The picture of Caleb Hayes carrying another woman went viral while I was watching the sun come up. The mountain was cold. The light offered no warmth. When I got back into cell service, I sent Caleb a text ending our engagement. I didn’t want him anymore. I just wanted out. Whatever it took. … Caleb couldn’t wrap his head around it. All he did was miss a sunrise with Mia Taylor. And now, the ever-compliant, ever-gentle Mia was actually threatening to call off the engagement. He didn’t take it seriously. The photos were scrubbed from the internet within an hour. There was nothing going on between him and Seraphina, not really. So he didn’t call Mia. But by the time he finally thought to reach out, he had the sinking feeling he’d already lost her for good. 1 Caleb didn’t bother to hide his phone when he took the call. It was his assistant, just as I’d expected. He narrowed his eyes, his gaze locking onto mine. “Something’s come up. An emergency.” “Do you want to head down with me, or are you going to—” “Can’t it wait?” I cut him off, my voice laced with a pleading I didn’t know I was capable of. “Can you please just stay and watch the sunrise with me? Please?” The moment the words left my lips, regret flooded in. Caleb said nothing. He just turned and started down the mountain path, the look he gave me over his shoulder colder than the biting pre-dawn air. I forced a brittle smile. A strange calm settled over me. I reached the summit at 5:58 AM, just in time. As the sun crested the horizon, the entire peak was bathed in a layer of liquid gold. But God, it was so cold up here. The sun didn’t warm a thing. A young couple who’d hiked up with the same tour group were huddled together, wrapped in each other’s arms. They asked if I’d take a picture for them. They looked so happy it hurt to see. The boy walked over, handing me his phone. He leaned in and whispered, his voice trembling with nerves and excitement. “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but could you actually take a video?” “I’m going to propose to my girlfriend.” And that was it. That was the exact moment I decided to leave Caleb. I watched through the screen as the boy gently placed a small, delicate veil on the girl’s head before dropping to one knee, holding out a ring. When she turned, her gasp was a perfect mix of shock and pure joy. I tilted my head back, but the tears I’d been holding back—the humiliation of being abandoned halfway up a mountain—finally spilled over and ran down my cheeks. 2 After the sun was fully up, I followed the stream of people to the shuttle bus stop at the base of the mountain. Caleb was long gone. The private driver he’d arranged for us never came back. I bought a bus ticket and found a seat in the back row, by the window. My phone, tucked away in my purse, began to vibrate violently. I pulled it out. A flood of notifications. Aside from Caleb’s pinned chat, a message from his cousin, Chloe Hayes, was at the very top. “The real queen is back in town. Do you really have the shameless audacity to think my cousin is still going to marry you?” “Mia, if I were you, I’d be the one to call off this sham engagement.” “[VIDEO]” I tapped the link. It was a screen recording of the TMZ homepage. 【SERAPHINA MONROE ATTACKED, CALEB HAYES RUSHES TO ASPEN TO BE BY HER SIDE】 【ARE SERAPHINA MONROE AND CALEB HAYES HOLLYWOOD’S HOTTEST SECRET COUPLE?】 【EXCLUSIVE: BILLIONAIRE HEIR CALEB HAYES IS ACTRESS SERAPHINA MONROE’S MYSTERY BENEFACTOR】 The headlines were a gallery of their names, intertwined. A photo of Caleb carrying a distraught-looking Seraphina in his arms. A paparazzi shot of Caleb in a baseball cap, on vacation with a bundled-up Seraphina. A long-lens photo of Caleb and Seraphina kissing on the deck of a yacht. I squeezed my eyes shut. Then, I opened my chat with Caleb. My fingers trembled as they hovered over the screen. When his assistant had called, I’d heard him say her name. Seraphina. “Caleb, when you get back to New York, we need to schedule a meeting with our families.” “It’s time to discuss calling off the engagement.” We’d been engaged for three years. I had chased him for three years. Even when he was cold and dismissive, I endured it all, telling myself that one day, he would come to love me. But now, I didn’t want to love Caleb Hayes anymore. And I certainly didn’t need his love. I was done. 3 It took Caleb three days to get back to New York. We ran into each other at the airport. He was shielding Seraphina from the cameras, and a team of bodyguards was shielding them both. He froze for a second when he saw me, then quickly averted his gaze. “Caleb, wait.” Seraphina stopped him, then walked right up to me. “You must be Mia,” she said. “I’ve seen pictures of you. Can I please explain?” Her voice was level, neither arrogant nor submissive. But underneath, I could hear a carefully curated note of wronged vulnerability. I didn’t break my stride. I didn’t even look at her as I moved to walk past. But Caleb’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a steel cuff. “Mia, Seraphina is talking to you. Where are your manners?” His voice was harsh. So harsh it brought an instant sting of tears to my eyes. “Caleb, don’t be like that,” Seraphina murmured, her voice soft and sweet. “Mia, I am so sorry we had to meet like this,” she said, turning back to me. “I heard Caleb was supposed to be watching the sunrise with you. It was my manager who called him, not me. I never would have interrupted.” She paused, her eyes searching mine. “So… was it beautiful? The sunrise?” I wanted to laugh. I couldn’t. I wanted to scream at her. It didn’t seem worth the energy. In the end, I didn’t answer her perfectly crafted, venomous question. I just looked at Caleb. He really, truly couldn’t stand me. For the first time in three years, I felt the full, undiluted force of his annoyance. “Caleb, you saw the message I sent you, didn’t you?” “Set a time that works for you and let me know. I’ll fly my parents in.” My voice was quiet, but it cut through the airport noise. “Caleb. I’m the one ending this.” 4 I thought he would be pleased. Instead, he looked furious. A fire I couldn’t quite decipher blazed in his eyes. Then again, it made sense. A man like Caleb Hayes, a man who lived his life being worshipped, had just been publicly dumped by me. He had every right to be angry. I maneuvered around them and headed for the security line. It wasn’t until the plane was taking off, leaving the lights of New York behind, that a sense of unreality washed over me. I had loved Caleb Hayes for so many years. I was the one who had begged for this engagement in the first place. But letting go… it felt surprisingly easy. Three years ago, I’d heard from a mutual friend that Caleb’s family was pressuring him relentlessly to get married. So I went to my grandfather. My grandfather, who had always spoiled me, made a call to the Hayes family. And just like that, the merger—the engagement—was arranged. Caleb never said yes, but he didn’t say no either. He just pulled me aside after the engagement party. “Mia,” he’d said, his voice flat. “I don’t love you, and I will never marry you.” “But I can promise you this: until the day you decide to end this, I won’t do anything to disrespect you.” I’d bitten my lip, my voice small. “What do you mean by disrespect?” His answer was immediate and clinical. “Holding hands, hugging, kissing. And sleeping with someone.” Everyone in New York knew his reputation. Caleb Hayes always had a beautiful woman on his arm, a flavor of the month he’d replace every two months like clockwork. But after our engagement, the revolving door of women had stopped. Until Seraphina. And Seraphina had lied. Our first meeting wasn’t at the airport. It was a week ago. She had secretly flown into New York and asked to meet me. She introduced herself as Caleb’s girlfriend. 5 I was stunned when I saw Seraphina Monroe sitting there at the café. She gestured gracefully to the chair across from her. “Mia. I’m Seraphina.” She paused for effect. “Caleb’s girlfriend.” I pressed my lips together, a crushing weight settling on my chest. It felt hard to breathe. Chloe had told me, of course. She’d always said there was someone Caleb kept enshrined in his heart. I never believed her. Hearing it from Seraphina herself sent a dull, throbbing pain through me. “I’ve been working overseas these last few years, either on set or in acting workshops,” she continued, her tone conversational. “I honestly had no idea his family had forced him into an engagement.” “You must know, Mia.” “Caleb doesn’t love you.” “He made a promise to me. That he would wait until I turned twenty-seven.” As if to prove her status, she pulled out her phone and called him, right there in front of me, putting it on speaker. He picked up on the first ring. His voice, clear and warm, filled the space between us. A voice I’d never heard him use with me. “Seraphina, what’s up?” She let out a low, intimate laugh. “Nothing. I just missed you.” There was a brief silence on his end. Then, “I have a business trip to London the day after tomorrow. I’ll come see you then.” “Oh, and that script you mentioned? You got the lead.” She hung up and looked at me with a faint, triumphant smile. It was a taunt. “You can call him too, if you like. Ask him yourself.” I just shook my head. Caleb almost never answered my calls. Why would I subject myself to that humiliation? Before the waiter could even bring the coffee I’d ordered, I managed a weak smile and fled. 6 But my composure didn’t last. After seeing Seraphina that afternoon, I went straight to Caleb’s office. He’d told her he had a business trip to London. I had to ask. “Caleb, do you have any plans the day after tomorrow?” “Grandpa Hayes keeps asking me to bring you over for dinner at the estate. Do you have any time?” It wasn’t a lie. Every time his grandfather called me, he’d tell me to drag Caleb home for a family meal. Caleb never wanted to go. I’d made up so many excuses for him, time and time again. But after learning about Seraphina, I was suddenly tired of lying for him. That day, Caleb’s brow furrowed in annoyance. He placed his pen down on the desk, his expression sour. “Ms. Taylor, are you underworked, or do you simply lack professional etiquette?” “It’s working hours. Are you not aware of that?” His words hit me like a slap. A dense, sharp pain bloomed in my chest. He had been in a meeting when Seraphina called him. He had his assistant escort me out of his office. As the door closed, the assistant offered a kind, pitying look. “Mr. Hayes has always kept his work and private life separate. Please don’t take it to heart, Ms. Taylor.” But I remembered what Seraphina had said. “Everyone in the industry is trying to guess who my powerful benefactor is.” “Who do you think it is, Mia?” My throat felt tight. I clenched my fists. I decided to give us one last chance. One final, definitive chance. That evening, after work, I sent him a text. “Caleb.” “It’s my birthday in a week. Can you take me to see the sunrise?” But now I knew the truth. Someone who doesn’t love you will never love you, no matter how many chances you give them. 7 The plane landed in Aspen. My parents were there to pick me up. As we drove along the highway, the windows were sealed tight, but I could feel the chill in the air. Autumn in Aspen was much colder than in New York. “Are you sure about this? No regrets?” My mom squeezed my hand, her voice filled with concern. When I had first insisted on the engagement to Caleb, I’d staged a full-blown melodrama, locking myself in my room for two days. I was stubborn, determined. My parents were furious, not speaking to me for days. In the end, my grandfather sighed, gave in, and called the Hayes family. The Hayes family was a dynasty in New York. The Taylor family was no small name in Colorado. Our families, otherwise disconnected, had a link through our grandfathers, who were old war buddies that built their empires together. “I’m sure. No regrets,” I said, my voice firm. “I also quit my job at Hayes Design. I’m staying in Aspen to be with you and Grandpa.” Hayes Design was Caleb’s architecture firm. Before leaving New York, I’d sent my resignation email to HR. As a ‘special consultant,’ there were no formalities. I just had to walk away. The things I did to be close to him. It was pathetic. I rested my head on my mother’s shoulder. My gaze drifted to the golden aspen leaves outside the window. The sight was beautiful and bittersweet. Right after we landed, Chloe had sent me another video. I watched it. Caleb was sitting in the center of a plush sofa in what looked like a private club, Seraphina nestled beside him. Someone off-camera asked, “Caleb, Mia Taylor has always been so docile. What’s this about her suddenly wanting to end the engagement? Is it for real?” Caleb let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “I missed one sunrise with her. She wants to throw a tantrum, let her.” “I was never going to marry her anyway.” 8 He was never going to marry me. That’s why he never put any effort into me. The only reason he even agreed to that sunrise trip was because his grandfather had called, yelling and practically ordering him to go. Before we left, I had told him. “If you don’t want to go, you don’t have to. You don’t have to force yourself.” Caleb had given me a long, condescending look. “And have you run and tattle to the old man?” I’d looked down, saying nothing more. All I had told his grandfather was that I was planning a trip to see the sunrise. I never even mentioned Caleb. But his grandfather insisted Caleb should go with me. “Relationships need nurturing,” he had said. And so, all Caleb remembered was the sunrise.

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The charity case my mother sponsored has a crippling addiction to stealing my life. On the first day of freshman year, she made sure to step out of the Maybach first. Then, in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, she pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Get a grip, Lucy,” she’d said, her voice dripping with pity. “You’re just the charity case my family sponsors.” “You take the money your mother earns as our housekeeper and blow it on pretending to be some heiress. Do you ever stop to think how hard she works for that?” In my past life, that was how she did it. With those perfectly crafted, self-righteous lies, she convinced everyone that she was the daughter of the house. She didn’t just steal my identity at school; she orchestrated a campaign of cyberbullying that tore my life apart. But this is not my past life. I’ve been born again into this moment. I looked at the smug, arrogant face of Isla Corbin, and without a word, I raised my hand and slapped her. Twice. The sharp crack echoed in the humid air. Before she could recover, I grabbed the collar of the Celine runway jacket she’d stolen from my closet, ripped it from her body, and threw it in the trash. I leaned in, my voice a low hiss. “You’re a parasite living in my house. Don’t you ever forget who provides the life you’re so desperate to claim as your own.” 1 The heat was suffocating, a thick hundred-degree blanket smothering the Westwood University campus. The moment our driver, Art, brought the car to a stop, Isla practically threw the door open. She positioned herself in the thickest part of the student crowd, a performer finding her light. Then came the lines I already knew by heart. “Get a grip, Lucy! You’re just the charity case my family sponsors.” Her voice was a masterclass in performative concern. “You take the money your mother earns as our housekeeper and blow it on pretending to be some heiress. Do you ever stop to think how hard she works for that?” Heads turned. Whispers started, little barbs of judgment flying my way. I saw the scene play out exactly as it had before, a perfect, horrifying replica, and I knew with chilling certainty that I was back. Back on the first day of my freshman year. In my first life, this was the day Isla branded me. I became the ungrateful leech, the white-trash girl sucking her parents dry to live out some pathetic fantasy. And she, in turn, slipped seamlessly into my life, becoming the beloved, generous heiress. She thrived. When I had confronted her then, she had just laughed. “It’s about presentation, Lucy. I just have a certain… quality. I look the part more than you do. It’s no wonder they believe me.” I’d felt the blood drain from my face. “You’re twisting everything. You started a witch hunt online. My private information is plastered all over the campus forums. You need to tell them the truth. You need to fix this.” Isla had rolled her eyes, a perfect picture of boredom. “No. Why would I? I’m not the one getting hate mail. It’s not my problem.” She’d fed the fire daily, spinning tales to her new friends. “I just don’t know what to do about Lucy,” she’d sigh dramatically over lattes. “It’s so sad. Her family has nothing, and she’s forcing them into debt just to keep up this facade. It’s pathological.” I finally snapped. I found her in the student center, ready to scream the truth in front of everyone. But Isla was always one step ahead. She gave a subtle nod to her clique. They surrounded me, clamping a hand over my mouth, and dragged me into the nearest women’s restroom. They locked me in a stall as bucket after bucket of ice-cold water crashed down on my head. The memory of Isla’s vicious, triumphant face then merged with the smug expression she wore now. “My family has more money than you can dream of, Lucy,” she was saying, her voice a condescending purr. “The scholarship I give you? It’s less than what I’d spend on a handbag.” “But I’m not a fool. I won’t just throw money away. If you don’t start focusing on your studies and showing a little gratitude, I might just have to reconsider my investment in you.” 2 A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Have you bothered to check the balance on your bank account before spouting that nonsense?” I took a step closer, enjoying the flicker of confusion in her eyes. “Your memory must be short. Wasn’t it just last week you were in tears, telling me your family couldn’t afford tuition, that you’d have to drop out? You begged me, literally begged me to ask my mother to help you. Did you forget that part already?” Isla scoffed, crossing her arms. “That’s hilarious. This jacket alone is worth more than your entire wardrobe. You really expect anyone to believe I need your charity? Look at you. You look like you bought that top from a clearance rack at Walmart.” I glanced down at my Loewe tank top. It was simple, understated. And five hundred dollars. I closed the distance between us in three long strides. Her eyes widened in shock as my palm connected with her cheek. And then again with the other. I didn’t stop there. I grabbed the stolen Celine jacket, my fingers digging into the fine fabric, and peeled it off her. I crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into a nearby trash can. “A parasite living in my house for a few weeks and you already think you have the right to steal my clothes? You’ve got a hell of a nerve.” Isla’s eyes darted to the trash can, a flash of genuine pain on her face. Then her gaze snapped back to mine, filled with venom. “Are you insane? Who said you could throw that away?” All she had on underneath was a tiny black bralette, and she instinctively crossed her arms over her chest. Our driver, Art, saw the commotion in the rearview mirror. He quickly got out, grabbing a new jacket from the back seat. “Lucy, what are you doing? Why would you get physical with Miss Isla?” I froze, turning slowly to face him. “What did you just say, Art?” A driver who called me by my first name, but referred to the charity case as Miss Isla? Art saw the red handprints blooming on Isla’s face and his tone shifted, becoming scolding. “Lucy, that was too much. You can’t just hit Miss Isla in front of all these people.” The warmth of the day turned to ice in my veins. “Art, I am the only daughter of this family. There is no Miss Isla.” I gestured to the jacket in his hand. “That Balenciaga is worth ten thousand dollars. You’ve worked for my family for a long time, so I’ll let this slide with a warning and dock one month of your pay. But if I ever see you giving my property to someone else again, I’ll find a new driver.” The color drained from Art’s face. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so decisive, so brutal. “…Yes. Yes, ma’am.” 3 Dormitory B, fifth floor. Room 501. I finally wrestled my two largest suitcases up the five flights of stairs, my lungs burning, only to find our housekeeper, Maria, carefully making Isla’s bed. The dorms had a strict no-men-allowed policy, and I had a mountain of luggage, which is why I’d specifically asked Maria to come help me. But when I’d gone back downstairs to find her, she had vanished. I leaned against the doorframe, a cold smile playing on my lips. “Maria. My parents pay you a salary. Does Isla pay you now, too?” She jumped at the sound of my voice, turning to face me. “Oh, Lucy,” she said, flustered. “Isla just… she doesn’t know how to make a bed with hospital corners. I thought I’d help her get settled quickly, and then I was coming right back down for you.” Isla, meanwhile, was perched on her desk chair, leisurely sipping an iced Americano. She smirked at my sweat-drenched appearance. “Wow, it’s a hundred degrees out there, Lucy. You’re going to look like a drowned rat by the time you haul all ten of those suitcases up here. Have fun with that.” Maria shot Isla a nervous glance before turning back to me, her voice placating. “I’m almost done here, Lucy. Why don’t you go grab another suitcase, and I’ll be right down to help you.” “Maria,” I said, my voice sharp with annoyance. “If this job is too much for you, you can just say so.” Her hands froze over the duvet. “Why would you say something so serious?” she asked, her face a mask of hurt. My parents were always buried in work, rarely home. Art and Maria, a married couple, had been hired to look after me. They’d worked for us for thirty years, always diligent, always professional. They knew their place. Until my mother decided to sponsor Isla. “Honey,” Mom had said over the phone, “Dad and I are swamped. Would you like to have that girl we’re sponsoring come live with us? It might be nice to have some company.” “Sure,” I’d said, spitting out a watermelon seed. “Why not?” From the day Isla moved in, the lines started to blur. Whatever Isla craved, Maria would procure. Lobster, king crab, wagyu beef, imported cherries… anything expensive, Isla would request it. “You poor thing, you’ve had such a hard life,” Maria would coo. “Whatever you want to eat, Miss Isla, I’ll make it for you.” Meanwhile, I had asked for a simple glass of orange juice two weeks ago and was still waiting. 