Ten years ago, a car crash stole my memory. I was a woman who swore she’d never marry. My parents saw their chance. They handed me over to the man they’d chosen, Ethan Thorne. But Ethan despised me. His heart belonged to someone else—the one that got away. Marrying me was just an obligation, a concession to his family’s pressure. I thought a child might bridge the chasm between us, but after our son was born, Ethan started bringing her home. And Aidan, my son, who used to cling to my leg, slowly turned against me. He learned that insulting me was the quickest way to win his father’s approval, and hers. They looked just like a family. A perfect, happy family of three. Then, over something trivial, Aidan shoved me down the stairs. I hit my head. And in the sterile quiet of a hospital room, I woke up. I remembered everything. 1 The flood of information was overwhelming, a decade of a life I didn’t choose crashing down on me all at once. My mother was sobbing beside the bed, a frantic, grating sound that made my head throb. A vein pulsed violently at my temple. “Stop crying.” Her tears choked off instantly. I frowned, the skin between my brows tight. “How is what you did any different from human trafficking?” “I’m sorry, Clara,” she whispered, her eyes red-rimmed and pleading. “Your father and I… we just wanted to see you settled. To have a family.” My gaze dropped to the burn on the back of my hand, the skin still puckered and angry. I’d gotten it a few days ago, making soup for my husband and son. Neither of them took a single bite. Aidan dumped the entire pot down the toilet, claiming the sight of it made him sick. Seeing my silence, my mother reached for my hand. “Clara, look, you have a child now. He’s a wonderful boy. Can’t you just… try to make a life with Ethan? For Aidan’s sake?” I pulled my hand from her grasp. “I’ll think about it.” My mind was a chaotic storm. I never wanted to get married. I certainly never felt equipped to raise a child. But the facts were unavoidable. The damage was done. It felt like I’d woken up from a long sleep to find my world had ended. Just then, the door swung open and Ethan walked in. His eyes flickered to the white gauze wrapped around my head before his face settled into its usual cold mask. “Are you okay?” he asked, his tone flat. “I’m fine.” His voice deepened, already shifting into a defensive posture. “Aidan didn’t mean to push you,” he said. “You can’t put all the blame on him.” He turned toward the door. “Aidan. Come in here and apologize to your mother.” A bitter, ironic laugh caught in my throat. Aidan. For Ava. The son I had given birth to was just another piece of their twisted fantasy. Aidan shuffled in, his face set in a sullen pout. He stood by my bed, silent, refusing to speak. My mother gave him a gentle nudge. “Go on, sweetie. Apologize to Mommy.” He mumbled it, the words barely audible and dripping with resentment. “Sorry.” “Okay.” Aidan’s eyes widened in surprise. He was expecting the usual routine: me rushing to comfort him, absolving him of all blame, probably even apologizing for being in his way. My mother quickly stepped in to smooth things over. “Well, that’s that! All settled. We’ll just let bygones be bygones.” She smiled brightly. “I’ll drive you all home.” 2 Back in the house that had never felt like mine, Ethan grabbed his car keys from the hook by the door. “You should get started on dinner. Aidan hasn’t eaten yet.” “I’m heading back to the office,” he added, shrugging on his coat. “Don’t wait up.” He was out the door before I could respond. I stood in the kitchen, surrounded by gleaming appliances and expensive cookware, and felt a strange, detached sense of familiarity. The woman I was before the accident couldn’t cook to save her life. This woman, this ten-year stranger, could apparently prepare a gourmet meal. The hands that had once played piano and held a paintbrush were now covered in calluses, rough as sandpaper. “What are you doing? Why aren’t you cooking? I’m hungry.” Aidan stood behind me, his small face dark with impatience. I pressed my lips together and turned to the sink, my movements stiff as I started washing vegetables. He watched me for a moment longer, then, satisfied, left the kitchen. When the food was ready, I set the steaming plates on the dining room table. Aidan took one bite and slammed his fork down. “This is disgusting,” he spat. “Can’t you do anything right? You’ve been cooking for ten years and you’re still terrible at it.” I sat down and calmly tasted each dish. They weren’t terrible. In fact, they were good—as good as anything our family chef used to make. Aidan muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear. “Useless. Can’t even cook.” He sighed dramatically. “Not like Aunt Ava. She can paint, and she knows how to race cars. She can do anything.” He looked me right in the eye. “I don’t know why Dad ever married you. You’re nothing compared to her.” His words, sharp and practiced, hung in the air. Expressionless, I reached over and took his plate away. “If you don’t like it, you don’t have to eat it.” His jaw dropped, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Are you trying to starve me?” A muscle tightened in my cheek. “You’re the one who said it was disgusting.” “So make me something else!” he demanded, his face flushing with anger. “I’m not your maid.” I turned my attention back to my own plate and continued eating. With a furious scream, Aidan kicked the leg of the table, jumped down from his chair, and stormed off to his room. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang. 3 “Why didn’t you feed our son?” Ethan was home, his face a thunderous mask as he confronted me in the living room. “Aidan didn’t mean to push you, Clara. Do you really need to be this petty with a seven-year-old?” I glanced past Ethan’s shoulder. Aidan’s bedroom door was cracked open, a sliver of light cutting through the darkness. I could feel him watching, listening. When my eyes met the crack, the door silently closed. “He said my cooking was disgusting,” I said, my voice even. I met Ethan’s gaze directly, without the fear and deference he was used to. He yanked at his tie, his voice rising. “So you make him something else! He’s a child, for God’s sake. You can’t just let him go hungry.” A softer figure appeared behind him. Ava. She slid her arm through Ethan’s, her touch instantly calming him. “Ethan, darling, don’t shout,” she murmured, her voice like honey. “You’ll frighten Clara.” She looked at me, a picture of gentle concern. “We can talk about this calmly.” Ethan’s posture relaxed. He took her hand, his expression softening. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just got worked up.” He looked at Ava, his eyes full of a tenderness I had never seen. “Did I scare you?” She shook her head, her smile serene. “Just don’t get so angry. It’s not good for you.” I was used to this. Used to Ava being a permanent fixture in our home. After Aidan was born, she was here constantly. She spent every Christmas with us. Every New Year’s Eve, the three of them would go outside to light fireworks, a perfect family portrait against the night sky, while I was inside, cleaning up the dinner party they’d left behind. I had swallowed my pride and endured this humiliation for a decade. And in that moment, something inside me finally snapped. I had lived ten years of this pathetic, suffocating lie, all because of a memory I’d lost. Now that it was back, why should I live this way for one more second? “I want a divorce.” “What did you say?” Ethan’s voice was sharp with disbelief. “A divorce.” He stared at me for a beat, then let out a short, incredulous laugh, as if I’d told the most absurd joke in the world. “Your family was the one who forced this marriage on me, and now you want a divorce?” “Clara, don’t be impulsive,” Ava said, her eyes welling with manufactured tears. She let go of Ethan’s arm and stepped toward me. “Is it because of me and Ethan? Did you misunderstand something?” She looked heartbroken. “I’ll keep my distance from now on, I promise. Please, don’t do this. Don’t let Aidan grow up without a mother.” The performance was so flawless it made my stomach turn. I had fallen for it before. The old, amnesiac Clara would have believed her, only for Ava to run to Ethan later, twisting my words and making me seem like the villain. It was a game they played, a game that had steadily poisoned my husband and son against me. “My lawyer will be in touch with you to discuss the details.” I didn’t waste another word. I walked past them and started packing a suitcase. “Stop playing these games, Clara,” Ethan snarled from behind me, his voice laced with contempt. “Your pathetic little schemes don’t work on me.” He stormed out. Ava shot me a triumphant, pitying look before hurrying after him. “Ethan!” 4 Aidan stood in my doorway, beaming. “Are you really leaving?” I didn’t answer him. He clapped his hands together, practically dancing with excitement. “Great! After you’re gone, Aunt Ava can be my new mom!” My hands paused for a fraction of a second over the suitcase before moving even faster. I had to get out of this house. The stupidity of the child, the insanity of the man—it was suffocating. Aidan kicked the side of my suitcase. “Hurry up. Pack your stuff and get out.” He narrowed his eyes, mimicking his father’s disdainful expression. “You’re dragging this out on purpose, aren’t you? Trying to think of some new trick.” He scoffed. “Dad was right. You’re a nasty woman, full of bad ideas.” A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and humorless. For years, I had treated this boy like he was the center of my universe. And now he was telling me to get out, calling me a nasty woman. You could raise a dog for seven years, and it would at least wag its tail when it saw you. I had raised a son for seven years, and he wanted someone else to be his mother. Ethan’s genes were truly something else. I zipped the suitcase shut and walked past him without a word. As I reached the front door, he called out, his voice giddy with victory. “Don’t bother coming back! Nobody wants you here. Aunt Ava is my real mom. She’s the lady of this house now.” 5 After leaving the Thorne residence, I went to my own villa—a place Ethan knew nothing about. A text from him came through: Where did you go? Without hesitating, I deleted and blocked his number, along with all his social media profiles. He didn’t know about the properties in my name; I wasn’t worried about him finding me. But you should never tempt fate. It has a way of slapping you in the face. The next day, Ethan was standing on my doorstep, his face dark as a storm cloud. Without a doubt, my parents had sold me out. Again. “What are you doing here?” I asked, holding the door open just a crack. He reached for my arm. “Come home.” I recoiled, pulling back before he could touch me. “I wasn’t joking about the divorce.” He frowned, his expression a mask of genuine confusion. “You want to end our marriage just because Aidan accidentally pushed you down the stairs? He apologized, Clara. What more do you want?” He sounded exasperated. “Is it really worth throwing everything away over one little incident?” I took a deep breath, forcing down the rage that threatened to boil over. “Mr. Thorne, a divorce is the best option for both of us. You’ll be free to pursue your great love and be with the person you actually want. And I can finally live the life I want.” He laughed, a bitter, angry sound. “The life you want? Isn’t that with me? A happy family of three? Isn’t that why your mother called me, pressuring me to come get you?” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a low snarl. “Stop the act, Clara. I know your games.” I had told my mother last night I was leaving him. I should have known she wouldn’t listen. His anger washed over me, but I remained perfectly still, my face a blank canvas. “That was their dream, Ethan. Not mine.” My voice was calm, clear. “And I will make it clear to them that they are to stay out of our business from now on.” His brow furrowed, skepticism etched into every line on his face. “I never wanted to get married,” I explained. “My parents took advantage of my amnesia after the accident. They lied to me. Now, my memory is back. And I want my own life back.” I paused, looking him directly in the eye. “I am sorry that you were forced to marry me. I truly am. But for the last ten years… you owe me an apology, too.” Ethan froze. His pupils dilated, his face a kaleidoscope of shock and disbelief. “Pick a day,” I said, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Let’s go sign the papers.” 6 After Ethan left, I drove straight to my parents’ house to settle the score. I found them in the living room, sipping tea and watching television, looking startled by my sudden arrival. I dropped onto the sofa without a word. Mrs. Chen, our longtime housekeeper and a master at reading the room, immediately appeared with a glass of my favorite mango juice, a silent offering of peace. “Mrs. Chen, could you give us a minute? I need to speak with my parents alone.” She glanced nervously at the couple, who were practically begging her with their eyes to stay. Then she looked at my face, which was as black as thunder. She wisely chose to obey me, disappearing back into the kitchen. “Clara,” my father began, his voice trembling slightly. “What a nice surprise. What brings you home today?” “Have you decided to formally adopt Ethan as your son?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Planning on handing the company over to him?” They both waved their hands frantically. “No, no, of course not!” my mother insisted. “We’ve doted on you since you were a little girl. Why would we ever do that?” My eyes narrowed. “Then why did you lie to me? Why did you make me marry him?” “We just wanted to see you settled,” my mother stammered. “Happy.” “Happy?” I repeated. “Do you have any idea what my life has been like for the past ten years?” She looked genuinely surprised. “But your mother-in-law always said you two were so happy together. And you seemed to like Ethan so much.” She wrung her hands. “He was always so good to you, so respectful to us. He did whatever I asked.” I held out my hand, showing them the angry red burn. “This is what your ‘good son-in-law’ looks like.” I lowered my hand. “A person with no memory who is forced into a marriage doesn’t fall in love. She becomes dependent on her husband because she has no one else. That isn’t love.” I stood up, my voice hard as steel. “Instead of trying to stop me from getting a divorce, why don’t you do some research into what he’s actually been doing for the last decade.” “I am divorcing him. And I don’t want the child.” My voice didn’t waver. “I will not raise a child who has already betrayed me.”

