. She can promote whoever she wants. Just because you’re her boyfriend doesn’t mean you can control her decisions. Threatening to quit? That’s low, man.” I scoffed. “Lower than getting a promotion you didn’t earn?” “You—!” he sputtered. “Enough!” Lana snapped. “Sean, stop this. Are you really going to make such a scene just because I promoted Leo? Is it that big of a deal?” I didn’t answer. I just took a step back. “This is my resignation. I won’t be in tomorrow.” Her response was to hurl her coffee mug at the wall next to my head. It shattered, and a shard of ceramic flew past, slicing my cheek just below my eye. I felt a warm trickle and touched my face. My fingers came away bloody. Lana was on her feet, her face contorted with rage. “Sean, do our eight years together mean nothing to you? You can just walk away? You think I can’t live without you? Fine! Get out! Get out right now!” She jabbed the intercom button on her desk phone. “Send security to the sales department. Sean Miller is fired. Escort him out of the building.” When I got back to my desk, my computer was locked. Two security guards were standing there, waiting. “Mr. Miller. You are not permitted to touch the computer. You may only take your personal belongings. Ms. Lin wants you out in ten minutes.” My colleagues were gathered at a safe distance, watching the spectacle. I never imagined Lana would be so eager to humiliate me. I could already hear the whispers, the gossip that would spread through the industry about how I was unceremoniously thrown out of my own company. If I hadn’t already lined up another job, this could have ruined my career. After all this time, she still knew exactly where to stick the knife. I had to laugh. Look at her. The woman I loved for eight years. With security guards watching me like a hawk, I started packing my box. 7 The pop-ups were a frantic blur. [Son, she’s watching you from around the corner! Go to her! You don’t even have to say anything! Just show up and she’ll get on her knees and beg for forgiveness!] [She’s already got the keyboard ready for you to make her kneel on! Please, just go call her ‘baby girl’ one time, and she’ll give you the directorship, the whole company even!] [The guards are just for show! She saw your tears and her heart is breaking! She’s probably slapping herself right now. She even bought a whip on Amazon! Check her phone, I’m not lying!] [Dude. The whip, the hot sauce, the candles. Take your pick. Just go to her and she’ll let you do anything you want to her tonight.] I stared at the messages for a long moment. Then I let out another cold, empty laugh. “Mr. Miller. This way, please.” I was, quite literally, thrown out onto the street. The midday sun was blinding, but I felt like I was trapped in a block of ice. The world felt surreal, distant. The heat, or maybe the stress, was making me dizzy. My feet felt like they were made of lead. “Mr. Miller? I hope I’m not too late.” A voice cut through the haze, pulling me back to reality.

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When I found out my wife’s family group chat didn’t include me, but did include our male neighbor, I told her I wanted a divorce. She was giving our daughter a bath at the time and just laughed. “Your daddy’s getting so sensitive in his old age,” she said to our little girl. “Wants to throw his family away over a group chat!” She thought I was just jealous. She had no idea I’d already bought a one-way ticket for a job overseas. For ten years, I’d been the perfect, selfless husband. I was more of a shadow in Chloe’s life than a person, my own needs and desires completely erased. But not anymore. I was done. Soon, it wouldn’t just be the family group chat that I wasn’t in. It would be the family itself. 1 “It’s just an old stock trading group, Mark,” Chloe explained, her voice tight with forced patience. “Noah added me to it ages ago. I knew you were busy with work and don’t care about stocks, so I didn’t mention it. I didn’t want to bother you.” Today was my mother-in-law’s birthday. I’d taken the afternoon off to cook her favorite meal, a whole spread of dishes that took me hours. But as the sun went down, no one came home. I called Chloe. She answered, already angry. “Mom sent a message to the family chat,” she snapped. “She said we were going out to eat. Even Noah saw it. How could you miss it?” I felt a familiar pang of guilt and self-blame. I opened my messaging app, refreshing it again and again. But the last message in our family group was from six months ago. It was from my mother-in-law, tearing into me for booking a cruise for my own parents. [Michael, you need to remember you’re a married man with a wife and child to support. Your money, even if your parents aren’t spending it, should be ours. You need to ask me, your father-in-law, and your sister-in-law if we need anything. And if we don’t, you should be saving it. Your parents have no right to your money anymore.] I closed the app, about to ask her where she’d sent the message, when I heard my daughter’s voice in the background. “Mommy, can Uncle Noah be my daddy for tonight? I don’t want Daddy here. He’ll just tell me I can’t have any cake.” The words I was about to say died in my throat. I looked at the family portrait on the living room wall. Last week, our daughter had proudly taped a picture of Noah right over my face. Suddenly, a profound weariness washed over me. For this family, for these people, I had only one thought left. “Forget it.” 2 Noah is our neighbor. He’s also one of Chloe’s most important clients. Before he moved in across the hall, I only knew his name from Chloe’s constant complaints. “This guy needs to get a life. He spends all day torturing us.” “He’s the king of passing the buck. He should have been a chef.” Back then, Noah was a monster in her stories. Then he moved in. He asked if he could carpool with Chloe to work. She was hesitant, but I encouraged her. He was a client, after all. I never thought twice about it. Until one night, we were at a party with friends. I mentioned the carpool situation, and Chloe, after a couple of glasses of wine, slammed her hand on the table and slurred, “You spend all day in the kitchen. You’re just a junior accountant in your thirties. What the hell do you know about a man like Noah?” “Chloe! How can you say that?” one of our friends fired back, indignant on my behalf. “If you hadn’t forced Michael to quit his job to be a stay-at-home dad, he’d probably be a vice president by now!” Chloe just scoffed. In that moment, I knew. There was someone else in her heart. She apologized profusely afterward, blaming it on the wine. My friends told me to let it go. “You and Chloe have been together forever. She loves you. You have a daughter. Are you really going to let some other guy walk in and take your family?” I turned off the shower, my friend’s words echoing in my head. As I reached for the bathroom door, I heard a low laugh from the bedroom. “I have to say, Michael’s a lucky guy,” a man’s voice said. “Beautiful, successful wife, adorable daughter. And all that free time… must be nice for a grown man to have so much time to let his mind wander.” “He’s even got time to worry about a lonely old bachelor like me.” The voice was crystal clear. It could only mean one thing. Noah was in my house. In my bedroom. Talking to my wife. I glanced at my phone. It was 11:30 PM. “Uncle Noah, can I come over and play video games tonight?” my daughter chirped. “I don’t like it when Daddy says mean things about you!” “No,” Chloe cut in sharply. “Uncle Noah has a big presentation tomorrow. He needs his rest. Do you want Uncle Noah to be tired, or do you want Daddy to be tired?” Disappointment coiled in my gut. I didn’t want to cry, but after hearing my daughter’s words, I couldn’t stop the tears. I wiped my eyes with a towel before quietly opening the door. Chloe was on our bed in a low-cut lace nightgown, reading our daughter a story. Noah was sitting across from them, smiling fondly. The three of them looked like a perfect, happy family. I was the intruder. When I stepped into the room, Noah jumped up, looking flustered. “Oh, Michael, sorry. I just came over to explain a few things, and Lily asked for a story, so I…” “Don’t worry about it,” I said, my voice flat. “I should be thanking you for the new sheets and pajamas. They look great on my wife.” Last week, Chloe had come home with a new bedding set. The gray and white pattern surprised me; she always preferred bright colors. She said it was a sample from a client, so I didn’t think much of it and gave it to my sister. When Chloe got home and found it missing, she flew into a rage. She made me drive to my sister’s house at 2 AM to get it back and put it on our bed right then and there. I didn’t understand why it was so important. Until now, seeing Noah standing there in matching gray and white pajamas. The smug, triumphant look in his eyes was unmistakable, though his voice was thick with fake sincerity. “Michael, you’ve got it all wrong. I just felt bad for always bumming rides, so I wanted to get you both a little something.” At the sight of Noah apologizing, Chloe and my daughter turned on me. “He’s my client, Michael! How am I supposed to work if you’re going to be like this?” “I hate Daddy! I want Uncle Noah!” my daughter shrieked. I looked at the two most important people in my life and gave a bitter, defeated shake of my head. “Chloe,” I said quietly, “let’s just forget it.” 4 I loved