4 Reluctantly, Maria put down the bedsheet she was holding. When we got downstairs and she saw the sheer number of suitcases still lining the curb, her expression tightened. “Oh, Lucy, my old back injury is acting up again. The doctor said I really shouldn’t be lifting anything heavy…” I almost laughed. “Your back was fine when you were carrying Isla’s things, but it magically gives out when it’s time to carry mine? If you’re not feeling well, Maria, I can just tell my mother. She can give you a long vacation. A few years, maybe. To rest up.” Maria’s face went pale. “No, no, a vacation isn’t necessary! I just have to be careful.” She looked around, then pointed at Art. “Look, why don’t I take one of the small ones, and Art can help you with the rest?” Art shot her a look, trying to shut her up. I watched, stone-faced, as Maria circled the luggage, finally picking up the smallest, lightest vanity case. My voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Maria. If my luggage is not in my room today, you can go directly to my father’s accountant, collect your final paycheck, and leave.” Her expression soured. She muttered something under her breath, a complaint, but Art cut her off. “Be quiet!” he hissed. “Miss Hayes pays us to work. You don’t make the daughter of the house carry her own bags. Now get all of it upstairs. Now.” Realization finally dawned on Maria. Terrified of losing her job, she grabbed a suitcase in each hand and started the long trek up the stairs. It took her eight trips. It took three hours. As she was leaving, she tried to smooth things over, her smile forced and placating. “You get some rest now, Lucy. Call me if you get hungry. I’ll bring you whatever you want.” 5 I came back from the dining hall with a takeout container of fiery ramen to find my roommates—the same ones who had tormented me in my past life—had all arrived. They shot me a venomous look. “I can’t believe our luck,” one of them, Brianna, said loudly. “Stuck in a room with a bloodsucking leech who wastes her parents’ life savings.” “I’m locking up all my valuables,” said the other, Chloe. “Who knows what might go ‘missing’ around here.” Isla, hearing her cue, looked at me with faux pity. “It’s not just that she’s a leech. She likes to pretend she’s me. She tells people she’s the one sponsoring me. I honestly think she might be, you know…” Isla tapped her temple meaningfully. “Sick.” Brianna made a gagging sound. “Some people don’t deserve charity. Instead of being grateful, instead of working her butt off to repay you, she tries to steal your identity? Honestly, Isla, you should just cut her off. Let her get kicked out of school.” Brianna. In my last life, more than half of the hundreds of hate posts about me were traced back to her account. I walked over to her, popped the lid off my still-steaming ramen, and calmly dumped it over her head. “Your mouth is a sewer,” I said sweetly. “Maybe this will rinse it out.” The thick, spicy broth clung to her hair, dripping down her face. After a moment of stunned silence, Brianna let out a piercing shriek, a stream of curses erupting from her mouth. “Are you crazy? You tried to burn me! This is assault! I’m telling the RA!” Isla jumped to her feet, pointing a finger at me. “You’re a monster, Lucy! It’s the first day and you’ve already disfigured your roommate! You get on your knees and apologize to her right now!” I just smiled. “Were you born without a brain, or did they cut it out with the umbilical cord?” Brianna spent the next hour in the shower, but still complained about the smell. Muttering threats, she stormed out to get a professional hair treatment. Isla announced she was taking the other two out for dinner to make up for the trauma. As they left, a thought struck me. I pulled out my phone. Isla was taking them out to dinner… with my money? I called my mother immediately. “Mom,” I said, no preamble. “I don’t want to sponsor Isla anymore. Can you please tell accounting to stop the payments?” My mother didn’t even hesitate. “Of course, honey. Her monthly allowance hasn’t gone out for this month yet. I’ll have them cancel it right now.” Isla’s family was dirt poor. On top of her tuition, my mother had arranged for a two-thousand-dollar monthly stipend for her expenses. Without that, let’s see how long she could keep up the act. The three of them didn’t get back until after midnight, slamming the door and chattering loudly about some guys they had met at a bar. 6 A message popped up in the freshman class group chat. It was the class president, suggesting a welcome party. Everyone was enthusiastic. [Sounds great! Where should we have it?] Brianna immediately typed: [Isla’s family has a huge villa! We should go there!] She looked up from her phone. “Isla? Is that cool?” “Of course,” Isla said without a moment’s hesitation. “I’ll just call the housekeeper and have her get things ready. You guys can even stay over for a couple of days if you want.” She typed back in the group: [Everyone’s welcome at my place! Let’s have a party!] Brianna and Chloe exchanged an ecstatic look. “This is going to be amazing!” Lying in my bed, I watched the notifications explode. I lowered my phone. “Did you happen to ask for my permission before inviting the entire class to my house?” Isla crossed her arms, sneering. “I don’t need your permission to invite friends to my own home. What does it have to do with you?” Brianna chimed in, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Wow, someone sounds jealous! Don’t worry, Lucy. It’s a class party. I’m sure you can come, too. It’ll be a good experience for a country bumpkin like you to see how the other half lives.” My jaw tightened. “That is my house. You have no right to make that decision, Isla.” Brianna burst out laughing, clutching her stomach. “Oh my god, you’re actually delusional. Your main character syndrome is getting seriously out of hand.” Chloe giggled. “Yeah, yeah, the villa is yours. The whole world is yours, okay? Whatever you say.” My expression turned to ice. “Fine,” I said, my voice low and even. “I can’t wait to see how you pull this off.” 7 I rolled over and sent a text to Maria. [Maria, I’ve decided to stop sponsoring Isla. She is no longer welcome in our home. Do not let her or any of her friends inside.] After the incident with the luggage, Maria was clearly on edge. She replied almost instantly. [Yes, Miss Lucy.] I yawned, turned off my phone, and went to sleep. For the next few days, there was no more talk of a party. The class group chat went quiet. 8 One night, I was walking back from the library. It was almost midnight, but the dorm was eerily silent. My room was empty. The rooms next door were dark. A strange feeling prickled at the back of my neck. I had a very bad feeling. I called an Uber and went straight to my family’s villa. From the street, I could see the house was ablaze with lights. The bass of some deafening pop song vibrated through the manicured hedges. I let myself in. The living room was a disaster zone. Beer bottles and snack wrappers littered every surface. Potato chip crumbs were ground into the Persian rug. Maria emerged from the kitchen with a platter of cut fruit, a cheerful smile on her face. When she saw me standing in the foyer, her eyes went wide with shock. “Lucy! You… what are you doing home?” I laughed, a humorless sound. “What? Do I need to make an appointment to visit my own house now?” Someone killed the music. The entire party went silent, and every single person turned to stare at me. Brianna’s voice cut through the silence, dripping with disdain. “You have no shame, do you? Isla didn’t even invite you, and you stalked her all the way here.” I arched an eyebrow. “Stalked her?” “Yeah,” she shot back. “How else would you know where Isla lives?” My eyes found Isla across the room. My voice was cold as steel. “I took pity on you, so I had my mother sponsor you. It’s clear now that you didn’t deserve a dime. Get out of my house. Now.” A flicker of pure hatred crossed Isla’s face before she masked it. She was still committed to the lie. “This is my house! Have you been reading too many fantasy novels? Can’t you tell the difference between reality and your pathetic delusions anymore?” She shook her head, a perfect imitation of concern. “I really think you should see a psychiatrist, Lucy. For your own good. It’s not healthy to let these things go untreated.” 9 “Yeah, seriously, get some help!” “Isla is so good to you, sponsoring you and everything, and this is how you repay her? You ungrateful bitch, get out!” The insults came from all corners of the room. But my attention was fixed on the wall above the fireplace. On the spot where our family portrait was supposed to be. The photo of me with my parents was gone. In its place was a portrait of Isla with my parents. For a few seconds, I couldn’t breathe. Then, a white-hot rage unlike anything I had ever felt surged through me. “Maria!” My voice cracked like a whip. “Who changed the photo in the living room?” Maria scurried over to me, her face pleading. “Lucy, please. This is Miss Isla’s first time having friends over. Whatever it is, can we please talk about it tomorrow?” I looked at her guilty, evasive eyes and felt nothing but contempt. “I gave you a direct order. I told you Isla was not to set foot in this house again. And you not only let her in, you let her throw a party? You’re fired. Effective immediately.” I raised my voice so everyone could hear. “And now, you’re going to tell all of them. Whose house is this? Mine, or Isla Corbin’s?” Brianna took a bite of a steak crostini and rolled her eyes. “Just tell her, Maria, so she can stop living in her fantasy world.” Maria looked at Isla, who was standing tall and defiant in the center of the room. Then her gaze shifted back to me. After a moment of agonizing internal debate, she spoke, her voice barely a whisper. “Lucy… Miss Isla was kind enough to sponsor your education. You can’t be so ungrateful. You should go.”

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Other families have sister drama—the kind of love-hate dynamic that fuels reality TV. My sister and I? Pure, unadulterated hate. I despised her for always being the golden child, acing every test, every competition, leaving me in her dust. She, in turn, loathed me for being the wild one, the troublemaker, yet always seeming to be our parents’ favorite. How deep did the hate run? We wished each other dead. When she got into an Ivy League university, my parents poured all their savings into my art school application. That day, she actually held a kitchen knife to my throat. I shoved her back, hard, and she ended up in the ER. Afterward, she vanished from the hospital, never looking back. Years later, when my marriage imploded and domestic violence landed me in the hospital, I found my attending physician was her. 1 “Skylar Hayes, are you trying to ruin my life?!” Autumn Hayes burst into my room, a gleaming chef’s knife clutched in her hand. Mom and Dad stumbled in behind her, their faces etched with panic. Autumn clamped my arm, pressing the blade against my throat. I felt the cold, sharp edge pierce my skin, a thin line of pain blooming there. Her hand trembled as she screamed, a raw, desperate sound, at Mom and Dad across the room. “How dare you tell me I can’t go to school, giving all our money to her?!” Dad’s brow furrowed, his voice rising to match hers. “Nobody said you can’t go to school! You’re smart, you can retake the SATs, apply again next year! Are you even listening to yourself? Have you no respect for your father?” Mom frantically tried to pull Dad’s arm away, tears streaming down her face. “Autumn, honey, how can you call your sister useless? Please, Mom’s begging you, Skylar’s art school spot… it took so many favors to get. If she doesn’t go now, Professor Davies’ class will be full.” Professor Davies. The renowned art professor at the Mather Institute of Art. A guaranteed path to a prestigious career, if you got into his class. “Autumn, please be understanding this once. Let your sister use the money for tuition. Just two years, sweetheart. We promise, we’ll save up enough for your university tuition, okay? Just two more years.” The warm trickle of blood on my neck intensified, the pain sharper. Autumn was serious this time. She tugged me towards the window, her voice chilling. “What else would you call her? Useless?” She let out a bitter laugh, her gaze fixed on our parents. “Why do I always have to give in to her? Why, since we were kids, has she always been your priority?” “When I was little, I could’ve skipped a grade, but you insisted Skylar was too wild to be alone in kindergarten. So I stayed with her for another two years because she ‘couldn’t keep up’ in first grade.” “You always made us go to the same schools, the same classes, saying I could tutor her. But I’m two years older! If it wasn’t for her, I’d be in college already!” “Every time Skylar struggled, you made me hold back with her. Haven’t I been ‘understanding’ enough?” “Now she’s failing out and needs to go to art school, and I have to sacrifice another year for her?” “What are you complaining about with your sister?!” Dad roared, slamming something onto the floor. “I’ve given you everything, spoiled you both, and this is the selfish, ungrateful daughter you’ve become?” That ignited Autumn completely. All her pent-up resentment poured out. “You never think you’re wrong. You never see how unbelievably biased you are!” Dad pointed at her, his face a mask of disbelief and fury. “Who gave you the right to accuse your parents of wrongdoing?” 2 Autumn ignored Dad, completely lost in her tirade. “Skylar fought, she cheated, she skipped class—how many messes did you clean up for her? I worked myself to the bone just to get an ounce of the attention you showered on her, and still, everything revolved around her.” “Why? Just because I’m the older sister? Am I supposed to be her lifelong blood bank, dragged down by her failures?” The throbbing in my neck was unbearable, and her words ignited my own fuse. “You think I want you as a sister?!” Years of playground brawls had taught me a thing or two. I broke free from her grip, shoving her hard. She stumbled backward, hitting the corner of my dresser with a sickening thud. A faint thwack. My vision was red with rage; I barely registered her trembling form. “You were always perfect, always the best. I could never measure up.” She lay curled on the floor, her face ashen. Dad, still fuming, stood with his hands on his hips. Mom started to move towards Autumn, but Dad held her back. “Don’t touch her! Let her cool off. Holding a knife to her own sister? Unbelievable! What a heartless child I’ve raised!” Tears welled in my eyes, my voice shaky. “Every teacher we ever had said, ‘How could this straight-A student have such a dim-witted sister?’ Every family gathering, relatives would say, ‘Autumn’s the one to count on.’ And me? Everyone just shook their heads.” “They’d all point at me and say, ‘You two are sisters, but one’s an angel, the other’s a devil.’ Autumn, you’re smart, you’re brilliant, but why does everyone have to step all over me to praise you?” “And you call me a parasite? You think I wanted you as a sister?” I stepped over her, pushed past Mom and Dad, and flung open my bedroom door. This house was suffocating. I needed to get out. Professor Davies’ class, tuition money, who cared? Before I even reached the front door, I heard Mom’s horrified scream. “Blood! Oh my God, Miles, Autumn’s bleeding from the back of her head!” I spun around to see Dad scoop Autumn into his arms, rushing towards the exit. Autumn was taken to the hospital. Several stitches in the back of her head. A large patch of her long hair was shaved off. Mom and Dad sat in silence until she woke. Autumn opened her eyes but refused to speak. Mom held her hand, tears of pity streaming down her face. “Autumn, don’t be mad at your sister, she didn’t mean it. You know how she is, always a tomboy, never knowing her own strength. See, you even cut her neck, and she didn’t say a word.” 3 I lowered my head slightly, feeling the bandage around my neck. The cut wasn’t deep; the blood had almost clotted by the time they bandaged it. Autumn still didn’t speak, closing her eyes, shutting us out. Dad, seeing her stubborn silence, stood up, his brows furrowed, ready to erupt again. Mom pulled him and me out of the room. Outside, Mom gently pushed Dad. “Say less, she’s hurting. Don’t argue with her.” Then she looked at me. “Skylar, does your neck still hurt? Don’t blame your sister, going to an Ivy League was always her dream.” I stared at my shoes, then mumbled, “She cut me, I pushed her. We’re even. I couldn’t care less.” Mom patted my head, a relieved smile on her face. “That’s my Skylar. Big-hearted, doesn’t hold a grudge.” I remained silent, listening to the sounds from inside the room. Autumn shifted under the covers, turning away. Dad walked back in, placing a bowl of porridge on the bedside table. His voice was awkwardly strained. “Eat this after your shot. Your mom and I are going to pay Skylar’s tuition. Let’s just forget about this, okay?” “You’re old enough, be sensible. Stop making a fuss. You and Skylar are sisters. If you don’t support each other, who will?” Autumn stayed hidden under the duvet, silent and still. Dad picked up his car keys and left, Mom pulling me along. She paused at the door, speaking to the lump under the blankets. “Autumn, wait for us here. We’re just going to register Skylar for her classes.” In the car, Mom pulled out the thick envelope. “Skylar, you have to work hard for Professor Davies. Our entire savings, every last penny, is riding on you.” I clutched my backpack, a suffocating weight in my chest, and didn’t reply. Stepping out of the car, I looked up at the towering building. Professor Davies’ workshop was on the 33rd floor. I gripped my backpack strap, my voice barely a whisper. “Dad, Mom, maybe Autumn should go to college instead. I’m just not cut out for school.” Dad shot me a furious glare. “If you dare mess this up, I’ll break your legs.” Mom took my hand, pulling me into the elevator. “It’s okay, Skylar. Just focus on your studies. Autumn’s smart; she’ll get into an Ivy League eventually.” When we returned to the hospital after registering, the nurse informed us Autumn had checked herself out. She was gone. By the time we got home, she had taken her ID and university acceptance letter, packed a few clothes, and left. Dad swore, “Neither of you is any help,” grabbed his car keys, and rushed out to search. Mom, terrified, followed him. I tossed my backpack onto the sofa, my gaze falling on Autumn’s open bedroom door. I sat there, the image of her lying on my floor, blood pooling behind her head, replaying in my mind. Whatever. I’d always wished I didn’t have a sister. Now she was gone; I should be happy. Good riddance. Autumn vanished. Mom and Dad searched everywhere she might possibly go, but found nothing. After twenty-four hours, they filed a missing person’s report. Leaving the police station, Mom’s hands were still trembling. “Where could Autumn have gone? Why is she being so difficult? This is too much.” I supported her, saying nothing, as the three of us silently returned home. Hours later, the police called. They had contacted Autumn. 4 Mom panicked, immediately asking for her address. But the police said Autumn had explicitly stated she was safe and did not want her whereabouts disclosed. Autumn was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, so the police had to respect her wishes. They only relayed that she was safe, providing no address or contact information. After they hung up, Dad slammed the phone onto the table. “That girl is completely out of control!” I stared at the still-lit screen, a guess forming in my mind. A City. The place where her beloved Ivy League university was. Autumn had gone to college. But her major there was incredibly expensive, and our family’s savings could only cover one of us. How could Autumn, running away like that, afford her tuition? I knew where Autumn was, but I just sat there, saying nothing. I didn’t want Autumn to come back. “Waiting another year” to retake her SATs? I didn’t want to live in her shadow a moment longer. Thanks to Professor Davies’ connections, and my parents’ endless gifts and cash, the following year, I barely scraped into Mather Institute of Art. Mom and Dad were overjoyed, throwing a lavish celebration. During the party, relatives asked where their elder daughter was. Dad’s face darkened, and he scoffed. “Who knows where she went. Ungrateful child. Abandoned her family.” After college, I asked Mom and Dad for some money and took a grand trip. On the road, I met a guy from my city. We fell in love quickly—a whirlwind romance culminating in marriage. Autumn didn’t show up to my wedding, and no one mentioned her. But as Mom held my hand, wiping away tears on stage, her gaze kept drifting towards the door. I knew who Mom was waiting for, but I wouldn’t say a word. This was my shining moment; I didn’t want her to steal even a fraction of my spotlight. After the wedding, my husband, Adam, got a job transfer, and we moved to A City. My temper was as volatile as ever, and we had our share of arguments. I was still the same—if I couldn’t win with words, I’d resort to insults; if insults failed, I’d get physical. During an unprecedentedly heated argument, he hit me for the first time. He grabbed a vase and smashed it against my head. My temple hit the coffee table. The world went black for a split second. Before I could shake off the dizziness, a sharp pain shot through my lower body. Blood. So much blood. Just like the blood that day, when Autumn lay on my floor. He was terrified. He picked up his phone, but didn’t call 911. He called his mother, his voice trembling as he told her he’d hit me, and there was blood everywhere. I ended up in the hospital. I’d been a month pregnant and had just miscarried. I woke from a daze, my head wrapped in gauze. He wasn’t there. I was alone in the hospital room. I picked up my medical records and a thick stack of reports, seeing the miscarriage diagnosis. And then, clearly visible in the doctor’s signature line: Autumn Hayes. A sharp sting in my arm. My IV drip was empty, and blood was backing up into the tube. A nurse checked the bag, replaced it, and left. After she was gone, the door opened again. I saw Autumn, dressed in a white lab coat, walk in.

