The night the most popular girl in school stole my song to win the top prize, I exposed her in front of everyone. But my childhood best friend, the boy I loved, defended her. “You’re mute, Mia, you can’t sing it anyway. So what if you let Chloe have it? “Why be so stingy? Just write another one.” Later, I joined a senior from my program on a reality music show. Our on-the-spot composition and duet went viral. We were photographed checking into the same hotel. My ex-best friend showed up that night, pounding on my door. “I’m reporting you for taking advantage of a disabled person!” My new partner, his bathrobe hanging open, traced my lips with his thumb. “Darling, tonight, let’s just be deaf, okay? “That’s the deal. Just deaf. Not mute.” 1 “And the winner of the eighteenth annual Northwood Conservatory Prism Prize for composition is… Chloe Reed! Congratulations!” “Wow, the top prize. I wonder what the piece is like.” “We’re about to find out. I heard the judges’ panel wasn’t just faculty this year. Leo Maxwell, who just got back from his European tour, was the guest judge.” I heard my dorm-mates buzzing about Leo as I came out of the bathroom. I knew that name all too well. It was because of Leo Maxwell’s music that Ethan decided to apply to Northwood in the first place. And because I’d been his shadow, his best friend since we were kids, and in love with him for… well, for years, I came too. Just a few minutes ago, Ethan had texted me, ecstatic that he’d just met his idol. “No wonder this is such a big deal. They even have a TV crew here.” I dried my hands and squeezed in between my roommates to get a look at the live feed on a laptop. One of them, fluent in ASL, quickly signed the winner’s name to me. But before she could tell me the name of the song, a familiar melody drifted from the speakers and flooded my ears. The first few notes were all it took. Suddenly, three pairs of wide eyes were fixed on me. I didn’t even stop to change my shoes. I just ran. The next thing I knew, I was standing on the stage of the auditorium, the final notes of the piece fading into applause. I was panting, my chest heaving, and I opened my mouth. “Ah… ah… ah…” I’d forgotten. I’m a mute. On stage, Chloe Reed’s eyes widened in panic the second she saw me. But when all I could produce was that strangled, useless sound, a smug smile spread across her face. A professor finally reacted, rushing toward me. “Miss, we’re in the middle of an awards ceremony. Please, you need to leave the stage.” I pushed back against him, pointing at Chloe, then jabbing a finger at my own chest. My hands flew in a desperate flurry of signs. This song is mine. She stole my song! But he didn’t understand. Then, a voice cut through the confusion from the audience. “Mia! Get down here!” A flicker of hope. I waved frantically toward the sound. Ethan! Help me! I signed, my movements sharp with urgency. He strode toward the stage, his expression dark and thunderous. He didn’t stop until he was grabbing my arm, his grip rough as he hauled me down the steps. I tried to pull him back, tried to get back on stage, the pathetic “ah, ah, ah” sounds escaping my throat again. But he ignored me, dragging me into a shadowy corner and shoving me away. “Have you made enough of a scene?” he snarled. I stared at him, bewildered. I reached out, tugging on his sleeve. My eyes burned. My hands formed the words with a near-pleading slowness. Ethan, she stole my song. Please, help me. Just tell them for me, please? He slapped my hands down before I could even finish the last sign. “You’re a mute, you can’t sing it anyway. So what if you let Chloe have it? “Why be so stingy? Just write another one.” 2 It’s true, one song isn’t the end of the world for me. But it was my song. A song I wrote for him. I was going to play it for him next week when I finally told him how I felt. Because he’d said once, years ago, “If someone wrote a song just for me, I think that would be the most romantic thing in the world.” I held onto that for so long. Even though I have no natural talent for composition. Just like I don’t even really like music, but I came to a conservatory for him. Even though… I’m a mute. The tears that had been welling in my eyes finally spilled over, hot against the back of my hand. I flinched. I looked at him, my disbelief a hollow ache in my chest. You knew? “What if I did?” he said, his voice laced with impatience. “It’s just a song, Mia. Is it really worth all this? This competition means everything to her. It’s about a scholarship. Her life isn’t easy, and she works incredibly hard.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a scolding tone. “Did you have to humiliate her in front of everyone? Do you want her to be a pariah at this school for the rest of her life? Do you want her to carry the label of a thief forever?” I carefully tugged on his sleeve again. But it’s my song. It took me a month to write. You know that. I had the flu, my fever was 102, and I kept writing. It was for you. He showed no surprise, no recognition. Just a dismissive wave of his hand. “Fine, fine. I’ll have her apologize to you later, okay?” I don’t want an apology! I gestured wildly. I grabbed his hand and started pulling him back toward the stage. He tried to reason with me, and when that didn’t work, he yelled. “Mia, that’s enough! You know you’re a mute, right? Even if you did write it, who’s going to believe a mute could compose something like this anyway?” My hand dropped from his as if I’d been burned. When had Ethan become this person?

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I am the most useless child of the Hayes family. When my sister, Sloane, was closing a ten-billion-dollar semiconductor deal in Europe, I was in the glass conservatory on the top floor of our Connecticut estate, tending to my flowers and herbs that nobody cared about. At my father’s birthday gala, Sloane, as the heiress to the family empire, was on his arm, bathing in the adoration and envy of the entire room. Under the flashbulbs of the paparazzi, she was a diamond, born to dazzle. And I was the gravel in the shadows of the corner, a girl whose name the guests couldn’t be bothered to remember. Someone holding a champagne flute raised it to me, their face a polite mask of distant curiosity. “And this young lady is?” Before I could answer, a Mrs. Gable nearby stepped in with a knowing smile. “A distant relative of Mr. Hayes, I’d imagine. Probably her first time at a party like this.” Her voice was just loud enough for me to hear. For twenty years, I’ve been the punchline to the Hayes family joke. 1 My mother, once the undisputed queen of the Manhattan social scene, married my father, the corporate titan Warren Hayes. A merger of dynasties. They had my sister, Sloane. Sloane was the name my grandfather chose. It was sleek, sharp, and successful. A perfect overture. She never disappointed. At three, she could recite Shakespearean sonnets. At seven, she performed at Carnegie Hall. At fifteen, she was accepted into Wharton, and at twenty-two, she returned to the company and turned her first investment into a nine-figure profit. She was the perfect, flawless heiress. So, when my mother had me in an unplanned second pregnancy, everyone considered it a bonus. “With a daughter like Sloane, the next one is bound to be just as brilliant.” But I let them all down. I didn’t have my sister’s photographic memory or her ruthless business acumen. I was indifferent to numbers, allergic to cocktail parties, and I despised any social gathering that required a plastered-on smile. My name is Audrey. Sloane and Audrey. Even our names felt like a deliberate, cruel irony. One is a declaration of success, the other, a quiet afterthought. My parents are civilized people. They pride themselves on being progressive, and would never admit to playing favorites. But actions speak louder than words. On family outings, my father’s right hand was always reserved for my mother, his left always holding Sloane’s. I could only trail behind them, a forgotten accessory. Sloane’s twenty-fifth birthday party was also a celebration of her being officially named the sole heir to the Hayes Corporation. My father, drunk on champagne and pride, slung his arm around a business rival’s shoulder, pointing to the incandescent Sloane under the chandeliers. “That’s my daughter,” he slurred, his voice thick with emotion. “The greatest achievement of my life.” The man offered a polite congratulations. “You’re a lucky man, Warren. But don’t you have a younger daughter as well?” The smile on my father’s face faltered. He waved a dismissive hand, a flicker of old regret and fresh annoyance crossing his features. “Don’t even mention her,” he said. “Sometimes I wish we’d just stopped with Sloane.” “It’s a shame we had Audrey, too.” The entire ballroom seemed to fall silent for a moment. Standing in the crowd, I felt as if I’d been stripped naked and thrown into a snowbank. Later, my father must have sobered up and realized his mistake. He summoned me to his study, a rare occurrence. “Audrey, don’t take it to heart. Your father had too much to drink.” He handed me a black card with no spending limit. “What I meant was, Sloane can stand on her own two feet now, and I’m very proud.” “But you… you still need us to worry about you. The weight on my shoulders is still heavy.” You see, a rich man’s apology is just another form of charity. I lowered my eyes and took the cold, plastic card. “I know, Dad.” …He didn’t mean it, he’d just finally said what he’d been suppressing for twenty years. 2 The year I turned eighteen, Sloane brought her fiancé, Harrison Pierce, home. The Pierces were true East Coast blue bloods, and Harrison was the brightest star of his generation. His union with Sloane Hayes was billed as “the marriage of two empires.” That day, a severe pollen allergy had confined me to my room. I’d told the housekeeper I wouldn’t be down. So when Sloane led Harrison on a tour of the house and pushed open my bedroom door, everyone froze. Sloane frowned, her voice edged with impatience. “Audrey, what are you doing home?” Clearly, no one had told me we were having such an important guest. And no one had remembered that I, their other daughter, also lived in this house. Harrison stood in the doorway, his gaze traveling past my sister to land on me. He wore a perfectly tailored gray suit, his aura cool and aristocratic, but his eyes were kind. He didn’t show the slightest surprise, just offered a small nod. “Hello. I’m Harrison.” I scrambled to sit up in bed, mortified. I was wearing a pilled, old pajama set, my face blotchy and red from the allergy. And standing next to him was my sister, radiant in a Chanel couture suit, her makeup flawless. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “She’s my sister, Audrey,” Sloane’s introduction was brief, almost reluctant, as if she were pointing out a piece of unfortunate furniture. “She’s not well, stays in her room all day. I didn’t want her to disturb you, so I didn’t have her come down.” My mother quickly smoothed things over with a laugh. “It must be fate for Audrey and Harrison to meet like this.” My excuse of “I’m not feeling well” died on my lips. I was forced to sit at the dinner table next to the elegant, impeccable Sloane, my swollen face a testament to my misery. I didn’t need a mirror to know how cruel the comparison was. While Harrison was on the phone, I whispered to my mother, “Mom, the allergy is getting worse. I’m having trouble breathing. Can we please call the doctor?” My mother shot me a glare, her voice a harsh whisper. “Don’t make a scene. This is Harrison’s first time here, it’s an important day! Can’t you be considerate for once?” I bit my lip. “Then can I at least go back to my room?” “You’ll sit here and behave. Do you want the Pierces to think the Hayes family has no manners?” I ate that meal feeling like I was being slowly suffocated. Harrison was a true gentleman, his good breeding ingrained in every gesture. Even though the conversation revolved around finance and acquisitions, he always managed to steer a sliver of attention my way. “Audrey’s room is very unique,” he said suddenly. “It has a very distinctive scent.” 3 The table went quiet. Sloane laughed, a dismissive, airy sound. “Audrey just likes to mess around with that useless stuff. All those little bottles and jars give me a headache just looking at them.” My father shook his head in agreement. “A young woman should learn something useful. Like finance, or management.” For the first time in my life, I defended myself in front of my family. “It’s not just a scent,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “It’s a perfume I blended myself. The top note is galbanum, the heart is iris and lily of the valley, and the base is oakmoss. I call it ‘First Rain’.” A flicker of surprise, then genuine appreciation, crossed Harrison’s face. “‘First Rain.’ That’s a beautiful name. It’s cool and damp with green notes… it really does smell like a valley after a storm. You have a gift.” In twenty years, that was the first time anyone had ever validated my “useless” passion. My heart, in that moment, felt a small tremor, like a stone dropped into still water, sending out endless ripples. After dinner, as Harrison was leaving, Sloane went to get the car. He walked over to me and handed me a small, elegant gift box. “A little something for our first meeting.” Everyone else assumed it was some expensive piece of jewelry. Sloane glanced at the box, a smirk playing on her lips. I went back to my room and opened it. It wasn’t a luxury item. Inside was a complete, professional-grade perfumer’s organ, along with several vials of rare, raw essences. One of them was Rose de Mai from Grasse, an essence I had been searching for for months. There was also a card, handwritten by Harrison in strong, elegant script. “For the master perfumer of the future.” I clutched the card, my eyes suddenly burning. Sloane pushed the door open, her eyes landing on the kit. Her expression was a mixture of amusement and contempt. “Harrison certainly has a lot of time on his hands, buying you toys for your little games.” She picked up the vial of Rose de Mai, sniffed it, and wrinkled her nose in disgust. “I thought Harrison had better taste. Turns out he can be fooled by these cheap little tricks, too.” She tossed the bottle carelessly onto my vanity. “Audrey, you’d better learn your place. Don’t think a single compliment from Harrison Pierce means you’ve suddenly made it. In the Hayes family, in the Pierce family, in this entire world, your little hobby isn’t even worthy of being a joke.” I silently picked up the vial of precious essence and placed it carefully back in its box. A voice inside me whispered, At least he sees me more clearly than you, my own sister, ever have. 4 Harrison’s gift became the only light in my gray existence. I began to study perfumery systematically, spending all my days and nights in my glass conservatory. I created fragrances I named ‘Solstice,’ ‘First Frost,’ ‘Harvest Moon’… I named my creations after the quiet, turning moments of the seasons, my only way of fighting back against this cold, sterile mansion. My allergies gradually improved. I became a little brighter. I cut the heavy bangs I used to hide behind, revealing my forehead. My features were nothing compared to my sister’s stunning beauty, but at least now, I could smile at my reflection. My mother was a high priestess of fashion. Normally, if Sloane changed her lipstick shade from a Tom Ford to a Christian Louboutin, my mother could not only identify it but discuss the subtle shifts in power projected by different application techniques. My new haircut went entirely unnoticed for a full week. Still, I tried. At a family dinner, I finally spoke up. “Mom, do you notice anything… different about me today?” My mother’s gaze lifted from a financial journal, swept across my face, and then she waved her hand impatiently, as if shooing away a fly. “Sloane is having some trouble with the European project. I have a headache. Don’t bother me.” In that instant, any desire I had to share my life with them evaporated. From that day on, I don’t think I ever told them another thing about myself. Not even when I won the “Rising Star” award at an international perfumery competition. If they didn’t ask, I didn’t tell. Perhaps my newfound silence was a relief to them. On my twentieth birthday, my father gave me a large check and the deed to a villa with a garden on the outskirts of the city. He called it a “coming-of-age present.” In reality, I knew what it was. I was being gracefully, permanently, exiled. My mother’s talk was cushioned with concern. “Audrey, you’re a grown woman now. You need your own space. With all the business talk and people coming and going here, it must be disruptive for you. It will be quieter for you to move out.” “And your sister and Harrison will be getting engaged soon. We’re redecorating the whole house. It will be a mess, and we wouldn’t want your allergies to act up again.” Every word was for my own good. And every word was telling me that there was no longer a place for me in this house. After a long silence, I quietly accepted. Sloane was there the day I moved. Dressed in sharp riding gear, she had just come back from the stables, a riding crop still in her hand. She leaned against the doorframe, watching the movers carry out my boxes of vials and beakers, her eyes filled with scorn. “Good. You moving out will stop the house from smelling like a swamp.” She paused, tapping one of my boxes of raw materials with the tip of her crop. “Audrey, do you know the difference between you and me?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “What I create is value that can double the market cap of the Hayes Corporation. And what you create,” she let out a short, sharp laugh, “is a pile of worthless, fleeting smells.” “Try to be understanding of the family’s decision. We can’t afford to support a freeloader.” 