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The call came just as I was wiping down the marble countertop of the patisserie, the scent of sugar and browned butter clinging to the air. “Hello? Where are the fifty strawberry chiffon cakes I ordered?” The voice was sharp, laced with an impatience that set my teeth on edge. I frowned, my mind instantly scrolling through the day’s orders. A fifty-cake order? I’d remember that. It would have been half my day. After a quick double-check of our system, I confirmed my suspicion. Nothing. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry, but we don’t seem to have an order under that description. Is it possible you called a different bakery?” The line went silent for a beat, then a click. She’d hung up. I shrugged it off. A simple mistake. Ten minutes later, the same number flashed on the caller ID. “What is wrong with you people? I just called to chase my order. Are you stupid?” This time, before I could even form a response, she hung up again. The final call came just as I was about to lock up for the evening. “Are you trying to go out of business? You took my money. Where is my product?” I pressed my fingers to my temples, forcing down a wave of exhaustion and anger. I took a slow, calming breath. “Ma’am,” I said, my voice measured. “Could you please send me a screenshot of your order confirmation? I’d be happy to sort this out for you.” “What did you just say to me?” Her voice pitched into a shriek. “Are you calling me a liar?” Later that evening, an email landed in my inbox from the corporate head office. A formal complaint had been filed against me. The reason: Moral turpitude. Seducing a married man. 1 My head was spinning with rage. The call from my regional manager, a man whose voice dripped with condescending, father-knows-best bullshit, did nothing to help. “Clara, look, I’m not trying to tell you how to live your life,” he’d said, “but you’re a young woman. You need to focus on hard work, not take shortcuts.” “What are you talking about? Shortcuts?” “I’ve smoothed this over for now,” he continued, ignoring my question. “Just make sure it doesn’t happen again.” The moment I hung up, the bell on the shop door chimed violently as it was shoved open. A woman, impeccably dressed in a style that screamed ‘I have more money than taste,’ stormed in. She pointed a perfectly manicured finger directly at me. “It’s you, isn’t it?” she spat. “Store manager at your age. Who’d you have to sleep with to get this job?” Only a few customers were lingering, finishing their evening coffee. The air crackled with tension. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my composure. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Do you have any proof for these accusations? Because without it, this is slander, and I am well within my rights to call the police.” She didn’t flinch. Instead, she threw her head back and laughed, a shrill, ugly sound. It was as if I’d told the funniest joke in the world. Her heels clicked menacingly on the tile floor as she advanced on me. With a single, fluid motion, she swept an entire tray of our signature macarons off the display counter. They scattered across the floor like shattered jewels. My youngest employee, a sweet girl fresh out of high school, gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. The woman was still yelling. “The police? Go on, call them! You think you have the right after the disgusting things you’ve done?” She leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial hiss, loud enough for the whole shop to hear. “I get it. Girls like you, from nothing, you have to claw your way up. You see a rich man and you latch on.” Her eyes narrowed into slits. “But you don’t touch my man. He is not for trash like you to even look at.” Her voice, sharp and piercing, had drawn a small crowd of onlookers who were now peering in through the front window. I felt my cheeks burn. “Who is your man?” I asked, my voice tight. “And who the hell are you?” “Still playing dumb!” she shrieked, her face contorting with rage. She cast a proprietary, bitter glance around my beautiful shop—the shop I had poured my life into. “The man who owns this entire bakery franchise is my father. You’re asking me who I am?” She turned to her audience. “Everyone, come and see! This slut is trying to sleep her way to the top by seducing a married man, and now she has the nerve to give me attitude!” Her dad? A vein throbbed in my temple. This bakery, Sweet Blooms Patisserie, was a well-known national chain. I’d paid a two-million-dollar franchise fee, every cent from my own accounts, to open this location. And I knew the founder of the company personally. He didn’t have a daughter. The woman was relentless. “My husband came in the other day to buy me some macarons. He told me how you were batting your eyelashes at him, how you made sure to touch his hand when you gave him his change. You whore.” I stared at her like she was insane. Her long, glittering nails were inches from my face. And then, I laughed. A real, genuine laugh. The sound of it startled her into silence. Even the onlookers outside seemed to hold their breath. “I have no idea who your husband is,” I said, my voice steady now. “But by all means, have him come here. I’d love to have a chat with him, face to face.” “Have him come here?” She smirked, a triumphant, ‘I-knew-it’ expression spreading across her face. “So you can try to seduce him again, right in front of me? I’m not that stupid.” I was fighting a losing battle against the fury boiling inside me. “This shop is mine. I paid the two-million-dollar franchise fee in full. Even if you were the founder’s daughter, you have no right to come in here and spread these lies.” “Two million?” She made a sound of disgust. “Please.” She looked me up and down with utter contempt. “Where did a girl like you get two million dollars? On your knees?” A few snickers erupted from the crowd outside. My young employee, her face bright red, stepped forward. “That’s not true! Our manager isn’t like that at all, she…” The woman cut her off with a wave of her hand. “Oh, look, she’s brainwashed the little helper. Or is everyone who works in this store a cheap tramp?” That was it. My composure, stretched thin for so long, finally snapped. I slammed my palm down on the marble counter. “Shut your mouth.” 2 The sharp crack echoed through the shop, silencing everything. Even the faces peering through the window went still. I fixed my eyes on the woman. “You’d better have evidence for every single thing you just said,” I said, my voice low and cold. “Because when I call the police, and I will, you’re going to be in a lot of trouble.” I pulled out my phone and dialed the first two digits of 911, making sure she could see. Her eyes widened slightly. With a swift movement, she knocked the phone out of my hand. It clattered to the floor. She hadn’t expected me to actually do it. She grit her teeth, her carefully constructed outrage faltering. “This isn’t over,” she hissed, before turning on her heel and storming out of the shop. The drama, for now, was over. My employee rushed to my side. “Clara, are you okay?” “I’m fine,” I said, my heart still hammering against my ribs. I took a few deep breaths to steady myself. I thought that would be the end of it. But the next day, a man in a tailored suit walked into the shop. It was Ethan. A guy I knew from high school. He apologized profusely, his expression pained and helpless. It was only then that I understood. He was the husband. The one who’d supposedly bought macarons. Except, I hadn’t even been the one to serve him. Ethan’s apology was so sincere it was almost a plea. “Clara, please, can we just let this go? Mimi… she’s just been spoiled by her family her whole life. She doesn’t mean any harm.” He wrung his hands. “And besides, no real harm was done, right? You’re running a business. It’s always better to keep the peace.” His words sat badly in my stomach, a sour mix of condescension and cowardice. But I was tired of the drama. I just wanted it to be over. As he said, keep the peace. As long as this Mimi woman stayed away from me and my shop, I was willing to let it drop. Just when I thought it was settled, Ethan, who had already left, reappeared in the doorway. He looked deeply uncomfortable, his eyes refusing to meet mine. “Clara, can you just… can you just tell my wife that we barely know each other?” That’s when I noticed his phone was still active, propped up in his hand. A video call. I shot him an incredulous look before turning my attention to the phone. “That’s right,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t know him.” Ethan let out a visible sigh of relief. But his relief was short-lived. A shrill voice erupted from the phone’s speaker. It was her. Mimi. “Then why are you meeting with him? There’s no such thing as a ‘platonic friendship’ between a man and a woman!” Ethan sighed heavily, turning his back to me and lowering his voice. “Honey, I promise, there is nothing between us. In every way that matters—family, looks, status—she can’t hold a candle to you.” That was the compliment that finally seemed to soothe her. But his words were like acid in my ears. I looked at the smug, triumphant face of Mimi on the screen, then at the spineless man standing in front of me, debasing me to pacify his unhinged wife. Suddenly, all my attempts at taking the high road felt like a joke. “Ethan.” The smile was gone from my face. “Whatever is going on between you two is your business. But you don’t get to placate her by insulting me. It shows a stunning lack of class.” Ethan’s face turned a blotchy, furious red. His eyes were filled with resentment, but he didn’t say a word. Mimi, on the other hand, exploded. “You bitch! You’re flirting with him right in front of my face!” Her tirade then shifted to her husband. “And you, Ethan! Did I give you permission to see her? How dare you go behind my back!” Ethan was a man who cared deeply about appearances. I could see the profound humiliation washing over him. He looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole. Unable to stand up to Mimi, he redirected his anger at the only person he could: me. “Clara, my wife doesn’t like you,” he said, his voice stiff. “From now on, if we see each other, we’re strangers.” Hearing her husband defend her so staunchly, Mimi’s voice on the phone became sickeningly sweet with victory. She decided to push her advantage. “Clara, is it? I’m a kind person, really. I don’t want you to lose your job over this.” Her tone was pure condescension. “So here’s what’s going to happen. To put my mind at ease, you’re going to come to my house.” She paused for dramatic effect. “I’m going to personally install monitoring software on your phone. And you’re going to give me administrative access to the security cameras in your bakery.” 3 I thought I had misheard. Naturally, I refused. I was done with this conversation. I was done with them. I pointed a trembling finger at the door. “Get. Out.” Ethan’s face was a mask of fury. He shot me a hateful look, clutched his phone, and walked out. Even from outside, I could hear Mimi’s voice, relentless and shrill. “No, that’s not good enough! She didn’t agree! I need to be able to watch her!” “You need to order her to come to the house right now! I have to inspect her phone!” Ethan’s low, placating murmurs faded as they walked away. … I let out a long, shaky breath. My young employee came over, her eyes wide with worry. “Clara… they don’t seem like the type to give up.” “I know,” I said, my mind already racing. Sure enough, three days later, Mimi returned. She was clinging to Ethan’s arm, and behind them trailed a small group of men. I recognized one of them instantly: Mr. Davies, the regional manager from corporate. Davies, a portly man with a perpetually sweaty brow, didn’t waste any time. He pointed a fat finger at me and started shouting. “What is wrong with you? First, you’re taking money from customers and not providing the product, and now you’re seducing them? Clara, you’re destroying the reputation of our brand!” I didn’t argue. I calmly turned to my terminal, pulled up the transaction logs from the banking system for the entire week, and printed them out. “As you can see,” I said, sliding the paper across the counter, “the fifty-cake order Mrs. Pierce mentioned never existed. So there was no ‘taking money and not providing product.’ What I’m more concerned about is why corporate headquarters would convict one of its franchisees based on an unsubstantiated complaint. It makes me question your entire management protocol.” Mr. Davies didn’t even glance at the records. He slammed his hand on the counter. “Are you talking back to me? When I say you’re wrong, you’re wrong!” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial roar. “Do you have any idea who Mrs. Pierce is? She’s the daughter of the President of our parent company! You think you can afford to cross her?” He was practically spraying spittle in my face. Beside him, Mimi’s chin was so high in the air it was a wonder she didn’t lose her balance. Ethan stood slightly behind her, watching the scene unfold with a cold detachment. There was a flicker of pity in his eyes—the kind of pity reserved for the gods on Olympus looking down on the squabbles of mortals. I almost smiled. The President of the parent company had only one child—my childhood best friend. The entire reason I chose to franchise with this brand was because our families were so close. Could it be? Did Uncle David have a secret daughter I never knew about? Mimi let out a derisive snort, snapping me back to the present. She tapped my forehead with a long, sharp, bejeweled nail. “Did you hear that? My father owns the whole company. You’re just a cheap whore who sells her body for money. How dare you argue?” Ethan stepped forward then, his face a mask of patronizing concern. “Clara, I know you’ve worked hard to get where you are. Just apologize to Mimi. Beg for her forgiveness. It’s the easiest way.” I ignored him, my gaze fixed on Mimi. “You’re certain your father is the President of the parent company?” “What a stupid question. Of course I know who my own father is.” As if on cue, her phone rang. A man’s voice, deep and indulgent, boomed from the speaker. “My darling daughter, I heard someone was giving you trouble. Does Daddy need to step in?” Mimi shot me a triumphant glare. Before she could reply, Mr. Davies was already bowing and scraping to the phone. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t worry! I will make sure to give your daughter a satisfactory resolution.” My brow furrowed. That wasn’t Uncle David’s voice. A wave of relief washed over me. Thank God. Uncle David hadn’t made some terrible mistake. Leo would have been devastated. After the call ended, Mimi was practically glowing with smug satisfaction. She held out her hand as if bestowing a great honor. “Alright. Hand over your phone. I’m going to check it and install the monitoring software.” “You’re insane.” I didn’t give her my phone. Instead, I quickly typed out a text to Leo. [Hey, get over here. I think you have a new sister.] 4 Leo’s reply was instantaneous. A single, massive question mark. Mimi’s sharp eyes caught sight of my screen. “Oh? Already lining up your next sugar daddy?” “You should really try to clean up your vocabulary,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “When your own mind is filthy, you assume everyone else is, too.” My words had barely left my mouth when a hand cracked across my face. The slap was so hard my ears rang. Mimi stood over me, her teeth bared, her face a mask of fury. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you? A piece of trash like you has no right to be so arrogant.” She gestured to Mr. Davies. He moved immediately, locking the front door of the shop. The men she’d brought with her moved forward, forming a tight, intimidating circle around me. “Are you crazy?” I asked, backing away slowly. My assistant had called in sick today; I was completely alone. The odds were not in my favor. Mimi lifted her chin. “Go on,” she said to the men. “Strip her.” The men exchanged uneasy glances. Mr. Davies swallowed hard. For all his bluster, he was a corporate drone, not a gangster. He hesitated. “Miss… Miss Sterling… maybe this is going too far?” he stammered, shrinking back. Even Ethan looked alarmed. He leaned in and whispered to Mimi, “Mimi, let’s just teach her a lesson. We don’t need to take it this far.” “What are you afraid of?” she snapped, her eyes wild. “Anything that happens, I’ll take full responsibility.” She glared at the hesitant men, her rage growing with every second of their inaction. Finally, she lost her patience. She lunged at me herself, knocking my phone to the ground and clawing at my clothes. Luckily, I was wearing a simple tracksuit, and the fabric was durable. She tugged and pulled, but it held. I fought back, twisting away from her grasp. The next time she lunged, I sidestepped. Mimi, propelled by her own momentum, stumbled and fell hard. The room went silent. Everyone froze. Ethan rushed to her side, his face pale with panic. “Mimi, are you hurt?” He helped her to her feet, then turned to glower at me. “Clara, I thought you were smarter than this. How could you be so violent?” He cradled Mimi’s arm as if she were made of glass. “My wife is a delicate woman, raised in luxury. You couldn’t just let her be?” Mimi was a whirlwind of emotions—furious that Ethan hadn’t helped her sooner, but touched by his fierce defense of her now. Conflicted, she channeled her rage toward the easiest target: Mr. Davies. “You’re fired! Do you hear me? One word from me and you’ll be out on the street!” That threat was all it took. Mr. Davies’s face went white with fear. He shot a look at the other men, a silent, desperate command. This time, they didn’t hesitate. They grabbed me. Two of them pinned my arms behind my back, forcing me to the ground. I struggled, but it was useless. I was trapped, helpless. As Mimi raised her hand to slap me again, I gritted my teeth and shouted, “I’m the daughter of the CEO of the Rhodes Group! You touch me, and you’ll regret it.” For a brief second, everyone froze. Ethan frowned. “That’s impossible,” he said, his voice laced with doubt. “In high school, you were just a normal kid. There’s no way you’re the daughter of a billionaire.” My heart sank. My father had always insisted I maintain a low profile. To fit in at school, I’d deliberately downplayed my family’s wealth. Mimi burst out laughing. “Pathetic!” She lifted her foot and brought her sharp heel down hard on my head. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes. I felt a warm trickle of blood run down my temple, and the room began to swim. But Mimi wasn’t satisfied. “Hold her down!” she shrieked, pulling out her own phone and starting to record. “Get her clothes off. I want everyone to see this slut for who she really is.” The men looked torn. This was a crime. A serious one. But their fear of losing their jobs was greater than their fear of the law. They took a deep breath and reached for my jacket. Just as the fabric was about to tear, just as a wave of pure despair washed over me, the front door of the shop crashed open. Silhouetted against the bright afternoon light was a familiar, slightly stooped figure.

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To welcome my son’s girlfriend for her first visit, I’d orchestrated the evening with the precision of a state dinner. The warm, lively atmosphere at the dining table shattered the moment Leo said the word, “Mom.” His girlfriend’s eyes raked over me, sharp as a surgeon’s scalpel, her brow furrowed in a tight knot. She turned to my son, her voice laced with venom. “So this is the ‘sweet stepmom’ you told me about? The one you’re so close with?” She made a small, contemptuous sound. “A young widow and a boy turning into a man, all alone in a big house,” she continued, each word a deliberate sting. “It’s a tinderbox waiting for a match, isn’t it?” Leo and I froze, the words hanging in the air between us like poison. But then she just waved a dismissive hand, her face morphing into a mask of magnanimity. “Whatever. It’s not a big deal,” she announced. “I get it. This whole taboo stepmom thing is a popular fantasy, right? We’ll just… turn the page.” 1 Leo had told me he was bringing his girlfriend, Krystal, home to meet me. They’d been together for two years, and marriage was on the horizon. That day, I had the house staff polish every surface until it gleamed and arranged for a lavish dinner to be catered from a Michelin-starred restaurant. “We’re home!” I heard Leo’s cheerful voice from the second-floor landing. As I descended the staircase, I saw him sorting through a small mountain of luggage. Standing beside him, engrossed in her phone, was a petite, pretty girl. “This is my girlfriend, Krystal.” Krystal finally looked up from her screen, her gaze sweeping over me for a fraction of a second before being drawn to the soaring ceilings and expensive decor of the foyer. She said nothing. She was the woman Leo loved, and this was her first time in our home. I took a deep breath, forced a smile, and stepped forward to greet her. By lunch, I was trying to bridge the awkward silence. I used the serving utensils to place a delicate piece of Chilean Sea Bass on her plate. “This is the restaurant’s signature dish,” I said warmly. “It’s exquisite. Even their regulars have to order it weeks in advance. You have to try it.” Leo chimed in, oblivious. “Yeah! The sea bass is the best thing they make. It’s Mom’s favorite. You’ll love it!” The effect was instantaneous. Krystal, who had been smiling just a moment before, went rigid. Her face darkened, her knuckles white around her fork. “Leo, what did you just call her? She’s too young to be your mother.” Leo blinked. “Didn’t I tell you? My parents passed away when I was young. My stepmom, Ava, raised me. It’s always just been the two of us.” Krystal’s face was a storm cloud. Her eyes darted between me and Leo as if she were connecting invisible, sordid dots. Finally, while Leo and I were still trying to understand what was happening, she slammed her fork down on the table. “If I had known you had a ‘stepmom’ like this,” she spat, “why would I have even come here?!” Leo and I just stared at each other, speechless. She shoved her plate away. It didn’t break, but rice and fish flew across the table, splattering my face and my silk blouse. “The sea bass? What exactly were you trying to say with this dish, Ava?” she sneered. “A little reminder that even though Leo and I are in love, his taste is still your taste? That you’re the queen of this castle?” “You look like you’re in your thirties. How much older are you than him, really? A widow who never remarried, choosing instead to stay here and raise this handsome young man? Don’t insult my intelligence. I know exactly what kind of arrangement you two have.” What in God’s name was she talking about? Leo finally snapped out of his stupor. “Krystal, what is wrong with you? Have you lost your mind? Ava is my mother! Our relationship is completely platonic! I love her like my own mom!” he insisted. “And you know how I feel about you!” I sighed, about to murmur some platitude to smooth things over. But Krystal violently pushed Leo away. She glared at me, her eyes burning with a hatred so intense it was as if I’d stolen him from her right then and there. “Relax. Both of you,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “I’m not an idiot. I’ll keep your dirty little secret.” Then her eyes welled up with crocodile tears. “Ava, you’re still a beautiful woman, and I know it hasn’t been easy raising Leo all these years.” “But you can’t use that as leverage to emotionally blackmail my boyfriend! I won’t allow it!” In all my years, I had never encountered a creature so thoroughly delusional. If this lunch continued, I was certain my composure would crack. It was better to let Leo handle it. Young couples fight; they would sort it out. “I’m full,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “You two eat. Your room is on the second floor. It’s been prepared.” I turned to leave. “Oh, finally found your sense of shame?” Krystal’s voice followed me, sharp and ugly. “What kind of ‘stepmom’ raises a boy in every sense of the word, huh?” “What are you even imagining? Nothing ever happened!” Leo’s voice rose, pulling her back into an argument that quickly escalated into a full-blown shouting match. I closed my bedroom door, and the world finally went quiet. I didn’t see either of them until dinner. When I came down to the dining room, the table was set, but Leo was nowhere to be seen. He wasn’t answering my texts. I figured they’d gone out somewhere to cool off. But as I turned, a figure emerged from the shadows. Krystal was standing right behind me like a ghost. I gasped, stifling a scream. “Krystal? Are you eating alone? Where’s Leo?” A triumphant smirk played on her lips. She deliberately bumped my shoulder as she passed me and sank into a chair. “Seeing me here by myself must be breaking your heart, huh, Ava? So sad and angry?” My gaze drifted to the