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Caleb Prescott asked me out to spite Claire Kensington, the girl he could never have. I was the charity case he chose as his weapon. I said yes. Later, Claire cornered me, her eyes a mix of pity and contempt. “Some friendly advice? Get a few designer bags out of it while he’s still mad at me. Think of it as compensation.” I didn’t care. Whether he liked me or not was irrelevant. What mattered was that Caleb Prescott was handsome, rich, and now, he was mine. I was the one winning this game. Years later, at my wedding to Caleb, Claire burst in, a desperate vision in a white dress that wasn’t meant for her. Her eyes were red-rimmed as she begged him to leave with her. “I was selfish, I didn’t know how to appreciate you,” she cried. “But it’s not too late.” The man beside me didn’t flinch. His expression was calm as he signaled for security to remove her. Then he turned to me, his voice low and sincere. “I’m so sorry, Ava. I should have handled that loose end. I promise, it will never happen again.” See? Taming a stray isn’t so hard after all. 1 I knew from the very beginning that Caleb Prescott’s confession of love was all part of a game he was playing with Claire Kensington. I was working a late shift at the campus Quick Mart, a temporary gig to make ends meet. The night had settled into a heavy stillness, the kind where the only sounds are the hum of the coolers and the frantic buzz of moths flinging themselves at the streetlights. Their argument shattered the quiet, a sharp, angry blade slicing through the empty store. It was impossible not to notice. My drowsiness vanished. I leaned forward, shamelessly listening. And then I heard my name. A jolt went through me. I looked up. Two figures stood just outside the glass doors, silhouetted against the night. Even in the gloom, they were unmistakable. Caleb Prescott and Claire Kensington. Northwood University’s golden couple, the permanent residents of the campus gossip pages. Caleb’s face was a mask of fury, but his eyes—those handsome, dark eyes—were clouded with a deep, wounded disappointment. “So you really want me to be with someone else?” he demanded, his voice tight. Claire stood with her arms crossed, her delicate features unreadable. “Ava Monroe is the campus queen, top three in her major, she’s gorgeous and sharp. What, are you losing out by being with her?” I stroked my chin. Can’t argue with that. Caleb’s eyes were turning red. “Claire, you know damn well…” he started, his voice trembling. She pressed her hands over her ears, a theatrical gesture of refusal. La la la, I can’t hear you. Even without the rest of the sentence, the meaning was clear. Caleb was in love with her. It made sense. They’d grown up together, one of those picture-perfect childhoods that bleed into an inevitable, complicated adulthood. Defeated, Caleb’s shoulders slumped. “Fine,” he bit out. “You’ll get what you want.” Claire turned and walked away without a backward glance. Caleb stood there for a long moment, a solitary figure drowning in the pale glow of the streetlight. Then he pushed his way into the store, wandering the aisles with no direction. I was grateful for the cheap paper mask I was wearing. It hid my face, saving us both the excruciating awkwardness. He eventually settled on a single can of beer and a few skewers from the sad-looking hot dog roller. He took a seat at the small counter by the window, a lonely silhouette against the dark glass. Pretending to restock a shelf of chips, I watched him. His long lashes trembled, the tip of his nose was pink, and from the side, he looked like he was about to shatter. I’m the one who’s about to be used as a pawn, I thought wryly, so what are you falling apart for? The reality of the situation settled in. I was about to be asked out by Caleb Prescott. My mind, always spinning, went into overdrive. He was dressed in understated luxury from head to toe. Even his casual clothes had a tailored precision that made him stand out. A quiet flex. I’d heard the rumors when I first got to Northwood: the Prescott heir, incredibly wealthy but surprisingly low-key. No flashy cars, no ostentatious parties. Good grades, active in a few campus clubs. A model son. Watching his ramrod-straight back, I noted that even when he was seething with anger, he didn’t throw things or curse. He just sat there, quietly nursing his beer, trying to process it. Good breeding on top of a great fortune. And easy on the eyes. All in all, a solid package. My fingers tapped out a silent calculation on the counter. If he wanted to invite me into his drama, well, either way, I came out ahead. 2 The next time I saw Caleb was a few days later in the campus dining hall. I was working a part-time shift at the build-your-own-bowl noodle bar. The lunch rush had died down, and he strolled in, looking completely out of place. He stood before the vast array of vegetables and proteins, holding his brand-new student ID card like it was a foreign object. Clearly, the silver-spoon set didn’t frequent this establishment. I handed him a bowl and a pair of tongs. “You pick what you want, then they’ll cook it and you pay at the end,” I explained, my voice friendly and helpful. After he fumbled through his selections, he handed the bowl to me with a polite smile. “No spice, please. Thank you.” I beamed back at him, then turned to the cook behind the counter. “Extra spicy,” I whispered. The result was a masterpiece of petty revenge. Caleb, sitting alone, took one bite and his face erupted in a blotchy, red sweat. His eyes watered, he coughed, he looked utterly miserable. He eventually came back to the counter, his pride visibly wounded. “Excuse me,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I think there was a mistake with my order. It’s way too spicy, I can’t eat it.” I feigned shock, my face a perfect mask of apology. “Oh my god, I am so sorry! I must have mixed up the orders. Let me get you a new one, on me.” Before he could protest, I swiped my own ID card to pay for a new, spice-free bowl. To complete the performance, I bought him an iced matcha latte from the cafe next door as a peace offering. His embarrassment quickly turned into gratitude. “You really don’t have to do that. I’m sorry to have caused you trouble.” I just smiled and shook my head, insisting it was my mistake and my responsibility. Inside, I was thinking, It’s fine. You’ll pay me back with something much more expensive soon enough. The ice was broken. He was surprised to learn I was an economics major. “Does that mean you’re in Professor Miller’s Linear Algebra class this semester?” he asked. He was a business management major. I put on my most delighted expression. “Wow, what a coincidence. Maybe I could ask you for help if I get stuck on a problem?” A genuine smile finally lit up his face, like the first hint of spring. “Of course. And I have to take Macroeconomics this semester. How about we trade numbers? That way I can ask you for help, to pay you back for lunch.” He was smooth. He didn’t brag about his own skills, and he knew how to show a little vulnerability to close the distance. He knew how to play people. Once we’d added each other, I casually scrolled through his Instagram feed. It was public. The content was wholesome and aspirational: photos with his family, gourmet food, books he was reading, scenic travel shots. Not a single trace of ostentatious wealth, no idiotic captions. It was a perfectly curated image of a grounded, wealthy young man. He was showing me exactly the person he wanted me to see. I glanced up and saw a flicker of frustration cross his face. A small smile touched my lips. My own profile was a blank slate. My username was simply “A,” and my profile picture was a generic photo of a misty forest. There was nothing for him to analyze. If he wanted to know who I was, he would have to put in the work. 3 I have to admit, Caleb’s methods of pursuit were perfectly suited to my temperament. And to his own image as a gentle, refined man. He wasn’t like other rich kids who relied on grand, public gestures—bouquets of roses delivered to my dorm, ostentatious gifts designed to announce their shallow affection to the world. Instead, Caleb engineered reasons to be near me. He’d show up at the dining hall when he knew I was working, we’d arrange to study together at the library, and when my late-night shifts ended, he’d be waiting outside to walk me back to my dorm. He was smart about the gifts. Knowing my financial situation, he started small. A fifty-dollar gift card to a nice cafe, then a few hundred for a new pair of headphones, eventually escalating to a tablet that cost a couple thousand. He never crossed the five-figure threshold, a calculated move to keep me from feeling overwhelmed or like I was from a different universe. He didn’t want to create a rift. Each gift was thoughtful, chosen with care, designed to slowly, methodically recalibrate my sense of what was normal. He was a hunter, hiding silently in the jungle, patiently studying his prey, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But who was holding the gun in the end? That was still up for debate. After a month of this, with me deliberately letting my guard down, we had grown incredibly close. Yet there was still an invisible barrier between us, a line neither of us had crossed. Our classmates watched us with knowing, curious eyes, but I remained unbothered, juggling my studies and my part-time jobs as usual. Caleb, on the other hand, was starting to get antsy. Claire seemed to be intentionally avoiding him, a cold war that, ironically, gave us more time together. I never lost sight of the truth: he was doing all this to make Claire jealous. Even my roommate, Maya, was caught up in the drama. “Ava, when are you two going to make it official?” she asked, her eyes wide with gossip. “I’m ready for my congratulatory dinner.” I pinched her cheek. “Patience, you little glutton. When it happens, I’ll treat you to the best steak and sushi in town.” I glanced at the calendar. The time was right. The next time Caleb saw me, my eyes were red and swollen, my hair was a mess, and I looked like I’d been emotionally destroyed. He rushed to my side, pulling a tissue from his pocket and crouching down beside me. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice laced with concern. I just shook my head, letting the tears fall without a word. He didn’t push, just gently rubbed my back, a comforting, steady presence. When my sobs subsided, I told him the story I had carefully constructed: my application for the university’s student aid grant had been rejected. The spots had gone to a few wealthy students who were close friends with the student council president and secretary. When I tried to complain to the dean’s office, I found out they were all in on it together. They had even threatened to mess with my graduation credits if I made a scene. I offered a bitter, broken smile. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter. I can just work more hours to support myself.” Caleb was silent for a long time. He reached out and smoothed my hair back from my face. “No,” he said, his voice firm. “It’s not fine. Let me handle this. Don’t be sad anymore.” I shook my head, playing the part of the frightened victim. “Don’t. I don’t want you to risk your academic record for me.” He took my shoulders in his hands, forcing me to look at him. His eyes were intense. “The Ava I know wouldn’t just give up,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. “My parents taught me that when something belongs to you, you fight for it. You use any means necessary to get it back. Even if it means burning everything to the ground. Even if you can’t have it, you make damn sure no one else gets it either. So I’m asking you again. If you had another chance, would you fight or would you give up?” I stared back at him, my expression hardening into one of resolve. “I’d fight,” I said, my voice clear and steady. “And if I couldn’t have it, I’d grind it to dust. I’d burn it to ash. No one else would ever get their hands on it.” A slow smile spread across Caleb’s face. It was a look of pure admiration, the look of a lone wanderer who has finally found another of his kind in the vast, empty wilderness. “Leave it to me,” he said. Then, after a pause, he added quietly, “Ava, I’m one of your weapons too.” 4 “So you got together with Caleb to use him? Not because you actually like him?” Maya shrieked. I calmly applied a sheet mask to my face and glanced over at her. Her jaw was practically on the floor. I reached out and playfully pushed it shut. “What’s the alternative?” I asked. “Find a guy to struggle with?” If Caleb couldn’t even handle something this simple, he would be useless to me, and not worth another minute of my time. Maya nodded slowly, processing it. “I thought he was the perfect boyfriend. Turns out he’s just another asshole, playing with a girl’s feelings.” “We’re using each other,” I corrected her. “It’s a transaction. We both get what we want. Feelings don’t have much utility in my life.” Even if there were no Claire, even if Caleb’s feelings for me were genuine, I would never let myself fall into the trap of love. This seemed to worry Maya. “But if you agree to be with him, it’s going to end the second Claire snaps her fingers. She’s his great unresolved love story. You’ll be the one who loses.” I shrugged. “If you want to get technical about it, I’m his first love. First girlfriend, anyway. According to the law of diminishing returns, that makes me just as significant.” Less than two days later, the dean of the business school called me into his office. The pale, panicked faces of my academic advisor and the student council leaders told me everything I needed to know. The matter had been settled. The only surprising thing was that Caleb wasn’t there. With the financial aid grant secured, the simmering tension between Caleb and me reached its boiling point. It was a perfect evening. The sky was a wash of soft pinks and oranges, the air was warm. Caleb stood under the sycamore tree outside my dorm, holding a bouquet of cappuccino-colored roses, looking like a prince from a storybook. It was dinnertime, and the courtyard was bustling with students. Phones were out, pictures were being taken, and a low murmur of excited chatter surrounded him. Everyone was wondering who the lucky girl was. He had texted me before he came. Seeing that I hadn’t come down yet, he showed no signs of impatience. He just stood there, tall and still as a statue, waiting. Maya rushed over to my desk, practically vibrating with excitement. “He’s downstairs! It’s happening! Go, go!” I remained seated, calmly eating the takeout I’d brought back from the dining hall. She got desperate and tried to snatch my chopsticks. “You glutton, stop eating! Once you’re with Caleb, he’ll be taking you to fancy candlelit dinners.” I tossed my phone to her. “Check the campus confessions page.” Maya picked it up. Caleb had posted a long, anonymous-but-not-really confession, detailing every little moment of our “chance” encounters. It was dripping with sentiment, earnest and moving. At the end, he asked me to be his girlfriend. The comments were exploding with people swooning over how romantic it was. “What kind of person writes a novel-length public confession?” I asked her. Maya thought for a second. “A hopeless romantic? Or someone desperate. I wrote one for my ex when I was trying to get him back.” I gave her a look that said, Exactly. “So what’s the rush?” The ball was in my court. “Have you even read it?” she asked. I shook my head. “Could you read it to me? It’ll be awkward later if I don’t know what it says.” She looked at me, bewildered. “Why?” “It’s too long,” I said, taking a bite of a chicken leg. “I can’t be bothered. Plus, you have a nice voice. It’s good background noise while I eat.” 5 In the end, Maya read me the entire post in exchange for the promise of five lavish meals. By the time she finished, I had finished my dinner. I then took my time, showering and washing my hair. It was my first time being properly asked out. I had to look my best. All told, an hour and a half had passed. Maya peered out the window. “He’s still there,” she reported, a note of awe in her voice. I glanced at my phone. No frantic calls or texts from Caleb. Instead, a single message sent every half hour, like clockwork: [Ava, I’m outside your dorm. I’ll wait for you.] Patience and perseverance. A man like Caleb was destined to succeed at whatever he put his mind to. That was another reason I chose him. As I finally walked towards him, his eyes lit up. A slow smile spread across his face, revealing a small dimple on his left cheek. He looked like a stray puppy, overjoyed to finally be claimed. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” I said with a small, apologetic smile. I would never tell him why it took me so long. And Caleb would never dare to ask. He was too close to his goal to risk rocking the boat. When it came to the actual confession, he stumbled over his words. “Ava Monroe… I, uh… I like you. A lot.” I took the bouquet from his hands and tilted my head, offering him a radiant smile. “I’ll be in your care, then… boyfriend.” His face instantly flushed a deep crimson, as if the sunset had decided to paint itself across his cheeks. And just like that, Caleb and I were official. I pulled him close, pressed my cheek against his, and snapped a selfie. I posted it immediately to my feed, a declaration. In the photo, Caleb’s fair skin was still flushed, and he looked at the camera with a slightly dazed expression. The likes and congratulatory comments started pouring in immediately. All evening, Caleb’s phone buzzed incessantly. I watched him as he stared at the glowing screen, a flicker of something—disappointment?—in his eyes. I stirred my coffee, my chin propped on my hand, patiently observing him. He was waiting for a message from Claire. A message that would never come. Because I had already checked. On my burner account, I could see Claire’s Instagram story. She was at a club, grinding against some new, handsome prey she’d just captured. 6 I was, of course, curious to see how Claire would react. A week earlier, we’d had our second encounter at a burger joint where I was working. It was the six o’clock dinner rush, and I was juggling taking orders, running the register, and handing out food. Claire, wearing a simple white dress and subtle makeup, stood off to the side, watching me with a cool, detached curiosity. When the line finally died down, she approached the counter to place her order. Then, ignoring a dozen clean, empty tables, she walked to the messiest one in the entire restaurant—a disaster zone of ketchup smears and leftover food—and called me over to clean it. Maya, who was working with me, saw what was happening and bristled. “I’ll get it,” she muttered, grabbing a cloth, ready to fight my battle for me. I stopped her. “She’s here for me. You going won’t solve anything. Go check on the fries.” To her credit, Claire didn’t push it further. I knew her visit was born of curiosity, not malice. She was sizing me up. She probably assumed Caleb would never seriously consider someone like me, a girl from the bottom rung of the social ladder. What a shame. She underestimated the stubborn streak running through Caleb’s core. And she drastically underestimated my own ambition. The look of pure shock and fury on her face when Caleb and I walked into his friend’s party, hand in hand, was a memory I would treasure for a long time. A week into our relationship, it was Caleb’s birthday. On the drive to his family’s villa, he was completely distracted. I tried to make conversation, but he barely heard a word I said. I eventually gave up and sat in silence. It wasn’t until we pulled up to the massive front gates that he seemed to snap out of it, his hand tightening around mine. I teased him gently. “Am I that embarrassing? Should I just call a taxi and go home now?” He blinked, coming back to himself, and pulled me closer, his arm around my shoulders. “Ava, don’t be silly. You look beautiful tonight.” Before we left, he had arranged for a stylist to do my hair and makeup and pick out a dress. He was trying to mold me. “The people you’ll meet tonight are just my closest friends,” he reassured me. “Just stick by my side, and you’ll be fine.” I nodded obediently. The moment we stepped into the grand hall, the boisterous noise died. Every head turned. A hundred pairs of eyes landed on me—probing, judging, gossiping. One gaze, however, was sharper than the rest, a glare meant to pierce right through me. Caleb, to his credit, confidently introduced me to his circle. They all stood up, greeting me with a practiced, superficial warmth. They were polite because Caleb’s family held more power than theirs. All of them, except Claire. Our eyes met across the room. I could see the rage simmering just beneath the surface. To her, Caleb was a toy. A toy she might have left in the attic to gather dust, but one she would never permit anyone else to play with. This was a betrayal. She let out a cold little huff, turned without a word, and swept up the grand staircase. I snuck a glance at Caleb. His face was a perfect, unreadable mask. But I knew. We always want what we can’t have. The moon is beautiful because it hangs untouchable in the sky; you admire it from afar. But there’s always a part of you that wants to pull it down from the heavens and claim it for yourself. It didn’t matter. After tonight, none of it would. The party continued. I slipped away to the restroom, and when I came out, I found Claire leaning against the wall in the hallway, a cigarette dangling from her fingers. The tiny orange ember glowed in the dim light, illuminating her face, which was partially obscured by a haze of smoke. She looked like a femme fatale from an old movie. As I walked past, she called my name. “Ava Monroe.” I stopped. She looked me up and down, a slow, deliberate assessment, before letting out a short, sharp laugh. “You do know this whole thing is just a bet, right? He’s never liked you. He’s with you to piss me off, to get my attention. And look, I don’t even like Caleb like that, but I’m telling you, don’t get too invested.” My hands clenched the fabric of my dress. I let my face fall, my expression a carefully crafted picture of shock and hurt. “That’s not possible. He told me… he told me I was the first person he ever really liked.” Claire took a long drag from her cigarette, then flicked the ash onto the marble floor. “Sweetie, if you want to survive in our world, here’s a free lesson: never believe a word a man says.” She then proceeded to tell me, in excruciating detail, about the bet she and Caleb had made. Seeing my stunned, heartbroken expression, her mood visibly brightened. She looked at me with that same pitying gaze from before. “My advice? Get a few nice bags out of it as compensation before he gets tired of this little game. You don’t want to be the girl crying for breakup money when it’s all over.” I shifted into a righteous fury. “How can you be so cruel? How can you just trample on someone’s feelings like that? You don’t deserve anyone’s affection.” She just shook her head, as if lamenting my stupidity. “Well, I guess you can feel sorry for him on my behalf.” With that, she pressed the glowing tip of her cigarette into the bodice of my dress, right over my heart. It sizzled for a second, leaving an ugly, brown-ringed hole. My heart bled. Not for myself, but for the dress. I could’ve flipped that on Poshmark for a year’s worth of tuition. Now I’d be lucky to get twenty bucks for it. 7 Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow lurking in the darkness down the hall. Caleb. My part in this little drama was over. I stumbled away, playing the part of the broken-hearted girl, leaving the two of them to their confrontation. From what I understood of men like Caleb, their pride was like fine crystal: beautiful, fragile, and easily shattered. He would never tolerate being trampled on like this. After tonight, they would be fractured beyond repair. But it still needed one more push. A more potent dose of poison. I sat on a plush sofa, idly picking at one of the gleaming gold pillars next to me. It looked like it was covered in 24-karat gold leaf. My fingers itched. If I could just peel off a little bit every day, it would add up. I tried scraping it with my nail, but nothing came off. On closer inspection, I saw a thin, hard, transparent protective layer. Probably to keep people like me from getting any ideas, I sighed. My thoughts drifted back to the party. No one was talking to me. They were all taking their cues from Caleb, and he hadn’t officially stamped me with his approval. They all knew this was a performance for Claire’s benefit. Just as I was plotting my next move, an opportunity presented itself. A group of shadows fell over me. I looked up to see a few of Claire’s friends, led by Caleb’s cousin, Bryce Prescott. Bryce was the alpha sycophant in Claire’s orbit. I’d heard he wasn’t born a Prescott, but had changed his name to curry favor with the family, whose business propped up his own. With the Prescott name behind him, he acted with an unearned arrogance. He smiled down at me, a slimy, predatory grin. “Ava, right? We’re playing a game over there, kind of a truth-or-dare spin. We’re short one player. Do me a favor and join us?” I meekly agreed. And, what a surprise, I lost the first round. Amid boisterous laughter, several of them lifted me up and, before I knew what was happening, tossed me into the deep end of the swimming pool. As I hit the cold water, I saw the triumphant look on Bryce’s face. He was getting revenge on Claire’s behalf. I flailed, sputtering, trying to get to the side. But every time I got close, someone, acting on Bryce’s silent command, would push me back under. Again and again. Water flooded my throat, and my cries for help were swallowed by the pool. The other partygoers just stood around the edge, watching as if it were entertainment. Aside from Caleb, Bryce held the most power here. Finally, my strength gave out. I sank towards the bottom, the lights of the party blurring above me. Then, a loud splash. Arms wrapped around me, pulling me towards the surface. I broke through, gasping for air, lungs burning. I opened my eyes. It was Caleb. He held me as hands reached down to pull us both out. I collapsed against his chest, weak and shivering, and shot a look at Claire over his shoulder. Her face was a thundercloud of fury. A tiny, imperceptible smile played on my lips. Caleb’s gaze swept over the guilty parties, cold and murderous. A hush fell over the crowd. Before he could even speak, his friends, eager to please, started kicking the culprits into the pool, one by one. All except Bryce. He tried to play the family card, a pathetic, wheedling tone in his voice. “Caleb, buddy, we were just kidding around!” Caleb didn’t hesitate. A powerful kick sent Bryce stumbling backward into the water. “Nobody pulls them out until I say so,” he commanded, his voice deadly quiet. The others, now soaked and humiliated, didn’t dare try to climb out. Caleb scooped me into his arms and started carrying me back into the house. “Caleb!” Claire’s voice cut through the air, sharp and frayed with disbelief. He paused, turned his head, and looked back at her with eyes like chips of ice. He uttered a single word. “Leave.”

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Leo and I had been married for three years. To the outside world, we were the perfect couple, deeply in love. But only I knew the truth. He’d slept in the guest room for all one thousand and ninety-five nights of our marriage. He had never touched me. I placed the divorce papers on his desk, ready to set him free. But as I did, my eyes caught on the journal lying open. She left her things in the bathroom again after her shower. The scent of her still clinging to them. I held out for as long as I could. Then I took the lace thing. Hid it. God, I hope she doesn’t notice. I froze. All this time. All the lingerie I thought I’d lost. He took it. 1 A black and gold fountain pen, not the one I’d given him, lay across the middle of the open journal. But the lingerie he’d written about—that was the set I’d bought just last week. My mind raced, tumbling back through the last three years. The silk nightgowns, the lace bras… all told, it had to be more than twenty pieces. I’d always found a rational explanation. A strong gust of wind on the clothesline. Left behind in a hotel room during a trip. Never once did I suspect Leo. He was too reserved, too stoic for something like this. After we were married, we treated each other with the careful politeness of cordial strangers. When he spoke to me, his gaze was direct, never straying, never lingering. How could he be capable of something so… furtive? But just last night, Leo had said the faucet in the guest bathroom wasn’t producing hot water. He asked if he could use my shower. He was in and out in thirty minutes, a quiet “thank you” as he left. I hadn’t thought a thing of it. But now I knew. He had taken it then. My own husband. Stealing my underwear. He couldn’t wear it, so what on earth was he doing with it? An unsettling image flashed through my mind, and a hot blush crept up my neck. I couldn’t let myself think about it. A powerful urge washed over me—to flip back through the journal, to read everything. To storm into the guest room and tear through his closet. But that would be a violation. A betrayal of the very civility we’d built our marriage on. I took a deep breath, forcing a calm I didn’t feel. I would pretend I saw nothing. Turning, I quietly closed the study door behind me. And the divorce papers, the neatly folded end of my marriage, found a new home in the back of my dresser drawer. True or not, I was about to find out. 2 Leo came home early that evening. The living room was dark, and he called my name as he stepped inside. “Audrey.” I steeled myself and walked out of the bedroom. “You’re back. I, uh, I didn’t make dinner tonight.” He wore the same impassive expression as always. Calling my name, my full name, never a nickname, never a term of endearment. But I had read his journal. The thought of him, with that cool, detached face, secretly using my nightgowns to— I couldn’t meet his eyes. He, of course, noticed nothing. He held out a Tiffany blue gift bag. “That’s fine. We can go out. This is for you.” I reached for it, and the back of my hand brushed against his fingertips. I pulled back as if I’d been burned. Leo’s eyes darkened for a split second, then returned to their usual calm. Today was our third anniversary. My gift to him was supposed to be his freedom. His was a pearl necklace. I swallowed down the knot of complicated emotions in my throat. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I forgot to get you something.” He didn’t seem to mind. “It’s fine. I don’t need anything. This necklace looked like you, so I bought it.” “Thank you,” I whispered. “Of course,” he said, his tone even. “Get ready. I’ll book a reservation.” I chose a strapless velvet dress and a faux fur shawl, then clasped the pearl necklace he’d given me around my neck. The look wasn’t overly flashy, but it was elegant. When I opened the door, Leo looked up, and for a brief, startling moment, he just stared. Our eyes met, and my heart gave a sudden, hard thump against my ribs. Before I could speak, he had already looked away. “Let’s go.” I watched his cool, retreating back and thought to myself, Let’s see how long you can keep up this act. … The restaurant was warm, and I was about to slip the shawl from my shoulders when he looked up, his gaze sharp and intense. Leo’s features were naturally severe, his brow strong, his eyes deep-set. His glasses usually softened his intensity, giving him a more scholarly air. But right now, in the dim light of the restaurant, I saw something dangerous in his eyes. “Wh-what is it?” I stammered. “Nothing,” he said, pushing his chair back. “I’m going out for a cigarette.” The moment he left, the suffocating tension in the air eased. For a second there, I thought he was going to devour me whole. 3 Over dinner, Leo mentioned he was taking a few days off. He asked if I wanted to go visit my father. According to my original plan, I would have presented him with the divorce papers before going home. My dad hadn’t been well since his business went bankrupt. He’d moved back to our hometown, renting a small house where he spent his days gardening. It was his therapy. He was slowly getting better, but he was under the impression that Leo and I were happy. I hadn’t found the words to tell him the truth. If I went home with Leo, the divorce would have to wait. He was waiting for my answer. I forced a smile. “Sure. If you’re not too busy, that sounds nice.” As we were leaving the restaurant, Leo stopped at the door. I looked at him. “Did you forget something?” His gaze, dark and unreadable, fell to my shoulders. “Put your shawl on.” His tone was so sharp it was almost a command. Then, as if realizing how harsh he sounded, he softened his voice. “It’s cold outside.” “…” After my shower that night, I stared at the clothes in my laundry basket, thinking of my most recently vanished bra—a low-cut style, trimmed with white lace. I really loved that one. I wondered where Leo had hidden it. An idea formed. I deliberately left the nightgown I’d just taken off on the floor of the bathroom. Leo would be coming to use the shower again tonight. If the nightgown disappeared, I’d have my proof. Sure enough, a few minutes later, there was a knock on my door. It was Leo, his face as cool and unreadable as ever. “Sorry to bother you again tonight.” I smiled at him, a picture of generosity. “It’s no problem. Go right ahead.” Listening to the sound of the running water, I felt like every second was an hour. I stared at the same page of my book, not reading a single word. Finally, he emerged. He looked completely normal. “Sleep well, Audrey. Goodnight.” “You too. Goodnight.” The moment he was gone, I bolted into the bathroom. And there it was. Or, rather, there it wasn’t. My nightgown. Gone. I was a mess of humiliation and anger. I stormed to the guest room door, my hand raised to knock. But then I heard it—a low, muffled sound from within. A strained, guttural groan. Oh my God. He wouldn’t be… right now… would he? My face was burning. Terrified of what I might see, I spun around and fled back to my room.