5 I froze, my hands clenching into fists. I’m supposed to be understanding of the family. But who was ever going to be understanding of me? I didn’t voice the question. I knew no one in this house wanted to hear it, and no one would listen. The home I had lived in for twenty years had officially erased my name. I moved into the villa, surrounded by my plants and essences. I thought my life would finally be peaceful. Until the invitation to Sloane and Harrison’s engagement party arrived. It was exquisite, the names “Sloane Hayes & Harrison Pierce” embossed in gold. My name wasn’t on it. I was just a guest. My mother called to give me specific instructions. “Audrey, that day is your sister’s big day. Dress appropriately—not too flashy, but not cheap. Just sit there quietly and don’t embarrass your sister.” I understood what she meant. My very existence was an embarrassment. The engagement party was held at a seven-star hotel owned by the Hayes Corporation, taking over the entire rooftop garden. I didn’t own a suitable gown. Sloane had a walk-in closet full of them, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask. I used the prize money from my competition to buy a simple, long dress in a shade of lavender. When I arrived at the party and saw my sister, the familiar feeling of inadequacy washed over me. She was wearing a custom-made gown by a Lebanese designer, a ‘starlight’ dress covered in thousands of tiny diamonds that glittered under the lights like a captured galaxy. Her flawless figure was showcased to perfection, her smile radiating the confidence of a queen. Beside my sister’s brilliance, I had always been nothing more than dust. But tonight, the feeling of inferiority was so potent it threatened to swallow me whole. I clutched my small handbag as if it were the last remnant of my dignity. I found a corner to sit in, trying to make myself invisible. But Harrison found me anyway. He navigated the glittering, champagne-fueled crowd and stopped in front of me. “You look beautiful tonight,” he said, and it sounded sincere. “Thank you,” I managed a tight smile. “Congratulations to you and Sloane.” His eyes lingered on me for a moment, as if he wanted to say more, but it ended with a soft sigh. The party reached its peak. My father and sister took the stage. “The proudest accomplishment of my life is having a daughter like Sloane! She is my only heir, and the only future leader of the Hayes Corporation!” The applause was thunderous. I watched my triumphant father and my radiant sister on the stage. There was no place for me beside them. There was no role for me in their blueprint for the future. I stood in front of the ladies’ room mirror, a hollow feeling in my chest, and thought, for a girl who is merely average, is having a sister who is extraordinary a blessing, or a curse? Then, a wild, electrifying thought sparked in my mind. If I’m always going to be stuck in the shadows, then I’ll make the shadows bloom with their own unforgettable color. If the only person they can see is my sister, then I’ll stand right next to her. In my own way. I took a deep breath and walked back out. 6 I returned to the main hall and walked directly toward the head table. All eyes were on the stage; no one noticed me. I reached Harrison’s seat, leaned down, and whispered in his ear. “Mr. Pierce, could I have a word? I’ve prepared an engagement gift that I’d like to give to you and Sloane privately.” Surprise flickered in his eyes, but he nodded politely and followed me to a secluded corner of the terrace. From my handbag, I took out a simple, small white porcelain bottle, completely unmarked. “This is the engagement gift I created for you.” I removed the stopper. A strange, indescribable fragrance bloomed in the cool night air. Harrison knew fragrance. He closed his eyes, concentrating. “There’s rose in here… but not a typical rose. And… tuberose and jasmine?” His brow furrowed slightly. “But their scent is being suppressed by something stronger, colder. What is it?” I looked at him and said, word by word: “Datura.” The color drained from Harrison’s face. I let out a soft laugh, a sound that carried twenty years of cold sorrow. “I call it ‘Accomplice’.” “The top notes are Rose de Mai from Grasse, Egyptian jasmine, and Indian tuberose—the three most exquisite, expensive, and beautiful floral scents in the world. They represent my sister, Sloane. She has everything. She is perfect.” “For the heart, I used a heavy dose of white musk and ambergris to create the warm, enveloping texture of skin, like an embrace. This symbolizes you, Mr. Pierce. Your arrival is the final, brilliant coronation of her perfect life.” Harrison’s gaze grew deeper. He listened silently, not interrupting. “But,” my voice turned cold, “can you smell it? Beneath all that extreme romance and beauty, there’s a hidden current. A cold, toxic scent. That is the base note—black datura.” “It represents everything that is covered up by perfection. All the things that can’t be brought into the light. For instance, a life that was never wanted, cries that were always ignored, an existence that was never allowed a name.” I met Harrison’s stunned gaze directly. “This perfume is for you both. When you are basking at the pinnacle of love and success, will you, perhaps, occasionally catch a whiff… of the resentful air from the shadows?” “Congratulations, Mr. Pierce. You are about to marry the light of the Hayes family. From now on, you will have to learn how to coexist with the shadow that this light casts.” I pressed the small porcelain bottle into his cold hand, turned, and walked toward the exit without a backward glance. I didn’t look at Harrison’s expression, nor did I look at my glamorous parents and sister on the stage. From this day forward, I was no longer the awkward footnote in their perfect family story. I am Audrey Hayes. I am the poison in the perfume called ‘Accomplice’. And I am the one and only protagonist of my own life. The moment I stepped out of the hotel, the night wind catching my hair, I felt a lightness I had never known. I took out my phone and dialed the number for the international perfumery competition. “Hello, I’m calling to accept your invitation. I would be honored to serve as a guest judge for the next competition.” Yes, the award notification I had hidden away, the passion they deemed worthless—that was about to become the sharpest weapon in my arsenal. The story of Audrey Hayes was only just beginning. 7 I blocked every number from my family. But I forgot to block my mother’s personal assistant. At three in the morning, the assistant’s call came like a death knell. I answered, and my mother’s voice, seething with a barely contained hysteria, shot through the phone. “Audrey! Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea what you’ve done tonight?” I held the phone away from my ear, listening calmly to her shrill accusations. “Your sister’s engagement party! The Pierce family’s reputation! The Hayes family’s reputation! You’ve ruined it all!” “How could you… how dare you do something so classless? Giving them that… that unlucky thing, saying those passive-aggressive words! Do you think we’ve been too good to you? Have you forgotten who you are?” I said nothing. My silence seemed to enrage her further. “You get yourself back here right now! Apologize to the Pierces, and to your sister! Now! Immediately!” “I’m not coming back,” I said softly, my voice devoid of emotion. “What did you say?” She sounded as if she couldn’t believe her ears. “I said, I’m not coming back,” I repeated. “From the day I moved out, I never planned on returning. That house belongs to Sloane, not me.” The line went dead silent. After a long moment, my mother’s voice came back, exhausted and cold. “Audrey, you will regret this.” The call ended. Immediately, an unknown number rang. It was my father. His voice was much calmer than my mother’s, but it was a calm laced with ice, a pressure that felt like it could shatter the phone. “I’m giving you two choices.” “One, you delete all of your ridiculous social media accounts and go abroad for a few years. You are not to interfere in this family’s affairs again. When this blows over, I’ll arrange a marriage for you. I’ll guarantee you a comfortable life.” “Two,” he paused, his tone one of absolute authority, “I will take back the villa and the credit cards, and cut off all your financial support. The Hayes family will no longer have a daughter named Audrey. You can go out into the world and see how far your ‘hobbies’ get you. See if they can even buy you a meal.” It was the final ultimatum. And it was the same threat I had been hearing for twenty years. It used to make me tremble and obey. But this time, I smiled. “Dad,” I said, “the truth is, I’ve only ever had one choice.” “And that’s to become myself.” I hung up and turned off my phone. The world was finally quiet. I lay in bed, watching the inky black sky outside my window, my heart pounding in my chest. It was a chaotic mix of fear and the exhilarating thrill of a new beginning. As dawn approached, I turned my phone back on. A single text message had come through. It was from Harrison. “I received the perfume. But I don’t think ‘Accomplice’ is the right name.” I assumed he was calling on Sloane’s behalf to condemn me. My fingers hovered over the screen, unsure how to reply. A few seconds later, a second message arrived. “It belongs to you alone. It shouldn’t be tied to anyone else.” “It should be called ‘Monologue’.” My eyes burned. Monologue. Yes. That’s what it was. A grand, sorrowful, twenty-year-long monologue that no one had ever bothered to listen to. And Harrison was the first, and only, person to understand.

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I am the fiancée of Nick Howard, a name synonymous with the city’s glittering elite. His escapades were tabloid fodder, and the tell-tale marks of his affairs—bruises and bites from shameless lips—always found their way to the pale skin of his collarbone. I turned a blind eye. I dutifully washed the scent of other women from his shirts, folded his clothes with reverent silence, and never, ever asked a single question. He’d boast to his friends, a cruel smirk on his face, about his perfect, unobtrusive wife-to-be. But he never knew the truth. My heart had always belonged to his brother. 1 Nick stumbled home late, reeking of expensive whiskey and a perfume that wasn’t mine. I winced but moved to help him, guiding his heavy frame toward the sofa. He shoved my hands away with surprising force, his lips moving, mumbling the name of the woman he truly loved. “Evie… don’t leave me.” A familiar numbness washed over me. I knelt and obediently slipped the shoes from his feet, then went to the kitchen to prepare a remedy for his hangover. I was used to this. As his fiancée, I was a ghost in his life, a presence he rarely acknowledged. I brought back a bowl of warm water and a cloth to clean his face. As I wiped away the grime of the night, my eyes snagged on the mess of marks marring his collarbone. A chaotic constellation of lipstick smears and angry red love bites. They were a declaration of his infidelity, loud and obscene. The sight was a physical blow, a sharp, stabbing pain. My fingers clenched the hem of my dress, my knuckles white, the fabric digging into my skin until it hurt. I stood frozen, unable to tear my gaze away from the vulgar display. It was as if the marks were burning a hole right through me. Suddenly, Nick jolted awake, caught in a nightmare. “Evie, no!” he cried out, his voice thick with sleep and desperation. He shot upright on the sofa. His eyes landed on me, then followed my gaze to his collarbone. There was no flicker of guilt, no hint of an explanation in his expression. “Problem?” His voice was ice, his eyes narrowing as he glared at me. The word died in my throat. For a moment, I was speechless. But wasn’t it a wife’s right to care for her husband? I steadied myself. “No. I just saw you were drunk and wanted to clean you up.” Nick slowly, deliberately, fastened the top button of his shirt, hiding the evidence. His voice was smooth and unhurried. “That’s what my assistant, Ms. Davies, is for. You don’t need to concern yourself with these things.” He rose to his feet, towering over me. “And let’s not forget what this is—an arrangement. A merger. We don’t have a marriage certificate yet, which means you’re not my wife.” His words were like shards of ice piercing my heart. I understood the unspoken message: all my efforts, all the care I thought I was showing, were not just unappreciated—they were laughable. In his world, I was worthless. I stared at my pale, trembling fingers. “Fine,” I managed to whisper. “I understand.” He rubbed his temples, then paused as if remembering something. He glanced back at me. “And stop making that god-awful hangover cure. It’s disgusting.” Then he was gone, leaving me alone in the vast, silent living room. I looked down at the calluses on my hands, a bitter lump forming in my throat. I used to be a pampered daughter of privilege, my hands soft and unblemished. I had reshaped my entire life to please him, and this was the result. This broken, pathetic version of myself. I never asked him to be grateful. All I ever wanted was for him to truly see me. My phone buzzed violently on the counter. Nick’s name flashed on the screen. My heart leaped as I scrambled to answer it. “Hello?” The background was a cacophony of music and drunken shouts, but his voice cut through it all, as clear as the day I first met him, making my pulse race. Trying to sound calm, I asked, “What’s wrong?” Silence stretched on from his end. I was about to ask again when one of his friends, Jake, snatched the phone. His voice was rushed. “Aria? Nick’s smashed and he’s calling for you. Says he only wants you to come get him. Can you—” I froze. “Are you sure he asked for me? By name?” “Absolutely,” Jake said, his tone certain. “He’s shouting for his fiancée. That’s you, right?” A wildfire of joy erupted in my chest. I fought to keep my voice even. “Okay. Text me the address.” Maybe, I thought, this is it. The moment the glacier finally begins to thaw. The moment he starts to feel something for me. The bar was on the other side of the city. The night was bitterly cold, but I just threw on a thin coat and ran out. I didn’t waste a second changing into warmer clothes; I couldn’t bear the thought of making him wait. Down in the garage, I was met with the gleaming array of luxury cars—a silent testament to the Howard fortune. None of them were for me. I didn’t have the keys, the codes, the right of use. My life—my food, my clothes, my transportation—was all managed by Ms. Davies. Every small purchase required her approval. I was a marionette, drowning in the gilded darkness of this penthouse. His promises. When would he ever keep them? When would he ever come back and truly look at me? A bitter smile touched my lips. I walked out to the main road and hailed a cab. The city lights blurred past as I huddled in the back seat, the heater doing little to warm the chill in my bones. The driver glanced at me in the rearview mirror. “Young lady, it’s late and freezing out. What’s the emergency?” I looked down at my hands. “I’m picking up my fiancé…” The word felt wrong, foreign. He wouldn’t like it. “A friend,” I corrected myself quickly. “He’s had too much to drink.” I saw the driver shake his head with a sigh. “Honey, if a man really loved you, would he be making you come out on a night like this to fetch him?” I ignored him, turning to stare out the window, my reflection a pale ghost against the dark glass. It wasn’t certain yet. Nothing was certain. Even if there was only a one percent chance, I had to believe. It was nearly two in the morning when I arrived at the hotel. I called Jake’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. As I walked down the plush corridor, I heard a man’s mocking laughter spill from a suite. “No way she actually came. Hahahahaha.” I recognized the voice. It was Jake. “God, she’s so pathetic, isn’t she?” another voice chimed in. “What do you think, Howard?” I stopped, pressing myself into the shadows of an alcove, my heart pounding against my ribs. Through the crack in the door, I saw him. Nick. He was lounging on a velvet couch, a cigarette dangling from his lips, perfectly composed in his tailored suit. He lifted his head, a slow, cruel smile spreading across his face. “She’s worthless.” My fists clenched, the air suddenly too thick to breathe. It was all a game. A sick, twisted performance, and I was the fool he was toying with. He had never cared. Not for a single moment. The fragile hope that had carried me all the way here shattered into a million pieces. I was the clown in his circus. I gritted my teeth and pushed the door open. Nick’s eyes widened in momentary surprise when he saw me, but it vanished as quickly as it appeared, replaced by his usual mask of bored indifference. “Well, look at you,” he drawled, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Such an obedient fiancée.” He was surrounded by a flock of beautiful women in slinky dresses, their eyes fixed on him with adoration. “Aren’t you going to explain?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. “What’s to explain?” He exhaled a plume of smoke that made me cough. “Lost a game of truth or dare. Simple as that.” I had raced across the city in the freezing cold for this. For a joke. “Right,” I whispered, a hollow laugh escaping my lips. My heart, which had been flickering with hope, finally went out. And I knew, this time, it would never reignite. “Aria,” Nick said, stubbing out his cigarette and adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “Learn to stay out of things that don’t concern you.” I had already turned to leave, but his words stopped me. I looked back at him, a bright, brittle smile on my face. “Don’t worry, Nick. From now on, you’ll get exactly what you want.” My duty to him was over. The curtain had fallen. 2 Jake, a stunning brunette draped over his arm, sneered at me. “You really are cheap, Aria.” He pushed the woman away and arched a brow. “Since Nick clearly doesn’t appreciate you, why don’t you come home with me?” My gaze shifted to Nick. He did nothing. He just watched, a faint, amused smile playing on his lips, as if my humiliation was his evening’s entertainment. Of course. Why would he care? I was nothing more than dirt beneath his shoes. I could drop dead at his feet and he wouldn’t even flinch. A slow smile spread across my face, my eyes locking with Jake’s. “Alright,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. Nick’s face darkened instantly. He rose from the shadows, his expression unreadable but radiating a sudden, violent anger. He crossed the room in three long strides, his hand clamping around my throat. The pressure was immense. “Say that again,” he hissed, his eyes blazing. I found it all so hilarious. Tilting my head, I repeated the words with perfect clarity, “I said… alright.” The veins on his hand bulged as his grip tightened, a raw, hateful force meant to punish me. I didn’t understand. Why this rage? He was an enigma, a puzzle I had spent years trying to solve, only to fail at every turn. But his sudden change in behavior didn’t matter anymore. Nothing about him mattered. He used his free hand to grab my chin, forcing my head up, and then his mouth was on mine. His kiss was an invasion, a conquest, yet underneath the aggression was a ghost of tenderness that disarmed me. The bitter taste of smoke and whiskey filled my mouth, stinging my throat and bringing tears to my eyes. I don’t know when the desperate, bruising kiss ended. I don’t want to know. All I know is that for a fleeting, heart-stopping moment, as his lips moved against mine, he felt so much like Leo. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes. “Is it you?” I whispered against his mouth. “Are you back?” He chuckled, pulling back just enough to flick my forehead with his finger. “What are you dreaming about?” The past and present blurred into one. The ghost of the man I loved and the cold reality of the man in front of me became indistinguishable. With tears in my eyes, I reached up on my toes and gently ran my fingers through his hair. Just like old times. He was finally back. Nick watched me with a predatory curiosity, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. A dark, dangerous smile played on his face. “Like what you feel?” he murmured. He captured my hand, pulling me closer, intending to wrap me in his arms. I dug my nails into my own palm, fighting to stay grounded in reality. But— He was too much like Leo. The lines were blurring. The psychedelic lights of the bar danced across his face as he held my hand, that reckless, devil-may-care smile still fixed on his lips. I could hear the frantic, deafening beat of my own heart. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. “No,” I choked out. And then, a traitorous tear escaped, sliding down my cheek.