Chloe so much that for ten years, I never dared to say no to her. She knew it, and she used it. Whenever her mother was being particularly cruel, Chloe would just say, “Are you trying to start a fight with my mom? Do you not want to be married to me anymore?” and I would immediately back down, apologizing. I never threatened to leave. But tonight, I’d mentioned divorce twice. She must have sensed something was different. Her tone softened. “I know this all looks bad, but you’re really overthinking it. Let me just walk Noah home, and we can talk when I get back.” She and my daughter rushed out. Ten minutes later, I got a text. [Noah tripped on his way home. Lily and I are taking him to the hospital.] [Michael, don’t be mad. I promise I’ll explain everything when I get back.] It was followed by a picture of a leg with a tiny scrape, the kind you’d get from a mosquito bite. As I was looking at the photo, a new message popped up in that other family chat, the one I wasn’t in, broadcast from my daughter’s GPS watch. It was my mother-in-law. [You two just stay there with Noah tonight. I’d like to see that pathetic loser Michael try to run this family.] Noah replied a moment later. [Thanks, Mom.] I put the watch down and started packing. My flight was in ten days. I needed to get my things to my parents’ house and file for divorce. We had almost no shared assets. Years ago, my mother-in-law, paranoid that I was after their money, had forced me to sign everything over to Chloe. Even the TV and the refrigerator were legally in her name. It meant that even though she was the one cheating, a divorce would leave me with nothing. I didn’t have much. By dawn, I had packed up my entire life into four suitcases. A decade of marriage, gone. It was pathetic. As I loaded the last box into my car, Chloe pulled up, carrying two large bags of takeout breakfast. She didn’t see me at first. She was on the phone, laughing. “Did I wake you? After how hard you worked last night, the least I could do was get you some breakfast.” “I’m not tired,” a man’s voice replied. “I’m your man, after all.” As she was about to enter our building, she looked up and saw me. The smile froze on her face. 5 Chloe and I met in college. We were broke. To save for a down payment on a house, I worked nights after my classes. She would wake up early to buy me breakfast, wait for me at the bus stop when I got off my shift, and tell me to go back to sleep. On New Year’s Eve, she lied to her mother, said she had to work, just so she could eat takeout with me in our tiny, rented room. All the things she was doing for Noah now. Seeing her do them for another man, my chest physically ached. “Michael, where are you going?” she asked, her voice tight with panic as she hung up the phone. She tried to cross the street to get to me, but the usually quiet road was suddenly filled with a steady stream of cars, a physical barrier between us. Her call came through a moment later. “I have to go on a business trip,” I said. Hearing that I wasn’t bringing up anything else, she let out a sigh of relief. “Okay, honey. I’m sorry about last night. I promise, when you get back, I’ll make it up to you. Lily and I will pick you up from the airport.” “Okay, Chloe. I’m going.” “Take care of yourself.” “Goodbye.” I hung up. She stood on the other side of the street, a flicker of unease on her face. If she had looked a little closer, if she had thought for just one second, she would have realized. Who takes a moving van on a business trip? But she didn’t. The panic passed, and she hurried back to Noah’s apartment. “Is Chloe insane? She spent years complaining about this guy, and now she’s sleeping with him?” “You can’t let this go, Mike! They’ve treated you like dirt for years! They control all the money, make you do all the work… they even had the damn floorboards notarized in her name! It’s ridiculous!” My two best friends were ready to go over there and start a war on my behalf, but I stopped them. I’d just received two text messages that changed everything. “It’s okay,” I told them. “A direct confrontation is too easy. I have a little surprise planned for them.” 6 Two hours after I left, Noah officially moved into my bedroom. My mother-in-law was thrilled, even helping him unpack. “Whoever marries Noah is the luckiest woman in the world,” she gushed. “He’s successful, and so generous! Not like some other useless people I know.” My daughter was just as excited. “From now on, Uncle Noah can be my daddy. He doesn’t nag, and he’s nicer to me.” Noah gave Chloe a suggestive look. “I’m not the marrying type,” he said smoothly. “But being here with you two… this is all I need. I’m happy.” Chloe and her mother exchanged delighted glances. The three of them sat down to a cheerful breakfast. For the next few days, my mother-in-law cooked all of Noah’s favorite dishes. In the ten years I was married to Chloe, she never once set foot in the kitchen. Even when I was sick with a fever, she made me get up and cook. At night, the woman who always claimed she was too tired to watch her own granddaughter now happily took her for the night. “You two have had a long day,” she’d say. “You need your rest.” I watched the steamy footage from the hidden cameras I’d set up and had to laugh. I remembered asking if Chloe and I could have just one night to ourselves. My mother-in-law had sent me a novel-length text about what a deadbeat father I was. It seemed everything in that house could change, just not for me. Three days went by. Chloe didn’t notice that all my clothes were gone, or that my side of the bathroom counter was now covered in Noah’s things. This morning, after getting ready, she sent me a text. [Honey, what time does your flight land today? I’ll come get you.] As she was about to close the app, she realized I hadn’t sent a single message since I’d left. A sense of unease crept in. Just then, our daughter ran in. “Mommy, I can’t find my watch! I haven’t seen it for days!” Chloe remembered that I was the one who charged Lily’s watch every night. “Did you wear it to Uncle Noah’s that night?” 7 Lily shook her head. “It’s been missing since then.” Something clicked in Chloe’s mind. She started frantically searching the closets, the shoe rack. But all she found were Noah’s things. Mine were gone. She was about to call me when her own phone rang. “Chloe, you need to get to the office right now. There’s a huge problem with the project!” As she hung up, Noah’s phone rang. “Get all the project files and financial records and be in the main conference room in thirty minutes.” Noah felt a twitch in his eye but didn’t think much of it. “See, Chloe? Your new assistant is useless. She must have messed something up. We have to fire her after this meeting.” Chloe, still preoccupied, just mumbled in agreement. When they walked into the conference room together, they found the bosses from both their companies waiting for them. The look on their faces was thunderous. Noah’s boss turned to Chloe’s young assistant. “Everyone’s here. You can present your findings now.” Chloe looked at the girl, whose eyes were red from crying. “Ashley? What’s going on?” The young woman didn’t say a word. She just clicked the mouse. The large screen at the front of the room lit up with a live feed from the camera in my bedroom. Noah’s voice filled the room. “So, Chloe… who’s better in bed? Me, or your husband? You keep me happy, and I’ll make sure you get the next few contracts.”

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When my girlfriend went through airport security, the metal detector blared. Ashley’s ears turned bright red. “I just got my nipples pierced last week,” she whispered, mortified. “They told me it wouldn’t set off the alarm.” I froze for a second, then lifted her suitcase off the conveyor belt. “When did you get nipple piercings? You didn’t even mention it to me.” She avoided my eyes. “I wanted it to be a surprise. And, you know, for a better… experience.” “Who told you that?” I pressed, staring at her. Her gaze flickered. “Just… stuff I read online,” she said with a forced smile. … Ashley showed the TSA agent her piercing studio receipt. My heart sank. Ashley never trusted anything she read online. And she would never, ever do something like that by herself. While she was undergoing a more thorough check, I pulled up our company’s recent attendance records on my phone. There was only one person whose vacation days perfectly aligned with Ashley’s: a new streamer, still on probation, named Leo Chen. “Okay, all clear. We can go on our vacation now!” Ashley said cheerfully when she returned. I closed the attendance file and met her gaze. “You did it yourself?” “Mhmm,” she mumbled, fussing with her suitcase. “It would be way too embarrassing to have a stranger do that.” I was silent for a moment. All desire to go on vacation had evaporated. “Something just came up at work. I have to go back.” She looked surprised, but not disappointed. There wasn’t a hint of frustration at having our long-awaited trip canceled. “Jayce, I’ve been looking forward to this for so long. You’re bailing on me again? Fine. I know you’re a workaholic. It’s not easy being your girlfriend.” Seeing the relief in her eyes, I sighed. On the drive back, she was quiet, glued to her phone, a small smile playing on her lips as she texted. “Did you really want to go on this trip with me?” I asked. It took her a few seconds to register my question. “Hm? What did you say?” I shook my head and closed my eyes. The moment I got back to the office, I had my assistant send Leo to my office. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, his hair neatly styled. He looked clean-cut and professional, not at all like the male model he used to be. “Mr. Crawford, aren’t you on vacation? Is there something you needed?” “How did you know I was on vacation?” Leo stammered. “I… I heard it from your assistant.” I gave him a cold look. “You took a week off this month? You’re still a probationary streamer. Shouldn’t you be focused on training?” A flash of panic crossed his eyes, but he quickly composed himself. “I’m sorry, sir. My sister was sick. It’s just the two of us, so I had to be there for her.” His sister’s illness just happened to coincide perfectly with Ashley’s time off? The coincidence was a little too convenient. My eyes scanned him, landing on the sports watch on his wrist. The khaki-colored band was unremarkable, but I remembered buying the exact same Miu Miu band years ago, back when I was still living off my family’s money. Before I’d started my own company and learned the value of a dollar. I wouldn’t spend two hundred bucks on a watch band now. “Nice watch band,” I said casually. “Must have been expensive. A gift from your girlfriend?” He flinched, a barely perceptible tremor running through his shoulders. He quickly unclasped the watch and hid it behind his back, forcing a smile. So, it was a gift from Ashley. “You can go now,” I said. The moment he was gone, I called my childhood friend, Mark. He’d just finalized a long, messy divorce a few months ago. He picked up on the second ring. “Jayce! What tropical paradise are you calling me from? To what do I owe the honor?” I looked out my office window at the city skyline. “I need a favor.” “I need you to run a check on Ashley for the past six months. Financials, travel records, hotel stays, credit card statements… everything. Oh, and a guy named Leo Chen. Do him, too.” Mark’s interest was piqued. “You came to the right guy. I know the drill. Told you you can’t trust any of them.” I sighed and hung up. I had just put my phone down when Ashley burst into my office. “I was getting coffee for everyone, so I brought you one!” She held it out to me with a saccharine smile. She must have already heard that I’d spoken to Leo. “I hear you were checking attendance records,” she said. I met her eyes. “What, are you worried about him?” “Of course not…” She cleared her throat. “I just think you could be a little more compassionate. The kid’s had a tough life…” I cut her off. “I’m a businessman, not a philanthropist. Take the coffee with you. And…” “Next time you enter the CEO’s office, knock.” Ashley stood there, speechless, before turning and walking out. A moment later, a message from my assistant popped up. [Mr. Crawford, Leo Chen just submitted his resignation.] Chapter 2 Almost simultaneously, a notification from Mark appeared. [Is this the guy you’re looking for?] I clicked the link. It was Leo’s private social media account. The first picture of Ashley was from six months ago. She was in a hospital emergency room, a bandage wrapped around her head, only half of her face visible. [I was lost in the darkness, and then you came and lit up my world. My sunshine.] So that’s why Ashley, our company’s top streamer, had to pull out of a major brand launch six months ago. She’d claimed she got into a fight, but it was because of him. My heart twisted. I kept scrolling. Five months ago: a picture of a spicy stir-fry, two porcelain bowls, in what looked like a messy basement apartment. Three months ago: he’d moved into a bright, spacious new place. A photo of a woman’s pale legs, adorned with a luxury watch, draped over his gray sweatpants. Two weeks ago: a selfie of him with red, swollen eyes. [I don’t want you to go on vacation with him. I don’t want him to touch you. So sad.] One week ago: a picture of them cuddled up in a room. [To prove her love for me, my sunshine actually let me pierce her nipples. I’m the luckiest guy in the world.] The phone slipped from my hand. All the strength drained out of me. So Ashley, the woman I’d built from an unknown nobody into a streamer with over a million followers, had been cheating on me all along. She’d even brought her lover into my company, carrying on an affair right under my nose. The phone rang for a full fifteen seconds before I could compose myself enough to answer. “Jayce, who is this Leo Chen guy?” Mark asked. “A new streamer Ashley recruited. Used to be a male model, apparently.” “Well, that’s weird. Because he’s the registered owner of an MCN company called Sunshine Media. Three million in registered capital.” Sunshine? I remembered the post about his “sunshine.” Had Ashley set up an entire company for him? No wonder he quit the second I asked about his attendance. He already had his exit strategy planned. “Jayce, get this. This new MCN just landed a major client. The signing ceremony is tomorrow at the Cloudfall Hotel. And guess who the client is?” Mark was enjoying this. “A brand-new company landing a major client right out of the gate?” The more I thought about it, the more a cold dread crept up my spine. A male model couldn’t pull that off. If Ashley was behind this, it was very likely she had poached one of my own clients. “Yep. A major client. One of the biggest in the city.” We only had a handful of clients at that level. “Alright, I won’t keep you in suspense. It’s the Sterling Group.” “Sterling? You mean my father’s company?” My voice shot up an octave. “The one and only.” My relationship with my father, Jason Crawford, had been strained for years. When I left the family business to start my own media company, he hadn’t given me a dime. No one in the industry knew about my connection to Sterling. In the last couple of years, as my company started to gain traction, my father had made a few overtures to mend our relationship, even offering to partner with me on a few projects. I’d turned him down every time. Ashley probably had no idea why she had suddenly been blessed with the Sterling Group’s favor. “Send me the address of the signing ceremony,” I said. “Looks like I’ll have to crash the party.” Chapter 3 The conference hall at the Cloudfall Hotel was packed with media and industry insiders. Everyone was buzzing, trying to figure out who the mysterious owner of Sunshine Media was. “I hear he’s young, handsome, and brilliant. Just got back from studying abroad.” “Must be from a powerful family. You don’t just land a deal with Sterling right out of the gate.” “Maybe he’s related to the Crawfords?” I let out a small, humorless laugh. I’d used the same playbook myself years ago to build Ashley’s brand as a sophisticated, artistic college student, even hiring tutors to teach her English and painting. But could Leo really live up to the persona Ashley had created for him? When he finally took the stage, all eyes were on him. He was wearing a well-tailored suit and, at first glance, looked the part of a successful executive. But the moment he opened his mouth, the illusion shattered. “Thank you all for coming to today’s signing ceremony…” The microphone let out a piercing screech of feedback. He panicked, fumbling his lines. He stumbled through the first few sentences, his eyes darting to Ashley in the front row. She gave him an encouraging thumbs-up, and he managed a small smile, slowly finding his rhythm. I remembered when Ashley was that nervous before her first live stream. I would spend hours with her, rehearsing her script, preparing her for every possible scenario. Later, when she started to get famous, she’d boasted, “Jayce, just you wait. One day, I’m going to buy you the most expensive car on the lot.” I had waited. But what I got was betrayal. After a long introduction, Ashley joined him on stage. “Hello, everyone. I’m Ashley Vance, Director of Talent Operations at Crawford Media. Leo is the hardest-working man I’ve ever met. He was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, but he still chooses to compete with us regular folks. I have nothing but respect for him.” The crowd laughed, her words cementing Leo’s image as the privileged heir. Ashley paused, her gaze softening as she looked at him. “And he’s also the smartest man I know. I’m confident that Sterling has made the wisest choice, and I look forward to seeing the incredible opportunities this partnership will bring him.” Smart, handsome, hardworking. She had used the same words to describe me when she first confessed her feelings. But yesterday, in my office, she had called me a cold, unfeeling man. People around me started whispering. “What’s the relationship between Crawford Media and Sunshine? Is it a subsidiary?” “Could be. Why else would they send their top star to endorse him?” “With Sterling’s backing and a top streamer’s support, this guy’s set.” A few representatives from Sterling’s marketing department were in attendance. A serious-looking, middle-aged man in a sharp suit walked onto the stage. He sat down at the signing table and quickly flipped through the contract. Just as he was about to put pen to paper, I stood up. “If you’ll just wait a moment.” Every head in the room turned to me. The Sterling representative looked up, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, a look of surprise on his face. “Mr. Crawford?” he asked politely. “Is there a problem?” Ashley whipped her head around. When she saw me, the color drained from her face.