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My father, in his infinite wisdom, decided I needed a lesson in “the real world.” That’s how I ended up working retail in one of our family’s own department stores. And, because the universe has a sick sense of humor, that’s also how I ran into my ex-boyfriend, Caleb, and the girl he’d seamlessly transitioned to after me. She wanted me to kneel to help her try on a shoe. Then she cooed for him to buy it for her. “The commission on this one sale is probably more than he spent on you in the entire last year, right?” she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. I smiled. A genuine, honest-to-God smile. “I don’t blame him,” I said, my voice light. “It’s my fault, really. I’m the one who set his salary.” 1 The reason Caleb and I broke up was simple: he thought I was poor. He said we were from different worlds, that our futures didn’t align. His family was comfortable, maybe upper-middle-class on a good day, but Caleb carried himself with the desperate swagger of a man trying to cosplay as a billionaire. He lived and breathed brand names, a walking billboard for new money. I was the opposite. My father is the kind of man you see profiled in Forbes or the Wall Street Journal. To give me a normal childhood, a “happy and simple” one as he put it, my family kept me out of the spotlight. His one constant lesson was to be discreet. My clothes, my shoes, everything was bespoke, custom-made by designers who valued craftsmanship over a gaudy logo. To Caleb, this just looked cheap. He thought my quiet luxury was embarrassing, that I wasn’t “presentable.” So, a year after we started dating, on the day of our college graduation, he ended it. “Sophie, you and I are on different tracks,” he’d said, his tone laced with a kind of pity that made my skin crawl. “I just got an offer from Prescott Holdings. I’m building a career here. You get that, right?” Oh, I got it. Prescott Holdings is my father’s company. Caleb was going to work for my dad, who would be signing his paychecks, while I was “demoted” to a sales floor associate, earning nothing but “experience.” But seeing his Instagram story later that day—a hard launch with his new girlfriend—I decided it wasn’t worth the explanation. The girl was a sophomore from his department, someone who was always “borrowing” his textbooks. I hadn’t realized their study sessions were quite so involved. And now, on what was supposed to be my last day behind the counter, they walked in. Caleb saw me first. Surprise flickered across his face, quickly replaced by a frown etched with disgust. “Sophie? What are you doing selling shoes? I know it’s tough finding a good job, but this is…” This is what? My family’s flagship store? How dare I work here? Before I could respond, Amber, his new girlfriend, spoke up. Her voice was pure saccharine, but her words were laced with acid. “Sophie, sweetie, could you help me try this pair on?” Helping a customer was part of the job. But with three other associates available, her singling me out was a clear power play. I knew exactly what she was doing. “This pair is four thousand dollars,” I said, my voice professionally flat. “Are you sure you want to try them on?” Amber turned to Caleb, her lower lip pushing out in a perfect pout. “Caleb…” He was always a sucker for an audience. And now, with his shiny new job, his pride was on the line. “If you like them, we’ll get them,” he declared, puffing out his chest. My colleague, Mia, who knew the whole sordid history, tried to intervene. “I can help with that,” she offered. But Amber’s eyes were locked on me, wide and deceptively innocent. “Oh, but I want to help Sophie out. This is for your commission, after all. The check from this one sale,” she leaned in, her voice a conspiratorial whisper, “it’s probably more than he spent on you in our entire last year, right?” She wasn’t wrong. Caleb and I had always split everything down the middle. Amber tossed her hair back, glancing at Caleb, who was now stepping outside to take a call. “When a man won’t spend money on you, it’s because deep down, that’s all he thinks you’re worth,” she mused. “Don’t feel bad, Sophie. It’s just how men are. They put their money where their heart is. You can’t force it.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Oh, no, it’s not like that at all.” It was just that when my father had asked me what Caleb’s starting salary should be, I’d quoted a number far too low. Low enough that buying his new girlfriend a single pair of shoes would mean he’d be eating ramen for the next three months. 2 Back when Caleb and I were still together, my dad had offered to give him a generous starting salary, as a favor to me. I’d shut it down immediately. It felt wrong. I told my dad to offer him the standard package, the same as any other new hire. He’d been so proud of me then, praising me for not being blinded by love. I was his only child, and while he spoiled me rotten, the one thing he couldn’t stand was the thought of me turning into a “love-struck fool.” The irony was, a few weeks later, I didn’t even have a relationship to be foolish in. Looking at him now, preening over a four-thousand-dollar purchase, I realized how right I’d been. “Are they a good fit?” Caleb asked, returning from his phone call. Amber’s confident smirk vanished, replaced by a soft, wounded expression. She bit her lip. “I don’t know yet. Sophie doesn’t seem very happy to help me… Maybe we should just forget it?” Ugh. The victim act was already getting old. Caleb’s gaze hardened as he looked at me. “Sophie, I know this isn’t a great job, but if you’re going to do it, you should at least be professional. Your family’s situation isn’t great, I get it, but—” I nearly rolled my eyes into the back of my head. “Mr. Adams,” I said, using his last name for the first time. “If I remember correctly, the shoes you had me ask my friend to buy for her last Valentine’s Day were a size seven. This pair is a six. I don’t think we even need to bother trying them on.” The color drained from both of their faces. Back then, Caleb and I were still together. He’d spun some story about how Amber knew I had a friend in Europe and desperately wanted her help sourcing a specific pair of shoes that were sold out everywhere. I thought I was just doing a favor for a friend of a friend. I had no idea I was helping my own boyfriend buy a gift for his mistress. Amber looked like she was about to cry, clutching Caleb’s arm in a damsel-in-distress pose. I pointed to a different pair on the display wall. “That model comes in her size, though. It’s only nine thousand. Would you like to try that one instead?” Caleb’s face darkened. That number was clearly beyond his budget. He wasn’t about to spend that kind of money on Amber. “Amber, honey, that style doesn’t really suit you,” he said, his voice strained. “Let’s look around somewhere else later, okay?” Doesn’t suit you, the universal code for too damn expensive. I smiled sweetly. “But Mr. Adams, your girlfriend was just saying how a man’s wallet follows his heart. It’s a beautiful gesture, spending a little money to see the woman you love smile.” Amber stubbornly refused to move, her lips pressed into a thin line. The implication was clear: she wasn’t even worth nine thousand dollars. She was cheap. Caleb’s face flushed with embarrassment. “That was Mr. Davies on the phone,” he stammered, grabbing for an excuse. “My manager. He needs me to come back to the office for an emergency meeting. Work comes first, you know. Be a good girl.” Seizing the lifeline, Amber’s mood shifted. She stomped her foot lightly. “Fine. And isn’t Mr. Davies the manager for this whole department store? You should mention the terrible service here. It could really use some improvement.” Caleb visibly relaxed, his sense of self-importance returning. “Good idea,” he said, puffing out his chest again. “I’ll make sure they retrain their staff.” He shot a pointed, triumphant look in my direction. Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Mark Davies. Miss Prescott, as today is your last day on the floor, I was wondering if you’d be willing to lead a meeting tomorrow to share your observations and provide some guidance for the staff? I typed back, an idea forming in my mind. That sounds perfect. Let’s schedule it for tomorrow at 3 PM. 3 Mark Davies was one of the few people who knew who I really was. He’d worked for my father for over a decade and was one of his most trusted executives. I’d always been fond of him, calling him “Uncle Mark” in private. After my shift, I went to grab my scooter from the employee parking garage, only to find a nail stuck deep in the rear tire. It was completely flat. I swore under my breath. My mother had this vintage-style Vespa custom-painted for me. It was my favorite thing, my little slice of freedom for getting to and from work. And now… A sharp honk made me look up. A brand-new Mercedes had pulled up beside me. Amber rolled down the window, her gaze flicking from me to my crippled scooter. Her expression was a perfect mask of pity. “Sophie? Is your scooter broken? Caleb could give you a ride.” The last thing I wanted was their charity. “No, thanks.” I pulled out my phone to call our family driver. My parents were staying at their estate in the Hudson Valley, a logistical nightmare to get to from the city. Caleb leaned over from the driver’s seat. The embarrassment from the store had evaporated, replaced by his usual smug confidence. “Sophie, you know how long the wait is for an Uber at this hour. I just got this car last week. It’s a much smoother ride than a cab. You won’t get carsick.” He knew my motion sickness was terrible, which was why I usually biked or used my scooter for short distances. Amber’s smile tightened at the corners, but she didn’t say anything. I was losing my patience. Did this man ever get tired of showing off? “Someone’s coming to pick me up. Don’t worry about it.” He seemed disappointed that I wasn’t more impressed. “But—” The car behind them laid on the horn. Amber placed a hand on his arm. “Caleb, if she has a ride, we should just go.” He put the car in drive and sped off. My driver texted back. Traffic was a nightmare; it would be at least forty-five minutes. I scanned the street for a Citi Bike, but of course, there wasn’t a single one in sight. Just as I was about to resign myself to the subway, another car pulled up. The window rolled down, and Mark Davies leaned out. “Sophie—” He caught himself, remembering we were near the store. “Need a lift? I can drop you home.” I hesitated for only a second before getting in. The thought of the subway during rush hour was enough to make my stomach turn. “Thanks, Uncle Mark.” I briefly explained what happened to my scooter. “I’ll have security pull the surveillance footage,” he said, his expression grim. Then his tone shifted. “By the way, I heard some… customers gave you a hard time today?” I was busy texting my driver new instructions to have the scooter towed to the repair shop. After I sent it, I turned my attention back to his question. The last thing I wanted was for this petty drama with Caleb and Amber to reach my father. “It was nothing. I can handle it. No need to bother Dad.” Just then, I caught a flash of light in the rearview mirror. A camera flash. 4 I narrowed my eyes. “Actually, Uncle Mark, I would appreciate it if you could get that footage. That scooter was a gift from my mother. I at least owe her an explanation for what happened.” He smiled warmly. “Of course, Sophie. Consider it done.” The next day, I went back to the store. I had to finalize my transfer paperwork and attend the three o’clock meeting. But as soon as I walked in, I noticed something was off. My coworkers were looking at me strangely, whispering. Even the staff from neighboring boutiques were pointing in my direction. At first, I thought I was imagining things. Then I went to the restroom and overheard two women talking in the stalls. “That was her, right? Sophie Prescott?” “Yeah, that’s her.” “I heard she was the top seller every month since she started. Our manager was about to promote her, but she quit. What a shame.” “A shame? Please. The girl’s got a sugar daddy footing the bills. Why would she care about a promotion?” “What? For real?” “Totally. Someone saw her getting into Mr. Davies’ car last night! I used to think she was actually good at her job, but I guess now we know how she really made all those sales—” I pushed open my stall door. The chatter stopped instantly. The silence was absolute. I offered them a tight, polite smile. “Sorry to interrupt. But for the record, there is nothing unprofessional going on between me and Mr. Davies. And just out of curiosity, where did you happen to hear this little rumor?” After a long, awkward pause, one of the women mumbled, “Someone filed a formal complaint against you. You didn’t know?” The meeting was on the 26th floor. As if my day wasn’t bad enough, Caleb was waiting for the same elevator. The doors closed, leaving just the two of us inside. I stared straight ahead, determined to ignore him, but I could feel his eyes on me. “Sophie,” he began, his brow furrowed in sanctimonious disapproval. “Even if you’re desperate for money, a person should have some integrity. Don’t you understand something that simple?” I shot him a sideways glance. So, he’d heard the rumor too. It had spread through every employee group chat in the building overnight. It would have been harder for him not to know. “You should really worry about your own integrity before you start lecturing others.” His face darkened, and he grabbed my wrist. “Why can’t you just accept help? If Amber hadn’t told me, I never would have known you’d stoop to something like this! We may have broken up, but we’re not enemies. If you needed money, you could have just asked me. Why would you—” He looked genuinely exasperated, as if he were the wronged party. I yanked my arm free. “You’re aware we broke up, right? What do you think your girlfriend would say if she heard you offering to lend me money?” “Amber’s not like you,” he scoffed. “She’s the one who suggested I offer. She saw you getting in that car and told me because she was worried about you. She’s a good person, Sophie. She didn’t want to see you go down the wrong path. Maybe you should stop assuming the worst of people for once.” Oh. “So I should thank her, then?” Thank her for getting “lost” in the rain on my birthday, forcing Caleb to abandon our dinner plans to go rescue her? Thank her for constantly reminding me that she was his girlfriend now? Thank her for making sure Caleb knew I’d been accused of sleeping my way to the top? “You—” Caleb took a deep breath, reining in his anger. “There are senior executives from corporate here today for a review. If they find out about this complaint, you’re finished. I’m just telling you for your own good. Watch your back.” I, the senior executive from corporate who was about to lead said review, just stared at him. “Right,” I said. “Thanks for the tip.” 5 I pressed the button for the 26th floor. Caleb frowned at me. “The 26th floor is all executive conference rooms. There’s a big corporate meeting in half an hour. No regular staff are allowed up there. What are you doing?” I gave him a strange look. “I’m going to the meeting, obviously.” If I didn’t show up, the meeting couldn’t start. A look of dawning comprehension crossed his face. “They summoned you, didn’t they?” I raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Davies is a top aide to the CEO, Mr. Prescott. I heard he’s about to be promoted to the corporate headquarters. A scandal like this right now would look terrible for him. Of course headquarters would want to investigate. It makes sense they’d call you in for questioning.” He looked incredibly pleased with himself, as if he’d solved a complex puzzle. I just stared at him. I never realized he had such a flair for fiction. “Are you going to the 26th floor too?” I asked. He straightened his tie, a smug look spreading across his face. “Of course. Not everyone was invited to this meeting. Out of all the recent hires, I was the only one selected to attend.” Ah. I’d told Mark to make sure representatives from every level were there, but I’d left the junior staff selection up to him. So he chose Caleb. Interesting. Ding. The elevator doors opened, and Caleb strode out, head held high. I was about to follow when my phone buzzed with a picture message from my mom. Since my scooter was being repaired, she’d already ordered me a new one. Honey, which of these colors do you like best? I picked a Klein blue, similar to my old one, and was texting her back as I walked toward the conference room. I was so engrossed in my phone that I almost missed the scene at the door. Caleb was being blocked by two administrative assistants. He looked utterly bewildered. “What do you mean, I can’t go in? You have to be mistaken. Mr. Davies personally invited me!” One of the assistants maintained a cool, professional distance. “I’m sorry, sir. Your name is not on the attendee list. We can’t let you in.” “That’s impossible! You’ve made a mistake!” he insisted, pulling out his phone. “Look! Here’s the email from Mr. Davies himself!” I walked up to the assistants. “Sophie Prescott,” I said. Their expressions shifted instantly. They bowed their heads respectfully. “Right this way, Miss Prescott.” Just then, Mark Davies emerged from the conference room, a wide smile on his face. “Sophie! You’re here.” Caleb saw him and his voice grew louder, more desperate. “Mr. Davies! There seems to be a mistake with the list. They won’t let me in. Could you—” Mark seemed to notice him for the first time, waving a dismissive hand. “Just wait out here. We’ll call you in when we need you.” Then he turned his warm smile back to me. “Everyone’s here. We were just waiting for you.” A stunned silence fell over the hallway. I glanced over my shoulder and saw Caleb’s face, a perfect picture of shock and confusion. I tipped my head toward him. “Let him come in.” Mark paused for a beat, then nodded immediately. “Yes, of course.” He turned to Caleb and barked, “Well? What are you waiting for? Get in here!”