tureen of hot soup on the table. I felt a sudden, childish urge to see if dumping it over her head might shock her back to reality. She jutted her chin out, arrogant. “I knew you wouldn’t give up so easily after lunch. But I didn’t think you’d be so desperate you’d change your outfit just for dinner.” “Hoping to lure him into your room tonight? Dream on,” she hissed. “We were very… busy this afternoon. He’s exhausted. You probably won’t see him until tomorrow. So you changed for nothing, you old hag.” I was speechless. She had apparently forgotten that she was the one who had flung food all over me. And my current outfit—tailored trousers and a long-sleeved cashmere sweater—was modest enough for a trip to the grocery store. Seductive it was not. She, on the other hand, was poured into a spaghetti-strap top and shorts so small they were more of a suggestion. Her skin was a canvas of angry red marks. For a second, I thought she’d been beaten. I gathered my patience, what little of it remained, and issued a final warning. “Krystal, I don’t know what kind of twisted script you’re reading from, but Leo and I are mother and son. Period. If you continue to sling this filth, I don’t care if you become his wife—you will be out of this house.” I wasn’t joking. It was clear that being gracious with her was pointless; it only invited more aggression. My words seemed to puncture her bravado. “Who the hell are you to tell me to get out?” she shrieked. “This is my man’s house!” “You’re just a bitter old woman who’s losing her mind! Don’t think you can control Leo just because he has a soft spot for you. You’re the one who should get out!” she yelled. “You’re lucky you live here. Back where I’m from, they’d have dealt with a woman like you a long time ago!” I smiled at her, a slow, cold smile. “If there were even a hint of what you’re imagining between Leo and me,” I said softly, “do you really think there would have been any room for you?” With that, I calmly sat down and began to eat my dinner. Krystal stared at me, so enraged she was sputtering. “You’re not eating?” I asked casually. “Well, in that case, you’re free to go ask him right now. Ask him who should be the one to leave.” Her eyes practically bulged out of her head. Finally, she threw down her napkin in defeat. “You just wait! He’d have to be blind to choose you over me!” She stormed away, her retreat looking more like a panicked flight. I almost laughed out loud as I enjoyed the sumptuous dinner in blessed solitude. Less than an hour later, the sound of their fighting was loud enough to penetrate my bedroom walls. “Leo! Who do you really love? If you love me, you’ll kick your stepmom out!” “There is no way she and I can live under the same roof!” I found Leo in the grand foyer, rubbing his forehead in frustration, dark circles already forming under his eyes. Krystal was clinging to his arm, relentless. “Didn’t you tell me yourself that your dad was perfectly healthy before he married her? How did he just drop dead three years into the marriage? You two, all alone together? Ha! I think you were just lucky you survived this black widow!” “Are you going to kick her out, or do you want to end up like your dad?” Leo lowered his hand, his brow furrowed, his expression wavering. I descended the stairs. Our eyes met across the cavernous space. Neither of us spoke. Krystal’s face twisted with even more jealousy. “See! Look at the two of you! Don’t tell me you’re just mother and son!” “This afternoon, I asked you if I made you feel better than your stepmom does, and you said yes!” she screamed at him. “How would you know what’s ‘better’ if you’ve never been with her?” Leo’s jaw dropped. He stammered, “I—I didn’t even understand what you were asking! How could I possibly compare you two in that way? Krystal, don’t misunderstand!” He shot a panicked look at me. “Ava, you can’t misunderstand, either. I truly don’t have any other… feelings…” Before he could finish, Krystal let out a choked sob, smashed a porcelain vase on the hall table, and ran out into the night. “Krystal!” Leo looked from her to me and back again, swore under his breath, and chased after her. I lowered my gaze, the curtain falling on a ridiculous, exhausting drama. I had a company to run in the morning. I needed to sleep. But when I woke up the next morning, I found my house filled with a crowd of strangers. As soon as I appeared on the landing, a stout, round woman bustled forward and grabbed my arm to help me down the stairs. “So this must be Leo’s stepmom!” she gushed. “You’ve kept yourself so well! You look like you’re in your twenties, even prettier than our Krystal!” Given Krystal’s behavior yesterday, I expected her to erupt. Instead, she stood silently by the sofa, unnervingly quiet. I pulled my arm away and stood my ground on the stairs. “And you are?” “Oh, where are my manners! Honey, I’m Krystal’s mother. Name’s Brenda. You can just call me Brenda.” She beamed, trying to project an image of rustic warmth, but her eyes glittered with shrewd calculation. “Krystal told us she was coming home with her boyfriend to meet the family. This is a big deal! Of course we had to come along for the ride!” I rested my hand on the banister, looking down at this troupe, and waited for the next act to begin. It wasn’t long. A strange man detached himself from the group and sidled up to me, a leering grin on his face. I recoiled, but he stuck to me like glue, even reaching out as if to embrace me. “Sir, I suggest you step away from me,” I said, my voice ice. “Or I will call the police and report you for harassment.” He acted as if he hadn’t heard me, his hands still reaching. Just as I was about to kick him where it counted, Brenda scurried over and grabbed his arm. “Don’t you worry now, honey. This is my brother, Mitch. It seems he’s fallen for you at first sight!” The man, Mitch, muttered, “So pretty… why can’t I touch? When we’re married, I’ll touch all I want.” My face hardened. “Does your brother need to see a doctor?” Krystal suddenly found her voice. “Don’t you say that! My uncle is perfectly smart!” Mitch’s eyes roamed over my body, his face twitching. “You… you better listen,” he mumbled, his voice thick and garbled. “Or… husband’s gonna have to teach you a lesson…” “You’ve been a widow for years, haven’t you?” Krystal said, her chin high. “This is my uncle’s first marriage. You should be grateful!” “Once you’re family, I’ll forget all about your disgusting little affair with Leo. But if you don’t play along, I’ll post everything online and make you two a trending topic,” she threatened. “Leo will be a social pariah, and you can kiss your precious career goodbye.” Leo sat on the sofa through it all, his head bowed, saying nothing, as if he were a mere spectator at this circus. When he felt my eyes on him, he didn’t even flinch. It was clear he intended to sit back and watch this absurd shakedown play out. My disappointment in him was a physical blow. After his father died, I had poured everything into this boy. I treated him as my own flesh and blood, nurturing him, guiding him, giving him every advantage. Brenda smiled her folksy, menacing smile. “It’s how the world works, honey. A woman’s gotta get married! Besides,” she added with a wink, “a stepmom and her grown stepson living under the same roof… tsk, tsk. It doesn’t look good, does it?” Mitch continued to undress me with his eyes, a line of saliva glistening at the corner of his mouth. I looked down at their greedy, vicious faces, and a slow smile spread across my own. Brenda, in her mountain of garbage, had managed to say one true thing. I couldn’t live with Leo anymore. “You’re right,” I said. “It’s time for a change.” No one expected me to cave so easily. Krystal, who had a whole speech ready, was left speechless. Brenda was overjoyed. She slapped her thigh and shoved her brother toward me. “Mitch, you’ve got yourself a wife! Go on, give her a hug!” She was beaming. “Quick, quick, someone take a picture for social media! Our Mitch has a wife!” she crowed to the rest of her clan. Then she turned back to me. “See? It’s better this way. What kind of life is there for a widow? You need a man.” “And if it weren’t for Krystal, for making you family, we wouldn’t even consider a woman like you. Bad luck, you are, sending your first husband to an early grave.” “From now on, you serve my brother well. Give me three healthy nephews, and our family won’t treat you badly.” “First,” I said calmly, “there’s something I have to do.” Their expressions immediately soured, afraid I was about to back out. “I am still Leo’s stepmother, the lady of this house. To marry your brother just like this… it’s not right.” “First, I need to inform my late husband. And I need to formally sever my maternal ties with Leo. Only then can I move on with a clean slate. Don’t you agree?” Brenda stared at me, her eyes narrowed with suspicion, but she couldn’t find a flaw in my logic. She reluctantly nodded. Krystal looked satisfied. The venom was gone from her face as she ran over to loop her arm through Leo’s. What a perfect, loving little couple they made. I led the procession to the study on the ground floor, where a portrait of my late husband, Arthur, hung in a place of honor. His black-and-white image looked down on us all. Leo dutifully knelt. I lit a stick of incense. Through the fragrant smoke, I felt a sting in my eyes. “Arthur,” I said softly, “you see what’s happening in our home.” “It’s been so many years since you’ve been gone. I raised Leo, and now he’s a man, ready to start his own family.” “So today, in front of you, Leo and I are severing our ties. From this day forward, we are strangers.” Leo repeated the vow, his voice flat, and bowed his head to the floor three times. I took a deep, steadying breath, a profound sense of peace settling over me. Then I pointed to the front door. “There,” I announced. “You are all witnesses. Leo and I have no relationship.” “Now, all of you, please take your things and get out of my house.”

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His solution to her problem was to divorce me and marry her. I was used to my husband, Ethan, sacrificing me to repay his debts of gratitude. I had cried, I had screamed. I’d even taken a page from his mentor’s daughter’s book and tried to use a child to trap him. Nothing ever worked. Now, he’d added another property to the divorce agreement, tossing the papers at me with an impatient flick of his wrist. “Is that enough? Just sign it, Claire. Sadie’s pregnancy can’t wait.” I signed my name without a single tear, and only then did a satisfied smile finally spread across Ethan’s face. He took my hand, his voice dropping into that familiar, placating tone. “Honey, Professor Miller was like a father to me. I can’t let his daughter be shamed for getting pregnant out of wedlock. As soon as the baby is born and has my name, we’ll get remarried. I promise. I’ll only stay with Sadie from Monday to Friday. I’ll still come home to you on the weekends.” I collected my copy of the divorce certificate and quietly watched him pack a suitcase. He didn’t know I had an appointment scheduled to terminate my own pregnancy. He didn’t know I’d already bought a one-way ticket out of this city. This time, I wouldn’t be waiting for him to come back. 1 “Here are your certificates of divorce.” The moment the clerk handed us the documents, Ethan eagerly showed his to Sadie, who was waiting just a few feet away. Then, beaming, he hurried her over to the marriage license queue. The clerk watched his retreating back and let out a quiet “jerk” under her breath before shooting me a look of pity. I calmly tucked the certificate into my purse, opened a ride-share app on my phone, and went to wait by the curb. A few minutes later, a black SUV pulled up in front of me. The window rolled down to reveal Sadie’s face, smugness radiating from her like heat. Ethan walked over from the driver’s side, his brow furrowed with concern as he opened the rear passenger door. “Claire, I told you to wait for me by the entrance. It’s pouring out here, you don’t have an umbrella. You know you refuse to take medicine when you catch a cold. You’re so much trouble,” he chided, his words a familiar litany of care. “I’ll make you my ginger ale and Coke remedy when we get home. You have to drink it all before you go to sleep.” When I just stood there, unmoving, Ethan’s expression faltered. An awkward flush crept up his neck. “Sadie’s… her condition is delicate right now. She gets car sick in the back. You were her sister-in-law. Just let her have the front seat.” Sadie immediately hopped out of the car, her voice dripping with manufactured remorse. “I’m so sorry, Claire. Ethan’s just so used to taking care of me. Please don’t get the wrong idea. Ethan, honey, I can just be sick for a little while in the back, it’s fine. Don’t fight with Claire over this.” At that, Ethan shot me a warning look. “Claire, don’t make a scene,” he hissed. “Get in the car.” He started to physically push me toward the back seat, and I finally spoke, my voice devoid of emotion. “Ethan, did you get a new car?” He buckled my seatbelt for me, his answer casual. “Well, with Sadie being pregnant and all, I figured an SUV would be a smoother ride. If you don’t like it, we can buy something else after we get remarried.” I just hummed in response. Ethan had always loved his sports cars. When I was pregnant for the first time, I had asked him if we could switch to a sedan or an SUV, something safer. He refused, saying he wasn’t comfortable driving anything else. But for Sadie, he’d made the change without a second thought. A bitter, humorless smile touched my lips. We hadn’t been on the road for ten minutes before Sadie clutched her stomach, moaning that she felt sick. Ethan instantly tensed. He pulled the car over to the side of the road and turned to me, his voice sharp with command. “Claire, just get a ride home from here. Sadie’s not feeling well. I’m taking her to the hospital.” And just like that, he left me stranded on the side of a busy road in the pouring rain, in a spot where it was nearly impossible to get a cab. As I watched his SUV disappear into the downpour, the only thing I felt was a profound, hollow calm. My phone buzzed. It was a text from the clinic, asking me to confirm my appointment for the procedure. 2 That evening, just as I’d placed the last of Ethan’s suitcases by the front door, a friend request popped up on my phone. It was Sadie. Her message was simple: she wanted me to move out of the house I shared with Ethan as soon as possible. She needed to start decorating the nursery. I responded by taking a photo of the asset division section of our divorce decree and sending it to her. My phone immediately lit up with an incoming call. I ignored it, and a sixty-second voice memo came through, then another, and another. “You bitch, Claire! Ethan earned all that money, why should you get any of it? How can you be so shameless? If you take all the cash, what am I supposed to live on? That’s my son’s money! You bitch! I’m telling you to get out now and give me back the money, or you’ll regret it!” I didn’t bother listening to the rest. I just blocked her number and deleted the chat. Later that night, I was ripped from a deep sleep by a hand yanking me up from the bed. A sharp sting exploded across my cheek. I blinked my eyes open to see Ethan’s face, dark and furious, looming over me. “Claire, you’ve gone too far!” he raged. “You knew she was pregnant, and you sent her the divorce papers just to upset her. How can you be so vicious? How many times do I have to tell you? Professor Miller saved my career. I only see Sadie as a little sister! Once her baby is born and has a legal name, we’re getting remarried. What is your problem? You were her sister-in-law, for God’s sake. Why can’t you just cut her some slack?” He must have seen the red handprint swelling on my cheek, the way I was staring at him with pure, undiluted hatred. A flicker of something—guilt, maybe—crossed his face. His voice softened as he reached for me. “Honey, we’ve been together for so many years. Don’t you trust me? I only love you,” he cooed, the words practiced and hollow. “I swear, this is the last time I’ll help Sadie. After we get remarried, we’ll go back to how things were. Okay?” I let him pull me into his arms, my body numb. I didn’t believe a single word. In college, Ethan had been willing to defy his wealthy family to be with me. He pursued me for four years, so relentlessly that even his mother eventually gave in and started helping him win me over. He told me it was love at first sight, that he would love me more than his own life. I believed him. I loved him without reservation, and in the end, it left me shattered. When did the disillusionment start? When did I start wanting to leave? Was it when Sadie posted intimate photos of them together online and was attacked by commenters, and he publicly defended her, claiming I was the one who had schemed my way into his life, leaving me to be torn apart by strangers online? Was it during my first pregnancy, just after I’d felt the baby move for the first time, when he dragged me from our home to the hospital to give blood for Sadie after a minor accident, causing me to miscarry? And when his mother demanded to know what happened, he blamed me to protect Sadie. Was it when, to fulfill Sadie’s birthday wish of seeing a private fireworks display, he had our entire gated community locked down, ignoring my frantic calls for help, preventing the ambulance from reaching my mother in time, stealing her last chance at life and leaving me with a wound that would never heal? If it hadn’t been for my mother’s last words, her dying wish for me to live on, I might have followed her into the darkness right then… My continued silence seemed to fray Ethan’s patience. He ran a hand through his hair and tossed a key onto the nightstand. “I have another house in the next neighborhood over. You can move there for now. Let Sadie have this one.” I picked up the key. “Okay,” I said, my voice placid. My compliance seemed to unnerve him. He gripped my hand tighter. “Claire, why are you… so agreeable? You’re not planning something, are you?” A small, cold smile touched my lips. “Isn’t this what you wanted, Ethan?” He pressed his lips into a thin line, a flicker of genuine unease in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something else, but his phone rang. Sadie. His brow furrowed in concern, but his voice, when he answered, was impossibly gentle. “Sadie, don’t be scared. I’m on my way back right now.” As I watched him hurry out the door, I opened an app on my phone and booked the earliest flight out of the city. 3 On the day of the procedure, the doctor looked at me, alone in the examination room, with surprise. “Mr. Hayes isn’t with you today?” “Ethan and I are divorced,” I said flatly. The doctor paused, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. He cleared his throat. “Mrs… Ms. Evans, you’ve wanted this child for so long. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to reconsider?” I shook my head, my decision firm. With a sigh, he wrote out the necessary forms and sent me to the billing department. As I stepped into the main lobby, I saw him. Ethan was standing with Sadie, one hand resting protectively on the small of her back, murmuring softly to her as she pouted about something. It wasn’t until she broke into a relieved smile that he turned to walk toward the payment counter. Sadie looked up then and saw me. A triumphant grin spread across her face as she walked purposefully toward me. I tried to turn away, but she grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. Her eyes fell to the paperwork in my hand. Her pupils contracted, her expression twisting into a mask of pure jealousy and hatred. “Don’t you think for a second that having Ethan’s baby will force him to remarry you, Claire. He’s divorced you. I’m his wife now! If you ever dare to show your face in front of him again, I’ll make sure everyone knows you’re nothing but a pathetic homewrecker!” A chill went through me. I wrenched my arm from her grasp. “You can have the garbage I threw away. It seems you have a taste for secondhand things.” Her face flushed with rage, but then her expression shifted in an instant. She stepped closer, her face a mask of pitiful sorrow, but her eyes held a bright, vicious malice. She leaned in, whispering in my ear. “Let me tell you the truth, Claire. This baby is Ethan’s. We’ve been together for a long, long time. He told me he stopped loving you ages ago. He said being with you makes him sick to his stomach.” Seeing Ethan getting closer, and seeing that her taunts weren’t getting a rise out of me, she grew desperate. She reached out to grab me again. Some instinct, honed by years of watching her manipulative games, made me take a sharp step back. A smirk of triumph flashed across Sadie’s face before she let her body go limp, collapsing dramatically to the floor. Before I could even process what had happened, I was shoved violently from behind. I stumbled, and a searing pain shot through my ankle as I crashed to the ground. Ethan was already crouched over Sadie, his hands fluttering over her as he scanned her for injuries. “Sadie, are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere? Is your stomach cramping?” he asked, his voice trembling with panic. When Sadie just shook her head, tears streaming down her face, Ethan’s heart seemed to break for her. He whirled on me, his face contorted with rage. “Claire, what did you do to her? If anything happens to her or this baby, I swear I’ll make you pay a thousand times over.” 4 Ethan wanted to rush Sadie to be examined immediately, but she clung to his sleeve, her tears flowing like a river. “Ethan, she called me a homewrecker! She said my baby was a bastard! She put a curse on me and my child! I know she doesn’t like me, but the baby is innocent! How could she be so cruel to an unborn child?” At the word “bastard,” a flicker of guilt crossed Ethan’s face, so fast I almost missed it, but it was quickly swallowed by a wave of fury. He gently wiped the tears from Sadie’s cheeks, then turned to me, his voice lethally low. He ordered me to get on my knees and apologize to her. If I didn’t, he would have the hospital cut off the supply of the experimental medication for my mother. The mention of my mother was a knife to the heart. My eyes stung, and I bit down hard on my lip to suppress the wave of hatred that churned in my gut. Leaning on the wall for support, I forced myself to stand. I ignored them both, limping toward the exit one painful step at a time. Ethan’s eyes fell to my injured foot, his brow knitting in a flicker of concern. He started to reach for me, but was interrupted by a fresh sob from Sadie. She put on a show of being terrified, clutching her barely-there baby bump as if to shield it. “Claire, I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have asked Ethan to come with me to my appointment. But… but I’m already four months along. Please, I’m begging you, just let me have this baby.” With a final, heart-wrenching sob, she collapsed into Ethan’s arms, a performance of utter devastation that had its intended effect. He was consumed with pity and rage. He lunged at me, grabbing my shoulders and forcing me down, trying to make me kneel in front of Sadie. “Apologize to her, Claire! If she’s not satisfied, you’ll stay on your knees until she is.” I stared up at him in disbelief, struggling against his iron grip. He clicked his tongue in annoyance. “Fine. If you want to do this the hard way, don’t blame me for what comes next.” He gestured with his head, and two of his security guys, who were always hovering nearby, stepped forward to hold me down. One of them understood the unspoken command and grabbed the back of my head, forcing it down, again and again, making me kowtow to Sadie on the cold hospital floor. After a few forceful impacts, my forehead was raw and bleeding, my vision blurring at the edges. Ethan’s voice sounded distant, a hint of unease in it now. “Claire, have you learned your lesson? Just apologize to Sadie and promise you’ll leave her alone, and we can put this all behind us.” I lifted my head, meeting his gaze with pure disgust. “I. Did. Nothing. Wrong,” I said, each word a shard of glass. His chest heaved. “Fine! Fine! I’ve spoiled you rotten for too long, you’ve forgotten your place. Today, you’re going to learn some goddamn respect.” He barked at his men, “You two hold her here. She’ll kneel until she’s ready to admit she’s wrong.” Sadie made a weak, token protest. “Ethan, honey, it’s okay if I’m a little upset. Please don’t be angry with Claire because of me.” Ethan wrapped a protective arm around her, his face a mask of disappointment as he looked at me. “Claire, why can’t you be more understanding, like Sadie?” Sadie shot me a triumphant smirk over his shoulder. But as her gaze swept over me, her eyes locked onto the silver locket around my neck. Her expression changed. She lunged forward and ripped the locket from my neck. “What are you doing with this?” she spat, her hand closing around it in a fist.