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I married a detective in a whirlwind romance, and now our marriage feels like a long-distance relationship with a stranger I met online. Our text exchanges are about as personal as a chatbot’s. [On a stakeout. Won’t be home. Lock the door.] [He got away. Still on it. Not coming home. Lock up.] [Stakeout. Door.] [K.] Finally, unable to bear the crushing loneliness any longer, I decided to go out with my best friend and find a little fun for myself. I texted him first, just to be safe. [Still chasing bad guys tonight?] Apex_Predator: [Yep.] Perfect, I thought. If he’s busy chasing criminals, he can’t be busy chasing a cheating wife. The next thing I knew, I was in a private club, happily watching a male model work a dance pole, when the door burst open. “Vice raid! Everybody down!” My world went black. Turns out, the person he was busting tonight… was me. 1 Day 32 of my new marriage. My best friend, Maya, had sent me ten straight thirst-trap videos. I stared at the parade of sculpted abs on my screen, swallowing hard. “So,” she texted, “how do they stack up against your Detective Cole?” I stared up at my blank ceiling. “I’ve… never actually seen him with his shirt off.” Her reply was a string of shocked emojis. “Are you serious? Ginnifer, if you don’t jump his bones soon, his gun is gonna get rusty.” Believe me, I wanted to. I was practically starving for a taste of him. I met Nate Cole on a blind date. The moment I saw him, I was a goner. He was walking testosterone—a police uniform stretched tight over broad shoulders, a narrow waist, and impossibly long legs, topped off with the kind of intense, chiseled face that screamed alpha. He was handsome, but with a wild, dangerous edge. “You don’t mind that a detective’s work schedule is crazy?” he’d asked. “Not at all!” I’d shaken my head, probably a little too enthusiastically, trying not to drool. So what if he was busy? I loved an ambitious man. I didn’t realize “busy” meant he’d be so absent I’d practically turn to stone waiting for him. On our wedding night, before our lips even had a chance to properly meet, his phone rang. He shot out of bed like he’d been ejected. “Emergency call. Got a lead.” I spent the night tossing and turning, waiting. The next morning, my period arrived before he did. Nate was always either chasing a suspect or on his way to chase one. Usually, I was asleep by the time he got home, and he was gone before I woke up. He knew I was a grump in the morning, so to avoid disturbing me, he’d just sleep in the guest room. A month into our marriage, and we were like strangers who’d matched on a dating app three states apart. His response time to texts was glacial, and the content was as robotic as it gets. (Monday) Barely_Breathing: [Coming home tonight?] Apex_Predator: [On a stakeout. Won’t be home. Lock the door.] Barely_Breathing: [Package at the front desk. Pickup code 5210.] Apex_Predator: [I’ll get it when I’m back.] (Tuesday) Barely_Breathing: [Did you get him?] Apex_Predator: [Ran. Still on it. Not coming home. Lock up.] Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 5456] Apex_Predator: [K.] (Wednesday) Barely_Breathing: [Home?] Apex_Predator: [Stakeout. Door.] Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 5678] Apex_Predator: [K.] Apex_Predator has sent you a transfer of $3000. Memo: Paycheck. (Thursday) Barely_Breathing: [?] Apex_Predator: [K.] Barely_Breathing: [Package pickup: 6785] Apex_Predator: [K.] I swear… I felt like I had married a ghost who moonlighted as an unfeeling delivery bot. 2 I poked at the two new stress pimples on my chin, a restless heat simmering under my skin. Maya forwarded me an article titled: The Dangers of a Sexless Marriage. Her text followed immediately after: [If you don’t get some action soon, you’re going to turn into a nun.] Attached was a video of a guy with washboard abs opening a beer bottle with his belt buckle. [I got a private room and invited all your favorite streamers.] [Get over here! My treat!] That was all it took. The words “my treat” obliterated what little marital fidelity I had left. “Screw it!” I ripped off my pajamas and threw them on the bed. Out came the short skirt and the spaghetti-strap top. “Tonight, Mama’s gonna be an outlaw!” Still, just in case, I sent Nate a quick text. [Still chasing bad guys tonight?] This time, he replied almost instantly. [Yep.] Perfect. A man busy chasing criminals had no time to chase a cheating wife. [Okay, have fun! I’m heading to bed then~] It was Maya’s birthday party. She was beautiful, well-connected, and wild. She’d assembled a small army of male models and influencers. The moment I walked into the private club room, I was surrounded by a sea of shirtless, sculpted young men. “Wow, you’re so beautiful.” “Do you have a boyfriend?” “Can I dance for you?” “You can touch my abs if you want.” By the time the tenth chiseled boy-toy leaned in and called me “ma’am,” I finally understood what it must have felt like to be a Roman empress. “Wanna feel?” a silver-haired kid with wolfish eyes asked, lifting the hem of his shirt. Eight perfect abdominal muscles glistened under the dim lights. “Just started working on my V-line…” I swallowed hard and tried to lean back, but my fingers had a mind of their own, inching forward. Damn it, a woman works hard. She deserves a night like this. The sight of his muscles, half-hidden beneath his shirt, made my head spin. “Ma’am? Are your hands shaking?” Of course they were shaking. At this very moment, my husband’s hands—the very hands that catch criminals—were probably wrapped around the grip of his service weapon. Meanwhile, my hands were about to grope another man’s waist. Just as the endless chorus of “ma’am” had me floating on cloud nine, the door to our private room was kicked open with a deafening crash. “Vice raid! Hands on your head, get down!” 3 That voice. It was so familiar it sent a jolt of ice through my veins. I looked up and there he was. Nate Cole, standing in the doorway, his uniform buttoned to the collar, a leather belt cinching his lean, powerful waist. His eyes swept over my tiny skirt and barely-there top, and I saw his Adam’s apple bob. Our gazes locked. My hand shot behind my back as if it had been burned. “Honey, I… I can explain…” I stammered. “They all ordered a guy, I didn’t… I didn’t even touch him, I swear! I didn’t even look!” A young officer next to him snorted, trying to stifle a laugh. “Detective Cole, here’s the surveillance footage…” He handed Nate a tablet. I watched in horror as the screen played back a crystal-clear video of me, drooling over a set of abs like an idiot. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. It got worse. Nate hit pause. Then he zoomed in, enlarging the image of my trembling fingers, hovering just inches from the model’s stomach. “Ginnifer.” He tapped the screen with a knuckle, his wedding ring making a sharp, metallic sound against the glass. “Care to explain this particular… gesture?” My knees went weak. I nearly collapsed right there on the floor. “Honey, listen to me! It was… art appreciation!” Nate gritted his teeth. “Take them away.” He strode past me, the long legs of his uniform trousers practically radiating fury. I suddenly remembered our first date, how I’d stared at his uniform and my mind had filled with filthy thoughts of handcuffs and forced proximity. Well, karma had come for me. He really was putting me in handcuffs. I had earned myself a shiny pair of silver bracelets. Sob. 4 In the interrogation room, Nate’s eyes were fixed on my spaghetti-strap top. His face was a thundercloud. He took off his uniform jacket and draped it over my shoulders. I huddled in the chair, doing my best impression of a scared little bird. “Name?” “Your wife…” His pen hit the tabletop with a sharp clack. He loosened his tie, his voice rising. “Be serious.” I stared at the way his throat moved when he swallowed. “Ginnifer,” I whispered. “Ginnifer Davis.” His face was grim. “Motive?” “Thirty-two days of solitary confinement.” I started counting on my fingers, my voice full of accusation. “Falling in love with a man who never comes home…” The officer taking notes in the corner let out a loud snort of laughter. Nate shot him a look that could kill. “Give me a detailed account. What exactly did you do in that room?” “Nothing! I just had a glass of juice…” He tapped the table again, his eyes narrowed. “Providing a false statement is a crime, you know.” “Fine! We danced a little…” “How did you dance? What happened?” “I might have… accidentally… touched his abs.” “How many times?” “What does that have to do with the case?” I shot back. His expression hardened. “Every detail needs to be accounted for.” I hung my head, my voice barely a whisper. “Two? Three times?” The color drained from Nate’s face. His voice dropped to a terrifyingly low growl. “How. Many. Times?” “I’m sorry, Nate… I was wrong…” A few detectives were peeking through the window in the door. One of them cleared his throat. “Uh, Cole? Regulations state you have to get specifics on the point of contact. Was it the upper, middle, or… lower abs?” Nate’s glare was venomous. “You guys have nothing better to do?” “Hey, you taught us this!” one of them yelled as they started to scatter. “Last week’s raid, you said evidence collection had to be precise…” “That was for soliciting prostitution!” Nate roared back. “But the Captain’s wife said she touched his V-line!” another one called out. The officer in the room was shaking with suppressed laughter. He pulled out his phone. “Detective, you should see the group chat. Everyone’s talking about how you broke the precinct’s response time record tonight. They’re asking if you sprinted here…” Nate grabbed the young officer by the collar and practically threw him out the door. The officer poked his head back in. “Hey, if the missus needs some ‘art appreciation’ of abs, our squad has plenty of…” “Do you want to go home tonight?” Nate snarled. The officer grinned sheepishly. “Yes, sir! You two continue the… uh… enforcement.” He paused. “Oh, and Detective? You’ll need to sign the family release form to take your wife home.” Nate signed the form with a grim expression, then reached over and pulled his jacket tighter around my shoulders. 5 The drive home was silent. He didn’t say a word. I sat there, small and scared. “Nate… are you mad?” His face was a stone mask. “No.” Liar. I snuck a peek at him. His jaw was clenched, his dark, intense eyes focused on the road, his lips pressed into a thin line. One hand gripped the steering wheel, the sleeve of his uniform shirt rolled up to his elbow, revealing a forearm corded with muscle and veins. Damn it. He was even hot when he was angry. I was trying to figure out how to apologize when my phone buzzed. It was Maya. Her voice exploded from the speaker. “Ginnifer! Your husband arrested all eight of the models I hired! You got your fun, but what about me? I’m still burning up over here!” she shrieked. “And let me tell you, his squad is full of long-legged gods in uniform. I bet Detective Cole’s waist works a hell of a lot better than any of those models!” What was she even saying… In my panic, I fumbled with the phone and accidentally hit the speaker button just as I was trying to hang up. “I heard he’s taking you home,” Maya’s voice boomed through the car. “Does that mean you’re finally going to go at it all night? After being starved for so long, your panties must be on fire, right?” Nate turned his head and looked at me, his expression unreadable. My hand trembled, and the phone slipped, falling to the floor beneath my seat. “You know,” Maya’s voice continued from the floor, “the fact that he never comes home… you think maybe he’s got nothing to show for it downstairs? I sent you a ‘Manly Man Performance Review’ checklist! You have to send me a full report… and I bought you some new victory lingerie. Make sure he cuffs you to the headboard…” Nate leaned over, picked up the phone, and spoke into it with calm, chilling clarity. “Ms. Evans, about that $20,000 VIP membership you have at the Starlight Lounge… would you like us to stop by and have a little chat about local ordinances?” A violent coughing fit erupted from the other end. “Oh, hey… Detective Cole! We were just… appreciating art…” He hung up. The car was plunged into a dead, heavy silence. He pulled over at a convenience store, his face still grim. He was gone for a minute, then came back. He was holding two small boxes. “What did you buy…?” I asked, curious. He didn’t answer. He just shoved them into my hands. I looked down. The box was printed with a bold 0.01. Oh. And they were XL.