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On our daughter’s fifth birthday, a photo appeared in Ava’s Instagram feed. An intimate shot, taken in bed. The caption read: Someone missed her daddy before bed, and this good man flew right home to her. <3 The man in the photo was my husband, Ethan. My phone was still warm from the text he’d sent me ten minutes earlier. Something came up at the office. Not making it home tonight. I calmly liked the photo. Then, I called my divorce lawyer. 1 Ethan came home around two in the morning. The sudden slash of light from the hallway cut through the darkness, and I instinctively shielded our daughter’s eyes. He leaned against the doorframe, his voice a low drawl. "Hey, I'm home. Get Lily up. I'll celebrate with her now." I used to be the one who cherished these rituals. Birthdays, holidays, anniversaries, even kindergarten parent-teacher nights—I’d beg Ethan to be there. I didn’t want Lily to grow up knowing her father primarily through the screen of a phone, the way I had. But now— I smoothed the duvet, my voice flat. "Don't bother." A flicker of impatience crossed Ethan's face. "Clara, I just went over there to put her son to sleep. That’s it. You don't have to read into everything." He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This is why I can't be honest with you. You're always so suspicious." I wasn't reading into anything. And I wouldn't be suspicious anymore. "If you're done, please go to your own room. Don't wake Lily. She has school in the morning." My answer was met with a cold laugh. "Fine. But don't come crying to me later, saying I'm an absent father." I turned away and switched off the bedside lamp, gently patting the back of my daughter, who had stirred at the sound of our voices. Absent? It didn't matter anymore. After all, Lily’s only birthday wish this year had been whispered to me as I tucked her in: "I don't want to see Daddy anymore." The next morning, Ethan finished his breakfast but didn't leave for work as usual. Instead, he sat at the table, watching the morning news on his tablet. Just as I was getting Lily’s coat on, he grabbed his keys and walked over, ruffling her hair. "Daddy's taking you to school today." The words were for Lily, but his eyes were locked on mine. Two years ago, when Lily first started preschool, Ethan had driven her every single day. But after Ava came into the picture, he started leaving earlier and earlier, claiming his morning meetings had been moved up. He just didn't have the time. I’d believed him. Until three months ago, when Lily switched schools. I was waiting at the gate and saw him. The man who was supposedly in a board meeting was leaning down, lifting a little boy from the backseat of his car. It turned out he had time to take a child to school. Just not his own. We had a terrible fight that night. The next day, Lily stopped asking for him to take her. Even though I’d already made my decision, he was still her father. I hesitated for a moment, then gave a slight nod. A corner of his mouth lifted in a small, triumphant smile as he bent down to scoop Lily into his arms. When he opened the car door, I froze. The back seat was a mess of someone else's life. A Spider-Man water bottle, a wooden toy bow and arrow set, a woman’s cashmere wrap thrown carelessly over the leather. Tucked into the seat-back pocket was a laminated, wallet-sized "family photo." Ethan followed my gaze, and his expression tightened. "Ava just stuck that there. Said it makes her son, Leo, happy to see it." He shot me a warning look. "Don't start, Clara. It's not a big deal." The old me would have snatched that picture and ripped it to shreds, would have screamed at him, demanding to know what Lily and I meant to him. But now, I just nodded. "It's a nice picture." He stared at me, a strange look in his eyes. "You're not angry?" Angry? Maybe I should have been. But all I felt was a profound emptiness, a void where the anger used to be. It was almost funny. How could a man as sharp and calculating as Ethan Cole fall for such a clumsy, transparent play? The answer was simple. He didn't fall for it. He just didn't care. "We should get going," I said, my voice even. "Lily's going to be late." His lips thinned into a hard line as he pulled open the driver's side door. Just as I was about to help Lily into her car seat, Ethan's phone rang. A cheerful, cartoonish jingle filled the quiet garage. From the other end of the line, a little boy's frantic sobs were perfectly clear. "Daddy! Daddy, where did you go? Are you leaving Mommy and me?" Ethan hung up. Without another glance at us, he slid into the driver's seat. "Leo's having a meltdown. I'll have the driver take you today." The black Mercedes sped out of the driveway, leaving us in a cloud of exhaust. I worried Lily would be upset, so I crouched down to her level. "Daddy has something important to do, sweetie. Next time he’s free, we’ll all go to school together, okay?" Lily looked up at me, her small face set with a maturity far beyond her five years. "Daddy's never going to be free," she said quietly. "All his time is for Leo and his mom." 2 That evening, Ethan called. "Clara, I'm going to be late tonight. Leo's running a fever…" "Okay." My quick agreement seemed to catch him off guard, his practiced explanation dying in his throat. He must have mistaken my calm for resentment, because his tone sharpened with annoyance. "Clara, don't be dramatic." He hung up before I could reply. Ten minutes later, a series of texts arrived. I'm so sorry, Clara. Leo has been so clingy with his dad lately. But honestly, Ethan shouldn't have just abandoned you and Lily the moment I called. That was wrong of him. I'll be sure to give him a talking-to. Don't you be upset, okay? The last message was punctuated by a cutesy, see-no-evil monkey emoji. It was Ava. The texts weren't an apology; they were a declaration of war. I had no interest in fighting her for a man I no longer wanted. I deleted the messages and blocked her number. A moment later, my phone rang again. It was Ethan. "Clara, what the hell is your problem? Ava reaches out to apologize, and you give her that kind of attitude?" I could faintly hear a woman and a child crying in the background. I said nothing. After a long, tense silence, his voice came back, low and steeped in disappointment. "How did you become this person, Clara?" he asked softly. "I'm so disappointed in you." It was always the same script. Ava would light the match, and the moment she started crying, Ethan would douse me in gasoline, making me out to be some kind of villain. When I got home, I started packing. While Ethan had been on the phone, I’d been on a call with my lawyer. The divorce would likely grant me at least 30% of the shares in Cole Industries. And in cases where both parents have similar financial means, custody of the child is typically awarded to the mother. My last hesitation vanished. Clothes, handbags, jewelry, Lily’s favorite stuffed animals—they all went into boxes. As I sealed the last one, my hands trembled for a moment. My eyes landed on a dusty, wax-sealed trunk in the back of the closet. It was full of letters—from the Ethan who was seventeen, all the way to twenty-two. I broke the seal and pulled out the one on top. It began: To the 27-year-old Clara, from the 17-year-old Ethan. This is the first love letter I've ever written you. As we promised, we'll open this together in ten years. I bet we're married by now. Maybe we even have a kid, a cute one. My phone buzzed. On the screen was the name of the 27-year-old Ethan. "Clara! Do you have any idea that Ava left with Leo? She took him and just left!" His voice was ragged with panic and fury. "If anything happens to them, I will never forgive you." My eyes fell to the bottom of the letter I was holding. Signed: The Ethan who will love Clara forever. A sharp, stabbing pain shot through my chest, as if something delicate and essential had just shattered. I ended the call and tossed the entire trunk into the fireplace. 3 Ethan didn't come home that night. I didn't frantically call his phone, sobbing and promising I would leave Ava alone, the way I would have before. Lily didn't ask about her father either. She just quietly retrieved a framed photo of herself with Ethan from her bookshelf and tucked it into her own small suitcase. A silent cold war settled between us. It lasted a week, until Lily's school needed a parent's consent form signed, a process that required facial recognition verification. I tried calling Ethan, only to discover he had blocked my number. Left with no choice, I drove to his office with the tablet. I hadn't been waiting long in the lobby when a familiar figure swept past the reception desk and straight into Ethan's office. The assistant, pouring me a glass of water, looked mortified. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Cole. Mr. Cole gave instructions that Ms. Vance can go into his office anytime." That particular privilege Ava enjoyed was, ironically, my fault. I used to bring Ethan lunch every day. We’d sit in his office and talk for an hour. One day, Ava showed up, claiming she had an urgent matter to discuss. The new assistant, following protocol, asked her to wait. By the time Ethan walked me out, Ava and her son Leo were standing in the hallway, their lips blue from the cold. That was the first time Ethan had ever truly lost his temper with me. He yelled, right there in the lobby, that my daily lunch deliveries were a waste of his valuable time. The assistant who had stopped Ava was fired on the spot. From that day on, everyone at Cole Industries knew who the important woman in Ethan Cole's life was. I never went back to his office again. Until today. I gave the nervous assistant a small, reassuring smile and walked toward the office. Ethan was in a meeting. He looked surprised to see me. "What are you doing here?" Ava was perched on the armrest of his leather chair, their bodies so close they were practically touching. He noticed where I was looking and cleared his throat. "Clara, don't get the wrong idea. Ava happens to know a few things about this project, so…" I just nodded, holding out the tablet. "Lily has a field trip. It needs parental consent." "You came all the way down here for that?" "What else would I be here for?" The atmosphere in the room grew heavy. I didn't know why, but I knew Ethan well enough to recognize that he was in a foul mood. Ava let out a little scoff. "What a complicated way to sign a form. Ethan, she just wants an excuse to make up with you. You've been staying at my place for days. It's probably time you went home to see Lily." Ethan’s tense shoulders relaxed slightly. He tossed the tablet onto the coffee table and gave me a smirk. "Clara, now you're using our daughter as an excuse to get my attention." He leaned back. "Apologize to Ava. Otherwise, I'm not signing it." Hearing those words used to send me into a spiral of rage. Rage that he cared so little for his own daughter, and even more rage that he would use her as a pawn for another woman. But now, I felt nothing. My only thought was that if he didn't sign, Lily would miss her field trip, and she would be heartbroken. I looked at Ethan, then at Ava, still sitting possessively on the arm of his chair. Without another word, I turned and walked out. I would just have to tell the school that Lily’s father wasn’t available. I’d only taken a few steps down the hall when a crisp, low voice called out. "Ms. Sinclair, if you don't mind, perhaps I could be of assistance." It was the other man from the meeting in Ethan's office. He offered a wry smile. "After all, I feel like I've been an audience to your family matters for long enough." I finally took a good look at him. He was dressed in a perfectly tailored charcoal suit, exuding an air of quiet authority. His features were sharp, his eyes intelligent. He was clearly a man of significant means. I handed him the tablet without hesitation. The verification process was completed in seconds. On the screen, the signature was rendered in a bold, elegant script: Noah Prescott. 4 The divorce papers were drafted. I unilaterally ended our cold war with a text telling Ethan he needed to come home that night. When I went to pick Lily up from kindergarten, his black Mercedes was already parked by the curb. The window rolled down, revealing Ava in the passenger seat, a triumphant smile on her face. "Clara! Picking up your daughter?" she called out, her voice dripping with condescension. "This is a rather exclusive school, you know. Is that last season's coat you're wearing? You wouldn't want the other parents to talk." I ignored her, moving further down the sidewalk. Ava turned to the driver's seat, her expression shifting to one of wounded innocence. "Ethan, did I say something wrong? I think I made her angry." For once, Ethan didn't reply. His gaze was fixed on my admittedly thin coat, and his voice was stiff when he finally spoke. "Clara, it's cold out. Get in the car." I moved even farther away. I couldn’t pinpoint when it had happened, but we had become strangers. So much so that even a simple expression of concern sounded forced and hollow. As the classroom door opened, two children came tumbling out, tangled in a scuffle. My stomach dropped when I saw that one of them was Lily. I rushed over and pulled them apart, only then realizing the other child was Ava’s son, Leo. He froze when he saw me, then immediately sat down on the pavement and burst into theatrical sobs. "Waaah! That lady hit me! It hurts, it hurts so much!" Ethan and Ava hurried over. Ava swept her son into a hug, glaring at me. "Clara, I know you don't like me, but you can't take it out on a child. They were just roughhousing. There was no need to get violent." Ethan’s disappointed gaze fell on me, as if he’d completely forgotten that Lily was his daughter, too. The teacher looked pained. "Mrs. Cole, Ms. Vance… the children were arguing. They both saw Mr. Cole and started insisting that he was their father. It… escalated from there." It was dismissal time, and a crowd of parents had gathered. The murmurs started immediately. "Well, this is some drama. Fighting over a daddy? Is this the wife and the mistress?" "That guy definitely looks loaded. Maybe the little boy is just confused." "A kid that young being a gold digger? What are they teaching him at home?" Leo was still wailing, clinging to Ethan's neck and crying "Daddy, Daddy." But Lily… she just held my hand tightly, her eyes fixed on Ethan, not blinking. The other children, sensing the drama, chimed in. "Mister, who's your real kid? You have to tell us! The one who's wrong has to apologize!" Ethan opened his mouth. "I'm Lily's…" At that moment, Ava gave his sleeve a tiny, desperate tug. Her eyes were wide with a silent plea. I saw it happen in an instant. The flicker of hesitation in Ethan’s eyes, the slight shift in his posture. He was wavering. Just like the countless times before, one look from Ava was all it took for my daughter and me to become his second choice. My jaw tightened. "Ethan," I said, my voice dangerously low. "The answer you give right now will follow Lily for the rest of her life. Think very carefully before you speak." His body went rigid. His eyes were downcast, unreadable. Then, in a voice just loud enough for everyone to hear, he said, "I'm Leo's father." He looked at Lily, his expression cold. "I think you're mistaken, little girl." My heart seized, a brutal, crushing blow that almost brought tears to my eyes. This was our daughter. Our daughter. The circle of parents immediately turned on Lily. "Can you believe that? Lying about who her father is and then hitting his real son." "She hasn't even apologized. What a lack of manners." "She's just jealous. Probably wants a rich daddy." "Look at her mother. She doesn't exactly scream class. Probably put her up to it, hoping to snag a rich guy." "Ethan, you are not a man…" I started, but was cut off by a sharp pain in my palm. Lily was biting her lip, her grip on my hand astonishingly strong. Her eyes, which had been pleading moments before, were now dull and empty. "Mommy," she whispered. "Let's just go." Then, she turned to Ethan, her small body stiff, and gave him a formal bow. "I'm sorry, sir. I made a mistake." 