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After years of dating, we finally bought a house together. That weekend, we were supposed to have a housewarming party. I went over early to decorate and cook. When I opened the door, I found a girl in cartoon pajamas curled up barefoot on our sofa, hugging my pillow and scrolling through her phone. She glanced up at me and pointed casually toward the kitchen. “Are you the caterer? The dining room is that way. And Jake likes his food on the bland side, so go easy on the salt.” My boyfriend, Jake, walked in right behind me. The girl leaped up and ran to him, and he playfully flicked her on the forehead. “Troublemaker. Ordering people around again?” He turned to me with a smile. “This is Chloe, our neighbor’s daughter. We grew up together. She’s like a little sister to me.” At dinner, I ladled some mushroom and clam chowder into his bowl. Chloe immediately snatched it away and took a big gulp. “Mm, not bad. But Jake, you’re allergic to shellfish. I’ll take care of these clams for you!” She slurped down the soup, then used her own chopsticks to pile his plate high with food. Later, the conversation turned to home decor. She draped herself over his mom’s arm, pouting. “Auntie, you promised you’d save a room for my art studio! Now it’s full of someone else’s stuff.” Jake’s mom just chuckled and patted her head. “Silly girl, you’re the one who decided to go study abroad.” I looked around at the home I had so carefully decorated, a home this girl seemed to know better than I did, and I put down my fork. “It seems this family already has a designated lady of the house.” “Jake,” I said, my voice steady, “why don’t you just marry her instead?” Then, to the stunned silence of the entire table, I stood up and walked out. 1 I had gotten up at the crack of dawn, my arms loaded with groceries for the party. There were curtains to hang, floors to mop, and his favorite dishes to prepare—the ones that took hours. When I walked in, she was there, barefoot on the sofa in her pajamas, clutching my Hello Kitty pillow. She barely looked up. “Oh, you’re the help? Just leave the food in the dining room. And Jake doesn’t like a lot of salt.” I was still processing when Jake walked in, carrying a bag of fruit. The girl shot up like a rocket. “Jakey!” she squealed, running circles around him. “Where’s my present?” He just smiled, pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket, and handed it to her. So that’s who the necklace he’d stood in line for an hour to buy was for. He finally glanced at me, then flicked her forehead. “Troublemaker. Bossing people around again? This is my girlfriend, Sarah.” Then, to me, “This is Chloe. Our families have known each other forever. She’s like a sister.” Chloe was admiring her new necklace, preening. She shot me a dismissive look. “So, Jakey, is your girlfriend’s cooking any good? You know how picky I am.” Jake just ruffled her hair. “Don’t worry, Sarah’s an amazing cook. You’ll see.” Something about the exchange made my stomach churn. Jake must have noticed my expression because he leaned in and took my hand. “Hey, it’s just how we are. Our families are really close. It’s a tradition. They’ve helped us out a lot over the years.” I let it go. For now. Chloe, beaming, turned on the TV. “Great! My mom’s bringing over dumplings later. Your favorite, Jakey!” That’s when I found out that Chloe’s family had just moved into the new villa next door. A fact Jake had conveniently forgotten to mention when we were buying the place. But the house was full of people and laughter, so I swallowed my questions. At dinner, I served Jake a bowl of his favorite clam chowder. I’d simmered it for two hours. Just as he picked up his spoon, Chloe’s hand shot out and grabbed the bowl. “Not bad,” she said after a large mouthful. “But Jakey, did you forget you’re allergic to shellfish? Your girlfriend isn’t very attentive, is she?” she said with a wink. “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of these for you.” She finished the soup in a few gulps and then, using her own chopsticks, piled his plate high with food. “Eat this, and this! I know exactly what you like.” I froze, my own fork hovering mid-air. I knew my own boyfriend’s allergies. We had traveled together countless times. He always said my cooking was the best, that I knew him better than he knew himself. I waited for Jake to say something, to correct her. But he just took the plate she offered him and gave me a helpless look. “She’s always been like this. A born worrier. Don’t mind her, Sarah.” A lump formed in my throat. Later, Chloe was complaining to Jake’s mom about the decor. “Auntie! You promised me a room for an art studio, but now it’s filled with someone else’s things! My ‘Starry Night’ replica would look perfect in here!” His mom just laughed. “You’re the one who wanted to go abroad, silly. But you’re right, it would look lovely in the living room.” Everyone at the table agreed. Chloe then proceeded to critique my choice of dinnerware (“not practical”) and the fresh flowers I’d arranged (“the colors are all wrong”). I slowly put down my silverware. The clink of the spoon against the bowl seemed to echo in the sudden silence. Jake nudged my knee under the table. “What’s wrong, Sarah?” Before I could answer, Chloe was dangling a piece of shrimp in front of his face. “Open up, Jakey! This is so sweet!” That was it. I stood up so abruptly my chair scraped against the floor. “It seems this family already has a designated lady of the house,” I said, my voice shaking. “Jake, why don’t you just marry her instead?” He caught up with me on the lawn, grabbing my arm. “Sarah, don’t make a scene.” I shook him off, my eyes burning. His mother followed us out. “Jake, apologize to Sarah right now!” He took a deep breath. “Chloe doesn’t have any boundaries. I’m sorry on her behalf. But we’ve been together for so long. Are you really going to throw it all away over an outsider?” His voice softened, a note of panic creeping in. “We’re supposed to see your dad next week. Don’t you want me to come with you anymore?” That hit me where it hurt. After my mom died, my dad’s only wish was to see me settled and happy. He was an old man with a bad leg, and all he wanted was for his daughter to have a loving husband and, one day, a grandchild. I bit my lip, silent. His father came out and pressed an envelope into my hand. “Sarah, we’re sorry you were upset. Jake, you have that get-together with your friends tomorrow, right? Take Sarah with you. Have some fun.” “Of course,” Jake said, pulling me close. That night, he was desperate, clinging to me, whispering apologies over and over. We made love in every room of the three-story house, but the thorn in my heart only dug deeper. The next day, I dressed up for the party. All of Jake’s friends had brought their girlfriends. Except for Chloe, who was there alone. When they saw me, their eyes darted between the two of us. “Jakey! You’re finally here!” Chloe cried, ignoring me completely and pulling him down to sit next to her. “Aren’t you going to introduce us, Jake?” one of his friends asked. Jake just laughed and put his arm around me. “This is Sarah, my girlfriend.” There was a collective, knowing “Ohhh.” Someone muttered, just loud enough for me to hear, “She’s definitely not Chloe’s type. Too… wholesome.” Jake just playfully punched the guy. “Shut up, man.” We started playing a drinking game, “Never Have I Ever.” After a few rounds, Chloe was flushed and giggling. It was Jake’s turn. “Never have I ever,” he said, thinking, “gone to a girl’s house at 2 AM.” A few of the guys cheered and took a drink. Chloe’s eyes lit up. “You’re so bad, Jakey! That was just to fix my computer!” Jake just smiled, not denying it. Another round. It was Chloe’s turn. She looked at me, a sly glint in her eye. “Never have I ever… slept with Jakey.” The table went silent. My hand froze. “Chloe!” Jake snapped. “What? It’s true!” she said innocently. “When you used to take naps at my house as a kid, you always slept next to me.” He was speechless. He shot me an awkward glance but said nothing. The game continued. Jake was drunk now, leaning back on the sofa, his eyes glazed over. It was Chloe’s turn again. She looked at him, her voice a soft, sweet whisper. “My first kiss… I gave it to Jakey when I was sixteen. Under the big oak tree in our neighborhood.” She paused, looking around the silent room, her eyes finally landing on my pale face. “He said… he said he would marry me when I grew up.” The words were like a bucket of ice water. The room was deathly quiet. I shot to my feet, staring at Jake. “Is what she said true?” The man who had been whispering words of love to me just last night looked from Chloe to me, a dopey, drunken grin on his face. “What’s true? Of course, Chloe was my first love. Cutest girl, softest lips…” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “What are you saying?” I whispered, my voice trembling. “So you still want to marry her?” My tone seemed to sober him up a little. He reached for my hand. “Sarah, don’t… don’t be mad. It was just kid stuff…” But before he could finish, his 6’2” frame slumped onto Chloe’s shoulder. “Chloe has always been the one for him,” a girl with short hair said suddenly. “When she found out about you two, she cried so hard she passed out. Jake drove three hours in the middle of the night just to comfort her.” “Yeah,” another guy added, “we all saw them kiss under that tree. We used to tease them about it all the time.” Chloe’s eyes filled with tears, as if the memories were too much to bear. “Stop it, you guys. It was all in the past. It doesn’t mean anything. Sarah, don’t be upset…” “She’s a nobody from the middle of nowhere,” a guy in a suit sneered. “She’s lucky to be with Jake at all. If you want to be with him, you need to learn to let things go.” Chloe was still crying. “Don’t be sad, Chloe,” another girl said. “Didn’t Jake say that if you were still single at thirty, he’d marry you?” My head was pounding. Jake lifted his head, a goofy grin on his face. “Yeah… marry Chloe…” Then he collapsed back into her arms. That was the final blow. I grabbed my purse and walked out. Behind me, I heard them muttering. “What a buzzkill.” “Outsiders just don’t get it.” “Don’t cry, Chloe. You know he only loves you.” The moment I got home, the sandalwood bracelet Jake had given me, the one he’d waited two hours in line at a temple to have blessed, snapped. The beads scattered across the floor, like the shattered pieces of my heart. I remembered my dad saying, “The Scotts are