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To land a ten-million-dollar deal, I’d spent all night with a client, nursing coffees until my ulcer felt like it was burning a hole through my stomach. I got to the office the next morning and clocked in three seconds late. My boss’s son, Kyle, stormed up to me and threw a cup of scalding coffee right in my face. “You have the nerve to show your face?” he sneered, his voice dripping with contempt. “Look at you. You look like you just crawled out of a gutter. Which C-level exec did you have to sleep with last night to get your win?” “Don’t bring your filth into this office,” he added, wrinkling his nose. “We’re not a dumpster for every piece of trash.” “You really think you’re something special because you closed one deal? You’re just a pretty boy who knows how to sweet-talk clients.” My boss, Don Harrison, called me into his office. He told me to apologize to his son and that he was docking my entire commission. Without a word, I tore my ID badge off its lanyard and threw the shattered plastic in his face. The day I quit, their whole company started to fall apart. 1 The plastic clasp of my badge holder made a sharp crack. “To hell with this job. Let someone else have it.” I threw the two pieces of my ID badge squarely at Don Harrison’s greasy face. His face flushed with rage. He shot up from his chair, jabbing a finger so close to my eye I could feel the heat coming off it. “You! You’re fired! Get the hell out of my office, now!” he bellowed. “And from this day forward, every client you managed is being transferred to my son, Kyle!” “Including Orion Enterprises!” he added, his voice laced with the thrill of revenge. As if on cue, the door to the adjoining office opened. Kyle leaned against the frame, a smug, triumphant smile on his face. “Leo,” he said, his tone mocking. “I’ll be optimizing the management of your former clients from now on.” I ignored them both and walked out of that suffocating office. Back at my desk, my colleagues shot me a mix of complicated looks. Some were sympathetic, others regretful. A few were clearly enjoying the show. I paid them no mind, quietly packing my personal belongings into a small cardboard box. It didn’t take long. Before I logged out for the last time, I opened my work computer. I found an encrypted folder. Inside was every template for client relations I’d built over the years, every data analysis model, every private note on the personal preferences of our major accounts—the product of countless sleepless nights. I selected the folder. Right-clicked. Permanently deleted. Not a moment of hesitation. With that done, I picked up my box and, under the gaze of the entire office, walked out the front doors without a backward glance. The sunlight outside was harsh, but I felt a sense of relief so profound it was almost dizzying. I gave myself a vacation. Booked a flight to the coast. Sand, sun, the sound of waves. Lying on a beach chair, I felt my phone buzz. It was a text from my former colleague, Amy. “Leo, it’s absolute chaos here since you left!” “That idiot Kyle held a meeting on his first day. You won’t believe the crap he was spouting.” I texted back a question mark. “He said he wants to ’empower our synergy,’ ‘close the loop on our deliverables,’ ‘find new levers,’ and ‘drill down to the core logic of our pipeline’!” “My brain is still buzzing. What does any of that even mean?” “Then he rolled out this insane new client communication process. A ‘Client Needs SOP.’ It’s a bureaucratic nightmare. You need to fill out three reports and get seven approvals for the smallest damn thing.” “Yesterday, I was just trying to follow up on an invoice. It took me an hour to write the request form, and by the time he finally approved it, the client’s accounting department had already closed for the day!” “He also lost a critical overnight package because his new protocol requires all deliveries to go to the admin desk first for ‘sanitization and logging.’ It delayed everything by a day, and the client was furious.” “And he reamed out Mark, our top salesman from last month, saying he didn’t understand ‘matrix management’ or ‘talent profiling.’ Mark almost quit on the spot.” I could perfectly picture Kyle, puffed up and spouting corporate buzzword salad. A bitter laugh escaped me. “What else?” I typed. “Oh, it gets better. This afternoon, Mr. Peterson from Orion—a client we’ve had for five years—called with an urgent question about a technical spec. The kind of thing you used to know off the top of your head.” “Kyle fumbled through the files for ten minutes, stammering, and couldn’t give him a straight answer. Mr. Peterson just lost his patience and hung up on him!” “His exact words were, ‘Is there anyone left at your company who knows what they’re doing? Why am I being handled by this incompetent fool?’” Reading the text, I felt a wave of dark satisfaction. “Any other genius moves?” “Plenty! To prove how brilliant he is, he’s forcing all our long-term clients to sign a new ‘standardized’ contract that he drafted himself.” “I took a peek at it. The terms are predatory. All liability is shifted to the client. It’s insane, pure poison.” A knot formed in my stomach. “He’s not going to try that with Mr. Peterson at Orion, is he?” “Who knows? He acts like landing the Orion renewal was his own personal victory. Walks around bragging about how his dad’s ‘masterful strategy’ made it happen.” I sent a warning to Amy. “Peterson hates being disrespected more than anything. Stay out of it. Don’t get caught in the crossfire.” “I know, Leo. Just needed to vent. This place is a sinking ship.” I’d just put my phone down when a notification popped up from the old department group chat. An @everyone tag. It was Kyle. “Team, next Monday, I will personally lead our delegation to visit our most important strategic partner, Orion Enterprises!” “In this visit, we will be finalizing a new, more comprehensive multi-million-dollar renewal contract with Mr. Peterson, securing my first big win! It will show certain people who the real sales elite are!” Immediately after he sent it, his father, Don, chimed in. “Kyle is a graduate of a prestigious international business school. He’s a classically trained management professional, not like some ‘street-level’ salesman who gets by on schmoozing and free dinners.” “All of you should learn from Kyle. The future of this company belongs to young talents like him!” The chat immediately flooded with sycophantic praise. “Incredible, Kyle!” “One meeting from you is worth ten from anyone else!” “Congratulations in advance on the huge win!” I stared at the nauseating display on my screen and let out a cold laugh. The deal you’re all dreaming of is now a ticking time bomb. I shut off my phone and tossed it aside. The sea breeze swept over me, thick with the smell of salt. The real show was just about to begin. On Monday, Kyle and his sister, Tiffany, strode into the Orion Enterprises headquarters like they owned the place. They were dressed to the nines, their faces radiating an unshakeable sense of entitlement. Inside Mr. Peterson’s office, Kyle didn’t even bother with pleasantries. He slapped the binder containing his proud “standardized” contract down on the polished mahogany desk. “Mr. Peterson, this is our new contract, drafted by our corporate legal team. It reflects our company’s professionalism. Take a look, and if there are no issues, you can go ahead and sign.” Tiffany stood beside him, adding with a condescending air, “My father has decided our company needs to formalize its procedures. The old, messy way of doing business is over. This is for your benefit as well.” Mr. Peterson picked up the contract. He only had to flip through two pages before his expression hardened. The draconian clauses were a direct assault on his intelligence. Things like “The supplier reserves the right to unilaterally terminate the contract without liability,” and “Payment terms are extended to net 180 days.” He looked up, his gaze falling on the two arrogant, utterly insincere young people before him. His fury was immediate and absolute. “This is your professionalism? This is your formal procedure?” He slammed the contract down on the desk. “Security! Get these two out of my building!” When the news hit our old office, it was like a bomb had gone off. Amy sent me a voice message, her voice trembling. “Leo, it’s a disaster! Orion isn’t just refusing to renew; they’re terminating all existing contracts, effective immediately!” “The finance department is in a full-blown panic. The early termination penalty means we have to refund a fortune in pre-payments. The company doesn’t have that kind of cash on hand!” “Don has locked himself in his office. We can hear him throwing things!” “And it gets worse! They’re demanding an immediate refund of all the advance payments from this quarter!” That money, I knew, had already been spent. Don had used it to buy Kyle a new sports car. The company’s cash flow was instantly frozen. Don Harrison, sweating profusely, personally called Mr. Peterson. When the call connected, his voice was dripping with humility. “Mr. Peterson, please, calm down. There must be some misunderstanding. The kids… they don’t know any better. Don’t hold it against them.” A single, ice-cold sentence came from the other end of the line. “Don, the only person I’ll talk to is Leo Morgan.” “Anyone else from your company calls me, they can go to hell.” The line went dead. Don stood there, clutching the phone, his face a ghastly shade of gray. In the main office, Tiffany, rather than reflecting on her catastrophic failure, was screaming, placing all the blame on me. “It’s all Leo’s fault!” she shrieked at the remaining sales staff. “That backstabbing snake! He must have set this up behind our backs, dug a trap for us to fall into!” “That ungrateful bastard! We basically raised a viper in our own house!” Cornered and desperate, Don Harrison finally remembered me. He called my phone. It rang for a long time before I leisurely answered. “Leo! I’m ordering you to come back to the company right now! You need to fix this mess with Orion!” he roared, his voice accustomed to command. “If you come back, I’m willing to forget what happened before!” I put the phone on speaker. The sound of waves crashing against the sand was clearly audible. “Mr. Harrison, I’m currently unemployed,” I said, my voice perfectly calm. “I have neither the authority nor the ability to handle your company’s business.” “You! Leo, don’t push your luck! After all the years this company invested in you, this is how you repay us? You’re a goddamn traitor!” Before he could finish his tirade, I hung up. Then, I blocked his number. The news of Orion’s contract termination exploded across the industry. Our company’s reputation as Orion’s long-term, trusted supplier was shattered overnight. The next day, our stock price plummeted at the opening bell, wiping out tens of millions in market value in a matter of hours. Several other major clients who had been on the fence about signing new deals immediately called to terminate negotiations. A distribution partner we’d worked with for years showed up in person, demanding payment for long-overdue invoices. The dominoes had begun to fall. To try and salvage morale, Don Harrison started spreading rumors. At an all-hands meeting, he publicly announced that I had taken kickbacks from our competitor, Stellar Dynamics, claiming I was a corporate spy who had intentionally sabotaged the Orion deal. “This industry should blacklist vermin like him who have no professional ethics! He didn’t just take bribes; he stole our most valuable client strategies!” he declared, his voice full of manufactured outrage. Amy secretly recorded it and sent it to me. I listened, and all I could do was laugh. Kyle, desperate to redeem himself, tried to salvage what he could from my other accounts. He logged into my old work computer, planning to contact my clients. But he found that all my core client data was protected by a standalone encryption program. He couldn’t open a single file. It was a personal security measure I had written myself to protect sensitive information. Only I knew the password. Panicked, Kyle called the IT department, demanding they crack it by force. The head of IT, sweating bullets, tried to warn him. “Mr. Harrison, this encryption is custom-built. A brute-force attack is extremely risky. There’s a 99% chance it will cause permanent, physical damage to the entire database!” “It would be like setting the company’s entire lifeline on fire! I can’t proceed unless you sign this waiver, accepting full responsibility!” “Just do it! If anything happens, it’s on me!” Kyle yelled, scribbling his name on a piece of paper and shoving it at the IT director. “I need it open today! That’s an order!” Forced, the IT department had no choice but to try. There was a faint click. A red warning box flashed onto the screen: DATABASE FILE CORRUPTED. RECOVERY IMPOSSIBLE. All the crucial client files, contact information, and contract histories turned into a meaningless jumble of symbols. The data was gone. Forever. The company’s last thread of hope had just been severed. When the news spread, the entire office ground to a halt. Without Orion as its anchor and with all core client data wiped, the company was, for all intents and purposes, bankrupt. When Don Harrison heard, he nearly collapsed. And just as their company was consumed by chaos, a major announcement lit up the industry’s social media feeds. Our competitor, Stellar Dynamics, proudly announced it had entered into a long-term strategic partnership with Orion Enterprises. A powerful alliance, poised for the future. The announcement included a celebratory photo from the signing ceremony. In the photo, Mr. Peterson from Orion and the CEO of Stellar Dynamics were shaking hands, beaming at the camera. And standing behind them, listed under the title of Lead Representative, was my name. In the picture, I was wearing a sharp, well-fitted suit. And I looked like I was on top of the world.