5 In a quiet corner of a bakery, I held my daughter close. "Lily, he is your father. I don't expect you to love him, but I don't want you to grow up with so much hate in your heart." A small, toneless voice answered me. "I don't have a father, Mommy. You heard him. He's Leo's father." I felt the crisp edges of the divorce papers in my purse. I booked two one-way tickets to Boston for that night. My phone lit up with a text from Ethan, sent ten minutes earlier. Clara, I'm sorry. But Leo comes from a single-parent home. In that situation, I had to lie. I'll go to the school tomorrow and clear everything up with her teacher. I won't let our daughter be wronged. It was the first time he had ever apologized to me for something involving Ava. But it was too late. I didn't need his apology. And neither did Lily. One last trip back to the house to get our passports and a few essentials, and we would be free of this city for good. I expected the house to be empty. It wasn't. In fact, it was full of life. In the living room, Leo was sitting on Lily's little armchair, playing with her favorite dollhouse while watching cartoons. Ethan and Ava emerged from the kitchen carrying platters of food. They both froze when they saw us. I frowned. We weren't even divorced yet, and he’d already moved her in. "Ava felt she needed to apologize to you for what happened today," Ethan explained, his voice strained. "She was afraid you wouldn't think she was sincere, so she offered to cook dinner. These are all your favorite dishes." A cold laugh escaped my lips. "A meal cooked by the two of you? I think I'll pass." For once, Ethan didn't get angry. He knew he was in the wrong. He turned to the children. "Why don't you two go play in the bedroom for a while? Your mommy and I need to talk." As soon as the kids were gone, Ava stepped forward, positioning herself neatly beside Ethan, a united front. "Clara, I am so sorry about today. It's all my fault. I should have corrected Leo sooner, he just started to believe Ethan was his real father. If it bothers you this much, I'll take Leo and leave New York. We'll never bother you and Ethan again." As she spoke, her eyes welled up with tears. I looked at this woman, remembering the first time we met. Her husband, a childhood friend of Ethan's, had just died. She had knelt before us, a grieving widow with a young child, looking utterly helpless. Looking back now, I realized that must have been the moment Ethan's heart began to stray. What man could resist a beautiful, dark-haired woman kneeling at his feet, telling him he was her only hope for the future? I smiled, a thin, sharp smile, and pulled the divorce papers from my purse. "You don't have to leave. I will." I placed the papers on the table. "Ethan, let's get a divorce. Then you can be Ava's wonderful husband and Leo's wonderful father, openly and honestly." Ethan's face darkened, his eyes turning stormy. "Clara, are you threatening me?" I nodded slowly. "You could call it that." He let out a laugh that was pure fury. "Do you really think I'm afraid of you? How many times do I have to tell you? Her husband was my best friend. We made a promise that if anything happened to one of us, the other would take care of his family. Why do you have to be so petty and insecure?" My voice was calm, detached. "You're right. I am petty and insecure. You're a man of great integrity, Mr. Cole. Please don't lower yourself to my level. Just sign the papers." His face contorted with rage at my indifference. He snatched the agreement from the table, and without even reading it, scrawled his name across the signature line. He threw the papers at my feet. "There, I signed it. Now what, Clara? Do you have the guts to actually leave?" I bent down to pick up the documents. Before I could speak, Leo came running out of the bedroom, sobbing. "Waaah! Daddy, Lily hit me!" A long, bloody scratch ran down his cheek. Ethan's glare could have set me on fire. "Clara, look at the kind of daughter you've raised!" Lily appeared in the doorway behind him. "Mommy, I didn't touch him. He fell down by himself." "Lily Cole, you've learned to lie, too!" Ethan roared. "Apologize to Leo right now! Do you hear me?" Lily just stared at him, her lips pressed into a thin line. Seeing his chance, Leo cried even louder. "Waaah! Daddy, it hurts!" Ethan’s voice dropped to an icy chill. "Lily, I don't like children who lie. You've disappointed me." Lily opened her mouth to argue, but I stopped her. "Ethan, we have security cameras in this house. Why don't we just check the footage and see who's lying?" At the mention of cameras, Ava's eyes darted nervously. She quickly tried to smooth things over. "Oh, let's not. It's normal for kids to get into little fights. There's no need to make a big deal out of it. Leo's the older brother; it's okay if his little sister hits him once or twice." "It's not okay with me," I said, my voice hard. "My daughter will not be falsely accused. We are watching that footage." Seeing my resolve, Ethan stalked over to the security monitor and pulled up the recording. The footage was crystal clear. Leo had tripped and scratched his own face on the corner of a toy chest. Ava started stammering excuses. "Ethan, he's just a child. He was probably just scared, that's why he lied. Maybe Lily has bullied him before, and that's why he reacted that way." But Ethan wasn't listening. His eyes were glued to the top left corner of the screen, at a time-stamped recording from the night before. The footage showed me, standing in front of the fireplace, tossing a large trunk into the flames. My movements were swift, decisive, without a hint of hesitation.

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They say the granddaughter of the richest man in the city was switched at birth. And then I was picked up by a black town car and taken to his family’s estate. The butler told me I was the real heiress, the one who’d been lost for over twenty years. But my so-called parents didn’t seem very happy to see me. They called me trash, a hick from the sticks. The next time they were beating me for the sake of the fake heiress, my billionaire grandfather came home. When he saw the state I was in, he brought his cane down right on my father’s head. “You worthless bastard! I raised you all these years, and this is how you treat your own sister?” Then he pointed at me. “That’s my daughter! You dare touch her again!” My father froze, stunned. I was just as stunned. Hold on. Let’s just take a moment to straighten out this family tree. 1 Standing at the gates of the Cole family mansion in Greenwich, my stomach was a knot of anxiety. My heart hammered against my ribs, a frantic rabbit beating against a cage. I was excited to finally meet my birth parents, but terrified they wouldn’t like what they saw. Turns out, I didn’t need to worry about that. They made it perfectly clear. The heavy oak door swung open, revealing a woman dripping in diamonds and disdain. Catherine. My mother. Her eyes scanned me from my worn-out sneakers to my faded jeans, then back again. Her perfectly sculpted eyebrows drew together. “You’re Maya?” Her voice was as cold as the marble floor beneath my feet. “Even if things are rough out in the country, you could have at least worn something clean. Something presentable. Don’t track dirt on our floors.” A sharp sting pierced my chest. I opened my mouth to explain that these were my best clothes, but a girl my age peeked out from behind Catherine. She was dressed in a designer gown that looked like spun sugar, her eyes red as if she’d been crying. She gently tugged on Catherine’s sleeve. “Mom, don’t say that. Maya must have had it so hard. She’s probably never seen a place like this. It’s only natural she’d dress… simply.” Just then, a man strode over, wrapping a protective arm around the girl. Richard. My father. His voice was syrupy sweet when he spoke to her. “Brielle, you’re too kind, always thinking of others. Maya,” he said, turning his flat gaze on me, “I know you’re our biological daughter, but Brielle has been with us since the day she was born. We raised her. She’s everything to us.” So this was my welcome. Not a ‘hello,’ not a single question about the twenty years I’d lost. Just warnings. And I was supposed to learn their names from the way they spoke to each other? What was there to even worry about anymore? My throat tightened, my voice trembling with a mixture of anger and hurt. “I never wanted to replace anyone. I just… I just wanted to see you. To know what my real parents looked like.” “See us?” Catherine scoffed, crossing her arms. “Well, you’ve seen us. Don’t get any ideas. The Cole family doesn’t need another daughter. We have Brielle. If you have any sense, you’ll understand where you belong.” Brielle looked up at Richard, her eyes glistening with manufactured tears. “Dad, Mom, please don’t be so harsh. She just got here, she must be so scared. It’s my fault. If it weren’t for me, she wouldn’t feel so unwelcome.” Richard stroked her hair, his face a mask of adoration. “Don’t be silly, sweetheart. This has nothing to do with you. She just doesn’t know her place. Speaking of which, your eighteenth birthday is tomorrow. There’s a necklace at the Christie’s auction, ‘The Midnight Sun Diamond.’ Valued at fifty million. I’ll take you right now and we’ll get it for you. A perfect birthday present.” Brielle’s eyes lit up. She threw her arms around his neck. “Really, Daddy? I’ve read about that piece! You’re the best!” Catherine smiled, smoothing the skirt of Brielle’s dress. “We’ll go right now, before someone else snatches it up. For my Brielle, any price is worth it.” The three of them chattered away as they walked toward the garage, Richard calling back to the driver to get the heat just right so Brielle wouldn’t be cold. They never looked at me again. I stood alone in the grand entryway as a cold draft swept through, chilling my skin. Arthur, the family butler, approached with a glass of warm water, pressing it into my hands. “Miss, drink this. Warm yourself up. Mr. and Mrs. Cole… they’re just having a hard time adjusting. They’ve been with Miss Brielle for so many years. It’s a deep bond. Just wait until the master gets back from Europe. He’s a reasonable man. He’ll make things right for you.” I clutched the glass, the warmth of it failing to reach the ice forming in my heart. “Thank you, Arthur. But if my own parents treat me like this… why would a grandfather I’ve never met care about me at all?” The old butler sighed. “Don’t lose hope, Miss. The master nearly turned this state upside down looking for you all those years ago. He has never forgotten you. Just wait. When he returns, everything will be better.” I said nothing, just stared out the window in the direction their car had disappeared, my world a silent, frozen landscape. 2 That night, I lay in the guest room, lost in a bed that was too big and too soft. The unfamiliar luxury, the memory of Richard and Catherine’s cold eyes—it all made my skin crawl. Sleep was impossible. A soft knock echoed through the room. It was Brielle. She held a velvet jewelry box, a sweet smile on her face. “Maya, I saw this necklace at the auction today and thought it would look beautiful on you. I had Dad buy it for you. Please, open it. I hope you like it.” I was taken aback. After her performance this afternoon, this sudden kindness was jarring. But then a flicker of hope ignited. Maybe she was as kind as she pretended to be. Maybe I was just being paranoid. I took the box, my voice barely a whisper. “Thank you, Brielle. You didn’t have to do that.” “We’re sisters now. Of course, I did.” She smiled and leaned closer. Just as my fingers touched the clasp, she snatched the box from my hands and hurled it to the floor. Pearls scattered across the polished hardwood like tiny, broken teeth. In the next instant, she crumpled to the ground, hands flying to her face as she let out a piercing shriek. “Maya, no! Please don’t hit me! How could you just smash the necklace? I know you don’t like me, but I was just trying to be nice!” Her wail was perfectly pitched to carry. Seconds later, the door flew open and Richard and Catherine stormed in. Richard’s eyes locked on Brielle sobbing on the floor, then to the scattered pearls at my feet. His face contorted with rage as he pointed a trembling finger at me. “Maya! You have no class, no upbringing! Brielle brings you a gift from the goodness of her heart, and you throw it in her face? Did they teach you nothing where you came from?” His accusations rang in my ears. “I didn’t throw it!” I protested, my voice cracking. “She snatched it and threw it herself! She’s acting!” “How dare you lie to our faces?” Catherine rushed forward. “We saw the broken necklace at your feet and Brielle on the floor crying. Who else could have done it? Do you think because you’re blood, you can just walk in here and torment her?” “I didn’t!” My own tears started to well up, hot and furious. “I grew up with nothing, it’s true. No one taught me how to be some perfect little heiress. But I wasn’t taught to be a bully, either! You barge in here, you don’t ask a single question, and you just sentence me? You call that a good upbringing? I’m the one who had my life stolen for twenty years, with no one to care for me. If I have no class, it’s because you weren’t there to teach me!” My words hit a nerve. Catherine’s face flushed a deep red. She raised her hand and slapped me, hard. The sound cracked through the silent room. “You ungrateful brat! We brought you into this house. We could have left you to rot on the street, and this is the thanks we get? You dare talk back to me?” The sting on my cheek was a burning fire. I clutched my face, staring at her with all the hatred I could muster. Richard, shaking with fury, bellowed toward the door. “Arthur! Get in here! Lock her in the old storage house out back. No food for three days. Let’s see if she learns some respect then!” Arthur hurried in, placing himself between me and them. “Sir, the storage house is dark and cold. The young miss just arrived, her health… please, reconsider.” “Reconsider?” Richard sneered at the old man, his voice laced with menace. “I think you’re getting senile, meddling in my affairs. You say another word for her, and you can pack your bags and get out. This family doesn’t support traitors.” Arthur’s face went pale. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. Two security guards stepped forward, grabbing my arms. They dragged me out of the room, their grips like iron. As they pulled me through the living room, I saw Brielle nestled in Catherine’s embrace. She peeked over her mother’s shoulder and shot me a look, a tiny, triumphant smile playing on her lips. That smile was a needle to my heart, and the world went cold. 3 The storage house was pitch black, a sliver of weak light bleeding from under the door the only proof that a world existed outside. I lay on the cold concrete, my stomach twisting into painful knots. I hadn’t eaten since the night before. I pushed against the heavy door; it was locked tight. My calls for help were swallowed by the oppressive silence. I stumbled around the space, searching for any way out, but was met only by solid, windowless walls. Hours bled into one another. Hunger and cold became a constant, numbing ache. My body trembled, and black spots danced in my vision. My consciousness began to fray at the edges. Just as I felt myself slipping away, the door creaked open. Blinding light flooded the space. Brielle stood silhouetted in the doorway, arms crossed, the two guards behind her. She walked toward me, her heels clicking on the floor, and looked down at my crumpled form. The fragile, gentle girl was gone, replaced by someone cold and mocking. “Maya, I thought you were tougher than this. Look at you. A few words from me, and Mom and Dad have you locked in here, starving. You really are pathetic, aren’t you?” I used the wall to pull myself up. I was weak, but my eyes were steady. “What are you so proud of? You can only get what you want by lying and performing for them. If we were judged on our own merits, you’d be nothing.” “Merits?” She let out a sharp, ugly laugh and patted my cheek. “Why would I need to compete with you? I’ve been in this family for twenty years. They already see me as their real daughter. You’re just some stray they were forced to take in. They could never truly love you.” I slapped her hand away. “I’m not a stray. And you have no right to say that. If you had any real confidence, you wouldn’t need to frame me to get by.” Her face hardened, her voice turning venomous. “Don’t push your luck. I came here to give you an out. Write a statement saying you’re leaving the Cole family voluntarily and will never come back. Otherwise, I’ll let you stay in here until you starve to death.” “I’m not leaving,” I rasped, my jaw tight. “This is my home, too. Why should I be the one to go?” Seeing that I wouldn’t break, she lunged, her hand raised to strike me. In a last burst of adrenaline, I threw myself at her, clamping my teeth down on her ear. “Aaaah!!!” Her scream was shrill enough to shatter glass. I held on, the coppery taste of blood filling my mouth. I didn’t let go until I heard the heavy thud of footsteps approaching. Richard and Catherine burst in. They saw Brielle clutching her bleeding ear and me with blood smeared around my mouth. Richard roared, his face purple with rage. “Maya! You’re insane! You actually bit her!” Brielle stumbled into her father’s arms, sobbing. “Daddy, it hurts so much! She tried to kill me! She told me to leave the family, and when I refused, she attacked me!” I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand and smirked. “Before, when you accused me of hurting her, it was a lie. This is what it actually looks like. You love playing the victim, don’t you, Brielle? Well, this time I made sure you’d actually have a reason to cry.” Catherine stared at Brielle’s torn ear, her voice trembling with fury. “You’re an animal. Brielle has been nothing but kind to you, and you do this? I’m going to teach you a lesson you’ll never forget.” Richard yelled to the guards, “Tie her up! Hang her from the rafters in the living room. Let her think about what she’s done!” The guards rushed me, brandishing a thick rope. I fought back, kicking and thrashing, but my exhausted body was no match for them. They bound me tightly and dragged me out of the darkness. 4 I hung from a heavy wooden beam in the center of the living room, the ropes digging into my wrists. Blood flow was cut off; my hands were already numb. Having not eaten in days, my head lolled forward, consciousness flickering like a dying candle. A bucket of ice water shocked me back to awareness. The frigid shock made my teeth chatter violently. Richard stood before me, a riding crop in his hand, his eyes filled with disgust. “Today, you will learn what happens when you disrespect the rules of this house.” He swung the crop, and it struck my back with a sickening crack. A line of fire seared across my skin. I bit back a cry. “You think because you share our blood you can do whatever you want?” Another lash. “You grew up wild, with no one to teach you any manners. Today, I’ll take on the responsibility of a father and beat the filth out of you.” Each blow felt like it was tearing me apart. Tears streamed from my eyes, blurring my vision. Catherine sat on the sofa, cradling Brielle, dabbing at her ear while adding her own venom to the assault. “Maya, you are a true snake. We are the Coles, one of the wealthiest families in the country. Letting you in this door was a gift from God, and you repay us by hurting Brielle? Do you have a soul?” “She… deserved it…” I gasped, my voice barely a whisper. “She started it… You just refuse to see…” “Still talking back!” Richard rained blows down on me, again and again. The leather tore through my shirt, and I could feel warm blood trickling down my back. “I see you won’t be satisfied until you’re half-dead! I won’t stop until you admit you were wrong!” His strength was terrifying. Every strike felt like it was breaking my bones. I couldn’t hold on any longer. The world dissolved into blackness. “Throw more water on her!” Richard’s voice was a distant, demonic rumble. “Get the doctor to give her a vitamin shot. I don’t want her dying before I’m done teaching her a lesson! We stop when she begs for forgiveness!” Another splash of icy water jolted me awake. The pain was all-consuming, a blinding white light of agony. I looked at the twisted face of the man in front of me and couldn’t believe he was my father. I regretted it all. I truly regretted it. I should never have listened, never have hoped to find my birth parents, never have come to the Cole estate. All I wanted was to see their faces, to feel a connection I had dreamed of my entire life… But this wasn’t connection. This was torture. Just as I felt the last of my strength give way, the front door crashed open with a deafening bang. A vibrant old man with a thunderous expression, leaning on a heavy cane, stormed into the room. The moment he saw me, he let out a roar of fury and swung his cane with surprising force, cracking it against Richard’s skull. “You degenerate son! How dare you lay a hand on her!”