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In the fifth year of my marriage to Marcus, he found his true love. He was so worried I might hurt her that he kept her under a shield of fierce protection. When his best friend asked him why he didn’t just get a divorce, Marcus sighed. “Claire is the kind of woman you marry. She takes care of everything, the house, our lives. Nina’s too young for all that. She just needs to be with me.” Marcus wasn’t making a choice. He wanted it all. But I have no interest in collecting trash. 1 The first sign was the plant on Marcus’s desk. The money tree in its delicate white lotus pot was gone. In its place sat a succulent terrarium, a miniature, self-contained world. It had been a while since I’d last visited the office. This time, I had to be formally announced by his secretary before I could go in. Inside, a young woman in a crisp white pantsuit stood beside Marcus. She was his new assistant. The moment I entered, she snapped her folder shut and made to leave. I stopped her before she could escape. “Could you get me a coffee, please? Thank you.” She shot a quick, nervous glance at Marcus before scurrying out. I sat down across from him, and we began discussing our social calendar for the second half of the year—birthdays, anniversaries, business dinners. I took notes in my planner as we spoke. From the corner of my eye, I saw the assistant return with the coffee. I reached for it. Before my fingers even brushed the saucer, she let out a sharp cry. I yanked my hand back, but it was too late. Scalding liquid splashed across my skin. Marcus shot to his feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice sharp with alarm. “I’m fine.” “It’s nothing.” We spoke at the same time. I looked up at the assistant. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she stared at Marcus, a picture of wounded innocence. He grabbed my hand, inspecting the red splotches. “I’m… I’m so sorry,” the assistant stammered, her voice trembling. “I thought Mrs. Thorne had a firm grip on it before I let go—” “Get out,” Marcus snapped, his tone cold and severe. The assistant bit her lip, her face a mask of grievance, and ran out of the room, wiping away tears. I’d never seen an employee so comfortable being emotional in front of their boss. “Should we go to the hospital?” Marcus’s question pulled my attention back. I shook my head. “How did you end up hiring someone so clumsy?” Marcus, for all his polished and gentle demeanor, had zero tolerance for incompetence. Assistants who couldn’t keep up with his train of thought were quickly dismissed. One who couldn’t even carry a cup of coffee should have been fired on the spot. “She’s from a small town, easily spooked,” he said with a dismissive wave. “Her family’s got it rough. It’s not worth making a big deal out of it.” I said nothing more, but my heart began a slow, heavy descent. The company had clawed its way to the top through ruthless efficiency, not charity. And Marcus was never the type to go soft on anyone, especially not for a pretty face. This was uncharacteristic. A woman’s intuition in these matters is a terrifyingly sharp thing. I just needed to know how far it had gone. 2 Marcus’s phone, lying face down on the desk, buzzed a few times. He ignored it, diligently reviewing the gift list with me one last time. As I gathered my things, I asked, “Where should we go for dinner tonight?” “Oh.” He glanced at his phone, a guilty expression flickering across his face. “I’ve got a work thing tonight. You could come along, but… everyone will be smoking.” I waved him off. “You go ahead. I’ll head home.” He walked me to the elevator personally. “I know things have been busy. Thanks for handling all this. I’ll try to get home early tonight to be with you.” His voice was a low, seductive murmur. When he turned on the charm, that soft, devoted look in his eyes, he was irresistible. I smiled and waved as the elevator doors closed. Down in the parking garage, I called our driver. “I left a file in Marcus’s car. Could you come down and unlock it for me?” He arrived quickly. He was a company veteran who had been driving for Marcus since before we were even married. The backseat of the car was my personal storage space—a spare handbag, a jacket, a custom-made neck pillow. I turned on the recording pen, tucked it deep inside the foam of the front passenger seat’s headrest, and grabbed a random folder on my way out. “Thanks for coming all this way,” I said. “Your daughter is graduating this year, isn’t she?” “Yes, ma’am. She said her practice exam scores are looking good. It’s all thanks to the tutor you recommended back then. We wouldn’t have known where to start otherwise.” I smiled. “She’s a smart girl who works hard. And you’ve worked hard all these years for Marcus.” The driver’s expression shifted, becoming uneasy. “Mr. Thorne has been… very busy lately, Mrs. Thorne,” he said softly. “You should take care of yourself.” 3 Marcus was having an affair. The driver’s warning couldn’t have been clearer. By the time I got home, I felt as though all the strength had been drained from my body. A tiny, foolish part of me still clung to a sliver of hope. I just couldn’t understand it. Why would he do this? I hadn’t sensed a single crack in our relationship. He planned thoughtful celebrations for every holiday, every anniversary. My friends all envied me, seeing me as the cherished wife of a perfect husband. But… the truth was likely a bitter joke. Perhaps all those expensive gifts were just his way of paying off his guilt. I rubbed my throbbing temples, my mind frantically sifting through the years, searching for a clue, a forgotten moment, a missed sign. I found nothing. That assistant seemed so… plain. Compared to the other women who had tried to flirt with Marcus over the years, she was bland, almost timid. Suddenly, a memory surfaced. Timid… I sank onto the sofa, covering my eyes with my hand as a hollow laugh escaped me. I knew who she was. 4 Nina. I found her name in the company’s HR system. She’d been hired less than two months ago. But her history with Marcus went back four years. She had once shown up at our doorstep, dragging a burlap sack half-filled with produce from her hometown, wanting to thank the “kind benefactor” who had sponsored her college education. Marcus’s company made charitable donations every year; everyone knew it was primarily for the tax write-offs. It was a win-win. Sponsoring underprivileged students had been my idea. The arrangement was anonymous, so I have no idea how Nina tracked us down. She was thin and dark-skinned back then, with an air of rural simplicity clinging to her. She couldn’t meet our eyes, wouldn’t even step inside. She just mumbled her thanks and pointed at the sack. “We don’t want it. Take it with you,” Marcus had said, appearing in the doorway with a frown. His voice was laced with impatience. “And you don’t need to thank us. Don’t show up here uninvited again.” The girl’s eyes instantly filled with tears. I had nudged him, thinking he was being too harsh. She had come all this way, and it was a sincere gesture. I accepted her gift and had our housekeeper pack a bag of fresh fruit for her to take back. She refused it and ran off. Thinking back on it now, I couldn’t help but smile bitterly. She had changed so much. No wonder I hadn’t recognized her. She was nothing if not persistent. 5 Marcus came home very late. He was drunk. The driver helped him inside, and he was calling my name. But this time, I didn’t rush to his side. I let the driver deposit him on the living room sofa. Before leaving, the driver placed the car keys on the console table by the door. “I feel sick… Honey, my head… it hurts so much.” I glanced at him once, then turned and went down to the garage. The car reeked of stale alcohol, but underneath it, I could smell the sweet, cloying scent of another woman’s perfume. Much of the dashcam footage had been deleted. My lips pressed into a thin line, I retrieved the recording pen. Soon, a tearful, feminine voice filled the silence. “Why were you so mean to me?” “Did you spill that coffee on her on purpose?” Marcus’s voice was sharp. Nina didn’t deny it. “You have no idea how much I love you! If you leave me, I’ll die!” she sobbed. “I’m jealous of her! I want you all to myself!” The sound of rustling fabric, a sharp intake of breath from Marcus. “I can do this for you. Can she?” Nina’s voice was a seductive whisper. “Open your mouth.” Marcus’s breathing was ragged, his voice urgent. A muffled gasp from Nina that was anything but pain, followed by sounds that were… unbearable to hear. I clamped a hand over my mouth, bile rising in my throat. It was disgusting. Utterly vile. I sat there, frozen in a cold sweat, forcing myself to listen, a strange form of self-torture. I don’t know how much time passed before the recording picked up new sounds. “You drank that much and you’re still going home?” It was Leo’s voice, our mutual friend from college and Marcus’s business partner. “A CEO taking shots for his assistant? It’s a little obvious, man.” “This isn’t like you, Marcus. Don’t tell me you’re actually falling for her.” Marcus laughed, his voice thick with alcohol. “She’s so naive. She says she doesn’t want anything, she just wants to be with me. Being with her… it’s relaxing. A completely different feeling. I can’t stand to see her get bullied… it makes my chest hurt. Is that… love?” Leo made a sharp sound. “Just have your fun, but don’t do anything stupid. You know Claire doesn’t tolerate bullshit.” When Marcus didn’t respond, Leo’s voice grew urgent. “If you care about this Nina so much, why are you making her your mistress? Why don’t you just divorce Claire?” Silence filled the car. After a long moment, Marcus let out a heavy sigh. “Claire and I… Claire is the kind of woman you marry. She helps me take care of our home, our life. I still have feelings for her, but… it’s not love anymore. It’s family. She’s my family.” “I don’t want to hurt Claire, but I can’t stop thinking about Nina. I can’t control it. It’s a feeling I’ve never had with Claire.” “Jesus,” Leo muttered. “You’re drunk. Stop talking.” “I’m not drunk, Leo,” Marcus mumbled. “My head is perfectly clear right now.” “Nina’s young, and pathetically naive. She loves me so much. She makes me feel free, happy in a way I’ve never felt before. She needs me.” “Claire is great, too. I admire her, but… I’m also afraid of her. She’s not officially in the company, but Finance and HR are filled with her people. She holds all the connections to our biggest clients.” “I have to constantly please her, cater to her. I don’t feel like her husband. I feel like her son. No… more like her slave!” Leo seemed at a loss for words. “Man… that’s not fair to Claire.” “I know,” Marcus said. “That’s why I’ll never divorce her. I’ll give Claire the title, and I’ll give Nina my love.” Leo sucked in a sharp breath. “You want both? What happens when Claire finds out?” Marcus was silent for so long I thought he had passed out. Then, his voice, slurred but firm, cut through the quiet. “I won’t let her hurt Nina.” Leo’s voice was filled with disbelief. “If you had to choose one… who would you choose?!”