not good enough for you.” But he’d relented when he saw the bracelet. My dad, a tough old man with a soft spot for his daughter, had even secretly helped Jake’s fledgling business, pulling strings to help his “future son-in-law.” And now, this. In the picture on the wall, Jake was looking at me with so much love. Would he even remember what he’d done tonight? He didn’t come home. The next day, he burst through the door, his face a mask of fury. Chloe was trailing behind him, her eyes swollen from crying. He slammed his phone down in front of me. On the screen was a viral video: “The Truth About the ‘Girl Next Door’! Live from the Party!” It was all there. Chloe’s sweet confession about her first kiss, Jake’s drunken admission that he would marry her. The comments were brutal. [OMG! Not the girl next door, the homewrecker next door!] [Is the girlfriend blind? Why is she still with him?] [The guy’s a total scumbag!] [Give this Chloe an Oscar for her performance!] [Run, girl! Let these two losers have each other!] “Sarah! Are you happy now? Are you happy now that you’ve ruined her?” Jake roared, his eyes red. “She’s so scared she can’t even leave the house!” Chloe was sobbing. “Jakey… I’m so scared…” I looked at him. The same face, but a complete stranger. My heart, which had been slowly breaking, finally shattered. “So,” I said, my voice quiet, “you’re here to defend her. Without even asking me if I had anything to do with it?” “Shouldn’t I?” he yelled, pulling her behind him. “She’s just a kid! Why are you being so vicious?” I laughed, tears streaming down my face. “Jake,” I said softly, “we’re done.” “Done?” He looked at me as if I’d lost my mind. “Sarah, who are you going to find besides me? With your dad’s situation…” Chloe, ever the victim, started crying again. “It’s all my fault, Sarah. Don’t blame Jakey…” I couldn’t take another second of her crocodile tears. I lunged forward and slapped her, hard. CRACK! She shrieked. Jake shoved me, and I stumbled back, hitting the corner of the shoe cabinet. A sharp pain shot through my back, but it was nothing compared to the pain in my heart. The doorbell rang, and his friends poured in, immediately surrounding me. “Chloe, are you okay?” “Man, your girlfriend has a temper!” “First, she trashes Chloe online, now she’s hitting her!” “Who does this country girl think she is?” Chloe hid in Jake’s arms, her sobs even more pathetic. But she still managed to tug on his sleeve and “defend” me. “It’s not Sarah’s fault. She just hates me. Let’s just drop it.” The other girls were all in my face. “You’re a horrible person!” “How could you bully someone as sweet as Chloe!” Jake looked exhausted, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Sarah, you were in the wrong here,” he said, his voice tight with controlled anger. “Just apologize to Chloe.” I looked at the mob in my house, all of them looking at me with such contempt. It was laughable. In the chaos, someone shoved me, and the necklace I was wearing, the one my mother had left me, snapped. The locket, with a picture of my family inside, fell to the floor. CRUNCH. Chloe’s high heel came down right on top of it. The sound of shattering glass was sharp and final. The room went silent. I stared at the locket, at the picture of my mother’s smiling face, now crushed under Chloe’s shoe. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Chloe cried, stumbling back. I fell to my knees, my fingers trembling as I tried to piece the photo back together. But it was impossible. “Mom… Mom, I’m so sorry… I didn’t protect you…” The tears I had been holding back finally broke free. “Sarah…” Jake said, his voice softer now. He seemed to finally remember how much the necklace meant to me. He pushed Chloe aside and knelt to hold me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know…” “Don’t touch me!” I screamed, shoving him away. I scrambled to my feet, my heart feeling like it was about to explode. I stared at him, at his friends, and all the pain, the anger, the betrayal, it all came pouring out. I raised my hand, and with all the strength I had left, I slapped him. CRACK! He was stunned. I didn’t wait for his reaction. I pulled out my phone and made a call, my eyes locked on his shocked face. “Dad,” I said, my voice as cold as ice. “Pull every single dollar of our investment from the Scott family and from Jake’s company. Now.”

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My husband and I had been trying for a baby for years, with no luck. One day, he brought home his mistress’s illegitimate child, telling me he was an orphan we were adopting. The next day, he and his mistress faked their own deaths to start a new life together. Right after they left, I found out I was pregnant. I didn’t cry. I didn’t rage. I quietly had my husband and his mistress declared legally dead and returned their son to an orphanage. Years later, my own child was grown, a brilliant student accepted to an Ivy League university. That’s when my “dead” husband and his mistress reappeared, demanding their son back. “He’s our biological child!” they cried. “We’re his real parents!” 1 I had just joined a new mom’s group online when I saw a strange post: “Ladies, I’m the other woman. I had a baby with my married boyfriend, and now I don’t want to raise it. What should I do?” One of the other moms replied: “If the wife is barren, have your man pretend the baby is from an orphanage and bring it home for her to raise.” “You and your man can go live your best life for a few years. When the kid is older, have him go back and divorce the wife.” “Boom. You’re a winner.” I frowned, disturbed by the casual cruelty. That night, my husband, Mark, came home from work. I was about to tell him I was pregnant, but he spoke first. “Honey,” he said, “we’ve been married for so long without a child. What if we adopted one from an orphanage?” My heart skipped a beat. The conversation from the mom’s group flashed in my mind. I swallowed the words I was about to say and decided to test him. “Mark, what if we just keep trying? I went to the doctor today, and she said everything looks fine, that I can definitely still get pregnant…” “No!” he cut me off, his voice sharp with impatience. “We’ve been trying for years. What makes you think it’s suddenly going to happen now?” “Besides,” he added, his voice rising, “my mom is getting older. She’s been dying for a grandchild. Can’t you be a little more considerate?” When I didn’t answer, he slammed his chopsticks down on the table. “Don’t you dare give me the silent treatment! If you weren’t so barren, I wouldn’t have to resort to adoption!” “Every time I’m with my friends, they’re all dads. I’m the only one who’s not. It’s humiliating.” “I have a business trip with a client in a few days. We need to get this adoption sorted out before then.” I inwardly scoffed. If I hadn’t seen that post, I might have actually believed him. Seeing his desperation, I knew the truth. Before he could say another word, I nodded. “Okay. Whatever you think is best.” His expression softened immediately. “Good. I knew you’d understand. I’ll go pick up the baby tomorrow.” 2 Mark, who usually took five-minute showers, spent over an hour in the bathroom that night. He didn’t come out until I was already in bed. After he fell asleep, I opened the mom’s group again. The “other woman” had posted an update. “Ladies, my man just talked to the old hag at home. Once the baby is with her, we’re faking our deaths and moving to Europe to live our best life. In a few years, when the kid is older, we’ll come back and reap the benefits. LOL!” She even posted a screenshot of their texts. The profile picture, though partially cropped, was unmistakably Mark’s. The other women in the group were all praising her cleverness. I couldn’t resist. Using a burner account, I replied to her post. “Aren’t you afraid of getting caught?” She replied almost instantly. “Caught? That old hag should be grateful. Her womb is a desert. I’m giving her a child to raise. It’s a win-win. I get my freedom, and my son gets a free nanny.” Her shamelessness was breathtaking. I closed the app, my blood boiling. Mark was snoring peacefully beside me, oblivious. The more I thought about it, the angrier I got. I kicked him, hard, right out of the bed. He woke up with a yelp, dazed and confused. I pretended to be woken up by the noise, rubbing my eyes. “What’s wrong, honey? Are you sleepwalking again?” He grumbled, rubbing the spot where I’d kicked him, and climbed back into bed. He was snoring again in seconds. I placed a hand on my stomach and silently clenched my other fist. You brought this child to me. Getting him back won’t be so easy. The next day, Mark brought the baby home. My mother-in-law, who was visiting, looked concerned. “Mark, you and Chloe are still young. Are you sure you want to rush into adoption?” “I’m too busy with work, Mom,” he said, looking uncomfortable. “I have to go abroad for a while in a few days. And you’ve always wanted a grandchild. Look how cute he is.” He handed the baby to her. I glanced at the child. He was only a few months old, but I could already see the resemblance to Mark. My mother-in-law looked at me, her eyes filled with sympathy. I just smiled, as if to say, it’s okay. That night, the mistress was back in the group, bragging. “The baby is with the old hag! We’re off to Europe!” She posted pictures of two plane tickets. Soon after, Mark’s suitcase was packed. “Mom, the company is sending me overseas for a while. Chloe, take care of the house, and the baby.” He gave me a rare hug before he left, a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. “I’ll be back, honey.” I waved goodbye, feigning sadness. When I went back to our room, I noticed he had taken the debit card from my nightstand. It was our joint savings account, with the thirty thousand dollars I had painstakingly saved over the years. I wanted to scream, but I held it in. I pulled a hidden safe out from under the bed. Inside were several gold bars and a few credit cards in my name only. My secret stash. Three hundred thousand dollars, saved over a decade of marriage. Never trust a man. A woman needs her own money. After Mark left, life went on. The mistress’s last post was at the end of the month. A picture of two silhouettes kissing against a sunset. The location tag was in Italy. 