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It was the third time this month I’d covered cleaning duty for Claire, the girl both my childhood best friends were in love with. After the final bell, just as I was heading for the door, they cornered me, all easy smiles and familiar charm. “Hey, Lia,” Leo started, slinging his arm around my shoulders. “Could you do us a solid and cover for Claire in the chem lab today? We’re taking her out—kind of a date thing. You’re the best.” I looked up from under my bangs, my voice barely a whisper. “I can’t today. I… I have plans.” The warmth in Leo’s eyes vanished. A smirk, sharp and humorless, pulled at his lips. “If you don’t want to do it, just say so. Don’t make up lame excuses. Who would you even have plans with?” When I didn’t answer, the smile on Nathan’s face dissolved completely. He moved, quick and silent, and pressed me back against the cold cinderblock wall. His voice was low, intense. “You really have a date?” he demanded. “With who?” 1 The final bell had just shrieked through the halls, and I was pulling my umbrella from the side pocket of my backpack when Leo stopped me. “Hold up, Lia. Can you handle the lab cleanup?” I glanced back at the whiteboard. Under ‘Chem Lab Duty,’ Mr. Henderson had clearly written Claire Danes. “It’s not my day—” “Claire’s got cramps, she’s feeling awful,” Leo said, his smile effortless. He had these fox-like eyes that always seemed to be laughing at a private joke. He gave my shoulder a friendly, proprietary pat. “So, be a pal, yeah? I’m gonna give her a ride home.” As if on cue, he slung his backpack over one shoulder and crouched down in front of Claire’s desk. She swatted at him, a flicker of a smile playing on her lips. “Don’t be so dramatic, I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.” Leo looked up at her, his expression a perfect performance of concern. “Of course it’s a big deal. Girls need to rest when they’re on their period. Lia gets it. She’s a girl, too.” He turned his gaze on me. “Right, Lia?” I bit the inside of my lip. “…Okay, fine.” I’d just dropped my bag when a long, pale hand plucked the umbrella from its side pocket. Nathan was taking off his rimless glasses, frowning at Leo. “Are you planning on letting her walk home in this downpour? Getting chilled is the last thing she needs.” He shot a quick, dismissive glance at me. “I’m taking the umbrella. The rain will probably let up in a bit. You can just wait it out.” And just like that, the two of them were gone—Leo carrying Claire piggyback, and Nathan holding my umbrella over her head. Claire looked back over Leo’s shoulder, her perfect face a mask of polite apology. “Sorry about this, Lia! We’ll see you tomorrow!” Their figures blurred and then vanished into the gray sheet of rain. I turned away from the window and started cleaning. This was the third time this month. Claire was only scheduled for lab duty three times a month. The first time, she had a piano lesson she couldn’t miss. Before I could even respond to her asking, Leo had already volunteered me. “Your piano is more important, you’ve got your certification exam coming up. Lia doesn’t have anything better to do anyway.” The second time, a new movie she was dying to see had just come out. Both Leo and Nathan wanted to be the one to take her, so cleanup duty naturally fell to me. I swept the floors in silence, the rhythmic scrape of the broom the only sound. I mopped until the linoleum gleamed under the fluorescent lights, then moved to the whiteboard. It was massive, and I couldn’t reach the formulas scrawled across the very top. I jumped a few times, my fingers just brushing the slick surface. I was about to drag a stool over when a hand reached past me from behind. It was a beautiful hand, clean, with well-defined knuckles. It took the eraser from me and, in a few easy swipes, cleared the entire top of the board. I flinched, spinning around to find Noah Carter, our class valedictorian, standing right behind me. He was so close I could smell the clean, crisp scent of lemon and sea salt on his shirt, a startling pocket of dryness in the damp, rainy air. Before I could speak, he did. “This isn’t your day for cleanup, is it?” There was a long-running, pointless debate among the girls at our school over who was the ultimate heartthrob: Leo, Nathan, or Noah. Maybe because I was so used to Leo and Nathan, seeing Noah up close felt different, more impactful. His eyes were a clear, warm hazel, and his dark lashes were so long they looked like tiny, delicate wings. “Claire wasn’t feeling well,” I explained, my voice sounding thin. “I’m covering for her. What are you still doing here?” Noah’s expression didn’t change. He just took the eraser and methodically cleaned the rest of the board. “Had to drop off some papers in the faculty office. On my way back, I saw you…” He paused, and a small smile touched his lips. “Jumping.” Heat flooded my cheeks. “Oh. Uh, thanks.” “No problem.” He placed the eraser back on the ledge. “All done? Ready to go?” I shook my head. “You go ahead. I don’t have an umbrella. I’m just going to wait for the rain to stop.” He pulled a sleek black umbrella from his bag. “I have one,” he said simply. “Let’s go.” 2 As we walked, he broke the comfortable silence. “Do you cover for Claire a lot? I feel like I’ve seen you doing this before.” “Yeah. She’s… busy sometimes.” “She must be a very busy person,” he commented, tilting the umbrella so it shielded me more than him. “You seem pretty close with Nathan and Leo.” “We all are. Me, them, and Claire. We’re all friends.” “If you’re friends, how come you’re the only one doing all the work?” I didn’t have an answer for that. I just kicked at a small pebble on the sidewalk. “You’re busy too, right?” he continued. “I heard you have SAT prep classes at night. Why don’t you just say no?” I hesitated. “They wouldn’t like it. We’re all friends.” “And what would happen if they didn’t like it?” “We… wouldn’t be friends anymore?” The words came out like a question, an automatic fear. “They’re the only friends I have.” “Then let me be your friend.” We reached the entrance to my apartment building and stopped in unison. The rain had knocked the purple blossoms from the jacaranda trees, and the wind swirled the petals at our feet. Noah stood there, holding the black umbrella, and smiled at me. “So, are we friends now?” No one could say no to that face. I nodded. “Of course. And thank you, for walking me home.” “Is a ‘thank you’ all I get?” I blinked, looking up at him. I finally noticed that the right side of his school uniform was completely soaked, while I was almost perfectly dry. He didn’t seem to mind at all, the gentle smile never leaving his face. “Then… how about you let me treat you to the library on Saturday? You wouldn’t say no to a friend, would you?” 3 After my shower, I saw the group chat notification. Claire had tagged me. “Lia, you get home okay? So sorry to make you do that again today. It was all Leo and Nathan’s fault, they were being so overprotective. I told them I was fine, but they insisted.” I towel-dried my hair, typing back a simple, “I’m home.” Suddenly, a message from Leo popped up. “You didn’t have an umbrella. How’d you get back?” “Someone walked me.” “Ooooh, who?” Claire sent a voice memo, her tone teasing. “Is our little Lia finally dating someone?” Nathan rarely posted in the chat, usually only replying when Claire said something. “Not a chance. Who would ask Lia out?” Leo chimed in immediately. “Exactly. She’s a total bookworm. Who’d be into that?” Claire’s laughter echoed in another voice memo. “You guys are so mean! Lia is wonderful. She’s smart and pretty.” “Pretty?” Leo sent a scoffing emoji. “Compared to you? If she’s pretty, what does that make you, a goddess?” Nathan added: “Claire, you’re just too nice. If no one tells her the truth, she’ll get the wrong idea. What if some guy takes advantage of her?” The messages kept coming, one after another. The little bubble of warmth Noah had given me deflated, leaving a familiar coldness in its place. I put my phone down and stared at the ceiling. This wasn’t new. I knew, deep down, that in our little group, I was always on the lowest rung. And I understood why. Nathan, Leo, and Claire were the suns of our high school universe—effortlessly cool, from wealthy families, born to shine. I was just… me. The quiet, plain girl who orbited them. If we hadn’t grown up on the same street, our paths would never have crossed. Both guys were in love with Claire. When the four of us were together, I was just part of the background, a ghost at their table. It had been that way since we were kids. I was so used to it that saying no felt like speaking a foreign language. I rolled over, Noah’s parting words echoing in my head. “The way they treat you… are you sure they see you as a friend?” 4 On Claire’s next cleanup day, Leo predictably shoved a broom into my hands. “We’re taking Claire to the movies tonight. You’ve got this, right?” Nathan had already slung Claire’s backpack over his shoulder. She waved at me with a bright, unapologetic smile. “Thanks a bunch, Lia!” I paused, then pushed the broom back into Leo’s chest. “Sorry,” I said, my voice steadier than I expected. “I have plans today.” The smiles on all three of their faces froze. “Plans?” Claire’s voice was laced with a kind of magnanimous disbelief. “Haha, Lia, it’s okay if you don’t want to do it. I know I’ve asked you a lot this month.” Leo’s dark brows furrowed. “Plans? With who? C’mon, Lia, if you’re going to make an excuse, at least make it a good one. Who do you even know besides us?” Nathan’s eyes, cold and analytical behind his glasses, fixed on me. “Lia, don’t be dramatic. Claire really wants to see this movie. What’s the big deal with covering for her one more time? You’ve done it before.” “It’s true,” I said, looking down. “We made plans to go to the library. I’m not making it up.” Claire raised an eyebrow. “Can’t you just do the lab first? It won’t take that long.” “No.” I glanced at my watch. “I’m going to be late. I have to go.” The smile on Claire’s face faded. She gave Leo’s arm a slight tug. “Can you guys talk to her for me? Maybe she’s mad at me for asking so much. Or… are you dating someone now? Was it that guy who walked you home the other day?” In my peripheral vision, I saw the expressions on Leo and Nathan’s faces darken. Nathan blocked my path. “Who walked you home last time? Who are these plans with?” Before I could answer, Leo slammed his hand against the wall next to my head, trapping me. “In such a hurry to leave?” His voice was a low growl. “Lia, spell it out. Are you seeing someone?” His eyes were dark, intense. “Who is it?!” “Me.” Noah walked into the classroom, pulling me out from under Leo’s arm. He was just as tall as Leo, and he met his glare with a calm, even smile. “Lia has plans with me today.” He turned to me. “Ready to go?” He took my backpack, and as we walked out, his gaze swept over Nathan, as cool and undisturbed as a calm lake.