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“Leo, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” The man, Adrian, slammed the marriage certificate onto the podium just as the stage lights hit my eyes. I was in the middle of our new product launch. The date on the official seal burned into my retinas… Five years ago. I hadn’t even met Catherine yet. But I was her husband. Her legal husband. I begged Catherine to tell the world the truth, but she always said to wait, just a little longer. For that, my son and I were dragged through hell—threatened, humiliated, and hurt. When she finally did reveal the truth, she fell to her knees before me. “Leo, please, just let me explain…” But by then, it was an explanation neither I nor my son needed anymore. 01. I was in a tailored suit, standing on stage at the company’s new product launch, walking the audience through our latest innovation. This presentation was everything to our company. I’d poured my soul into it, polishing every detail until it gleamed. Just as applause began to swell from the audience, a stranger stormed through the conference hall doors. He walked with an air of pure arrogance, heading straight for me. “Leo Wallace, do you really think you’re Catherine Croft’s legal husband?” he sneered, his voice laced with provocation. My brow furrowed. I had no idea who this man was, what this bizarre performance was about. He seemed to relish my confusion. He pulled a marriage certificate from his briefcase and waved it in my face. “Maybe this will clear things up. I’m Catherine’s legal husband. We’ve been married for five years.” I took the document. There, in stark black ink, were their names: Catherine Croft and Adrian Shaw. And the date. A deafening buzz roared in my head, like I’d taken a physical blow. How could this be possible? Catherine and I had been married for three years. Our life together was stable, happy. Why would she be married to someone else? I forced myself to breathe, to think. I replayed every moment of our life together, searching for a crack, a lie, anything. But the Catherine in my memory was always so gentle, so attentive. She adored me and our son. I couldn’t find a single reason for her to deceive me like this. The man, Adrian, saw my stunned silence and a triumphant smirk spread across his face. “Did you really think the happiness you stole would last forever? Time to wake up.” His words were a razor blade, slicing deep into my heart. The audience below had sensed the shift. The quiet murmurs grew into a wave of curious stares. I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting to keep my composure. “Who the hell are you? Why are you trying to frame my wife?” I stared at him, desperately searching for a flaw in his act. He snorted. “My name is Adrian Shaw. I’m Catherine Croft’s husband. And I’m just giving you some friendly advice: stop pretending to be something you’re not. Stop being the other man.” Just then, Catherine rushed into the hall. Her face went pale the moment she saw us. She looked at Adrian, her voice low and dangerous. “What are you doing here? Why would you do this?” Adrian just laughed and shoved the certificate into her hands. “I’m just telling him to be a decent person, to stop being a homewrecker. What’s wrong with that? Today, everyone is going to know the truth.” He turned and walked out, leaving Catherine and me stranded in the ensuing chaos. Reporters swarmed the stage, their cameras flashing relentlessly, their questions flying at us like bullets. The product launch was a disaster, derailed by a gossip bomb. My boss was furious, telling me I was suspended indefinitely. The only reason I wasn’t fired on the spot was because of my track record. But I didn’t have the energy to care about my job. When we got home, the argument I’d been holding back exploded out of me. I screamed at her, demanding to know what was happening. She just looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Leo, please, just wait for me. Now is not the time. I promise you, I will handle this. I will give you an explanation.” I stared at her, my vision blurred by rage and disappointment. “Wait? After this? You let me become a public joke today! My marriage, my career—it’s all in flames because of you! Enough, Catherine. I want a divorce!” “No!” Her face was a mask of panic, the word ripping out of her. “I won’t divorce you! I will never divorce you!” 02. Catherine’s fingers dug into my wrist, her knuckles white from the force of her grip. “Noah is only three. Would you really sentence him to a broken home?” I wrenched my arm away, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “A mother who lies is a thousand times more damaging than an absent one!” Her eyes reddened, and she swallowed hard. “Just give me one more week… no, three days! I swear I’ll—” My phone began to vibrate violently, a notification lighting up the screen. A trending topic, complete with a flaming emoji: Leo Wallace, the Corporate Homewrecker. I clicked it. The press conference had been cut into a viciously edited meme. The shot of Adrian throwing the certificate on the stage looped endlessly, my face photoshopped onto a screaming chicken. The comments were a tidal wave of hate: [Trying to launch a product while you’re the other man? Give this guy the Douchebag of the Year award!] [UPDATE! People are flooding the website of that scumbag Leo’s company!] “How much is your ‘swear’ worth right now?” I grabbed a vase from the entryway table and hurled it to the floor. “Where were you when my launch was being destroyed? Where were you when the entire internet started calling me a homewrecker? Don’t you dare stand there and pretend to be a concerned mother now!” Shards of porcelain skittered across the floor, stopping at her feet. She took a half-step back, then suddenly grabbed her coat. “We both need to calm down.” The front door slammed shut. A moment later, I heard Noah crying from his room. I ran in and swept him into my arms. He clutched my shirt, sobbing. “Is… is Mommy not coming back?” I bit the inside of my cheek to keep my own voice from breaking. “Mommy just got a little lost, buddy. Daddy’s going to find her for you.” I called my lawyer and had him draw up divorce papers. But then Catherine vanished. Her phone went straight to her assistant’s voicemail every time. “Ms. Croft is in a meeting with our international partners.” “Ms. Croft is with investors right now.” “Ms. Croft, she…” I drove straight to the Croft Industries headquarters, my dress shoes clicking like blades against the marble floor. But when I reached the executive elevator, the iris scanner blinked red. Access Denied. My credentials had been revoked. “Sir, please don’t make this difficult,” her assistant said, blocking my way. I saw a faint, finger-shaped bruise on her forearm—from when I’d grabbed at Catherine the other day and she’d stepped between us. My eyes were glued to the floor numbers lighting up on the display. “Tell her I’ll be at City Hall tomorrow at ten a.m. If she’s not there, I’ll see her in court.” As I turned to leave, I heard the assistant’s hushed voice behind me. “Ms. Croft, he’s gone… Yes, I’ve already spoken to the kindergarten, just as you asked…” The moment the final bell rang, Noah launched himself into my arms like a little cannonball. His right eye was puffy and swollen, and a scab of dried blood crusted the corner of his mouth. “Did you fall?” I asked, my fingers gently brushing the wound. He burst into tears. “Stella said her mommy bought her an Iron Man watch… she said I was adopted…” My blood ran cold. The day of the press conference, I’d gotten a friend request from Adrian Shaw. I’d meant to ignore it, but some morbid curiosity made me accept. His social media was a gallery of photos of him and a little girl, doted on by Catherine. Stella. That was the name he used for his daughter. “Where is she?” Noah pointed toward the shadows behind the slide. A little girl in a private school uniform was trapping ants in a water bottle. The face of an Iron Man watch on her wrist caught the sun, flashing a blinding light. It was the same girl from Adrian’s photos. And her eyes, her brow… they were a near-perfect copy of Catherine’s. “Look, the fake daddy’s here!” she jeered, making a face at me. “My mommy is taking me to Disneyland tomorrow!” I knelt down to her level. “What’s your mommy’s name?” “Catherine Croft!” she announced proudly, puffing out her chest. “My daddy says her name is worth a hundred amusement parks!” Before I could process that, Adrian emerged from behind a cluster of trees, followed by a crew of influencers holding selfie sticks. “Hey everyone, today we’re giving Stella a taste of a regular public school… Oh my god!” He stumbled dramatically, his vintage watch catching on a branch. As the broken band flew into the grass, the viewer count on his livestream spiked to over one hundred thousand. 03. The diamonds on the brooch pinned to Adrian’s chest blinded me—a Victorian-era iris, the very same one Catherine had pinned on me herself the night she proposed. I instinctively glanced at my own lapel, now bare. The key to our safety deposit box felt hot in my pocket. “You stole my brooch!” I lunged for it, but a reporter’s microphone blocked my path. Adrian clutched the diamonds and took a step back, the livestream camera zooming in on his feigned, trembling eyelashes. “Catherine gave this to me six months ago. Do you need to see the notarized document?” An assistant promptly handed him a folder. On the aged paper, Catherine Croft’s signature was unmistakable, written with a powerful, confident hand. I knew that signature. The year before, during a major acquisition, she had guided my hand to sign our names together. The nib of the pen had torn the paper on the final stroke of her last name. “Now who looks like the thief?” Adrian slapped the document against my chest. The live chat exploded with red exclamation points: [HE BROUGHT RECEIPTS! Leo the scumbag needs to get on his knees and apologize to the real husband!] [No wonder he kept it in a safe, he knew it was stolen!] I crumpled the paper in my fist, the sharp corners digging into my palm. “That signature…” “Your wife signed it herself,” he whispered, his lips close to my ear. “In my bed, that night. Want to hear the details?” I threw the crumpled document at his smiling face. As the papers fluttered to the ground, Adrian staggered back dramatically, the brooch tumbling from his chest. “Watch out!” A man I recognized—Ethan—rushed out from the crowd of reporters and caught Adrian, steadying him. The ID badge on his chest swung forward: Adrian Shaw Productions, Special Assistant. “Mr. Wallace, assault has legal consequences.” As Ethan bent down to re-fasten the brooch for Adrian, I saw the scar on the back of his neck. I knew that scar. He got it working in a kitchen his sophomore year of college. I was the one who drove him to the ER for a skin graft that night. “You didn’t talk about consequences when you were on your knees, begging me to help you pay for tuition, did you?” I grabbed the hem of Ethan’s designer suit. The silk fabric ripped with a sickening sound. He flinched, and a tray of antiseptic wipes he was holding scattered across the ground. “Answer me! When your father had late-stage liver cancer, who paid for the surgery?” I forced his face toward me. His skin was flushed crimson beneath his foundation. “Now you’re helping the man who stole my life. Does your conscience ever bother you at night?” The cameras were practically touching my face. The live chat was in a frenzy: [OMG THE DRAMA! The other man is having a meltdown!] [Did you see that close-up? Adrian has a hickey from Catherine on his neck!] Suddenly, Ethan grabbed my wrist, his nails digging into my flesh. “Leo, you have to move on.” His voice was a bare whisper, almost a sigh. “It’s like you taught me about investing in art… you pick the one with the highest potential for growth. It’s the same with people. You have to bet on the winner.” Adrian’s smug laugh echoed from nearby. “Ethan, come fix my hair.” Ethan immediately let go of me and hurried to Adrian’s side, dutifully smoothing his hair into place. 04. The crowd surged forward, a suffocating wave of hot bodies and angry shouts. Noah’s terrified scream was lost in the noise. “Get the bastard!” A plastic water bottle hit me squarely on the brow. Cold water and blood streamed into my right eye. I held Noah tight against my chest. In the chaos, one of his small shoes was kicked off, revealing a little sunflower embroidered on his sock. He’d been so proud of them this morning. “Daddy buys the best socks!” he’d declared. “I’ve already called the police!” I roared, wiping the blood from my eyes. My only answer was a chorus of derisive laughter. A large man in a gold chain grabbed a fistful of my hair. “The cops are coming for you, asshole!” His hand was adorned with a chunky diamond ring that scraped my earlobe, drawing a fresh line of blood. The live chat was flooded with digital fireworks. [Someone start a crowdfund to add another diamond to that guy’s ring!] My vision swam with black spots. My head was spinning. Only one thought remained clear. I would make Catherine and Adrian pay for this. The wail of sirens finally cut through the mob. My shirt was torn open. “Everyone break it up!” a young officer yelled, using his baton to push back the phones still recording. His older partner glanced at the bruises forming on my collarbone. “Sir, we recommend you handle domestic disputes through legal channels.” I clutched Noah’s fallen sunflower sock, the taste of blood and iron in my throat. “I am her legal husband!” “Yeah, that’s what they all say,” she replied, handing me a tissue. “My advice? Walk away now, before you drag your kid further into this mess.” Suddenly, Noah grabbed my bleeding hand and pressed it against the officer’s sleeve insignia. “Mister, my daddy didn’t steal anything…” The dark wool of the uniform soaked up the blood, creating a grotesque, blooming flower. After we gave our statements at the station, I saw a long, deep scratch on the back of Noah’s hand, still weeping blood. Without a second thought, I rushed him to the hospital. Under the harsh fluorescent lights of the emergency room, I sent Catherine a photo of Noah’s hand being stitched up. When she finally answered with a video call, I could hear the sounds of Adrian’s livestream in the background. “—big thanks to ‘Catherine’s Knight’ for the huge donation!” “You hear that?” I held the phone close to Noah’s tear-streaked face. “Your son is being called a bastard by the entire world!” A vein pulsed in Catherine’s forehead. “Leo, Adrian and I are not married! Stella is not my child! The DNA report is in my study, third drawer—” “And what good does that do now? Are you going to hold another press conference?” “Just wait, please, now is not the right time…” Noah suddenly sobbed out the word “Mommy.” Her fingers dug violently into what looked like a leather car seat. “Let me talk to him. Put Noah on the phone.” I hit the end call button. I took her last voice message, still on my screen, and used my phone to blot the tears from my son’s cheek. “Catherine,” I thought, “you will never deserve to hear him cry again.” 05. The day Noah got his stitches out, I finally saw Catherine again. She burst into the examination room just as the doctor was snipping the last thread from the cut on Noah’s forehead. The scent of the perfume Adrian used on his livestreams clung to her blazer. She reached for our son, but I slapped her, my hand cracking across her face with such force that she stumbled back into an IV stand. CRASH! The sound of the shattering saline bag and the chorus of smartphone shutters created a surreal, horrifying symphony. “Leo?!” She wiped a trickle of blood from her nose. Behind her, frozen in the doorway, was Stella, holding an ice cream cone. Adrian had dressed her in a pair of sunflower socks identical to Noah’s. I grabbed a medical chart and threw it at the influencer who had followed her in. “Get your reality show out of my face!” Three hours later, a new headline was trending: Croft Industries CEO Assaulted by Homewrecker Ex. My boss’s call shattered the silence of the ER waiting room. “Do you have any idea how big our contract with Croft Industries is? Write your resignation letter right now. It’s the only way you’re leaving this with a shred of dignity.” The live chat on the replay of the hospital incident was ecstatic: [That slap must have cost him ten million dollars, lol.] [LATEST NEWS! That scumbag Leo’s company stock just plummeted!] Back home, I was texting my lawyer about expediting the divorce when a notification popped up. Adrian’s new livestream was titled A Night of Protecting My Family. He was holding Stella, his eyes red-rimmed. “Catherine was just at the hospital to see a sick child who had a fever, I never thought…” The camera panned over a pediatric hospital room, a bill signed by Catherine clearly visible on the nightstand. My personal information had been compiled into a nine-panel graphic and was spreading like wildfire. My gym membership number, Noah’s list of allergies, even my childhood medical records were being passed around on the dark web. The day a body bag was delivered to our doorstep, I was in the backyard burning every gift Catherine had ever given me. As the flames consumed a sapphire tie clip, a text came through from an unknown number. It was a GPS pin of Noah’s kindergarten. [Time to find a new playground for the bastard. A cemetery, maybe.] Catherine’s calls, which I’d rejected dozens of times, turned into a flood of frantic texts. I’ve hired security… My lawyers are handling it… Please, Leo, I’m begging you, answer the phone… I aimed my phone’s camera at the flames and sent her my final ultimatum. Sign the divorce papers, or you’ll be getting a notice from the coroner.