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My little sister, Karen, has always been fragile. The doctors called it depression—a delicate glass doll that couldn’t withstand the slightest shock. So my whole life was set to mute. To avoid upsetting her, I never laughed too loudly or cried too openly. Even when hurt, I wasn’t allowed to make a sound. Mom and Dad would pull me aside, eyes full of apology. “You’re such a good girl, Ava,” they’d say. “Karen’s recovery is a family effort. You’re the strong one. Can you be more patient?” That day, I knocked over a glass of water. The crash sent Karen spiraling. For the first time, my father hit me. “Can’t you be more careful?” he yelled. “Are you trying to push her over the edge?” He shoved me. My head struck the corner of the coffee table. Warm blood trickled down. But everyone rushed to a screaming Karen. No one looked at me. I lay on the cold floor, my vision blurring. They thought Karen’s feelings mattered most. That my head injury could wait. They didn’t know a brain bleed waits for no one. 1 The floorboards were cold against my cheek. A dull, throbbing ache pulsed from the back of my skull. I could feel something warm and sticky trickling down my neck, pooling into a dark crimson puddle on the polished wood. “Can’t you be more careful? Are you trying to push her over the edge?” Dad’s voice echoed in my ears, a painful ringing that made the bleeding feel worse. On the couch, Karen was curled into a tight ball, her hands clamped over her ears, letting out a series of ear-splitting shrieks. “She did it on purpose! She’s trying to kill me! Get her away from me! Get her away!” Mom knelt before her, stroking her back and murmuring soft reassurances. “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Mommy’s here. The bad sister is gone now.” I tried to push myself up, but a wave of dizziness slammed me back down. Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, swallowing the world piece by piece. “Dad… Mom…” My voice was a faint whisper, lost in the chaos. No one looked back. My sight grew fuzzy, and scenes from the past began to flicker in my mind. I remembered racing home with my first straight-A report card, my heart soaring. “Mom, I got—” I burst through the door, the words catching in my throat. Mom snatched the report card from my hand and quickly shoved it into a drawer. “Ava, don’t let your sister see that.” Her voice was a tense hiss. “You know how she gets. Seeing you succeed… it’s a trigger for her.” I stood frozen in the doorway, the triumphant smile still plastered on my face. “But Mom, it’s my first time getting all A’s!” My voice trembled. “My teacher said I could apply for the early admission program…” “You’re the understanding one,” she said, stroking my hair, her eyes filled with that familiar guilt. “Karen’s recovery is a family effort. You’re the healthy one, the strong one. Can you just let her have this?” I nodded, retreated to my room, and swallowed the bitter pill of disappointment. The pool of blood on the floor was growing. My breathing became shallow, ragged. White spots danced before my eyes. “Mom, it hurts!” I gasped, stretching a hand out. She finally turned, her brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ava, stop making a scene. Can’t you see your sister is having an episode? We’ll deal with you later.” Karen’s screams intensified. “Get her out! Get her out of here!” She grabbed a glass from the coffee table and hurled it against the wall, sending shards of glass flying. Dad rushed to her side, scooping her into a protective embrace. “Shhh, my sweet star, Daddy’s here. It’s okay.” His voice was impossibly gentle. “Daddy sent the bad sister away. No one’s going to hurt you.” My fingers scraped weakly against the floor, leaving a thin, bloody smear. I remembered last month, when a group of girls cornered me in a bathroom stall. They poured toilet water over my head and drew ugly things on my face with lipstick. “Freak! Nerd!” their laughter echoed off the tiled walls. “You’re just as crazy as your psycho sister!” When I got home, Mom wrinkled her nose. “What’s that smell? Go take a shower, quickly. Karen is sensitive to odors.” I hid in my room and cried for hours. But when Mom knocked and asked what was wrong, I wiped my tears and said, “Nothing.” I knew that if I told them I was being bullied, the “family discord” would trigger another one of Karen’s breakdowns. “Karen cannot be exposed to any form of stress, or her life could be at risk!” The doctor’s words were a curse laid upon our house. The darkness was closing in. I heard Dad on the phone. “…Yes, Karen’s had another episode. Okay, we’ll bring her to the hospital right away.” Hurried footsteps rushed past me. No one stopped to wonder why I was so quiet. “Ava, go get Karen’s medication!” Mom commanded, not even bothering to look at me. I tried to answer, but my lips wouldn’t move. “God, she’s still putting on an act,” Dad muttered in disgust. “Let’s see how long she keeps it up.” My last conscious thought was of the art studio. I remembered packing up my paints and brushes, locking them away in a storage locker. “Why are you quitting?” my art teacher had asked, shocked. “You’re my most talented student!” “The smell of the turpentine gives my sister headaches,” I mumbled, staring at the floor, unable to meet his disappointed gaze. “The doctor said… she needs a quiet environment.” Now, all those locked-away dreams were dying, right here on the floor, with me. The wail of an ambulance grew closer. I heard Mom cry out, “Karen! Hold on, baby! The doctors are almost here!” A clatter of footsteps, and the front door was thrown open, scattering some of the cloying smell of blood. “Where’s the patient?” a man’s voice asked. “Here! Quick! My daughter can’t take it anymore!” Dad answered urgently. Please, I begged the universe, let someone look down. Let them see another daughter, bleeding out, waiting to be saved. The paramedics walked straight to the couch, carefully lifting my thrashing sister onto a gurney. No one noticed the girl dying in the corner. “…a patient with a head injury can’t wait…” That was the last thing I heard before my world dissolved into absolute black. I floated above my own body, watching the scene unfold. It was strange. I thought dying would be agonizing, but instead, I just felt… light. My body was still there, the blood at the back of my head now dark and congealed, my face a waxy, pale white. The apartment was a whirlwind of motion. Dad flanked the paramedics, hovering protectively over the still-screaming Karen as they rushed out the door. Mom followed close behind, clutching a bottle of pills. No one spared a final glance for the daughter they’d left behind. “Hurry! The ambulance is waiting!” Dad’s voice was sharp with panic. Mom suddenly paused at the doorway, looking back. “What about Ava?” “Forget about her! Karen is what matters!” Dad yelled, already halfway down the stairs with his precious cargo. Mom hesitated for a fraction of a second, then ran after them. The door slammed shut, the force of it knocking our family portrait off the wall. The sound of shattering glass echoed in the now-empty apartment. In the photo, Karen stood in the center, Mom and Dad on either side, their arms around her, all of them beaming. I was off to the very edge, an awkward afterthought who looked like I’d stumbled into the frame by accident. I drifted to the window and watched the ambulance pull away, its blue and red lights flashing silently. They hadn’t even realized I was dead. My phone started ringing in the bedroom. I floated through the wall and saw the screen light up: Mr. Davis. My homeroom teacher. It went to voicemail. “Hello, this is Mr. Davis. Ava wasn’t in school today and wasn’t marked absent. Is she sick? Please give me a call back as soon as you can.” Sunlight streamed through the curtains, illuminating the neat stack of textbooks on my desk. I had planned to buy a new art book after school. I wouldn’t be needing it now. My spirit was pulled, against my will, in the direction of my family. In the emergency room, Karen was given a sedative and finally fell quiet. A doctor was examining her, his brow furrowed. “She’s just shaken up. Nothing serious,” he said, removing his stethoscope. “A little rest and she’ll be fine.” “Oh, thank God!” Mom collapsed into a chair, burying her face in her hands and sobbing with relief. Dad wrapped an arm around her. “It’s okay. It’s over. Karen’s going to be fine.” I stood right in front of them, wanting to scream. Look at me! I’m dead! Your other daughter is dead! But my voice couldn’t cross the veil. A nurse came in with a clipboard. “Would you like to have her admitted for observation?” “Absolutely,” Dad said, jumping to his feet. “She needs the best care.” The nurse made a note. “Patient’s name is Karen, correct?” “Yes, she…” “And what about the other patient?” the nurse asked suddenly. “The paramedics mentioned there was another young woman injured at the scene?” Mom and Dad exchanged a puzzled look. “Oh, you mean Ava?” Mom waved a dismissive hand. “She’s fine. She just took a little tumble. She’s probably resting at home.” The nurse nodded and left. I closed my eyes in agony. They hadn’t even found my body. They didn’t know I’d stopped breathing hours ago. Karen stirred in the hospital bed, letting out a soft moan. Mom was at her side in an instant. “Baby, what’s wrong? Tell Mommy where it hurts.” “My sister,” Karen whispered weakly. “My sister tried to hurt me.” “Don’t be scared. Mommy won’t let her hurt you,” Mom soothed, stroking her hair with a tenderness I hadn’t felt in years. “She just knocked over a glass, sweetie. It was an accident.” “No!” Karen’s eyes flew open, suddenly agitated. “It wasn’t an accident! She hates me! She’s always calling me a burden, a curse on this family! She said she was going to kill me one day!” Her breathing hitched, and the numbers on the heart monitor began to spike. Doctors and nurses rushed back into the room, and the chaos began all over again. I drifted into a corner, a silent spectator to the familiar drama. All my life, whenever Karen said, “My sister hates me,” my parents would turn on me with accusing eyes, as if I were some kind of monster. “Karen said you hid her favorite doll.” “Karen said you woke her up in the middle of the night on purpose.” “Karen said you put something in her water!” Even now, with me dead and gone, they still believed her every word. Dad’s cell phone rang. He stepped out into the hallway to answer it. “Hello? Oh, Detective Miller. What?!” The color drained from his face. “No! That’s impossible!” His voice cracked. “Are you sure it was… our Ava?” I could almost hear the cold, dispassionate voice on the other end of the line. “Preliminary findings indicate the deceased is a 16-year-old female with a fatal wound to the back of the head. She’s been dead for at least three hours. We’ve confirmed her identity. The victim is your eldest daughter, Ava.”

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The boss I was secretly in love with suddenly gave me a fountain pen. In that instant, a stream of text scrolled across my vision, bright and intrusive like a chat feed on a live stream. 【Hehe, our girl has no idea that pen is empathically linked to the male lead, does she?】 【This is gonna get so good! I heard the smut in this is top-tier, is that true?】 【Totally true. The guy’s an absolute stallion. This story is a five-star read, guaranteed!】 I froze on the spot, my mind reeling. I reached out and stroked the pen. The next second, the man sitting across from me—my boss—let out a sharp, muffled grunt. 1 Nobody is supposed to be in love with their boss. Except for me. Because he was good to me. Impossibly good. I’d been working in the Executive Office ever since I graduated, straight into the lion’s den of Cole Corp. My boss, Mr. Liam Cole, was a man carved from ice. He was cool, distant, and spoke only when necessary. But if someone on his team screwed up, he could dress them down with a glacial fury that left them weeping at their desks. But with me… I always felt he was different. It’s normal to be clumsy with procedures when you’re fresh out of college. The other executive assistants in the office were drowning in their own work, so no one had time to mentor the new girl. It was my own fault, really. I was just dumb enough to make a colossal mistake. The moment I was summoned to his office, the senior assistants all looked at me with the kind of pity you reserve for the condemned. My heart hammered against my ribs as I walked the green mile to his door. But inside, Liam Cole’s expression was perfectly calm. He just asked me if I was adjusting to the company, if I felt comfortable, if my colleagues were treating me well. He never even mentioned the mistake. When I walked back out, every head in the office snapped toward me. I quickly bowed my head, pretending to sniffle back tears. I might have been new to the corporate world, but I understood that much. Special treatment breeds jealousy. It was better to look like I’d been chewed out, just like everyone else. 2 I worked at Cole Corp for over a year. Every day, my senior colleagues were hounded and stressed, running around like their hair was on fire. I, on the other hand, had to pretend to be hounded and stressed. To deserve the quiet grace Liam Cole showed me, I threw myself into my work, becoming more meticulous, more dedicated than anyone. I couldn’t betray the unspoken faith he had in me. I could never quite figure out what it all meant. What I meant to him. But I wanted to do everything in my power to make him see me, to impress him. I knew, in that quiet place in my heart, that his kindness toward me was unique. It wasn’t overt, nothing anyone could point a finger at. Maybe it was just a hint of affection, a flicker of something more. I told myself not to overthink it. It was enough to see him every day. I was earning a fantastic salary for a job that, for me, was surprisingly calm. What more could I possibly ask for? 3 The company landed a massive new account. Everyone who had worked on the deal was getting a bonus. For the Executive Office, those bonuses were handed out personally by the CEO himself. I filed into his office with my colleagues. Liam Cole produced a stack of thick envelopes, his voice as cool and crisp as ever. “For your efforts.” As the newest hire, I was last in line. One by one, my colleagues accepted their envelopes, their faces lit with joy. When my turn came, there was nothing left. Liam’s face was unreadable. “Ellie, you’ve only been with the company for a little over a year. Your seniority doesn’t quite qualify for this tier. I got you something else.” My colleagues craned their necks, their curiosity piqued. He slid a sleek, dark blue box across the mahogany desk. “Open it.” What could possibly be better than a fat check? Confused, I lifted the lid. Nestled in the velvet lining was a handsome fountain pen, its body the color of a midnight sky. Tied around it was a tiny, almost comically delicate, pink ribbon. And in that instant, a stream of text scrolled across my vision, bright and intrusive like a chat feed on a live stream. 【OMG, he basically just handed over his junk! LMAO!】 【Hehe, our girl has no idea that pen is empathically linked to the male lead, does she?】 【This is gonna get so good! I heard the smut in this is top-tier, is that true?】 【Totally true. The guy’s an absolute stallion. This story is a five-star read, guaranteed!】 I froze, my fingers hovering over the box. Junk? Empathically linked? Stallion? Was I hallucinating? Maybe it was all the late nights I’d spent binge-watching shows. Liam Cole’s voice, a little strained now, pulled me back. “You don’t like it?” 【Aww, our poor guy is shattering.】 【What if she doesn’t like my gift? It’s literally my soul in a pen!】 【Ellie, just nod! Say you like it! PLEASE!】 【Look at him, trying to act all cool, but he’s probably gripping the underside of his desk so hard his knuckles are white.】 “I love it,” I blurted out. Then, on a whim, driven by a bizarre impulse, I reached into the box. My heart started to pound, a frantic, wild rhythm. I only meant to touch the pen, just to feel it. “Wait—” Liam started to say. But my fingers had already closed around the smooth, cool barrel of the pen, stroking it firmly. Across the desk, a low, guttural sound escaped his lips. He let out a sharp grunt, and the tips of his ears instantly flushed a deep, tell-tale red. The sound was so intimate, so charged, it sent a shiver straight through me. My colleagues stood awkwardly to the side, confused but too intimidated to speak. A slow smile spread across my face. “Thank you, Mr. Cole. This pen… I absolutely love it.” 