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I had a theory: Leo Maxwell, the unofficial king of Northwood Prep, was into me. He’d stood before me, clutching a pink envelope, his face flushed beet red. “I heard,” he’d stammered, “that you’re from a single-parent family. Me too.” “So… what would you think if my mom married your dad? Then I could be your brother.” Excuse me? I thought I was the one with the secret admirer. Turns out, it was my dad. And so, three years after my own mother walked out on us, my father and I married into a fortune. A year later, fraternal twins were born. And with that, my dad’s new role as the beloved patriarch of the Maxwell dynasty was set in stone. My brand-new, ridiculously wealthy stepbrother would cling to my dad, sobbing his eyes out. “I’m finally not just some kid without a dad anymore!” he’d wail. 1 I have a theory: Leo Maxwell, the unofficial king of Northwood Prep, is into me. And I have evidence. During gym class, his eyes are always finding their way to me. The second I look back, he snaps his head away, but the bright red tips of his ears give him away every time. It’s the kind of blush that screams I’ve been caught staring. He gets so flustered that once, he didn’t even react when a basketball came flying straight at his face. He ended up with a bloody nose and a ticket to the nurse’s office for the rest of the day. Then, during study hall, I turned to check the clock and caught him staring at the back of my head, a goofy, unfocused smile plastered on his face. Even my best friend, Chloe, who’s the undisputed gossip queen of our grade, leaned over to whisper, “Ava, word is Leo Maxwell has a crush on someone. He bought pink stationery. Like, he’s going to write an actual, physical letter.” My stomach dropped. Oh, God. He’s going to ask me out. I had the sudden, violent urge to start rolling on the floor and begging him not to. What if I say no? He’s a Maxwell. They practically own this town, and their name is on half the buildings at this school. He could probably get me expelled with a single phone call. I’m here on a full scholarship. That academic grant is the only thing patching the gaping hole in my family’s finances. The thought of my dad—my kind, handsome, perpetually worried dad—frowning over an expulsion letter and then sighing at our empty bank account… I just couldn’t. This is my fate, then. I have to say yes. I have to pretend to be Leo Maxwell’s girlfriend until graduation. To avoid becoming a high school dropout, and to prevent my dad from having to sell his soul to some lonely rich widow, I’ll do it. I took a deep breath, steeling myself. I can do this. I started mentally rehearsing my acceptance speech, even pulling out a notebook to script the lines. As the sun began to set, casting long shadows across the classroom, I packed my bag with excruciating slowness. One textbook. Pause. Another. Finally, it was just me and Leo left in the empty room. I heard his footsteps approaching, each one a drumbeat against my ribs. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. “Ava Collins.” Leo stood in front of my desk, his face flushed. The usual swagger and I-own-the-world arrogance were gone. In their place was the meekness of a lamb. He wouldn’t even meet my eyes. I took a silent, deep breath, running through the lines I’d spent all afternoon perfecting. He carefully pulled a pink envelope from behind his back. On the front was a hand-drawn picture of two stick figures holding hands. Next to them were two even smaller stick figures, a boy and a girl. I was floored. He’d already planned out our future family, right down to the gender of our kids. The depth of his affection was… terrifying. “Ava,” he began. “Present,” I yelped, a conditioned reflex from years of school. Damn you, Pavlov. He gave me a weird look before continuing. “Could you do me a favor and give this to Mr. Collins?” I blinked. “Huh?” What kind of move was this? A love letter that needed my dad’s approval first? “I heard you’re from a single-parent family,” he said, his voice softer. “Me too.” I nodded slowly. From that perspective, we were in the same boat. A little mutual support group, I could understand that. “So,” he said, his eyes finally lighting up, bright and hopeful like a golden retriever’s, “what do you think about me becoming your brother?” “…What?” What was happening? Wasn’t this a confession of love? Was this some kind of weird roleplay scenario? Start as brother and sister and then… evolve? I didn’t get it, but I respected the hustle. If that’s what he was into, I could grit my teeth and go along with it. Leo pressed his advantage, clearly mistaking my stunned silence for consideration. “It was love at first sight with Mr. Collins. I’ve always wanted a dad just like him.” My brain short-circuited. Before I could reboot, he snatched the envelope back, tore it open, and pulled out a single sheet of paper. It wasn’t a letter. It was a résumé. The photo was of a woman in a sharp, tailored blazer, her hair pulled back in an elegant twist. She looked poised, powerful, and intimidatingly beautiful. Leo held up the paper and launched into a full-blown presentation. “This is my mother, Isabelle Maxwell. 38 years old, CEO of Maxwell Corp, net worth in the nine figures. She’s beautiful, she’s rich, and she has only one son, yours truly. She’s the perfect match for our dad. I know she can be a little… intense, but our dad is so gentle. They’ll complement each other perfectly.” He was on a roll now, his words tumbling out in a rush. “I’ve already got it all planned out. Today’s Friday. They can meet this weekend. If it goes well, they can be at the courthouse by Monday.” He spoke with such passionate conviction, you’d think he was already standing at the wedding, watching our parents walk down the aisle. I finally found my voice. “Whoa, hang on. What do you mean, our dad?” I asked, cutting through his fantasy. “Since when is my dad your dad? And marriage? Does your mother even know you’re setting her up on a blind date?” Leo paused, then gave a firm, resolute nod. “She knows. And she agreed.” 2 By the time I walked out of the school gates, clutching the repurposed love letter, the campus was nearly deserted. I couldn’t stop replaying Leo’s parting words, and the way he’d pitched his voice higher in a forced, syrupy tone. A shiver ran down my spine. “Ava, my dear sister, you have to give this to our dad, okay?” he’d chirped. “Don’t you worry, our mom will take amazing care of him. And I’ll be the best big brother ever. From now on, I’ve got your back at this school.” I managed a tight, pained smile that felt more like a grimace. Ethan Collins, my dear father, was already waiting by the school entrance. He was leaning against a lamppost in a simple button-down shirt, looking like a quiet poem amidst the afternoon chaos. People walking by couldn’t help but glance his way. He was pushing forty, but he still carried an air of tranquility that seemed to make time slow down around him. When he saw me, his face broke into a warm smile. He walked over, took my heavy backpack, and gently wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead. “Rough day?” he asked, his voice softer than a spring breeze. “I made that beef brisket you like. It’s waiting for us at home.” I knew my dad was charming. He’d been voted “Most Popular Professor” at his university multiple times. After he and my mom divorced, a string of wealthy women had practically thrown themselves at him. Some of his old admirers even offered to divorce their own husbands for a chance. One of his college students, a girl barely ten years older than me, once earnestly tried to convince him to let her be my new stepmom. But this? This was a whole new level. The CEO’s son, acting as a matchmaker. My dad’s looks were a legitimate public hazard. “Beauty is a curse,” I muttered to myself as I walked toward his beat-up bicycle. “A total curse.” He just ruffled my hair, a quiet laugh playing on his lips. That night, before bed, I remembered my mission. I formally presented the letter from the “filial son in desperate search of a father.” “This is from a kid in my class, Leo Maxwell,” I explained. “He wants you to marry his mom so he can be your son.” My dad took the envelope, a look of utter confusion on his face. As he read the contents, a disbelieving smile spread across his lips. “Oh, it’s him,” he said with a soft chuckle. “I’ve run into him a few times. He’s a very polite young man.” As for the weekend meeting Leo had proposed, neither of us took it seriously. Why would a high-powered CEO be interested in us? A moderately handsome university professor with a mountain of debt and a teenage daughter who came as part of the package deal. The next morning, I went with my dad to the farmer’s market to buy groceries. We were planning to make braised pork for lunch. He had a freelance translation project lined up for the afternoon, which probably meant another all-nighter for him. When my parents divorced, he’d walked away with almost nothing, except for me. He still had the mortgage to pay off on the house he gave my mom. He had to borrow from every friend and relative he knew just to pay it off early. The moment the papers were signed, my mom sold the house. With tears in her eyes, she said her goodbyes and left town. She said she couldn’t stand living a life where she could see the end from the beginning. She had to go find her own worth. So my dad and I moved into a tiny one-bedroom apartment. He started working harder than ever, taking on any side gig he could find. The pay was never great, and it drained him completely. Clients were always late with their payments. But with his debts and a money-guzzling daughter to feed, he had no choice but to keep grinding. The easy, breezy smile he used to have, the one that reminded me of a clear mountain spring, slowly became clouded with the grit of real-world exhaustion. That’s when the first rich divorcee showed up. She was a client a colleague had referred, and she loved his translation work. She loved him even more. She wanted to “get to know him better.” That ended quickly, and he lost the client. Thankfully, he eventually found a good agency that gave him steady work, and our lives slowly stabilized. We finally reached a point where we didn’t have to meticulously budget every time I needed a new pair of jeans. But for years, I had the same recurring nightmare: my dad would leave with one of those rich women, and she’d decide I was too much baggage and leave me behind. I’d wake up in a cold sweat, tiptoeing out of my bed and using my phone’s flashlight to make sure he was still there. He never made me feel like baggage, though. He always called me the beautiful product of their love. But what happens when one half of that love decides they don’t want the product anymore? How long can something like that stay whole? 3 I was still trying to process the whiplash. One minute, I was haggling over the price of pork belly at the market, and the next, I was sitting in a lavish, gold-leafed private dining room, watching Leo Maxwell obsequiously pour my dad a glass of water. He and two guys built like refrigerators had literally bundled us into a black SUV and brought us here. “Dad, have some water. Please, make yourself at home,” Leo chirped, his voice dripping with eagerness. “My mom got held up with something, but she’ll be here any minute.” He carefully took the bag with the pork belly from my dad’s hands and set it aside as if it were a sacred artifact. My dad accepted the water with a polite nod, taking a small sip. Leo, ever the thoughtful host, hadn’t forgotten about his new “little sister.” He grunted as he heaved a gigantic gift box onto the table in front of me. “Ava, my sister! The guy at the bookstore said this is the ultimate SAT prep package. I bought you the whole set. Hope you like it!” I stared at the box, which came up to my shins. “How long is this supposed to take me?” I whispered in horror. I could probably write until my hand fell off and still not finish it all. I think he bought out the entire test prep section. Leo grinned, flashing a set of pearly white teeth, and waved his hand dismissively. “Do what you can! If you don’t finish, who cares? We’re loaded. Money is the one thing we’re not short on. As long as our dad agrees to marry our mom, I guarantee you’ll be living the high life.” I shot a desperate, frantic look at my dad. He just offered a helpless smile. To him, this was all just a kid’s over-the-top game, probably born from a deep-seated wish for a father. Teenagers, after all, were known for their dramatic whims. He and Leo fell into an easy conversation. They talked about school, about mental health, about the time Leo wet the bed as a kid, and the time I got into a fistfight in elementary school. A nostalgic look crossed my dad’s face. “Ava used to be so tiny,” he said, holding his hand up to his waist. “Maybe up to here on you. Some kid called her chubby, so she marched right up and punched him. Then she told him he was only skinny because his parents were too cheap to feed him properly, and that he looked like a beanpole.” Spurred on by Leo’s rapt attention, my dad pulled out his phone and started showing him my baby pictures. Leo stared at the photo of a chubby little girl on the screen with pure adoration. “She’s so cute! How could anyone call her chubby? If I had a little sister like that, I’d protect her from everything. Dad, don’t you worry. From now on, I’ll look out for Ava at school. I won’t let anyone mess with her.” He puffed out his chest and slapped it for emphasis. My dad smiled. “Well, thank you, Leo. That’s very kind of you. If you have time next week, you should come over to our place. I can cook for you. My specialties are beef brisket and braised pork. What are your favorite foods? I’ll make them for you.” Leo transformed. This was the same guy who was notoriously picky at the school cafeteria, but now he was the model of compliance. “Dad, I’ll eat anything! I’m not picky at all. Whatever you make is fine.” His voice grew quiet, and he looked down, as if wiping something from his eye. “It’s been a long time since I had a home-cooked meal. I… I just want to know what that feels like again.” That did it. My dad’s heart melted on the spot. His own parental instincts went into overdrive. He completely overlooked the “dad” thing. “Leo,” he said, gently placing a hand on the boy’s head. “Anytime you want a home-cooked meal, you come to my house. I’ll cook for you.” Leo seized the opportunity, wrapping his arms around my dad’s waist and burying his head in his stomach. “So this is what it feels like to have a dad,” he mumbled, his voice thick with emotion. My dad looked like he was about to cry, too. Ever since I was born, he’s had a massive soft spot for kids in need. He’s the guy who steps in when he sees another parent being too harsh, the one who brings homemade cookies to the neighbor’s kid. He’s the dream dad of every kid in our apartment building. I once heard a boy plotting with his mother: “Mom, you should divorce Dad. Mr. Collins is so much nicer. You could marry him, and he could be my new dad.” He earned a spanking for that, and his cries echoed through the entire building. Watching the two of them in this touching, bizarre tableau, I felt a wave of secondhand embarrassment so strong I wanted to crawl under the table. Just as I was seriously considering it, the door to the private room swung open. A woman with an aura of crisp, executive authority strode in. “Sorry I’m late,” she said. 4 She walked directly to my father and extended a hand. “Hello. I’m Isabelle Maxwell. I believe I’m your blind date for today.” Her voice was smooth and confident. “We’ve met before, briefly, so let’s skip the formalities.” My dad stared at her, completely stunned. It took him a few seconds to stand and shake her hand. “Hello,” he managed. He hesitated, then added, “Blind date? You mean…?” Isabelle smiled, pulling a sleek credit card from her purse and handing it to Leo. “Leo, darling, take your sister and do some shopping. Buy whatever you like.” She then turned her attention from my bewildered father to me. She knelt down, her sharp business demeanor softening as she gently smoothed my hair. “You must be Ava. It’s so lovely to finally meet you. I have a little welcome gift for you in the car; we can get it on your way out. Right now, I need to have a little chat with your father. Why don’t you go with your big brother Leo and have some fun? Don’t worry about saving my money.” And just like that, I was being half-dragged, half-escorted out of the room by Leo. “Don’t worry, sis,” he whispered conspiratorially. “We gotta give our parents some space to, you know, build a connection. Come on, let’s hit the mall! I’ll buy you designer bags, diamonds, whatever you want! We’ve got the cash!” The last thing I saw before the heavy door clicked shut was Isabelle Maxwell’s hand resting gently on my father’s. And he didn’t pull away. He didn’t pull away! I remember the second wealthy widow who tried her luck. She’d attempted a casual little hand-hold to “connect,” and my dad had recoiled like he’d been electrocuted, putting a solid six feet of distance between them. But now, with Isabelle, his hand was still in hers, and a faint blush was creeping up his neck. The only other person I’d ever seen him look at like that was my own mother. I think I’m actually getting a new mom. I wandered through the gleaming mall like a ghost, trailing behind a hyperactive Leo whose favorite new phrases were, “You like this, sis?” and “Silence means yes! Charge it!” I didn’t even have time to process the thought of my-dad-is-remarrying because I was too busy trying to fend off Leo’s relentless shopping spree. “No, no, that’s way too expensive!” “Please, stop, you’ve already bought too much.” He just waved his black card at the sales associate. “It’s not expensive if you don’t look at the price tag. Money is meant to be spent. The more you spend, the more motivated our mom will be to earn more.” The two bodyguards following us were quickly accumulating a mountain of shopping bags. I didn’t even want to count the number of zeroes on the price tag of the necklace he’d just bought. Leo was in a full-blown retail frenzy. Dear Dad, back in that private room, I thought desperately, for the love of God, just say yes to Ms. Maxwell. There’s no other way out of this. Selling us both into servitude wouldn’t even begin to cover this bill. 5 Things moved at lightning speed. Even though I’d braced myself, I was still caught off guard. To put it simply: an old flame, once rekindled, burns hotter than a wildfire. When middle-aged people fall in love, they don’t mess around. I watched my dad’s defenses crumble day by day. He was smiling more, a permanent, soft curve to his lips. There was a new light in his eyes, a springtime warmth that had been missing for years. And Isabelle looked at him with an undisguised, tender affection that melted her corporate armor. The air between them was so thick with chemistry it was practically visible. I had a feeling moving boxes were in our near future. Isabelle seemed ready to annex my father into her territory immediately. But they were both tactful enough to give Leo and me what they thought was an “adjustment period.” Leo, of course, needed no such thing. The moment it was semi-official, he broke down in a flood of tears, snot and all. “I’m finally going to have a dad,” he wailed. I passed him a tissue, feeling a profound sense of secondhand embarrassment. How did I ever mistake this guy for a school tyrant? He was just a big, overgrown kid with bleached hair and a leaky tear duct. Why did he want a father so badly? When my mom left, I was sad, but I was okay. If she and my dad had stayed together, they would have just grown to resent each other. They didn’t fall out of love; they just weren’t compatible anymore. Separating was the kindest thing they could do for each other. They were always honest with me about it, and I understood. Before I could even ask, Leo, red-eyed and looking a little pathetic, started explaining on his own. The usual happy-go-lucky mask he wore had slipped, revealing a rare glimpse of melancholy. “You probably think I’m being super dramatic, don’t you, Ava?” Everyone has their own way of dealing with things. I wasn’t going to judge. He looked at me earnestly. “Maybe it seems like I’m overreacting, but I really, really want your dad to be my dad. I’ve wanted a dad for a long, long time. And I want my mom to have someone who will truly be her partner for the rest of her life.” He wiped his eyes and gave a self-deprecating laugh. “You know, my parents were the ‘it’ couple of their social circle back in the day. You can still hear people talk about what a shame it was they divorced. But if it doesn’t fit, it doesn’t fit. When I was a kid, my dad used me as a weapon against her. He knew my nanny was awful to me, but he did nothing about it. He wanted to force my mom to quit her job and come home to take care of me herself. He’d coach me, tell me to cry and beg my mom to stop working so much and pay more attention to our family.” “For a while, I did resent her,” he admitted. “I thought it was all her fault, that if she wasn’t so obsessed with her career, I wouldn’t be the kid with a broken home. All I had was a cold, empty house full of stuff I didn’t want.” “But as I got older, I realized how lucky I was that she didn’t give up her career for me. That man, my biological father, had the exact same job as her, but he always acted like her work was less valuable. Like she was the one who was supposed to make all the sacrifices for the family, just because she was a woman. That’s not fair. Before they got married, he loved that she was brilliant and ambitious. After, he wanted to use me to chain her to the house. My mom is Isabelle Maxwell, the CEO of a major corporation! She’s supposed to be out there, shining.” “If he wanted a trophy wife, he shouldn’t have married a titan,” Leo said, his head held high with pride, like a peacock admiring its own feathers. I couldn’t help but be impressed. “You figured all that out? That’s really smart.” He tossed his blond hair. “Of course. I have to be smart if I’m going to be your brother. What really pissed me off was how he remarried and had new kids almost immediately after the divorce. Like, why does he get to have a happy, perfect family while my mom is supposed to be alone? It made it seem like she was the problem. I couldn’t choose my first dad, but I’ll be damned if I don’t get to choose my next one. And our dad is a million times better than that guy.” He was so fired up, so fiercely loyal. I gave him a genuine thumbs-up. A true filial son of the modern age. And he had good taste. My dad was a gem—a kind, gentle, honorable man. For that speech alone, I decided, I would accept him as my brother. Wholeheartedly. 6 So, here we are. My dad and Isabelle are head-over-heels, just one trip to the courthouse away from making it official. They’re adults; they know what they’re doing. At first, my dad was worried about me, wanting to have a “big talk” to make sure I was okay with everything. But he was talking to me. Ava Collins. An emotional capybara, steadfast and unbothered. A human water pig. When he and my mom got divorced, I didn’t cry or throw a tantrum. I just accepted it. You can’t hold onto sand, so you might as well let it go. If my parents couldn’t walk the same path anymore, it was better for them to part ways. Was I supposed to scream and kick and chain them together? I learned at age three that throwing a fit just gets your clothes dirty. It’s not my style. Even if I was sad, even if I was scared. And I knew this was inevitable now. I couldn’t selfishly keep my dad from finding love again. If Leo, with his failing math grades, could figure that out, then so could I. He was already calling my dad “Dad” with zero hesitation. The least I could do was not embarrass my own father. So, while Dad was away on a business trip this week, I accepted my future stepmom’s invitation to stay at her place. The official reason was to help tutor my future brother. Unofficially, it was a trial run. And frankly, his grades were so atrocious I couldn’t stand by and do nothing. I even suggested to Isabelle that we hire him a team of tutors. Summer break was coming up; it was time for academic boot camp. Leo, blissfully unaware of the rigorous educational future I was plotting for him, was all smiles as we walked out of school together. “Hey, sis! You wanna get that Thai food you liked last time? I promised our dad I’d fatten you up while he was gone.” I nodded. “Sure. But you have to finish your math homework tonight. You got a 30 on the last test. Out of 150. Leo, even a 60 would be an improvement.” The mere mention of his test scores made him deflate like a punctured balloon. I sighed. Before I could offer a word of encouragement, a voice I hadn’t heard in years sliced through the air, freezing me in place. “Ava.” It was cool and clear, yet laced with a soft, hopeful warmth. I turned toward the sound, my heart stuttering. The woman standing there was just as beautiful as I remembered, radiant and luminous, like a sliver of moonlight gracing the earth. Maybe even more beautiful than when she’d left. The two words I had locked away for three years tumbled out of my mouth in a daze. “Mom.”

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