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I needed someone to cover my class, and I accidentally hired a guy. When my name was called, he answered with a clear, masculine “Here.” The professor looked up, confused. “Since when is Maya a man?” The guy froze for a second, then inspiration struck. “I’m her boyfriend, actually,” he said smoothly. “She’s sick, so she asked me to come record the lecture for her. She wants to catch up as soon as she’s better.” A murmur rippled through the lecture hall. Then, from the front row, Liam stood up. He gave the guy a polite, tight-lipped nod. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. “Sorry, but I’m Maya’s boyfriend,” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Who are you?” Liam was a legend in the Computer Science department. I was a nobody, barely avoiding academic probation. We hadn’t seen each other in a month, and the first thing he said to me was: “Maya, if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up as nothing.” He glanced at his watch three times while he said it, as if every second with me was a waste of his life. I nodded, my voice surprisingly calm. “I am nothing. I don’t deserve you. Let’s break up.” To finally get away from him, I asked the guy from class—the substitute—to pretend to be my new boyfriend. After we successfully broke up for good, his eyes lit up. “Awesome! So, does this mean I get a promotion?” 1 I’d been sitting motionless in the art studio for ten hours when my roommate called. “Maya, you have to check the campus gossip site! You’re going viral, hahaha! You should probably go explain things to Liam.” My fingers, stiff and sore, fumbled with my phone. At the top of the site was a video, already with thousands of views. In the clip, the professor is taking attendance. When he gets to my name, a guy’s voice calls out. The professor calls his bluff, and the guy improvises, claiming to be my boyfriend and painting me as some kind of diligent, dedicated student. The punchline, of course, was my actual boyfriend standing up to call him out. The comment section was a sea of laughing emojis. 【Did the golden boy of CS just get played?】 【Lmao, this dude is so obviously a class-sitter for hire.】 【He really thought on his feet, too bad he picked a girl who already had a boyfriend in the room. Busted.】 My vision went dark for a second. I pulled up my chat with the substitute. 【You didn’t think to mention you were a guy?】 This was a major-specific course. The professor knew our faces, even if he didn’t know us well. The plan had been simple: have a girl wear a mask, sit in the back, and just blend in. When I’d hired him through the app, his profile said female, so I didn’t think twice. He replied instantly. 【I’m so sorry! It was my first time doing this, I didn’t know the protocol. (´-ω-`)】 【I panicked, I had no idea your boyfriend was there! (ಥ_ಥ)】 【I explained it to him afterward, I don’t think there was any real misunderstanding. (シ. .)シ】 【Seriously, I feel terrible. Can I buy you dinner to make up for it? ( TДT)】 I closed the app and sighed. This was bad. Now Liam was going to be mad about me skipping class again. It was the same fight we’d had a month ago, the one that had led to this cold war between us. 2 Liam and I grew up across the hall from each other. He was always one of those intensely self-disciplined people, while I was born to drift. When other kids were playing outside, he was forcing me to do homework. He’d stand over me, his face serious, his lips a thin line. “This is wrong. Write it out ten times.” It was torture. In high school, he requested to be my desk partner, pushing me every single day. “You have to work harder,” he’d say. “We’ll go to Northwood together.” His ears would turn pink when he said it, his normally cool composure cracking just a little. He kept repeating it, “we together.” For those two words, I studied like my life depended on it. We both got into Northwood’s top-ranked Computer Science program. My parents cried with joy. They said Liam was a blessing, that without him, I would have ruined my own future. The day my acceptance letter came, everyone was beaming, so proud of me. But on that sweltering July afternoon, I felt a chill spread through my body, a cold so deep it made me tremble. Because in the list of majors I had painstakingly chosen and submitted, Computer Science wasn’t anywhere on it. And my scores were more than good enough to get my first choice. Someone had changed my application. 3 I knew I hated coding from the very first day of college. The rigid rules, the unyielding logic—it all felt so suffocating, so dull. I started skipping classes, secretly taking drawing workshops and spending all my time in the art studio. I couldn’t let Liam know. But you can’t hide something like that forever. When he found out I was cutting his beloved data structures lecture for a life drawing class, his brow furrowed. “That’s not a serious pursuit,” he’d said, one word at a time. His tone was as stern as my parents’ had been my whole life. The big fight, the one that broke us, happened last month. It was because I’d submitted my application to transfer majors. Liam was furious. He said I was being impulsive, that I was throwing my future away. In that moment, a wave of exhaustion washed over me. I didn’t want to convince him anymore. I didn’t want to explain myself at all. 4 I opened my chat with Liam. The last messages were from a month ago. I hesitated, then started typing. 【Liam, guess what today is!】 No reply. I sent another. 【If you can’t guess, you owe me a kiss.】 An hour passed. 【Okay, fine, I know you’re just pretending not to know so you can get that kiss.】 【It’s World Oceans Day! We should get dinner to celebrate!】 【Where are you? I’ll come find you :)】 A knot of frustration tightened in my stomach. I was making it so obvious I wanted to make up. Why was he ignoring me? I ate dinner with my right hand, my left endlessly scrolling up through our old conversation, waiting for his name to pop up with a new message. The Wi-Fi in the dining hall was spotty, and I was terrified I’d miss his reply because of a delay. I stretched a single meal out for over an hour. He never wrote back. 5 I texted one of Liam’s roommates, who told me he was at the lab. When I got there, he was hunched over a monitor, debugging code, his focus absolute. I waved, trying to keep my voice light. “Liam!” He glanced up, his eyes meeting mine for a fraction of a second before he quickly looked away, feigning indifference. “What are you doing here?” I wrapped my arms around his and stood on my toes to give him a quick peck on the lips. “Don’t be mad anymore, okay? I’m sorry.” A faint pink blush crept up his ears. The icy resolve on his face seemed to melt, replaced by the soft light of a winter morning. “Okay,” he mumbled. “What are you sorry for?” “…Let’s go get dinner. You have dark circles under your eyes. You pulled another all-nighter, didn’t you? I bet you haven’t eaten.” I was desperate to change the subject. To be honest, I didn’t think I’d done anything wrong. His face went blank again. “Excuse me, you two,” a voice cut in. “Dinner’s not an option just yet.” I turned. It was Sophia, one of Liam’s frequent hackathon partners. She offered me a smile that felt more like a courtesy than a welcome. “We have a huge competition deadline coming up. Liam and I have to grind this out. I’m sorry, he can’t go with you.” She paused. “I ordered us some food, it should be here soon. You’re welcome to stay and have some, if you want.” There was a subtle arrogance in her tone that rubbed me the wrong way, a hint that this was her territory, not mine. But Liam had told me how important this competition was to him. “It’s okay, I don’t want to get in your way,” I said. “Liam, I’ll see you when you’re not so busy. We can get dinner then.” He gave a noncommittal “Mm.” “Okay, then. We won’t see you out,” Sophia said, her smile firmly in place. The last thing I saw before the door clicked shut was Liam and Sophia leaning in close together, their heads nearly touching as they pointed at the screen, completely absorbed in their work. A sour feeling churned in my stomach. 6 Liam must have been really busy. Another month passed after I saw him at the lab. He never texted, not once. His roommate told me he was practically living there. Ever since we got to college, it felt like he was always busy. Too busy to answer my texts. Far too busy to ever reach out first. This past month, I’d thrown myself into my art and hadn’t reached out to him either. The result was a month of complete silence. It was hard to believe we were even in the same major, let alone the same city. We were living in different worlds. His was a world of GPAs, research, and competitions. Mine was a world of skipped classes and charcoal-smudged fingers. He was collecting awards, becoming a campus celebrity. I was skirting academic probation, a person of interest for my academic advisor. When did we drift so far apart? 7 I finally broke the silence and called him. While the phone was ringing, a notification popped up from my friends’ group chat. My roommate had shared a link to an article from the campus paper. It was about Liam and Sophia winning first place in their competition. The photo showed the two of them on stage, accepting their award. They looked confident, radiant. They looked good together. My roommate tagged me: 【Your boyfriend is amazing!】 Before I could reply, another notification appeared, a suggested news story. 【Power Couple, Both Early Admits to Grad School…】 I slammed the “dislike, show less of this” button, but a wave of sadness washed over me anyway. Suddenly, the call connected. Liam’s voice, tired and distant, came through the line. “What’s up?” My mind was still stuck on that headline, and a childish sense of hurt colored my voice. “Liam, why haven’t you called me? I just saw—” “Busy,” he cut me off. “…Well, do you have time to get dinner with me?” “Where.” “Just the dining hall. It won’t take long. Five o’clock?” “Fine.” “See you there?” “Yep.” He hung up. 8 I waited for him at the entrance to the dining hall for one hour and twenty-one minutes. Liam finally arrived as dusk settled over campus. “Sorry. Something came up.” I opened my mouth to ask, Why couldn’t you have just sent a text? But I didn’t. We were finally getting dinner. I didn’t want to ruin it. I went to get a bowl of spicy ramen, and he went for his usual: a pre-packaged salad. He always got that because there was no line, and he could eat it fast. For a guy like him, even eating was a waste of time. By the time I brought my steaming bowl to the table, he was already halfway done. He glanced at my food and frowned, but said nothing. The ramen was hot. I took my time, carefully picking out the cilantro. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Liam raise his wrist and check his watch. One. I started counting. It was a habit of his, something he’d been doing since high school. Timing his meals. When he finished his salad, he checked it again. Two. I pretended not to notice his growing impatience. “Liam,” I said, trying to sound cheerful, “the university is having a small student art exhibition, and even though I’m not an art major, one of my paintings was selected! I’m so—” He lifted his wrist. Three. It was as if every single second he spent with me was a precious moment of his life slipping away, wasted. 9 “Maya, if you don’t start taking this seriously, you’re going to end up as nothing.” A month apart, and that was the first real sentence he’d said to me. I couldn’t believe it. I swallowed the noodles in my mouth and looked up at him, my gaze level. “You’re right,” I said calmly. “I am nothing. I don’t deserve you.” “Let’s break up.” I’d been thinking about it for a long time. Liam and I were just too different. He was serious and disciplined; he hated it when I was goofy or affectionate. The order and stability he craved were the very things that made me feel trapped. I despised the coding he excelled at. He disdained the passion I had for my art. We couldn’t even agree on food—I loved spicy, he wanted bland. Maybe Sophia was the one who was more his type. Liam’s brow, which had been furrowed in disapproval, tightened even more. “I’m just trying to help you.” There it was. That was always his line. He’d say it in that cool, detached voice—I’m just trying to help you—and it made me feel like I was the one being irrational. “You need to calm down.” He stood up. “I have to go.” He didn’t look back as he walked away, his figure disappearing into the crowd. I looked down at my bowl and kept eating. But then a tear fell, then another. I fumbled for a napkin, but the more I wiped, the more they came. 10 When I got back to the studio, my easel and canvases were tossed in the hallway like garbage. Dark, dirty shoe prints were stamped across several of my paintings. The tears I’d just managed to stop threatened to spill over again. I gathered my things, wiping away the grime, and carried everything back inside. I decided I would stay the night. Maybe I could channel all this miserable energy into a new piece. I had just started to sketch when the security guard came in. His face soured. “You again?” he grumbled. “Get out. You’re not supposed to be here.” The studio had a rule: if a student was working, a guard had to be on duty. Because my dorm cut the power at midnight, I often came here to work all night. And every time I did, this particular guard would make his displeasure known. “Great,” he’d mutter, loud enough for me to hear. “Now I have to stay late.” When he found out I wasn’t an art major, he started refusing to let me in at all. I had to sneak past him. I guess tonight was his shift. He seemed to be in a particularly bad mood. He reached out and grabbed my easel. I tried to reason with him, my voice shaking slightly. “The rules don’t say non-majors can’t use the studio, and I’m in the process of transferring. Please, can you just let me work? You don’t have to stay, you can just go.” He sneered. “I say you can’t, so you can’t. I’m in charge here. You think a student can tell me what to do? Now get out!” “I’m not leaving!” I sat on the floor, clutching my easel to my chest, a hot wave of anger washing over me. My parents told me not to paint. Liam told me not to paint. Now this stranger was telling me not to paint. It felt like no one in the world supported me except for myself. It was so hard. I felt like I was about to break. 11 In the middle of our standoff, a woman walked by, drawn in by the noise. “What’s going on?” I recognized her immediately. She was the professor for a class I’d been unofficially auditing. The guard’s demeanor changed in an instant. He put on a worried expression. “Professor Avery, I was about to lock up when I saw the light on. We’ve had some students report things missing from the studio lately, so I thought, you know, maybe it was a thief. I came in and saw this girl holding onto this easel for dear life. I tried to take her to campus security, but she refused to go…” There were security cameras in the studio. They would prove my innocence. But all the guard had to do was say he made a mistake, and he’d face no consequences. But if a rumor started that I was a thief, even if it was cleared up, the truth wouldn’t matter. People would just see me as trouble. I’d be barred from this place, my sanctuary. I was trembling with rage. “You’re lying!” The guard just smirked at me, a defiant look in his eyes. Professor Avery’s gaze shifted to me. She studied my face for a long moment, her brow furrowed. Then, her expression softened. “It’s you, isn’t it?”

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For five years, Maya was my wife, and for five years, she hated my guts. She collected lovers—young, beautiful men—and paraded them in front of me like trophies. She even got pregnant with one of their children, a living monument to the ghost of her dead first love. “You let him die,” she would say, her voice a blade. “This is what you deserve.” Then, one day, she learned the truth. She came to me, tears streaming down her face, begging for a second chance. But it was too late. I was already dying. 1 The day I got the diagnosis was the same day as my ten-year high school reunion. I called Maya three times on my way home from the doctor’s office, thinking she might want to go with me, for old times’ sake. She didn’t pick up. Her only reply was a three-word text. Stop bothering me. So I went alone. At the restaurant, the jokes started almost immediately. “Look who it is! Your wife running a whole company now, Leo? Too busy for the likes of us?” “Haha, don’t tell me she’s too good for her old classmates now that she’s a big-shot CEO.” “Nah, cut it out,” someone else chimed in. “You know Maya. She’s the most sentimental one of us all. Every single year, she still makes time for Connor’s…” The speaker trailed off, his eyes darting to me with a flash of apology. “Sorry, man. Leo. I’m sorry.” I forced a smile that felt like cracking plaster. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” The table scrambled to change the subject, the conversation suddenly loud and clumsy. It wasn’t a secret. Ever since Connor died, Maya reserved two weeks out of every year to fly back to his hometown and visit his grave. She even took care of his parents, sending them money, handling their affairs. She did it all without a single thought for how I might feel, ignoring her own parents’ objections. It was a grand, public performance of her devotion. Everyone knew. My wife was married to me, but a piece of her would always belong to him. I took a sip of water, trying to force the thought down. Just then, the door to our private room swung open. In walked Maya, impeccable in a Chanel suit, her makeup flawless. A genuine smile played on her lips; she looked happy. My heart gave a stupid, hopeful little flutter. The room erupted. “Maya! We thought you weren’t coming!” “Wow, still the queen of the class! You haven’t aged a day!” “Get over here! Your husband’s been moping in the corner, won’t even touch his food without you!” But my eyes weren’t on Maya anymore. They were on the young man trailing in her wake. My breath caught in my throat. He had Connor’s face. Or about seventy, eighty percent of it. 2 “Sorry I’m late, everyone.” Maya slid into the empty chair beside me, then casually asked the waiter to bring another. “I’d like you all to meet Finn,” she announced. The introduction was brief, almost dismissive. Finn had the grace to look shy, offering a nervous wave. “Hi, everyone.” An awkward silence fell over the table. No one responded. Eyes flickered between me, Maya, and the boy with the ghost’s face. Given Maya’s years-long obsession with Connor, it was impossible not to connect the dots. Maya acted as if she didn’t notice a thing. She started setting a place for him, her voice intimate and low. “These are just my old classmates. You don’t have to be nervous.” “Okay,” he murmured. Through it all, she never once looked at me. It was as if I were a stranger, a piece of furniture. It felt like I’d swallowed glass. Her coldness at home was one thing, a silent war waged within the privacy of our walls. But to bring her lover here, to a reunion, in front of people who had known us since we were kids… she wanted to humiliate me. It was the only explanation. A sharp, twisting pain shot through my stomach. Something hot and acidic rose in my throat. I shot to my feet. “Excuse me, everyone. I need the restroom.” “Leo, you’re pale as a ghost. You okay?” our old class president asked, his face etched with concern. I glanced at Maya. She was whispering something to Finn, a private smile on her face. She didn’t even register my departure. I waved a hand dismissively and walked out as fast as I could. I barely made it to the bathroom before I was retching, vomiting until the world spun. The pain in my stomach intensified, a vicious clenching that brought a cold sweat to my forehead. I was so focused on the agony that I didn’t hear him come in. “Ugh, gross. Who’s in here?” I turned. Finn was leaning against the doorframe, watching me with an arrogant smirk. He was a completely different person from the timid boy in the dining room. 3 I ignored him, rinsing my mouth at the sink and turning to leave. He blocked my path, dangling a wrist in front of my face. A new Rolex gleamed under the harsh fluorescent light. “Maya got me this for my birthday,” he said, his voice dripping with condescension. “She ever get you anything this nice? Oh, wait. Don’t answer that.” How pathetic. “I’ve lost count of how many of you she’s brought around to try and get a rise out of me,” I said, my voice flat. “But you, you’re easily the tackiest.” His face flushed with anger. He puffed out