【AAAAH! He’s dying! One touch and our boy is losing his mind!】 【I live for moments like this. When she plays him like a fiddle!】 【OMG, this is way too hot. Ellie, you keep doing you. Wreck him!】 【I’d be different. If my boss’s junk was linked to a pen, I’d stomp on it. Just sayin’.】 I caught it then—the subtle tightening of his jaw. Was he gritting his teeth? Fighting for control? “If you like it, then take good care of it,” he said, his voice a little rough. “Don’t disappoint me.” I nodded, my smile widening. “Of course. I’ll make sure you’re completely satisfied.” I had no idea where he’d found a pen with an empathic link, but one thing was suddenly crystal clear. I was living in a trashy romance novel. And with a world built on bizarre rules like this, who was I to argue? 4 As soon as we left his office, Liam strode past us, his steps clipped and fast, heading straight for the men’s restroom. 【Hehe, couldn’t hold it in anymore? Gotta go relieve some pressure?】 【Just one little touch and he’s already at his limit. This guy has zero self-control. I’m worried for our girl’s future.】 【Wait, she’s reaching for it! What’s she gonna do?! Oh my god!】 【OMG, if she carries that pen with her everywhere, does that mean he’s going to be at full mast 24/7?】 So, Liam Cole was a closet freak. After more than a year of pining, the most he could manage was to secretly gift me his… remote control. Fine. I could be generous. I’d help him get his release. From now on, the ball was in my court. Back at my desk, I took the pen from its box. I untied the little pink ribbon and ran my fingers up and down its length. Then, I uncapped it and tentatively started to write on a notepad. Just as I suspected. The pen was full of ink. The characters flowed onto the page, rich and dark. 【AAAAAH! HE’S ON THE TOILET AND HE’S GONNA DIE!】 【HOLY SHIT, ELLIE, YOU ARE A NATURAL AT THIS!】 【Stop writing, stop writing! He’s literally biting his tongue!】 【Jesus, this guy is bold. Isn’t he afraid of dying from dehydration?】 An image of him, undone and losing control, flashed through my mind, and a wave of heat washed over me. Suddenly, a hand snatched the pen from my grasp. It was Chloe, my least favorite colleague. “Tch. It’s just a regular pen. Nothing expensive. I can’t believe he’d give you this as a bonus,” she sneered. This pen was linked to Liam Cole. It couldn’t be in her hands. That would mean he was… 【Phew, our guy is smart. The pen is only bonded to Ellie. Even he can’t activate it by touching it himself.】 【He must have planned for this. Knew that other people would inevitably touch it.】 【He’s coming out of the restroom now. Wonder what his face will look like when he sees his junk in someone else’s hand.】 【Ellie looks like she’s about to cry, my poor baby!】 “Give it back!” I snapped. Knowing it was safe, thanks to the chat feed, didn’t stop the surge of anger. I wanted to snatch it back, but I was afraid she wouldn’t let go. What if she damaged it? What would that do to him? “Whoa, so protective,” Chloe taunted, inspecting the pen from end to end. “There’s nothing special about it. Lame.” She tossed it back on my desk. “But seriously, Ellie. Are you into Mr. Cole or something?” Her voice was deliberately loud. The entire office turned to look. My face caught fire. “That’s ridiculous!” Just then, a cold voice cut through the tension from behind me. “What are you all talking about?” 【Ooh, you bad girl, Ellie. Just a minute ago you were playing with him until he was seeing stars, and now you’re denying it!】 【He’s breaking. I can practically see the cracks forming. His hands are shaking.】 【Oh my god, he’s the petty type. Ellie, you better watch out. He’s gonna get you back for this until you can’t see straight.】 【Hehe, and I, for one, can’t wait!】 I turned around. Liam’s face was so dark it looked like a storm cloud had settled over his features. I’m screwed. That was my first thought. Chloe immediately started playing the victim. “Mr. Cole, I just wanted to look at her pen, and she got so nasty with me.” Before I could even open my mouth to defend myself, Liam let out a cold, humorless laugh. “That’s her property. Did you ask for her permission before you took it?” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Chloe, you’re a senior member of this office. How have your manners gotten so sloppy?” He stared her down. “Give it back to her. And don’t make me say it again.” The other assistants were practically vibrating with the drama. With Liam backing me up, what did I have to be afraid of? “Chloe,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “Could you please wipe it clean and put it back in the box for me? It was a gift from Mr. Cole, you see. I treasure it.” Chloe’s face contorted with rage. “Mr. Cole, look at her! You’re spoiling her! She’s getting arrogant, walking all over everyone!” Liam’s expression darkened even further. “Did you not hear what I just said?” Chloe deflated instantly. She fumbled for a tissue, wiped down the pen with shaking hands, and placed it back in its box. I looked up at Liam. “Don’t worry, Mr. Cole. I promise I’ll take very good care of your pen. I’ll keep it with me at all times, where no one else can touch it.” He gave me a long, deep look. Without another word, he turned and went back into his office. For some reason, he seemed even angrier than before. 【Ellie is being so formal. Our poor guy is heartbroken.】 【Well, she doesn’t know how he feels about her yet! She’s just trying to appease her boss.】 【When is this plot going to speed up? I’m so over the slow burn!】 5 That evening, I sat on my bed, staring at the pen in its open box. I was afraid to touch it, worried about what might be happening on his end. 【He’s in the shower! AAAAAH!】 【Damn, he has a nice body. Abs, pecs, delts… It’s just, that one area is all pixelated, I can’t see.】 【You don’t need to see it to imagine it. This is a spicy romance novel; you think the author would give him anything less than a cannon?】 【Whoa, he’s washing himself so… thoroughly. I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this.】 He was in the shower? Without a second thought, I snatched the pen and wrapped my hand around it. The chat feed exploded in a collective shriek. 【AAAAAHHHHH! SO SUDDEN! His knees buckled! He almost fell! Thank god he caught himself on the wall!】 【OH MY GOD, ELLIE, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! MORE! GIVE US MORE!】 【His face is so red! He looks like he’s about to pass out from pleasure!】 【Ellie, Ellie, your timing is impeccable!】 I thought for a moment, then uncapped the pen. As expected, a single, dark drop of ink welled at the nib and fell onto the tissue below. It had leaked. 【HOLY HELL. So he wasn’t washing himself?】 【He was ‘polishing the silver’! No wonder it seemed so weird!】 【I mean, his expression was so stoic, how were we supposed to know?!】 【I can’t wait to see if he keeps that same poker face when he’s doing the deed with Ellie…】 “Huh. The quality of this pen isn’t that great,” I murmured to myself. I took a tissue and dabbed at the inky tip, then gripped the barrel again. 【AAAAAH, is she gonna do it again?!】 【I think she’s going to write something. HOLY SHIT! Can he handle it? Don’t make him spit ink and stick his tongue out again!】 【Please, wait a second, Ellie! Let the man recover!】 【This novel is so damn good. Author, please write another one! I’ll preorder it right now!】 Suddenly, my phone rang. Liam’s voice came through the line, tight with restraint. “What are you doing?” What do you think I’m doing, baby? “Just looking at my phone,” I said innocently. “There’s a file that needs your attention,” he said, his tone clipped and professional. “Drop what you’re doing and come into the office.” Work overtime? He had to be kidding me. I squeezed the pen a little harder. 【AAAAAH, HE CAN’T TAKE IT, ELLIE!】 【He’s so desperate he’s resorting to making up work for her! He’s running on empty, baby!】 【Hahaha, is this the same overpowered male lead I know and love?】 【Well, she did make him spit a lot of ink at the office today. He’s probably scared.】 A beat of silence, then: “Are you… using the pen right now?” “I am.” Another pause. “Stop using it for now. The ink cartridge in that pen regenerates a little ink automatically each day. If you use too much, it’s bad for the… the pen. You should use it sparingly. Cherish it.” 【I have a feeling he’s not talking about the pen.】 【Of course he is, baby. What else would he be talking about? ;)】 【Girl, you’re reading a smutty novel and you don’t get the subtext? Come on!】 【Ellie’s blushing! Why is she blushing?】 【Something feels weird… It’s almost like Ellie knows…】 “I understand, Mr. Cole.” My voice became a little husky, a little sweet. “I’ll be very careful with the pen. But I don’t want to work overtime. Is that okay?” Perhaps it was the knowledge of the power I held. I couldn’t help but sound a little coquettish. His voice on the other end was barely a whisper. “Okay. Then… come to my office tomorrow.” “Mmm, I will, Mr. Cole,” I cooed. 【She’s so happy she doesn’t have to work overtime! She’s so cute, I could just die!】 【So sweet I’m getting a cavity. Of course our boy is at full mast again!】 【With this little self-control, Ellie is going to be the death of him.】 【I can’t wait, I can’t wait! Plot, move faster!】 【And just like that, he’s back to polishing the silver.】 【Ellie, touch the pen again! I’m begging you!】 I considered it for a moment, but decided to give him a break. I carefully wrapped the pen in a tissue and placed it back in its box for the night. 6 The next morning, I brought the file Liam had mentioned to his office. The door was shut tight. I remembered seeing Chloe go in just a few minutes earlier with coffee. Suddenly, I heard a woman’s sharp gasp from inside. Something wasn’t right. I gave the door a perfunctory knock. “Mr. Cole, I’m coming in.” “Wait—” His word was cut off as I pushed the door open. Inside, Chloe was kneeling at his feet, her hands on his thighs. The position was so compromising, it was impossible not to jump to conclusions. 【The side character spilled coffee on our man’s lap! I hope his family jewels weren’t scalded!】 【Aaaah, Ellie saw! Is she going to misunderstand?!】 【Ellie, punish him! Punish him hard!】 Liam’s face was flushed with anger. “Get out!” Chloe shot me a triumphant smirk. “Ellie, you really need to learn some manners. You can’t just barge in when the CEO doesn’t invite you. You should be more careful in the future.” She waved a dismissive hand. “Now, run along. Mr. Cole and I have things to discuss. You can—” “I was talking to you,” Liam bit out, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly cold register. I’d never heard him sound like that, not even when he was tearing into a subordinate. Chloe froze. “But, Mr. Cole…” “Get. The hell. Out.” He didn’t even look at her. Chloe stood, shot me a venomous glare, and stormed out of the office. “…What do you want?” he asked, his voice strained. I placed the file on his desk. “This is the document you wanted me to work on last night. It’s finished. For your review.” My eyes drifted down to the dark stain on his trousers. “Perhaps you should go change first, Mr. Cole?” The tension in his shoulders finally eased. He knew I hadn’t misunderstood. “Yes. You can go now,” he said. “Just leave the file here. I’ll look at it later.” “Of course.” I turned to leave. As he stood, glancing down at the coffee stain, he disappeared into his private lounge. 【Thank god Ellie didn’t get the wrong idea. That would have been so awkward.】 【Seriously, dude, you have a mouth, don’t you? Why didn’t you just explain?】 【He’s the classic cold, stoic type. He can only crush from afar in secret.】 【When are they finally going to hook up?! Is the ice ever going to break? This is killing me!】 I reached the door, then stopped. Slowly, I unclipped the fountain pen from my breast pocket. Gripping it tightly, I turned and walked back to his desk. I uncapped it, poised to write. Liam burst out of the lounge, his eyes wide and wild. The corners were startlingly red, his gaze almost wet with panic. “Ellie, what are you doing?!” I looked up. He had already taken off his shirt, revealing a torso of hard, defined muscle. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist—a perfect physique. But that wasn’t the most important part. The most important part was below his waist. His trousers were tented, forming a prominent, undeniable bulge. The size of it… My stare must have felt like a physical touch, because his entire body flushed a deep crimson. 【Damn, I think Ellie is about to have a nosebleed!】 【AAAAH, he’s so flustered! So flustered!】 【Oh my god, is it about to happen?!】 【Ellie, you’re still holding the pen! Do something!】 “Mr. Cole, I… I just remembered there was a spot on the file I needed to sign,” I stammered, my eyes still glued to him. He took a tiny, hesitant step forward. “Don’t… don’t use that pen. Find a ballpoint on my desk.” “Okay, Mr. Cole.” My voice was obedient, but my gaze didn’t waver. He squeezed his eyes shut in pure mortification. “I’m sorry you had to see this,” he whispered. “I’m not a pervert, I swear. I thought you had come back for something else…” Such a prude, baby. “I know you’re not a pervert,” I said, a new, wicked confidence blooming inside me. My eyes drifted back down to the tent in his pants. “The coffee must have been hot. Thermal expansion, right?” 【AAAAAH ELLIE, WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?! How did you get like this?!】 【I’m going to faint. Ellie, you are so bad!】 【Is she flirting with him? Our girl is a pro!】 【I command you, right here, right now, get it on!】 【Is it just me, or did the tent just get bigger?】 “Mr. Cole,” I continued, my voice low. “If I hadn’t walked in just now… were you going to let Chloe help you change? Treat your… burn?” He shook his head frantically. “No. That was an accident. I told her to leave, she wouldn’t go…” I calmly walked right up to him until we were inches apart, staring directly into his panicked eyes. I held up the pen between us. “Don’t you think you’re a little overly concerned about this pen?” I asked softly. “Liam Cole. What exactly did you do?” He was so stunned by my shift in demeanor, so shocked that I had used his first name, that he couldn’t form a coherent thought. “I… I just wanted you to take good care of it…” “Really?” I pressed. His throat worked, his Adam’s apple bobbing nervously. “Yes. It was your bonus. I just wanted you to treasure it.” 【He’s so close, how is he not kissing her?】 【Aaaah, Ellie, if you take one more step you’ll be touching the tent!】 【So our sweet Ellie is a bad girl underneath it all. I love it.】 【Keep going, keep going! Do the deed!】 Suddenly, the office door flew open again. It was Chloe. “Mr. Cole, I brought you a change of—” She stopped short, her eyes widening. “What are you two doing?!” What was with her tone? Like a wife catching her husband cheating. I turned and gave her an epic eye-roll. “Get out,” Liam said, his voice flat and devoid of patience. “I’ll go, but she goes with me,” Chloe demanded, pointing a trembling finger at me. Liam’s brows knitted together. “You will leave by yourself. We have things to discuss.” “What could you possibly have to discuss?” she whined. “You two are…” “Don’t make me say it a second time. Get lost!” “…Fine.” Chloe reluctantly closed the door, her footsteps echoing her defeat. The moment the latch clicked, Liam grabbed my arm and pulled me into the lounge, locking the door behind us. My back hit the cool wood of the door as he pressed his warm, bare chest against me. There was nowhere to run. He enveloped my hand, the one holding the pen, with his own. His voice was a raw, ragged whisper next to my ear. “Do you like the pen I gave you?” I turned my head, dodging the kiss I knew was coming. “Mr. Cole, you…” “It’s empathically linked to me,” he confessed, all at once. My head whipped back around to face him. “…What?” He moved his hips, pressing the hard ridge of his erection against my stomach. “This pen. It’s linked to me. When you touch it… I feel everything.” 【??? The male lead just confessed?】 【Wait, this is my second read-through, and something feels off. The plot is moving way faster than I remember!】 【So the secret is out just like that?】 【Is Ellie going to think he’s a total creep? Is this about to become a forced-seduction plot?】 【Oh, this is getting more and more interesting.】 Seeing the genuine shock on my face, a flicker of satisfaction crossed his. He leaned in closer, his breath hot against my ear. “Help me. Please? It’s… thermal expansion. It’s not going down.”