3 I pretended I knew nothing. I took care of the baby and my mother-in-law. Two days later, I came home with the results of my pregnancy test. My mother-in-law was overjoyed and immediately tried to call Mark. But he didn’t answer. She called his office, only to be told he had quit a month ago. Mark was gone. My mother-in-law was starting to panic. Just as she was about to call the police, I showed her the two pictures the mistress had posted: the plane tickets and the sunset kiss. “Mom, what are we going to do?” I sobbed. “I think Mark has been lying to us. Do you think… do you think he’s having an affair? He took all our money and left us with this baby!” My mother-in-law’s face turned to stone. “That bastard!” I pretended to faint from the shock. When I woke up, she was sitting by my bed, her face etched with concern. “Chloe,” she sighed, “Mark has wronged you. It’s my fault. I didn’t raise him right.” She pulled a bank card from her pocket and pressed it into my hand. “This is my life savings. I want you to have it.” “Mom, I can’t take this.” “You’re pregnant,” she insisted. “You’ll need it. Take it as my apology for my worthless son.” I reluctantly accepted. Then, placing a hand on my belly, I said, “Mom, we already have one child to raise. Maybe… maybe I should get an abortion. With our financial situation…” “No!” she cut me off. “That’s my grandchild! My only blood relative! You can’t!” “As for the other one,” she said, her voice hardening, “Mark was the one who insisted on adopting him. If he’s not going to take responsibility, why should we? We’ll take him back to the orphanage tomorrow.” I was secretly thrilled, but I just nodded obediently. “Okay, Mom. Whatever you say.” 4 The next day, I took Mark’s son to the local orphanage. I told them his parents had died in a tragic accident. Just as I was leaving, a kind-looking middle-aged couple arrived, looking to adopt. They were immediately drawn to Mark’s son. “His parents just passed away,” the director told them. “It seems like fate that you’re here today.” I watched them for a moment, then walked over and gave them my contact information. When I got home, I sat down with my mother-in-law to plan our future. When I married Mark, he had wanted me to be a stay-at-home wife, so I had quit my stable government job. Now, with him gone, our only source of income was gone, too. I had my savings, but they wouldn’t last forever. “Mom,” I said, “I want to start my own business.” She immediately took off the heavy gold bracelet she always wore. “You’ll need capital. Take this. You can sell it if you need to.” I gently put the bracelet back on her wrist. “I can’t, Mom. Dad gave that to you. It’s too precious.” “Mark may be a scumbag,” I told her, “but you’ve been nothing but good to me. I won’t abandon you.” She burst into tears and hugged me. I had my own selfish reasons, of course. A single mother, trying to work and raise a child alone, would have a much harder time without support. With my mother-in-law’s help, I could focus on building a future for my child. My small business started to grow. My belly grew, too. The day I opened my first franchise location, my son was born. I held him in my arms and laughed at Mark’s stupidity. He had a good life, and he threw it all away. By the time my son was four, he started to notice the absence of a father. I decided not to lie to him. I told him the truth. It was harsh, but better than a lifetime of lies. Three years later, my son was enrolled in the best private school in the city. My company went public. I was named one of the top female entrepreneurs of the year. We moved into a large house and hired help. My mother-in-law spent her days at yoga classes and beauty salons, picking up her grandson from school in the afternoons. We had completely forgotten about Mark. But some people just can’t stay dead. After years of silence, the old mom’s group was suddenly active again. The mistress, still posting from an overseas location, wrote: “Ladies, after all these years in Europe, my health is failing. I had to have a hysterectomy last year. My man and I miss our son so much. Is there any way for us to be a family again?”

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The buzzing started the second I sank into the hot water of the bathtub. My head snapped around. A drone. It was hovering brazenly right outside my bathroom window. Blood rushed to my head. My first instinct was to jump up and yank the curtains shut, but what if it was recording? I curled myself into the tightest ball possible in the far corner of the tub, grabbed the long-handled back brush from the ledge, and swiped frantically at the cord, managing to pull the blinds closed. I scrambled out, threw on a robe, and rushed to the window. The thing was still there. I ripped the blinds open and held up my phone, hitting record. As if it had been caught, the drone zipped away and vanished into the night. Clutching my phone, I immediately uploaded the video to our condo building’s private Facebook group. “Whose drone is this?! Flying outside my bathroom window at night. Have some decency!” My post was a bombshell. “Isn’t that the same one that was hovering outside my window a few days ago?” “That’s it! I was just about to get undressed and it freaked me out so much I just put my jacket back on!” “This is harassment, right? Who knows if we’re being secretly filmed!” I tagged the building management. “Shouldn’t you be investigating this? It’s happened to more than one resident!” Management replied quickly: “Rest assured, residents, we will look into this immediately.” I thought that would be the end of it. I never imagined the drone would come back, with a vengeance, and this time, just for me. 1. The building management’s investigation went nowhere. They claimed there were too many blind spots in the security camera coverage to find the operator. Judging by the silence in the Facebook group, none of my neighbors were being bothered anymore. It was my personal stalker now. I live on the 16th floor. The view is great, which also means I’m completely exposed. Day one, it hovered outside my living room window, its camera aimed straight at me. I drew the curtains. Day two, it was outside my bedroom window. At midnight. I installed heavy blackout curtains that plunged the room into total darkness. Day three, I was in the kitchen cooking dinner. I turned my head and there it was. A cold, electronic eye, separated from me by a single pane of glass. I felt like an animal in a glass cage, being watched at will by an invisible owner. I called the cops. An officer came, took my statement, and then said, “Ma’am, without any actual damages or proof of it capturing you in a private moment, it’s tough to press charges. We recommend you take extra security precautions.” Extra precautions? I kept all my blinds and curtains drawn, living in a perpetual state of twilight. I was starting to feel like a mushroom. That night, I was watching a movie with the volume turned way up. Suddenly, a deafening whine drowned out the sound. The drone’s propellers. It was practically plastered to my window. I stormed over and ripped open the curtains. A tiny, powerful spotlight had been attached to the drone. A beam of stark white light shot through the darkness, directly into my eyes. I staggered back, eyes stinging, tears streaming down my face. It was taunting me. A switch flipped in my brain. I grabbed an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter, slid open the window, and hurled it with all my might. The drone dodged it with a nimble dip. It seemed to gloat, wobbling in the air for a second before flying off. I watched it disappear. It went up. I live on the 16th floor. There are still a dozen or so floors above me. I shut the window and sat in the dark, listening to the furious drumming of my own heart. This wasn’t over. 2. The next day, I took a half-day off work. I went to a specialty electronics store. “Hey, you got any of those high-powered laser pointers?” I asked the guy at the counter. He pulled a long, thin box from under the counter. “This one’s got a three-mile range. You can see the beam at night. Don’t ever point it at anyone’s eyes. It’ll blind them.” “I’ll take it.” That evening, I sat on my couch in the dark, waiting. I’d left a small crack in the curtains. Sure enough, at 9 p.m., the familiar buzz returned. It circled at a distance first, as if checking to see if the coast was clear, before slowly approaching my window. The spotlight flickered on. Showtime. I raised the laser pointer, aimed through the crack in the curtains, and zeroed in on that glowing camera lens. I pressed the button. A beam of brilliant green light shot out and hit the drone’s camera dead-on. The drone jolted violently, as if it had been electrocuted. The spotlight died instantly. It thrashed around in the air for a few seconds before fleeing in a panic. A wave of pure satisfaction washed over me as I watched it retreat. I had the best night’s sleep I’d had in weeks. The next morning, I walked out of my apartment, feeling refreshed and ready for work, and was hit by a wall of stench. A huge splash of dark red, viscous liquid was dripping down my front door. It looked like rancid animal blood. The keyhole of my deadbolt was jammed solid with superglue. My key wouldn’t go in. The door was un-lockable from the outside. I just stood there, my stomach churning. 3. I didn’t clean up the mess. I didn’t touch the lock. I just called building management, my voice eerily calm. “Someone vandalized my door with some kind of filth and glued my lock shut. I need you to send someone to deal with it. And I need you to pull the hallway security footage.” The property manager came up himself, his face pale as he took in the scene. “Ms. Miller, this is… this is appalling! We’ll get on the security footage right away!” I nodded, went downstairs, bought a new deadbolt from the hardware store, and called a locksmith to come and drill out the old one. My phone was quiet all afternoon. Just before the end of the workday, the manager called back, his tone strained. “Ms. Miller, we reviewed the footage, but… the person was wearing a hoodie and a face mask. We can’t see their face.” “Which floor did they come from?” I asked. “…Floor 17.” I hung up. The 17th floor. A package I’d ordered arrived. A smart video doorbell, with motion detection and cloud storage. I installed it myself in under thirty minutes. After I was done, I ordered some Thai food and sat on the couch, eating while watching the live feed from my front door on a spare phone. They would be back. I waited for two nights. Nothing happened. The drone didn’t show up either. It was like they’d given up. On the third night, I was reading a book when my phone buzzed. A push notification from the doorbell app. “Motion has been detected at your front door.” I immediately opened the live view. A figure in a black hoodie was creeping toward my door, a small bucket in his hand. Just as I’d expected. He walked right up to my door, started to unscrew the lid of the bucket, and raised it to throw. I pressed the two-way talk button on the app. “Don’t move.” My voice, broadcast from the tiny speaker on the doorbell, wasn’t loud, but it sliced through the silent hallway. The figure froze, sloshing some of the liquid out of the bucket. He looked up in terror at the little doorbell camera. “I’ve got you on video,” I continued, my voice steady. “Turn around, take the stairs, and walk away now, and I can pretend this never happened.” He stood there, hesitating, clearly trying to decide what to do. “You have three seconds. Three… two…” Before I could even say “one,” he dropped the bucket and bolted for the stairwell. I watched him vanish from the frame and saved the video clip. In that one moment he’d looked up, his mask had slipped just enough to reveal the lower half of his face. It was a young face, twisted with malice. 