his chest. “Yeah, keep telling yourself that. Maya told me she likes me the best. She brought me to meet her oldest friends. What does that tell you?” I looked at his borrowed face and gave a small, tired nod. “You’re right. You are different. You’ll probably get to stick around for a while. Congratulations. I wish you both a long and happy life together.” My sincerity seemed to stun him into silence. When I returned to the table, Maya was peeling a shrimp. Finn followed me in and slid back into his seat. Maya placed the perfectly shelled shrimp into his bowl. “Eat it before it gets cold.” I don’t know why I even bothered coming back. Maybe it was some pathetic shred of pride, a refusal to be chased away. Or maybe, before it was all over, I just wanted to see how far she would push me. She continued to dote on him, completely ignoring the suffocatingly awkward atmosphere she’d created. Finally, one of our old friends couldn’t take it anymore. “So, Maya… this is your…?” “Oh, Finn is my new executive assistant,” she said smoothly. Finn beamed. Assistant? The others had just been toys, disposable distractions. This one she’d brought into the company. Her devotion to Finn—no, her devotion to Connor—ran deep. So what did that make me? Her husband of five years. What the hell was I? Maya didn’t stay long. After about ten minutes, she stood up to leave. This time, looking at the boy by her side, no one tried to make her stay. The door clicked shut behind them. For a moment, there was silence. Then, someone spoke in a low voice. “Hey, did you guys ever hear that rumor? About right before Connor died? Someone supposedly tipped off his creditors, told them where he was hiding.” My hand trembled, sloshing wine over the rim of my glass. At that exact moment, the door opened again. Maya had forgotten her purse. She stood in the doorway, her face instantly turning to stone as she took in the words that hung in the air. 4 Five years ago, Connor was drowning in gambling debt, hiding from loan sharks. The last call he ever made was to me. He asked for money. I said no. The next day, they found his body at the bottom of an abandoned construction site. He’d been beaten to death. When Maya found out, she shattered. When the police told her that Connor’s last lifeline had been a call to me—a call I’d rejected—her grief curdled into pure, unadulterated hatred. In her mind, I had killed him. So for years, she punished me. The silent treatment, the endless parade of other men. My pain was her revenge. When the doctor gave me the news, a bitter, spiteful thought crossed my mind: When I’m dead, will she finally be satisfied? She’d probably say I got what I deserved. Maya followed me home that night, and the storm broke. She tore through our apartment, smashing everything she could get her hands on. “Was it you, Leo?! Was it you?! You told them where he was! He only called you!” she shrieked, her voice raw. “So what if I still thought about him? It was just a memory! I married you! What more did you want from me?” She screamed at me as if I were the one who had laid a hand on him. I looked at the wreckage around us. The shattered vase I’d bought for our third anniversary. The splintered frame of a painting I loved. Everything I’d carefully chosen to build a home, destroyed without a second thought. But then, to her, this was never a home. “Even after he used you?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Even after he lied to you, over and over again, when you were together?” “Shut up!” She was trembling with rage, a fury I hadn’t seen in years. Her eyes were filled with a chilling venom. “You think you won just because he’s dead? You will never win! Everything that’s happening to us, to you… this is your karma, Leo. It’s exactly what you deserve!” With that, she stormed out, leaving me alone in the ruins. 5 Maya’s parents arrived the next morning to a scene that looked like it had been hit by a hurricane. Her father’s hands shook with rage. “This was Maya, wasn’t it?” I didn’t answer. My silence was enough. He turned to his wife. “Call that girl right now. Tell her to get her ass back here. Immediately.” I wanted to tell him not to bother. Since becoming CEO, Maya had the perfect excuse to never come home, to never answer my calls. I had tried everything over the years—patience, understanding, arguments, ultimatums. Now, all that was left was a numb indifference. As I opened my mouth to speak, a violent tickle erupted in my throat. I doubled over, seized by a wracking cough. Her parents rushed to my side, patting my back, fetching me a glass of water. I was curled up on the sofa, unable to straighten up, each cough a fresh wave of agony. Maya’s mother’s eyes welled with tears. “Oh, Leo. This is all Maya’s fault. And ours, for letting it go on.” “Anna… don’t say that… cough…” “She’s right,” her father said, his voice heavy. “Leo, we’ve asked too much of you these past few years. We never imagined… we never thought Maya would become like this. If we had known, we never would have…” “Don’t!” I cut him off, the word tearing from my lungs. “Cough, cough… It was my choice to marry her. I don’t regret it. And we all agreed. We have to keep that secret from her, always. Otherwise everything we did, everything I’ve put up with… it’ll all be for nothing.” For a long moment, the only sound was my ragged breathing. Finally, her father let out a long, weary sigh, as if a decision had finally settled in his soul. “Leo,” he said quietly. “Divorce her.” I froze. “My daughter… she’s blind. You don’t owe her anything else, son. You’ve done more than enough. Whatever happens to her after this, that’s on her.” Her mother’s tears fell freely now, but she nodded in agreement. “He’s right, Leo. How many more five-year stretches do you have to waste? Leave Maya. Find someone who deserves you. Start over. God knows, our family owes you that much.” 6 A bitter smile touched my lips. The folded diagnosis was still in my pocket. I could feel the sharp edge of the paper against my fingertips. What chance did I have to start over now? A heavy silence settled over the three of us, thick with the weight of a memory we all tried to keep buried. The truth was, five years ago, just after we got engaged, Connor had lured Maya to his apartment. He told her he needed to talk. But he was desperate for money. He drugged her—a massive dose—and then he let other men into the room. When Maya woke up, the trauma shattered her mind. She became a ghost, barely there, attempting suicide multiple times. This brilliant, talented artist, a rising star fresh out of her master’s program, was about to be extinguished by one evil man. Her parents were destroyed. In the end, we found the best therapists, the best hypnotists in the country. It took an immense effort, but they succeeded in burying the memory of that night so deep she couldn’t access it. But with it went the memory of Connor’s betrayal. In her mind, he remained her perfect, martyred first love. The one I could never compete with. Afterward, I married her, just as we had planned. I promised her parents I would protect her for the rest of my life. To avoid triggering a relapse, we couldn’t press charges against Connor. So I found another way. I arranged for him to be drawn into a high-stakes poker game. I made sure he lost, big. And when he was desperate and on the run, I made sure his creditors knew exactly where to find him. He died a brutal death. It was exactly what I’d wanted. But even if he died a thousand times, it would never be enough to pay for what he did. Maya’s mother finally got through on the phone. But it wasn’t Maya who answered. It was a young man’s voice. “Hi, Mrs. Evans. The CEO is in a meeting right now. This is Finn, her new executive assistant. Is there a message I can take for her?” 7 Maya’s mother hung up, frowning. “Since when does Maya have a male assistant?” I didn’t say anything. What was the point? It would only upset them more. Besides, I was a dead man walking. What did I have left to be angry about? The company’s new product launch was scheduled for the end of the month. I didn’t want to go. I hadn’t set foot in the office since the diagnosis. It was a relief, not having to see Finn’s smug, borrowed face every day. But one of my colleagues called to persuade me. “Leo, a lot of the major clients you brought in are going to be there. It wouldn’t look good if you didn’t show.” He was right. As a co-founder, I had secured most of our biggest accounts through years of schmoozing and hard work. I sighed. “Alright. I’ll be there.” One last thing. For Maya. For the company we built together. Of course, she brought Finn. He strutted up to me, radiating borrowed importance. “Leo. We meet again.” Before I could respond, Maya called him away. “Come on. There are people I want you to meet.” I forced myself to mingle for a bit, exchanging pleasantries with old clients and friends, before retreating to a corner with a glass of whiskey. “Ugh, my dad is the worst. He totally dragged me here.” A young woman, maybe early twenties, plopped onto the barstool next to me, complaining loudly into her phone. I paid her no mind and took another drink. “Hey, Mister,” she said suddenly, having hung up her call. “You know you’re not supposed to mix those two, right?” Oh, I knew. I poured myself another. She rolled her eyes and was about to leave when I stopped her. “Hey, kid. Am I really that old? What’s with the ‘Mister’?” Compared to a punk like Finn, sure, I was older. But it was called maturity, dammit. 8 She turned back, a smile playing on her lips when she saw the genuinely annoyed look on my face. “What’s a grown man like you so worried about his age for?” Just then, Finn reappeared, his mouth already open and spewing venom. “There you are. Maya’s out there working the room, and you’re hiding in a corner? Look at you. You look like a stray dog that’s been kicked one too many times.” I was already a little drunk. Finn’s face seemed to distort and magnify before my eyes, and I had the sudden, violent urge to rip it apart. “Get lost. You’re blocking the view.” “I know you’re not happy that Maya promoted me,” he sneered, leaning closer. “But what can I do? She just likes me more. If I were you, I wouldn’t have even shown my face here. So embarrassing.” This goddamn fly. Where did she even find him? My hand tightened into a fist. But before I could do anything, the young woman beside me spoke up. “Excuse me,” she said, her voice loud and clear. “How did a gigolo like you get into an event like this?” Pfft. I nearly choked on my whiskey. She wasn’t wrong. With his pretty-boy looks and cheap swagger, he really did look the part. “What did you just say?! I’m the executive assistant to the CEO of Omnia Corp! I’m not a gigolo! You’re the gigolo! Your whole family are gigolos!” The young woman planted her hands on her hips, completely unfazed. “Yeah, right. I’ve heard the CEO of Omnia is a class act. You think she’d hire someone like you to be her assistant? She’d have to be blind.” I raised an eyebrow. The kid had a point. She had these bright, mischievous eyes that sparkled with defiance. Every word she said was a bullseye straight to my heart. Maya was blind. Finn was practically vibrating with rage, pointing a trembling finger at her. “I bet you’re the one who crashed this party for free food! Security! Security! Get her out of here!” He lunged forward to grab her arm. I set my glass down with a heavy thud and stood up, blocking his path. “Take your hands off her.” 9 Finn was a good half-a-foot shorter than me, and scrawny. Next to me, he looked like a malnourished chicken. If it weren’t for that face, I’d seriously question if Maya had suffered a head injury to fall for a loser like this. Two security guards materialized instantly. The commotion had drawn the attention of the entire room. All eyes were on us. Maya pushed through the crowd. She gave me a dismissive glance before turning to Finn, her voice softening. “What’s going on?” Finn’s lower lip trembled as he prepared to tattle. “Dad! This guy just called you a gigolo!” A collective gasp went through the crowd. At the front of the onlookers, the chairman of Hayes Industries, one of the biggest players in our industry, looked utterly bewildered. The young woman skipped over to him, linking her arm through his. “Dad, it was him! This pretty boy called you a gigolo! And he tried to have me thrown out, said I was a party crasher!” She pointed a finger at me. “He heard the whole thing! He’s my witness!” Finn seemed to shrink. He hadn’t realized he’d just insulted Sadie Hayes, the notoriously spoiled daughter of the man Maya was desperately trying to woo as an investor. His face went as white as a sheet. Maya’s smile was strained. “Mr. Hayes, I’m sure this is all just a misunderstanding.” “He called security on me,” Sadie shot back. “What’s there to misunderstand? If it wasn’t for Leo here, I’d have been tossed out on the street!” Finn panicked. “No, that’s not what happened! She called me a gigolo first, so I—” A sharp look from Maya silenced him. Maya stepped forward, all professional warmth. “My assistant is still young. Kids bicker, it’s not a big deal. How about this? Right or wrong, I’ll have him apologize to your daughter.” She turned to Finn, her voice firm. “Finn. Apologize to Miss Hayes. Now.” He looked utterly humiliated, but he didn’t dare disobey. “Miss Hayes,” he mumbled, “I was out of line. Please, forgive me.” 10 Sadie just rolled her eyes at him, which only seemed to infuriate Finn more. Finally, Mr. Hayes spoke. “Sadie,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “Let it go.” Maya’s smile faltered. He was a veteran of these games. The words were for his daughter, but the message was for Maya. Your man was in the wrong, and the apology was warranted. Don’t act like you’re doing us a favor. But there was no way Maya was going to pick a fight with Hayes Industries. “Well, glad that’s all cleared up!” she said, a little too brightly. “Sorry for the disturbance, everyone.” As the crowd dispersed, Maya, her face a thundercloud, told Finn to leave. He looked like he was about to cry. So much for her plan to show him off and build his network. It had backfired spectacularly. Sadie didn’t leave. She sidled up to me, chattering away. “Okay, I’ve got it figured out. You’re in love with the CEO, the CEO is in love with the pretty boy, so you’re stuck here drinking your feelings. Pretty boy gets a big head and decides to come rub it in your face.” She paused, then added, “But isn’t the Omnia CEO married? God, what a mess. Her poor husband. You should probably just give up, you know. I can tell she doesn’t just dislike you; it’s more like she actively loathes you.” I froze, my glass halfway to my lips. “You’re just a kid,” I said, my voice hoarse. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” “Oh, I don’t?” she challenged, ready for a fight. I cut her off. “What if I told you… I’m her pathetic husband?” “Huh?” Sadie stared at me, her jaw on the floor. 11 Maya didn’t come home that night. Her little prince had his feelings hurt. I imagined she was busy comforting him. I sat in the vast, empty apartment, swallowed by a loneliness so profound it felt like a physical weight. Maybe it was the cancer, but I’d become sentimental lately. I was drifting in a hazy, pained sleep when my phone rang. It was Maya. Her voice was sharp. “If you have a problem, you take it up with me. Finn is young. Why are you targeting him?” I didn’t say anything. Her voice rose in frustration. “Leo! Are you dead? Answer me! Promise me you’ll leave Finn alone, or I’ll—” “Maya,” I interrupted, my own voice calm and clear. “Let’s get a divorce.” The line went dead silent. I clutched the phone, a strange sense of relief washing over me. It wasn’t that hard to say, after all. In the background, I could hear Finn’s timid voice. “Maya?” She must have snapped out of her shock, because a moment later, she laughed. A cold, ugly sound. “Fine. You want a divorce? You’ve got it, Leo. But don’t think this is some kind of reverse psychology bullshit. You’re not smart enough for that. “I’ll have my lawyer draft the papers tomorrow. As for marital assets…” “Don’t worry,” I said. “I won’t fight you on it. I’ll only take what was mine to begin with.” “Leo,” she hissed, her voice laced with venom, “I might as well tell you. I’ve hired a private investigator to look into Connor’s death. When I find definitive proof that you were involved, don’t think for a second that a divorce is going to save you. I will never let you go.” The line clicked, followed by a dial tone. I sat bolt upright. This was bad. Very bad. 12 With Maya’s resources and determination, it was only a matter of time before she dug up the past I had worked so hard to bury. After a long time spent staring at the ceiling, I called her parents. Her mother panicked instantly. “Leo, what are we going to do? The doctors warned us! She can’t be exposed to that kind of shock again. If she remembers… all that work will be undone!” “Connor’s been dead for years,” I said, trying to reassure her as much as myself. “I did my best to cover our tracks. She might not find anything.” “But Leo, what if she does?” “Anna, David… I’ll… I’ll try to talk to her.” At the end of the day, this was all about punishing me. She was convinced I’d killed Connor. She wanted me to pay for taking her perfect memory away. Well, I was dying anyway. She was about to get her wish. I went to the office first thing the next morning. The employees were all respectful, greeting me with a quiet deference. All except one. Finn, dressed in a tailored suit and sipping a latte, looked every bit the smug corporate climber. The hostility in his eyes was undisguised. “What are you doing here?” “I may be the CEO’s assistant,” I said, my voice low and steady, “but don’t you forget that I am also a founder of this company. I am your boss.” I could feel the curious stares and pricked ears of everyone in the vicinity, though no one dared to say a word. Finn’s expression soured, but he knew better than to challenge me in front of the entire office. I walked past him and went straight to the CEO’s office. He scurried after me. “Hey! Even if you’re technically her husband, you can’t just barge in without knocking!” Maya was at her desk, taking some pills. When she saw me, she quickly tried to hide the bottle, like a child caught doing something wrong. My eyes caught two words on the label before she shoved it out of sight: Folic Acid. What was she doing taking prenatal vitamins? 13 I pushed the question aside. “Alright,” I said, my voice flat. “What will it take? What do I have to do for you to finally be satisfied?” Maya looked startled for a moment, then let out a scornful laugh. “What kind of tone is that, Leo? Do you really think you’re in any position to be making demands?” I took a deep breath. “I know how much you hate me. So let’s just cut the crap. Tell me what you want. It’ll save you the trouble of bringing every stray you find into our lives just to torture me. Don’t you ever get tired of it?” As I spoke, Finn slipped into the room. A flash of anger crossed his face, but he quickly composed himself, turning to Maya with a wounded expression. “Maya…” She beckoned him over. He practically trotted to her side, taking her hand and shooting me a triumphant look. “I guess you haven’t heard, Leo,” Finn said, his voice oozing satisfaction. “Last week, Maya bought me a condo over by the university. And a new Panamera.” I frowned. Before we were married, I’d joked with Maya that once her company took off, she had to buy me a Panamera. I’d drive it around and tell everyone my successful wife bought it for me. I’d be so proud. They both misinterpreted my silence as jealousy over the money. “Don’t you dare start talking about ‘joint marital assets’,” Maya snapped. “It’s my money. I’ll spend it on whoever I want.” Money? The idea was so laughable I almost scoffed. When had I ever cared about that? She thought throwing money at other men would drive me insane with rage. She didn’t understand. A man whose heart has already died doesn’t care about such trivial things. The only thing that ever stung was her unwavering devotion to Connor’s memory. That was what made my years of silent sacrifice feel like a cosmic joke. “It doesn’t matter,” I said. “I didn’t come here to argue with your… replacement boy toy. I just have one question. Will you be happy when I’m dead?” Without a moment’s hesitation, she answered. “Yes.” Even though I’d expected it, the word struck me like a physical blow. 14 The pain in my stomach flared, sharp and insistent. I forced myself to stand tall. “Fine. I’ll admit it. I had something to do with Connor’s death.” Maya’s pupils contracted. She shot to her feet. Her voice trembled. “What did you say? Say it again.” I met her gaze without flinching. “You don’t need to investigate, Maya. It was me. “When Connor called me that night, I told him I’d bring the money. The idiot actually gave me his address. And then, I called his creditors and gave it to them. He probably died thinking I was on my way to save him.” Maya began to tremble, her chest heaving with ragged breaths. The hatred that erupted in her eyes was terrifying. “It was you,” she whispered, her voice a serrated edge. “It was you. You bastard. You absolute bastard!” Her shriek was so raw and furious that Finn instinctively took a step back. “You should be the one who’s dead, Leo! Why don’t you just die!” She started grabbing things from her desk—a stapler, a paperweight, a heavy glass trophy—and hurling them at me. Finn rushed to her side. “Maya, calm down! Don’t get so upset! Think about the baby!” The baby? My entire body went rigid. I stared at her stomach, my mind refusing to process the words. Seeing my stunned expression, a cruel, triumphant smile spread across Maya’s face. She lifted her chin. “That’s right. I’m pregnant. And no, obviously, it’s not yours. You hate Connor so much? You’re so jealous of him? Well, I’m going to have a baby that looks just like him. I’m going to give him Connor’s last name. And there’s not a damn thing you can do about it. You’re pathetic, Leo. Truly pathetic.” The air rushed out of my lungs. The room started to spin. Suddenly, the world went dark, and my legs gave out from under me. Maya, how could you? Her years of misunderstanding and misplaced anger, I had endured it all. But this… this was a level of cruelty I could never have imagined. Just before I blacked out completely, I heard Finn answer his phone. “Maya, it must be the PI! He’s found something! Listen!” He put the call on speaker. “Mr. Scott, we’ve uncovered some new information. It seems the reason Connor was targeted was because he had a history of… well, it seems he drugged his ex-girlfriend with the intent of having her sexually assaulted by multiple men in exchange for money. After the incident, the victim’s fiancé, he…”