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During a video call with my boyfriend, his roommates started shouting, wanting to get a look at me. I was giving them a shy, polite smile when suddenly, the phone was snatched away. A magnetic voice, laced with a laugh, cut through the noise. “C’mon, don’t be selfish. Let the guys get a look at the lucky lady.” In the next second, I was staring at the face of my ex-boyfriend—the one whose breakup with me had been a spectacular train wreck. The smile slowly vanished from his face. After a long moment, his lips twisted into a smirk. “Fuck.” 1 The moment he leaned over, the star on the silver chain at his collarbone flashed past the camera. My breath caught the instant I recognized his face. A bead of sweat trickled down Jace Crawford’s sharp jawline, disappearing into the open collar of his basketball jersey. He stared at the screen, his pupils dilating in shock. “…Fuck.” The phone was thrown, the screen going black for a second before being hastily picked up again. My boyfriend, Liam, held it, his voice laced with annoyance. “What the hell is wrong with you?!” Jace paused, then let out a short, sharp laugh. “Your taste isn’t that great.” Liam, who was usually the gentlest person I knew, actually got angry. “My girlfriend is wonderful,” he said coldly. “Don’t talk nonsense.” “Yeah, man, what’s wrong with your eyes? She’s gorgeous!” one of his roommates chimed in. “Way hotter than the campus queen of the language department.” “I’d eat ramen for three years for a girlfriend like that!” “Get lost, I’d eat it for ten—” As his roommates erupted in boisterous chatter, Jace fell silent. Liam brought the phone closer. “Sorry about that, Stella. He probably just lost his basketball game and is in a bad mood.” A voice ground out from the background, laced with frustration. “I won! By twenty points!” Liam’s expression didn’t change. “Then he’s just having a brain fart. Stella, I’ll pick you up for dinner tonight.” … After the call ended, I lay back on my bed, the bright summer sun piercing my eyelids. I threw an arm over my eyes. It had been three years since I’d last seen Jace. I couldn’t believe he was still wearing that star necklace I gave him. It was so cheap. I remember the price tag: $20 for the matching set. My own was long gone, tossed away somewhere I couldn’t even remember. He looked the same, yet completely different. It was the same face, but maturity had sharpened its edges, like a gemstone cut and polished, revealing an untamable arrogance in his eyes that he couldn’t hide. My mind drifted back three years, before we’d even graduated high school. Jace, dressed in that same basketball jersey, had stood beneath my window, his eyes red as he begged me. “I’ll listen to whatever you say from now on. You don’t like me hanging out with her? I’ll never see her again. We were supposed to go to the same college—” His voice grew hoarse, a glint of moisture in his eyes under the night sky. “Just don’t break up with me. I’ll agree to anything, okay?” He looked so pathetic, on the verge of dropping to his knees. But I just stared at him, my face a mask, and said softly, “Jace, I changed my application. I’m not going to Tristan University anymore.” 2 My relationship with Jace began like a classic story: the new girl winning out over the childhood friend. It ended with the new girl losing to her. I transferred to his high school in my junior year and immediately shot to the top of the class rankings. The teachers had a habit of pairing a high-achieving girl with a slacking boy, hoping for some academic osmosis. So, I was seated next to Jace. He had zero interest in school, but he had a huge interest in me. He’d pull my hair or snatch my pen and hold it just out of my reach, a wicked grin on his face. “You’re so short, Stella.” He passed me a note in class. I opened it to find a little stick-figure drawing of me. I was about to curse him for being so childish when the teacher spotted it, held it up for the entire class to see, and sent us both out into the hallway. I was a model student. I’d never been punished for anything. Humiliated, I shoved him, my eyes burning with tears. “Jace, are you insane?!” He knew it was his fault and said nothing. A few moments later, the note with the drawing, now folded into a tiny paper star, was secretly pressed into my hand. I looked at the star, and a laugh escaped through my tears. Our relationship slowly thawed. I would force him to listen as I explained homework problems until he understood, and I checked his assignments to make sure he wasn’t just copying the answers. In return, he’d wait for me every day to walk to and from school together. We’d browse the little trinket shop near the school gates, and on a whim, I bought a pair of star necklaces and gave one to him. … Jace was a big deal at school—handsome, rich, the star of the basketball team. The number of girls who had crushes on him was endless. One of them cornered me and asked if I liked him. A mix of teenage pride and an inexplicable annoyance made me blurt out, “I would never like someone with worse grades than me.” The girl’s eyes shifted to a point behind me. I whipped my head around and saw Jace standing there. I had no idea how long he’d been listening. He walked past me without a word. After that, he stopped talking to me. He didn’t wait for me after school. We sat at the same desk every day in perfect, suffocating silence. I wanted to explain, but he never gave me the chance. A year later, he stunned everyone by matching my score on the finals, tying for first place in our class. That evening, he stopped me after school. “Stella,” he said, his voice serious, “my grades aren’t worse than yours anymore. Can you like me now?” The memories from that time are hazy now. I only remember that the jacaranda trees on campus were in full bloom, a sea of purple. As the wind lifted the petals into the air, the light in the boy’s eyes was brighter than a supernova, a radiance that traveled across light-years and landed squarely in my heart. In that moment, I heard myself say, “Okay.” And just like that, we were together. Young love is a wildfire, impossible to contain. We were inseparable. Jace introduced me to all his friends, even got my name tattooed on his body. I said I wanted to go to Tristan University, and he swore he would go with me. His mother was ecstatic about his newfound ambition. Since my grades didn’t drop, our parents and teachers decided to turn a blind eye. We became the only openly dating couple in school. Back then, I truly believed we would be together forever. Until I discovered there was another girl in his heart, one who would always be more important than me. 3 Jace had a childhood friend, Ava, who he’d grown up with. Ava’s father had been a driver for Jace’s dad. Years ago, during a sailing accident, her father had saved Jace’s dad’s life but drowned before he could be pulled from the water. Jace’s father, a man of principle, took Ava and her mother in, promising to raise Ava as his own daughter and support them for the rest of their lives. Ava was always with Jace. Even after we started dating, she was a constant presence, tagging along on our walks to and from school. I fought with Jace about it constantly. For a while, she backed off, but then, just a few days later, she reappeared, leaning heavily on Jace. “I’m so sorry, Stella,” she said, her voice deceptively sweet. “I know you don’t want me walking with you, but I sprained my ankle, and Jace insisted on taking me home.” Jace’s attention was entirely on her. He frowned, scolding her gently. “Why didn’t you tell me you hurt your ankle? Were you just going to hop all the way home if I hadn’t found you? Get on!” I still remember that day. Jace carried Ava on his back, walking ahead of me. She chattered on about their childhood memories, and I couldn’t get a word in. “Jace,” she whined, “my ankle hurts so much!” I had never heard Jace’s voice so tender. “It hurts, huh? What can we do about that?” “I want a cake from that bakery on the corner. The most expensive one!” “Okay. I’ll take you home, then go get it for you.” “Jace… can I walk with you again from now on? When I walk alone, these creeps from outside of school stare at me. I’m scared.” Jace’s brow furrowed. “Why didn’t you say so sooner? I’ll pick you up tomorrow morning. From now on, you don’t walk alone.” Ava smiled and glanced back at me over his shoulder. “Okay.” … The setting sun stretched their shadows long, making them look inseparable. I fell further and further behind, but Jace never once looked back. It was only when he dropped Ava off at her house that he turned to me. “I have to go get Ava her cake, so I can’t walk you home today. Stella, you can get home by yourself, right?” I looked at him for a long moment, then turned and walked away. 4 After that, Jace and I didn’t speak for a whole week. At first, he didn’t think he’d done anything wrong. “I’ve always seen Ava as a little sister. How could I ignore her when her ankle was hurt?” “She has a mother who could have picked her up,” I said, my face blank. “Your family has drivers. Why did she have to wait for you? You see her as a sister, but does she see you as a brother? Are you going to tell me you don’t know she’s in love with you?” His gaze faltered. He sighed and pulled me into a hug. “Stella, I only love you. I’ll make things clear with her, I’ll keep my distance, okay?” I closed my eyes. “Okay.” Jace did talk to Ava. I don’t know what he said, but I saw her run out of the classroom crying, and she stopped seeking him out. I thought that was the end of it. But then, one day, Jace came to me, looking conflicted. “Ava says this guy from another school won’t leave her alone,” he mumbled. “She’s rejected him a bunch of times, but he’s persistent. He’s invited her out tonight with some friends, and she wants me to go and pretend to be her boyfriend to get him to back off.” He watched my expression and quickly added, “Just for one night. Just to make the guy give up.” “First it was a sprained ankle that needed you to carry her home. Now it’s a creep who needs you to play her boyfriend. What’s next?!” Jace had a short fuse, but with me, he was always patient. “If it wasn’t for her dad saving my dad, she’d still have a father to protect her. I can’t just ignore her. It’s just this once. If you’re worried, you can come with me, okay?” I knew arguing was pointless. I finally relented. “One night. And I’m coming with you.” A smile broke across his face. He cupped my face and kissed me. “You’re the most understanding girlfriend in the world. I love you so much!” 5 That night was my first time in a bar. As promised, there was a tall, burly guy hovering around Ava, constantly trying to sling an arm over her shoulder. He wasn’t ugly, just sleazy. Jace stepped forward, pushed the guy’s hand away, and pulled Ava into his arms. He glared at the guy, his voice low and dangerous. “Keep your hands to yourself. She’s my girlfriend.” Jace had taken martial arts since he was a kid. When he was serious, his presence was intimidating enough to silence the other guy, whose name was Zane. Others quickly tried to diffuse the tension. “Hey, let’s play Truth or Dare! Zane’s buying tonight, so order up!” Zane, the guy who was harassing Ava, apparently came from a family with mob ties. His father ran a protection racket on this whole street. He was a vocational school student who had met Ava through mutual friends and had been pursuing her ever since. Despite her rejections, he hadn’t given up. This gathering was his way of confirming if she really had a boyfriend. Jace scoffed and tossed an Amex Black Card onto the table. “No need. Everything tonight is on me.” All eyes were drawn to the card. “Is that a real Black Card?” one of the girls breathed. “Ava, you sly fox! You never told us your boyfriend was this hot and rich!” Ava smiled and leaned against Jace. My fingers curled into a fist. Jace glanced at me, but I turned my head, refusing to meet his eyes. Zane’s face darkened. The girl next to him, probably afraid a fight was about to break out, grabbed a bottle. “Let’s play Truth or Dare! Whoever the bottle points to is it!” The first few rounds were tame. Everyone chose truth, and the questions were harmless. Just as I started to relax, thinking the night might pass without incident, the bottle stopped, pointing directly at Ava. She smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I choose dare.” My heart sank. A terrible feeling washed over me. Sure enough, the girl next to her squealed with excitement. “Okay, pick a guy here and give him a real kiss. Tongue and all!” Ava blushed and her eyes landed on Jace. He stiffened, his brow furrowed. “I choose—” As Zane’s expression grew uglier, Ava pointed without hesitation at Jace. Jace’s face was grim. “Pick another dare.” “C’mon, you’re boyfriend and girlfriend, what’s the big deal?” the girl teased. “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” Everyone started chanting. Zane’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Are you really her boyfriend?” Ava smiled sweetly. “Of course we are.” Her beautiful eyes pleaded with Jace as she draped herself over his arm, her red lips slightly parted. “Jace…” My blood ran cold. Jace stood rigid as Ava leaned in. The second before their lips touched, I shot to my feet. He turned his head at the last moment, and her kiss landed on the corner of his mouth. He reached for me in a panic, but I violently shook his hand off. Ignoring the stunned faces of everyone in the room, I stormed out. 6 I ducked into a small alley, but Jace caught up to me, grabbing my arm. “I didn’t let her kiss me, I swear,” he explained frantically. “I didn’t want to. Stella, please don’t be mad—” I couldn’t take it anymore. “I’m done, Jace! We’re together! Don’t you know how to keep a respectful distance from other women?! If you can’t let her go, then don’t be with me!” “It’s not like that! I only see her as a sister—” Ava had followed us out. Behind her, Zane and a group of his friends cornered us, holding steel pipes and switchblades. Zane’s face was a dark cloud. He sneered, “So he’s not your boyfriend after all. You playing me for a fool, Ava?” Ava hid behind Jace, her voice choked with tears. “Jace…” Jace shielded her. He was tall, but Zane was built like a truck. Still, Jace looked down on him. “Whether I’m her boyfriend or not, she already rejected you. Are you deaf?” “Rejected?” Zane sneered. “Then why does she come out every time I ask her? Stringing me along while she’s chasing someone else. You’re a real piece of work, Ava.” I whipped my head around to look at her. She just sobbed, “I didn’t! Jace, he’s lying!” Zane laughed coldly. “Jace, you’ve got guts. I know your family’s rich, but your money’s no good here.” He waved his hand, and his friends closed in. “You’re a real charmer, aren’t you? So many girls wrapped around your finger.” He smirked and pointed between me and Ava. “Tell you what. You can pick one girl to take with you tonight. The other one stays and plays with me. I’ll take good care of her for you, don’t worry.” The blood drained from my face. I was his girlfriend, yes. But could a few months of our relationship compare to a lifetime of history between him and Ava? Would he choose me? Ava’s eyes widened, and she clutched Jace’s shirt. “Jace, you can’t leave me! If my dad were here—” “Shut up!” Jace finally snapped. He turned to Zane, his face an emotionless mask. “You’re not taking either of them today. If you’ve got a problem, you deal with me.” Zane’s expression hardened. “Let’s see if your bones are as tough as your mouth!” He swung a steel pipe at Jace’s head. The night wind whipped Jace’s black hoodie back. The pipe whistled past his ear as he caught Zane’s wrist, twisted it back, and a sickening crack echoed in the alley along with a scream of pain. The others swarmed him. Jace was a good fighter, but he was alone. After taking down two guys, he took his first hit. A switchblade sliced through the back of his hoodie. The pipes formed a cage around him, but he was a cornered animal, spitting blood and glaring at them with a feral intensity. As the standoff continued, Zane suddenly changed his target. He lunged at me with the switchblade. Jace’s face contorted in horror. He tried to move in front of me, but Ava, behind him, suddenly threw her arms around him, holding him tight. “Jace, I’m scared!” she shrieked. In the next second, the world went silent.