4. I didn’t post the video to the Facebook group. That would only make them more careful next time. I needed a knockout punch. The next day, my internet slowed to a crawl. Videos buffered endlessly, and web pages took forever to load. I called my service provider, and they ran a diagnostic, telling me the line was fine, but that I had an unusual amount of traffic and several unknown devices connected to my network. I logged into my router’s admin panel. Sure enough, the list of connected devices was full of MAC addresses I didn’t recognize. One device name stood out: “LK-Drone-Controller.” LK? It hit me like a ton of bricks. There was only one family on the 17th floor. Apartment 1701. The last time I was in the management office, I had glanced at the resident directory. The owner: Daniel Kirk. His son: Leo Kirk. LK. They had been piggybacking off my Wi-Fi the entire time. Using my own internet to control the drone that was spying on me. No wonder they always knew exactly when I was home. A hot rage burned in my chest. I didn’t change the password. Not yet. I opened my laptop and started Googling. “How to track devices on my Wi-Fi.” “Locate IP address.” “Digital forensics.” It took me a full day, but I figured it out. Using some specialized software, I could capture the data packets being sent by any device on my network. The data was encrypted, but I could see which servers it was communicating with. “LK-Drone-Controller” was constantly pinging a cloud server belonging to a major drone manufacturer. I even found the server’s IP address. I took screenshots of everything—the device name, its MAC address, the server logs—and saved it all. Only after I had my evidence did I go back into my router settings, blacklist “LK-Drone-Controller,” and change my Wi-Fi password. The next morning, I had just gotten out of bed when someone started pounding on my door. I checked the video doorbell feed. It was a middle-aged woman, her face distorted with fury. Leo Kirk’s mom, from 1701. “Open this door! Open up right now! You little psycho, what did you do to our internet?” she shrieked, hammering on the door with her fist. I hit the talk button. “I’m sorry, ma’am, I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “Don’t play dumb with me! My son said it was you! It was working fine yesterday, and now we can’t get online! What is wrong with you?!” She’d just admitted it. I let a small smile touch my lips. “Oh? And how exactly were you getting online, ma’am?” The woman outside my door went silent. “You… what are you talking about! We have our own internet plan!” “Is that right? Well, that’s funny. I was checking my router yesterday and noticed an unauthorized device has been stealing my Wi-Fi for weeks. The device is named ‘LK-Drone-Controller.’ I’ve already filed a police report and gave them the device’s MAC address and all the server data as evidence. They’re going to find out who owns it and what they’ve been doing. Did you know that piggybacking on a secured network is a federal crime?” I heard a sharp intake of breath from the other side of the door. Then, dead silence. A few seconds later, she exploded like a cornered animal. “You’re lying! You bitch, you’re trying to frame my son!” She started kicking the door, screaming every curse word in the book. I didn’t engage further. I muted the microphone, walked calmly to my kitchen, and started making a pot of coffee. Listening to her impotent rage outside my door, I took a sip. For the first time in a long time, my coffee tasted amazing. 5. Leo’s mom raged for another ten minutes before the neighbors and building security finally persuaded her to leave. The world was quiet again. That evening, my power went out. It wasn’t a tripped breaker; my neighbors’ lights were all on. It was just my unit, plunged into darkness. I turned on my phone’s flashlight and checked the circuit breaker box. All the switches were in the ‘on’ position. I called building maintenance. “Ms. Miller, please hold on, we’ll send an electrician up right away.” As I waited, a deep sense of unease settled over me. With the power out, my video doorbell was offline. I was blind to what was happening outside my door. I dragged a heavy armchair and wedged it under the doorknob. Then I heard it. A faint footstep. It stopped right in front of my door. It was followed by a soft, metallic scraping sound. Someone was picking my lock. Every hair on my body stood on end. I held my breath, tiptoed to the door, and pressed my ear against the cold metal. Whoever was out there wasn’t very good at it. They fumbled for a while before I heard a muffled curse. They seemed to give up. Then came a different sound. A soft squelching. They were squirting something into the lock. Glue. They were trying to seal me in. What if there’s a fire? The thought terrified me. I crept to the kitchen and pulled the longest, sharpest chef’s knife from the block. Just then, my phone rang. It was the building electrician. “Ms. Miller? I’m on your floor, but someone’s put a padlock on the utility closet in the hall. I can’t get to the main power box for your unit. Let me go see if I can find a key.” My blood ran cold. They’d locked the utility closet, too. Almost simultaneously, I heard the person outside my door react to the sound of my phone ringing. The footsteps started again, frantic this time, running toward the stairwell. I rushed to the door and peered through the peephole. The hallway was empty. I wrenched the door open. The sharp, chemical smell of superglue filled the air. The lock was completely sealed. Down the hall, the door to the utility closet had a heavy-duty U-lock clamped through the handles. They were trying to bury me alive in my own apartment. I stumbled back inside, my back against the door, my heart pounding against my ribs. My phone screen lit up. A text from an unknown number. “Like my gift? This is just the beginning.”

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The day my parents agreed to a “separation in place,” they made only one rule. Dad was in charge of my brother, Leo. Mom was in charge of me. From that day on, my dad treated my brother like a prince, showering him with time and money. For me, he had only one cold, dismissive sentence: “Go ask your mother.” But my mom was just as bad, fussing over the new fall wardrobe Leo needed. “Leo’s still so young,” she’d say. “Even though your father and I are separated, Leo is still my baby.” When I started my freshman year of college, I asked for my first monthly allowance and got a transfer for two hundred dollars. “Money’s really tight right now, sweetie,” she texted. “Try to make this work. If you’re really in a bind, I’ll see what I can do.” Forget three square meals a day; I had to skip my afternoon classes to work shifts as a waitress just to make rent. I had just turned down an invitation from my roommates to go out, and was sitting alone in my dorm, eating a cup of instant ramen. That’s when I saw the new set of car keys on my brother’s Instagram story. The caption read: “17 years old, scored a $40k ride, all cash. Half from Dad, half from Mom, and two kisses from me.” I stared at the picture they took at the dealership. A happy family of three. My brother, who didn’t even have a driver’s license yet, had a brand-new car. And me, on my birthday, I got an $88 Venmo transfer from my mom. The memo read: “Happy birthday, sweetie!” 1 That picture of their perfect little family felt like a knife in my gut. In the photo, my dad had his arm around my mom’s shoulders, while she held affectionately onto my brother’s arm. The three of them were beaming, standing in front of a brand-new, forty-thousand-dollar black SUV that served as a giant, gleaming monument to their hypocrisy. And then there was me. The so-called other member of this family. Sitting alone on a cold plastic chair in my college dorm, soaking a dry ramen noodle block in free hot water from the communal kitchen, trying to celebrate my nineteenth birthday. On my phone screen, that glaring “$88.00” transfer felt as nauseating as the hunger pains in my stomach. Rage, potent as gasoline, ignited in my chest. I didn’t text them. I didn’t cry. I calmly put down my cup of noodles, changed into the nicest outfit I owned, and called an Uber straight to the upscale steakhouse my brother had tagged in his post. The moment I pushed open the door to the private dining room, all the laughter and chatter died. Grandma, grandpa, aunts, uncles… all my relatives were there. They were all sitting around a massive round table, fawning over my underage brother, praising his future “brilliant career.” My dad’s face fell instantly. My mom’s smile froze, her eyes wide with shock and panic. I ignored everyone else, walked straight to my mother, and held my phone up for her to see. The screen showed two screenshots, side by side. One was my brother’s Instagram story with the $40,000 luxury car. The other was the $88 birthday payment she had sent me. My voice wasn’t loud, but it was crystal clear, laced with an icy sort of amusement that cut through the silence. “Mom, is this what ‘money’s tight’ looks like?” “Is this what you mean when you’re always saying, ‘You and your brother are the same, you’re both my children’?” The room went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. My mother’s face went from flushed to pale, her lips trembling. She couldn’t get a single word out. My dad slammed his hand on the table and shot to his feet, pointing a finger at me. “Chloe! What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” he roared. “It’s a happy day for your brother. Do you have to come here and ruin everything? Are you really going to throw a tantrum and embarrass us all over a couple of hundred bucks?” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound that almost brought tears to my eyes. “You’re right, Dad. In your world, a forty-thousand-dollar car for Leo is no big deal, and me having enough money to eat is even less of one.” I scanned the faces of my relatives around the table, their expressions a mix of shock and discomfort. I continued, my voice slow and deliberate. “But Dad, you seem to have forgotten our agreement. You said you’d take care of Leo, and Mom would take care of me. Mom paid for half of Leo’s car. Isn’t that crossing a line?” “And Mom, you forgot too. You told me two hundred dollars a month was a struggle, that you couldn’t spare another dime. So where did the twenty thousand dollars for Leo’s car come from?” “How can the two of you stand there and bald-faced lie to your own daughter, together?!” By the end, I was practically shouting. My hands were shaking. My heart felt like it was bleeding. I thought our struggle was my mom’s struggle. I thought I was being a good daughter, helping her through a hard time. To save a few bucks on bus fare every day, I would walk forty minutes under the blazing summer sun to my waitressing job. When my roommates talked about the latest movies or trendy new coffee shops, I’d just smile and say I wasn’t interested. A single dinner out with them cost what I had budgeted for a full week of groceries. I’m an education major. The number of textbooks and materials I need to buy is insane. I never dared to ask for more money, so I’d spend hours in the library hoping the books I needed were available, or I’d swallow my pride and ask to borrow my classmates’ to photocopy the pages. I thought I was being considerate of a single mother’s hardship. And what was the reality? It wasn’t a mother’s struggle. It was a carefully constructed lie. She had money. She had twenty thousand dollars. She would just rather spend it on a son who can’t even legally drive than make sure her daughter wasn’t starving. Tears finally streamed down my mom’s face. She grabbed my hand, sobbing. “Chloe, honey, let me explain… It’s not like that… Your brother, he…” “He what?” I pulled my hand away, stepping closer. “He can’t drive because he’s a minor, or he can’t live without this car?” “You’d rather let a forty-thousand-dollar hunk of metal collect dust in the garage than let your actual, living daughter have a normal college experience.” “What are your hearts even made of?” My dad’s anger hit its peak. “That’s enough! Get the hell out of here!” “Leave?” I scoffed. “Fine. I’ll leave as soon as I’m finished.” I took a deep breath, held up my phone, and aimed it at the whole table of relatives, hitting the record button. “Today is my birthday. My mom gave me eighty-eight dollars. My brother got a forty-thousand-dollar car, paid for by both my parents. This is what ‘fairness’ looks like in our family.” “I just want to ask everyone here, have you ever seen fairness like this?” 2 I slammed the door on my way out, clutching the video that would bring my parents’ carefully curated image crashing down. That night, I didn’t block anyone. I did something much worse. I posted the video from the restaurant, along with the screenshots of my brother’s Instagram story and my $88 Venmo payment, directly to the family group chat. I also put it on my own Instagram feed. The caption was carefully crafted. “Nineteen years old, celebrating with ramen and tearfully congratulating my seventeen-year-old brother on his new car. A huge thank you to my parents for their ‘even-handed’ love. Wishing your perfect family of three a lifetime of happiness.” Finally, I made a public declaration: effective immediately, I would be working to pay for my own tuition and living expenses for the next four years. I would keep a detailed ledger and, within five years of graduation, I would pay back every single dollar my mother had spent on my “sole support,” with interest. After that, we would owe each other nothing. It was like dropping a bomb. The family group chat exploded, my phone buzzing nonstop with notifications. My relatives started calling, one after another. I ignored them all. My phone grew hot in my hand. The comment section on my Instagram post was a spectacle. Shock from my classmates, concern from my friends, and morbid curiosity from people I barely knew. I didn’t care. I wanted this out in the open. I wanted everyone to see the favoritism and hypocrisy hiding behind my parents’ masks of loving providers. Giving up the chance to live a comfortable life with my dad was a choice I made when I was too young to know better. The day my parents announced their “separation in place,” I saw the despair in my mom’s eyes. My dad’s business was booming back then; he was confident and successful, while my mom was a stay-at-home-mom with no career. Everyone assumed that life with Dad meant security, and life with Mom meant struggle. My brother was just a little kid, his eyes glued to the new video game console in my dad’s hands. In that moment, I felt like I had to be the responsible older sister. I had to be understanding. So I told her, “Mom, I’ll stay with you. With just me, it’ll be less of a burden.” She hugged me and cried, telling me I was her good, sweet daughter. Thinking back on it now, it was the biggest joke of my life. My maturity was taken for granted. My sacrifice was seen as voluntary. They happily accepted my consideration, then poured all their love, energy, and money, without reservation, into the brother I had “given up” for them. They weren’t separated. They had just found a socially acceptable way to surgically remove me from their core family unit. The fallout was even more intense than I had imagined. The next day, my relatives began their campaign of guilt-tripping. First, it was my aunt. Her voice was full of disappointment. “Chloe, how could you be so immature? You don’t air your family’s dirty laundry in public! Think about how this makes your parents look!” I replied calmly, “Auntie, when I didn’t have enough money to eat, where was my face? How do you think that made me look?” Next was my uncle, trying to appeal to my emotions. “Your mother had a tough time raising you. She just made a mistake. How can you push her like this? Just delete the post. Shouldn’t families stick together?” I said, “Uncle, I’m not the one who isn’t sticking with the family. They never treated me like I was part of it. She had a tough time? You think my life has been easy?” The most ridiculous was some second cousin I barely know, who decided to get on her high horse in the group chat. “Kids these days are unbelievable. So jealous of her brother’s car that she’s willing to destroy her own family! Absolutely no gratitude!” That was the last straw. I didn’t argue with them one by one. I went straight to the family group chat, with its two hundred-plus members, and posted a long message. “@everyone, thank you all for your ‘concern.’ Regarding my ‘immaturity,’ I’d like to address this once and for all: First, to anyone who thinks my mom had it so tough raising me all by herself, please, feel free to show some family solidarity and take over that financial responsibility. I promise to be eternally grateful. I’ll even send you a Christmas card every year. Second, to anyone who thinks my brother’s $40,000 car was a great purchase, please, show a little of that family unity you’re all talking about and help me pay off my $30,000 in student loans. I think we can all agree that’s a much better investment than a chunk of metal. Third, if you are unwilling or unable to do either of the above, then please shut up. Talk is cheap. It’s easy to lecture from the sidelines when you’re not the one getting hurt.” After I sent that message, the group chat went completely silent again. All the relatives who had been so self-righteous moments before were suddenly quiet. I knew it. The second money gets involved, they have nothing to say. That afternoon, my brother showed up at the restaurant where I work. He stood by the entrance, looking hurt and confused. “Chloe, how could you do this? You’ve made our family problems public knowledge. Mom and Dad are losing their minds over this!” I looked at his designer-brand clothes and the latest iPhone in his hand and just felt the bitter irony of it all. “When they gave me eighty-eight bucks for my birthday, did they ever think that I might be losing my mind?” I cracked a smile. “How about we trade?” “The car for me, the eighty-eight dollar birthday Venmo for you. What do you say?” “From now on, I’ll be Mom and Dad’s precious baby, and you can eat ramen and bus tables. Come on, experience what it feels like for me.” The color drained from Leo’s face. “That’s… that’s not the same…” Of course he wouldn’t do it. He was used to a life of comfort, of having everything handed to him. He was used to being the center of their universe. I rolled my eyes, done with the conversation, and turned to head back to the kitchen. “If it’s not the same, then there’s nothing more to talk about.” With things having escalated this far, my parents finally realized they couldn’t ignore me anymore. They asked to meet me at a coffee shop, to “talk things through properly.” The second we sat down, my dad put on his stern-father act, playing the bad cop. His face was a mask of fury. “Are you done with this circus? You’ve turned this entire family upside down over nothing! You’re a disgrace!” My mom sat next to him, playing the good cop. Her eyes were red and puffy as she cried about how hard it was to raise me and how ungrateful I was being. They were a well-rehearsed team, perfectly in sync, painting me as the villain of the story. I waited until their performance was over, then slowly picked up my coffee and took a sip. “Are you finished?” I put the cup down, my gaze steady. “Good. Now it’s time to hear my solution.” They both stared at me, stunned. I smiled faintly and threw out a proposal they never could have anticipated. “You two love Leo more than anything, right? You’re always saying how he’s the hope of the family, your future security.” “Fine. I’ll make it easy for you.” “Let’s do this. The house we all live in—sign it over to Leo. And I, Chloe, will voluntarily go to a notary and sign a legally binding document renouncing all rights to my inheritance.”

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