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After my billionaire husband died, the way his two sons looked at me started to get… strange. I was terrified they were about to throw me out on the street, and I spent my days walking on eggshells. One night, I logged onto Reddit and anonymously posted in a support forum: [Help! My wealthy husband suddenly died, but his sons seem to hate me. What should I do?] Some kind strangers replied: [Have they actually said they hate you?] I tried to think back. [Well, no… but the way they look at me is terrifying. Like they want to eat me alive TT_TT] Then, a reply from a mysterious user popped up: [Don’t worry. Just get a few boxes tonight and smooth things over.] A few boxes? Of what? I stared at the sentence, turning it over and over in my mind. That evening, my arms shaking, I brought home six boxes of Teddy Grahams. 1 Now, don’t underestimate the power of six boxes of Teddy Grahams. From what I could gather, both Marcus and Leo Covington had a sweet tooth. I’d spent the entire afternoon driving to three different gourmet markets to find these six limited-edition flavors. My legs felt like jelly. I carefully arranged the cookie boxes inside a decorative gift box, tied it with a satin ribbon, and placed it in the most conspicuous spot on the living room coffee table. I even added a handwritten note: “You’ve both been through so much lately. Just a little something I love, and I hope you will too. For Marcus and Leo. ^_^” As a little preview, I posted an Instagram story for my “Close Friends” list—which now consisted of only the two of them: [Six boxes. Plenty to go around. First come, first served!] I didn’t include a picture, of course. The magic of a surprise is in the unwrapping, isn’t it? I stood back, admiring my handiwork, and couldn’t help but anticipate the looks on their faces. 2 Two weeks ago, my husband, Arthur Covington, fell during a rock-climbing expedition at Devil’s Pass. After days of searching, the rescue team never even found a body. After two years of marriage, I thought I’d finally made it. I spent my days dreaming of inheriting his massive fortune—hello, yachts, male models, and sprawling villas. I was ready to ascend to the peak of my life. But when the lawyer read the will, I discovered the old bastard had left everything to his sons. I didn’t get a single cent. My fate, the will stated, was to be “arranged at the discretion” of his children. A sob escaped my lips—a genuine one. Over the years, I had grown accustomed to a life of effortless luxury. The last thing I wanted was to go back to my old, miserable life. If I had known this would happen, I would have spent the last two years charming the hell out of those two boys. Arthur had two sons from two different mothers. The eldest, Marcus, had already taken over the family corporation. He was a tall, imposing man who had inherited Arthur’s sharp, dark eyes. He rarely smiled, radiating a quiet, almost intimidating aura of self-control. The other was Leo, who was still in college. With a quarter Slavic blood, he was aggressively handsome. He had a perpetual smirk on his face, but it was the smile of a predator. The two half-brothers had exactly one thing in common: they barely knew me. And ever since Arthur’s death, the way these two strangers looked at me had grown stranger by the day. They were definitely planning to kick me out. I cupped my face in my hands, my brow furrowed with worry. All my hopes were now pinned on the advice from that mysterious Redditor. These six boxes of cookies… I just hoped it was enough. I hadn’t even saved one for myself. 3 The sound of the front door opening echoed through the foyer. Tonight, Marcus and Leo came home together, which was rare. Seeing me waiting on the sofa, Marcus paused, his expression unreadable. Leo, however, simply raised an eyebrow in my direction. “You’re home!” I chirped, trying to sound breezy. I gestured toward the pink gift box on the table. “I’m sorry,” I began, my voice trembling slightly. “I was always so busy taking care of Arthur that I neglected you both.” “This is something I picked out just for you today. Now that… now that your father is gone… it’s just the three of us left to fend for ourselves, isn’t it?” I was on the verge of tears, my eyelids puffy and red from the onion I’d chopped earlier. I pretended to dab at the corner of my eye. I made sure to emphasize “the three of us,” a desperate hint that our future lay together. “That’s thoughtful of you, Stepmom. Thank you,” Leo answered first. Seeing Marcus standing frozen in place, Leo leaned in closer to him, his voice laced with a playful challenge. “Brother, if you don’t want the gift, you can give it to me. Don’t just stand there scowling. You’ll scare her.” I quickly waved my hands. “It’s no problem…” Besides, I thought, if he doesn’t want it, I can eat all six boxes myself. But before I could finish the thought, Marcus strode to the table. His long fingers picked up one of the small, pink-wrapped boxes. “I never said I didn’t want it.” He looked down at the little box, and for a reason I couldn’t quite grasp, he seemed… serious. Almost tense. Leo followed suit, grabbing a box for himself. He shook it gently, and hearing the rattle inside, the corner of his mouth curved into a wider smile. But the moment he tore it open, his expression froze. “‘Plenty to go around. First come, first served.’ This is what you meant?” Across the table, Marcus had also opened his gift. He stared at the raspberry-flavored teddy bear cookies in his hand, and a soft chuckle escaped his lips. Wait—was Marcus… happy? But Leo clearly was not. He stood directly in front of me, leaning in so close I could feel the warmth of his body. His gaze locked onto my lips, and he let out a long sigh. “Stepmom,” he murmured, his voice a low purr. “You really think a few little snacks are enough… to satisfy the two of us?” 4 “Of course not!” I scrambled to defend myself. “I know you have big appetites, so I made dinner myself. The cookies are for dessert.” For a moment, Leo was speechless. He narrowed his beautiful, amber eyes, as if he was about to say something else. But then, Marcus’s hand landed on his shoulder. In a voice softer than I’d ever heard from him, Marcus said, “Rosalind. Thank you for the dinner and the gift.” “Father just passed, and you’ve been running around taking care of everything. You’re exhausted. From now on, you don’t need to do things like this yourself. Let the staff handle it.” From now on? Did he just say from now on? That means he’s not kicking me out! I seized on that keyword, my face breaking into a wide, relieved smile. “Oh, you’re so right! I’m completely worn out. And the smoke from the candles at the memorial was so strong, it made my eyes water for hours. They’re still red and swollen. I really should get some rest…” The truth was, during the memorial, I was thinking about how Arthur hadn’t left me a dime. I was so furious I wanted to scream. When no one was looking, I’d “accidentally” spilled a glass of red wine on his favorite portrait. But I would never, ever tell them that. I had to maintain my persona as the grieving, helpless little widow. I was going to stay in this house forever. 5 Late that night, a storm broke. Rain hammered against the windowpanes, a rhythmic, almost soothing percussion. Finally feeling relaxed, I was soaking in a bubble bath, sipping champagne. I’d always worried that Marcus would be the ruthless one, the one to show me the door without a second thought. But it seemed he was surprisingly reasonable. I pulled out my phone and found the anonymous Redditor who had given me the advice. I sent them a direct message: [Thank you so much! Your suggestion worked wonders!] [Although, I think I bought too few cookies, and the boxes were too small. They didn’t seem completely satisfied. I’ll be sure to buy more next time.] The mysterious user didn’t reply. Humming a little tune, I stepped out of the tub. Knock, knock. A rap on the master bedroom door. Assuming it was the maid with my usual glass of warm milk, I cinched my robe tighter and went to open it. The moment the door swung open, the smell of alcohol hit me like a wave. A tall figure stumbled into my arms. Strands of Leo’s brilliant blond hair were damp, as if he’d just come in from the rain. His warm breath ghosted across my bare neck, mingling with the sweet scent of my body lotion. I froze on the spot, my mind a complete blank. Leo’s voice was muffled against my shoulder. “When I was a kid, Dad would always hold me during thunderstorms like this. I wonder how he’s doing now. Is it raining where he is?” His voice cracked. “I really miss him…” He sounded utterly lost, desperate for comfort. I could understand that. The pain of losing a parent was immense. But this was way, way too close. I was only wearing a bathrobe! I tried to push him away gently. Instead, he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me in even tighter. “Stepmom,” he whispered. “Can I sleep with you tonight?” 6 What? Had he lost his mind? He had to be drunk. “No,” I said flatly. “I know you’re sad, but you can go sleep with your brother. His room is right next to yours…” Leo’s damp eyes filled with disappointment. “But you’re my stepmom, aren’t you?” “You said it yourself today—that you’d take care of me from now on. Why are you pushing me away? Was all of that a lie?” He seemed completely oblivious to how inappropriate his request was. “I did say I’d take care of you,” I stammered, my face flushed. “But us… sleeping in the same bed… that’s not right!” Leo looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Stepmom, what are you thinking?” “I meant on the floor. In your room. Nothing else.” I blinked. A hot, embarrassed blush crept up my neck. Right. I was five years older than him. He was in college, surrounded by beautiful young women. Of course he wouldn’t be interested in me. My refusal… it made me sound like the one with inappropriate thoughts about her stepson. Seeing my hesitation, Leo’s shoulders slumped. “I knew it. That’s why you were so quick to say no. What kind of person do you think I am?” “My dad used to let me sleep in this room when I was little. That’s why I…” He was starting to get lost in his dead-dad memories again, and I was so mortified I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. “Fine, fine! Stop talking. You can come in.” At my approval, Leo finally let go, a brilliant smile spreading across his face. “Thanks, Stepmom. You’re the best.” As he closed the door behind him, his gaze suddenly flickered toward the staircase. Standing there, a figure emerged from the shadows, his face unreadable. Leo just smirked.

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The first call came as we were racing to JFK for the red-eye to London. It was my boss’s fiancée. “Ava,” she breathed into the phone, her voice tight with panic. “Nathan hasn’t texted me back in three minutes. Three minutes. Is he tired of me?” I glanced at Nathan Hayes, who was deep in conversation with our legal team on his own phone. My laptop was balanced on my knees, ten different files for the Axiom-Hartwell acquisition open, each one a blinking cursor demanding my attention. I tried to sound patient. “Cecilia, he’s just wrapping up a call. We’re in crunch time.” Fifteen minutes later, she called back. Her voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “There’s going to be a dinner after the presentation, right? With drinks? You need to watch him, Ava. Don’t let any of those women get near him.” The final pre-flight checklist was still sitting half-finished on my screen. “Of course,” I said, the words tasting like plastic. I hung up before she could say more. She called back instantly. “And one more thing. I need him to send me a photo every five minutes. Just a quick selfie, so I know where he is. I’ll text you the poses I want.” The final boarding call for our flight echoed through the terminal. My patience, already worn thin from a 36-hour work binge, finally snapped. “Cecilia,” I said, my voice colder than I intended. “I’m his executive assistant, not his parole officer. I cannot monitor his private life for you.” I hung up, powered down my phone, and boarded the plane. I thought she would get the message. I was wrong. When we landed at Heathrow ten hours later, my phone nearly bricked itself trying to process the flood of notifications. One hundred and twenty-seven text messages. Ninety-nine missed calls. All from Cecilia Montgomery, each one more unhinged than the last. 1 My phone wouldn’t stop vibrating, a furious buzzing in my palm. I finally managed to unlock the glitching screen. It was a waterfall of accusations. Ava, what the hell was that? Why wouldn’t you agree to help me? Why are both your phones off? Are you with him right now? ARE YOU?! I knew it. I knew you only took this job to get close to him. You bitch. I’m not going to let you win. The screen was filled with the vilest, most graphic assumptions about what I’d been doing with her fiancé for the last ten hours. A hot, dark anger bloomed in my chest. I had fought tooth and nail for this position, beating out dozens of other candidates. I worked myself to the bone, fueled by black coffee and the sheer ambition to prove myself. And in her twisted mind, all of that effort was just a long con to sleep with my boss. This acquisition was everything. It was the move that would define Hayes Industries for the next decade. I saw Nathan looking at me, his brow furrowed in concern at the expression on my face. I just shook my head slightly, forcing myself to scroll past Cecilia’s poison to find the few work-related messages buried within. Before I could open one, a video call from Cecilia lit up my screen. I squeezed the bridge of my nose, fighting the overwhelming urge to just throw the phone into the nearest trash can. I answered. Her face filled the screen, and I flinched. Her eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot, her usually perfect blonde hair a tangled mess. She’d clearly been up all night, stewing in her own paranoia. “Ava Chen! What were you just doing with Nathan?” she shrieked, her voice raspy. “Why did your phones turn on at the exact same time? Why are your locations identical? Are you in his bed right now? Did you fuck him?” Before I could form a sentence, she barrelled on. “Thirteen hours! How many times did you do it? Did you use a condom? I’m telling you, as long as I’m alive, you will never use a baby to trap him!” “Cecilia, you need to watch what you’re saying.” My voice was low and dangerous. I flipped the camera around, showing her the bustling international arrivals terminal at Heathrow. “My phone was off because we were on a transatlantic flight. Our location is the same because we are on a business trip. Your accusations are slanderous, and they are damaging my professional reputation. I don’t want to hear them again.” “A business trip?” she sneered, her face contorting with disbelief. “Why wouldn’t he take a man? You schemed your way onto this trip, didn’t you? Just the two of you, alone. So much easier for something to… happen.” She shoved her face closer to her camera, her voice rising to a hysterical scream. “You think I’m an idiot? Taking this call from the airport to try and fool me? Just you wait, Ava Chen. You are going to pay. Some men are off-limits.” “Pay for what, exactly?” A deep voice cut through her tirade. Nathan was now holding my phone, his expression thunderous as he stared at the screen. “Ava is my most capable associate,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “She has been leading the charge on this acquisition from day one. Who else was I supposed to bring? Someone who knows nothing?” I had no idea how much he’d heard, but it was clearly enough. No CEO wants to be embroiled in a cheap scandal with his assistant. It’s poison for the company’s image. The other end of the line went silent. Cecilia froze for a second, then her face crumpled, and tears began streaming down her cheeks. It was a practiced, heartbreakingly effective display. She bit her lip, her voice now a small, wounded whisper. “Nathan, I’m just so insecure. I love you so much. The thought of losing you… it feels like my heart is bleeding.” She took a shaky breath. “I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me. I’ll never do it again, I promise. I’ll have dinner waiting for you when you get back, okay?” The hard lines of Nathan’s jaw softened. He let out a long, weary sigh. “I’m not angry. You didn’t sleep at all last night, did you? Cece, go get some rest. Be good. I’ll be home soon.” Cecilia nodded, a sad little smile on her face, and blew a kiss at the screen before hanging up. Nathan handed the phone back to me, rubbing his temples. His voice was gravelly with exhaustion. “I’m sorry about that. Cece… she hasn’t been the same since my mother tried to set me up with that heiress from the merger last year. She found out and has been terrified of losing me ever since. You shouldn’t have had to deal with that.” He looked at me, his eyes filled with genuine apology. “When we get back, I’ll have accounting wire you a bonus. Three months’ salary, for the… emotional distress.” The mention of money was like a shot of adrenaline. Suddenly, the anger, the exhaustion, the humiliation—it all just evaporated. I felt lighter. I nodded crisply and took my suitcase from him. “I understand, Mr. Hayes. The hotel is booked. We can head straight there.” As we walked out of the airport’s automatic doors, a strange feeling prickled the back of my neck. I glanced back over my shoulder, scanning the crowd. It felt like someone was watching me. A moment later, my phone buzzed. A picture message. The photo was blurry, taken from a distance. It was of the exact moment I’d taken the suitcase from Nathan. But the angle was deceptive, making it look less like he was handing me a bag and more like he was holding my hand. Beneath it, a single line of text: You’re going to pay for this. 2 I knew instantly who had sent it. I just hadn’t realized Cecilia was deranged enough to hire someone to follow Nathan in another country. I immediately showed the phone to him. He let out a deep, frustrated breath. “I’ll deal with her when I get back. Right now, the acquisition is all that matters.” He was right. She was thousands of miles and several time zones away. There was little she could do from there. I pushed the incident to the back of my mind, vowing to cash in all my saved vacation time the moment this trip was over. I needed to get away from this drama. I had no idea the drama was already on its way to my hotel room door. We spent the rest of the day and all through the night in a conference room, refining our strategy, ensuring every comma in the proposal was perfect. By the time we finished, the sun was rising over London. We had been running on fumes for nearly two days straight. My brain felt like a sputtering engine, and my heart was pounding a heavy, exhausted rhythm against my ribs. I stumbled back to my room, my head throbbing. I didn’t even bother to turn on the lights before collapsing onto the bed, desperate for sleep. As consciousness began to fade, drifting into a heavy, dark fog, I felt something slithering over my skin.

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