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My brother’s girlfriend was flying in from her year abroad, and I’d told Leo to bring her by for dinner. A proper introduction. I was curled up on my sofa, lost in some mindless reality show, when the front door opened. Her eyes scanned the living room, bypassing my brother and his friends, and locked directly onto me. She strode forward with unnerving purpose. “You must be Ava,” she said, her voice dripping with a sweetness that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “The girl Leo grew up with. So close you could practically share the same skin.” She smiled, a slow, deliberate thing, her gaze meticulously mapping my face. “I just wanted to thank you, really. For taking care of him, for… house-training him for me before I got back. We’re doing so great now.” At her words, a few of Leo’s friends exchanged smirks, muffling quiet laughter. What did she think I was? Was a close relationship between a sister and her brother so unusual? The way she framed it, I wasn’t family; I was some combination of a glorified nanny and a romantic rival she’d finally vanquished. Our parents died when we were young. I built a company from the ground up to raise him. His education, his clothes, the very roof over his head—which was, incidentally, my roof—was all paid for by me. I held her gaze, my silence a stark contrast to her cloying charm. Then she delivered the final blow. “Now that I’m back,” she said, her smile widening just a fraction, “don’t you think it’s time you found your own place? You know, to give us some space and avoid any… awkwardness.” A laugh escaped my lips, sharp and incredulous. She wanted me to move out of my own house? The audacity was almost impressive. 1 Before I could formulate a response, she turned on her heel, playing the perfect hostess in a home that wasn’t hers, and clapped her hands together. “Dinner, everyone!” Her name was Isabelle, and she darted to Leo’s side, her voice shifting into a high, girlish pitch. “Leo, is that the spicy garlic shrimp? My absolute favorite!” “Whoa, Izzy, easy on the PDA,” one of his friends teased, and the group erupted in good-natured catcalls. A dopey, lovesick grin spread across my brother’s face, stretching from ear to ear. Despite the veiled hostility in her greeting, I decided to let it slide. Some women are wired to see every other female as a threat. It’s a sad, exhausting way to live, but it wasn’t my problem. At the dinner table, Isabelle was practically draped over Leo, her laughter a constant, tinkling performance. I didn’t know his friends well, and my only goal was to get through the meal so I could retreat to my bedroom and finish my show. But Isabelle had other plans. Her voice cut through the chatter, loud and clear. “Ava,” she began, her eyes sweeping across the table before landing on me with a look of profound meaning. “You’re so beautiful. Do you have a boyfriend?” I answered curtly, not wanting to engage. “No.” The truth was, we’d broken up five days ago. My single-word answer seemed to ignite something in her. A flicker of triumph, maybe. She let out a soft, theatrical laugh. “No way. Seriously? I would have pegged you as a total player. I’m shocked you’d ever have a down-moment between guys.” She gestured to a man sitting beside her. “You know, Mike here is single too. Maybe you two should exchange numbers?” The man she indicated was one of her friends. He was slightly overweight, with glasses that didn’t quite fit his face and a sheen of oil in his unkempt hair. He immediately blushed, stammering, “Uh… I mean, if she’s… I’d be honored…” I cut him off before he could finish. “I’m not looking to date right now.” “Oh, you have to!” Isabelle insisted, her tone dripping with faux concern. “Leo’s thirty now, so you can’t be that far behind, right? You need to find someone to keep you company. You don’t want to end up all alone.” When I didn’t respond, she pivoted back to my brother. “Or… maybe there’s already someone special? Leo, you two grew up together, you must know all her secrets. Spill!” Leo looked deeply uncomfortable. He pushed a peeled shrimp onto her plate. “Izzy, stop it. She just got out of a relationship. She needs some time.” The moment the words left his mouth, Isabelle’s entire demeanor shifted. The smile vanished. She leaned in close to him, her voice a low, pouting whisper. “She just got out of a relationship, and you know all the details? How convenient.” The scent of jealousy was thick in the air. My brother just looked confused, but Isabelle had already turned her attention back to the table, her tone now light and teasing. “Well, you know what they say. Men are like clothes—if they don’t fit, you just get a new one. A gorgeous woman like you must have guys lining up, right?” She tsked dramatically. “There was this one girl at my college, Bianca, went through like, forty guys in four years. Beautiful girls just love to have their fun.” She paused, then looked me up and down with a condescending pity. “But you seem like the more… wholesome type. I bet you’ve never even slept with a man, have you?” She covered her mouth with a delicate hand, her laugh a feigned gasp. “Oh my god, who am I kidding? At our age, who’s still a virgin? Not that it matters, of course. We’re all adults here!” I remained silent, a piece of shrimp halfway to my mouth. She pressed on, her voice dropping conspiratorially. “I gave Leo my first time. Who’d you give yours to, Ava? Or wait… what was that word again?” I met her gaze, my own expression a mask of pure innocence, and chewed my shrimp slowly. “Sorry… virginity? I’m not familiar with the term.” A few of the men at the table snickered, their eyes glinting with a new, unpleasant light as they looked at me. A flush of embarrassment crept up Isabelle’s neck. I distinctly heard her mutter under her breath, “God, what a fake…” So, this was my brother’s new girlfriend. And for some reason, she had decided I was her enemy. After dinner, Leo excitedly suggested we all go to a karaoke bar. I had zero interest, but Isabelle grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong. “Come on, Ava! How else am I supposed to find you a new man?” Under a chorus of pressure, I finally relented with a sigh. “Look, I just broke up with my ex a few days ago. I’m really not in the mood.” A flash of pure, unadulterated joy crossed her face before she expertly masked it with an expression of apology, placing a hand over her lips. “Oh, Ava, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up something so painful.” She then brightened, as if struck by a brilliant idea. “Do you want to get back together with him? Give Leo his number! We can all help you patch things up!” Every eye in the room turned to me. Before I could protest, she snatched my phone from my hand. “Here, let us do it for you!” It all happened so fast. I watched, helpless, as Leo found Mark’s contact and hit the call button. To my absolute astonishment, Mark agreed to come. And that’s how I found myself standing on the sidewalk outside a dimly lit karaoke bar, watching my ex-boyfriend walk towards us. He wore a simple black button-down, his tall, lean frame looking just as familiar as it did painful. “So this is Mark,” Isabelle cooed, deftly positioning herself between us. Her smile was a beacon of saccharine sincerity. “Ava’s missed you so much. We’re so glad you came.” She looped her arm through his, guiding him towards me as if presenting a prize. Mark didn’t resist. He simply allowed himself to be led. “You know, Leo,” Isabelle remarked, a casual observation that felt anything but. “You and Mark kind of look alike.” Inside the private room, she handed him a drink, her voice a casual mix of concern and curiosity. “A great guy like you must be in high demand in this city. I think I saw you a while back, at that really popular French place downtown? The woman you were with… wow. Absolutely stunning.” She glanced at me from the corner of her eye. “Was that an old girlfriend? Ava, did you know about her?” She nudged me playfully with her elbow, a conspiratorial glint in her eyes. My blood ran cold. I knew nothing about Mark at a French restaurant with another woman. When Mark didn’t respond, Isabelle just shrugged it off with a light laugh and turned her full attention to me. “Anyway, I’m sure a beautiful, outgoing woman like you has tons of male friends. I doubt you’re ever lonely, right?” she said, her tone dripping with admiration. “If I had your charm, I probably wouldn’t waste too much time being sad over any one guy.” Her words sounded like a harmless joke, but I saw Mark’s hand tighten around his glass. She then selected a song from the screen—a heartbreaking ballad about lost love and lingering memories. She sang it beautifully, her eyes fixed on my brother with a theatrical passion. When the last note faded, she sighed dramatically, just loud enough for the entire room to hear. “You know, the worst thing in a relationship is a misunderstanding. One person thinks it’s just innocent friendship, but the other person is dying inside from insecurity.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle. “Honesty and boundaries… they’re just so important.” Her gaze found mine across the dimly lit room. “We’re both women. You get what I mean, right, Ava?” Mark’s face, shadowed by the pulsing lights, hardened. I couldn’t stay silent any longer. “What exactly are you trying to say, Isabelle?” “Nothing!” She blinked, the picture of innocence. “Just thinking out loud. Don’t mind me, Mark. I just mean, a girl as dazzling as Ava… it’s only natural that guys would offer to drive her home, that people would be hitting on her all the time. Sometimes, she might not even realize how it looks to other people.” She smiled sweetly at him. “You two should really get back together.” She had deliberately emphasized the words “drive her home,” planting a seed of insinuation. I froze. The reason Mark and I had fought, the reason we broke up, was a misunderstanding. My boss, Grant, had a crush on me. While I had never reciprocated, my job sometimes required me to accompany him to client dinners. I had never crossed a line, but Mark refused to believe me. I had only ever told Leo about the specifics of that fight. And now, it was clear Leo had told Isabelle, who had twisted the details into something ugly. Mark shot to his feet, his voice a low growl. “Ava. Outside. Now.” In the narrow hallway, his eyes burned with a furious anger. “Was she telling the truth? We’ve been broken up for less than a week, and you already have another guy driving you around? Is it Grant?!” “No! Grant has feelings for me, but I’ve already turned him down. Nothing has ever happened,” I said, telling him the plain, unvarnished truth. “Enough!” He jerked his arm away when I tried to touch him, his gaze like ice. “Are you still going to lie to my face, even now?” “Ava, I thought you were different,” he said, his face a mask of pain and disgust as he searched for the right word. “I never thought you were so…” Just then, Isabelle appeared at the end of the hall, a look of deep concern on her face. “Is everything okay? Mark, please don’t be angry. Maybe it’s just her personality. She’s so popular, she’s probably just used to guys fawning over her. I’m sure she didn’t mean to deceive you…” Every word she spoke, cloaked in fake sympathy, was like gasoline on a flame. “If you’re determined to believe I’m some cheap, easy woman,” I said, my voice shaking with rage, “then there’s nothing more to say!” He raised his hand. Crack. The sound echoed in the hallway. I pressed a hand to my cheek, the sting blooming into a fiery blaze. I stared at him, at the man I had loved, in utter disbelief. Isabelle gasped. “Mark, how could you!” she cried, rushing forward to feign holding him back. My cheek throbbed, but my heart felt like a block of ice. “Mark,” I said, my voice eerily calm as I lowered my hand. “We are done. This is over.” He turned and walked away without another word. I went to the restroom to compose myself, the reflection in the mirror showing a woman I barely recognized. When I returned to the room, the party was in full swing. Isabelle was nestled against my brother’s side, laughing as if nothing had happened. I walked straight up to her. My voice wasn’t loud, but it cut through the music, silencing the conversations around us. “Isabelle. We met for the first time tonight.” The karaoke track played on, a soulless beat in the suddenly silent room. Every eye was on us. “So I’d like you to explain something to me. This story about me having ‘tons of male friends’ and men driving me around all the time… where, exactly, did you get that information?” Isabelle stared at me, her bravado momentarily gone. It was replaced by a look of wounded fragility as she instinctively shrank into my brother’s arms. “Ava… what are you talking about? I… I was just making conversation. It was a joke. Why are you taking it so seriously?” Her eyes welled up as she looked to Leo for protection. “A joke?” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. “A joke that ends with my ex-boyfriend slapping me across the face in the hallway?” “Well, what did you want me to say?” she suddenly shrieked, her voice cracking with manufactured tears. “Even if tonight was the first time we officially met, I’ve known about you for a long time! I’ve seen you myself, getting in and out of different luxury cars! It was probably for work, right? I wasn’t lying!” Instantly, the atmosphere in the room shifted. I could feel the judgmental stares of their friends, hear the whispered comments. “Wow, so she’s a gold digger…” “And here she was, acting so innocent.” “Isabelle!” Leo’s voice was a sharp reprimand, his brow furrowed in anger. “What did I do?” she wailed, tears now streaming down her face. “I was trying to help her! It’s not my fault her boyfriend misunderstood and hit her! And now you’re all blaming me?” “Apologize to her,” Leo commanded. “You’re taking her side too?” Isabelle shrieked. “Are you obsessed with her or something?” The eyes of Leo’s friends were now filled with a complicated mix of pity and suspicion. I’d had enough. I grabbed my purse and turned to leave. In my haste, my high heel slipped on a patch of spilled liquor on the floor. My ankle twisted violently, and I cried out as I lost my balance, stumbling sideways. A searing pain shot up my leg. “Ava!” Leo yelled. He shoved Isabelle aside and rushed to my side, catching me before I hit the ground. Seeing my face, pale and contorted in pain, he didn’t hesitate. He bent down and hoisted me onto his back. “Leo!” Isabelle screamed, trying to grab his arm. “She’s totally faking it! You…” “Shut up!” he snapped, a rare and startling burst of fury directed at her. “Go home by yourself.” Ignoring her outraged sobs and the stunned looks from his friends, he carried me out of the karaoke bar and into the night. The doctor at urgent care diagnosed it as a severely sprained ankle. Torn ligaments. Weeks of rest. After Leo got me settled on the couch back at my apartment, his phone buzzed incessantly. A relentless stream of calls from Isabelle. He silenced it with a frustrated jab of his thumb. “Ava… I’m so sorry.” I said nothing. I just picked up my phone, methodically blocking Mark’s number and deleting every photo, every digital trace of him from my life. I thought the nightmare was over, at least for a while. I was wrong. The next afternoon, I was in the main conference room at my company, finalizing a major partnership deal. We were moments away from signing the contracts when the door was thrown open with such force that it slammed against the wall. Isabelle stood in the doorway, her eyes red and swollen, reeking of alcohol. She had found me at work. “Ava Monroe! You bitch! Get out here!” she screamed, pointing a trembling finger at me, completely oblivious to the room full of stunned executives. “It’s not enough for you to seduce your own boss, you have to play the victim and steal Leo from me too? You absolute slut!” My client and my entire team stared, frozen in shock. I rose slowly, my voice dangerously calm. “Isabelle, you’re drunk. This is a place of business. I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” I turned to my assistant. “Jessica? Where is security? How did a drunk person get into the building?” “They were called down to the garage, Ms. Monroe,” Jessica whispered, rushing to try and escort Isabelle out. “Something about the electrical box.” “A place of business?” Isabelle sneered, shoving Jessica so hard she stumbled and fell. “Who knows what kind of shady deals you’re really making in here! What did you and Leo do last night? He ditched me! For you!” Her voice rose to a hysterical pitch. “You think just because you’re his precious first love, his goddamn gold standard, you can just ruin my life? Well, I’ll ruin yours first!” Before anyone could react, she lunged at the conference table, grabbed the stack of meticulously prepared contracts, and began tearing them to shreds. “What are you doing?!” my client yelled, jumping to his feet. My colleagues scrambled to stop her, but it was too late. The key documents were confetti. She threw her head back and laughed, a wild, unhinged sound, as two of my male employees finally grabbed her arms and dragged her out of the room. The client’s face was a mask of cold fury. He calmly straightened his suit jacket. “Ms. Monroe,” he said, his voice flat. “It appears we need to re-evaluate the… stability of your company’s internal environment. Today’s signing is officially canceled.” He and his team walked out without a backward glance.

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The rumor was that Ethan Prescott, the undisputed prince of New York’s high society, had a thing for a girl in a photograph. I have the kind of figure that was made for a silk sheath dress. After my family’s empire crumbled, I was shipped off to Manhattan as collateral for a debt. This prince, however, wanted nothing to do with me. He wouldn’t even grant me a meeting, sending a text message designed to make me crawl back to where I came from: 【I’m in love with someone else. Don’t waste your time.】 At that exact moment, his assistant handed me a file—a dossier on the woman who held Ethan Prescott’s heart. I stared at the photo of the smiling girl in the cheongsam, and a memory surfaced. It was me. A candid shot from a college trip to the city, taken years ago. 1 The file began with a psychological profile of Ethan Prescott. Cold, it said. Aloof. Never showed interest in women. Then, five years ago, that had changed. He’d fallen for someone. Love at first sight. Beneath the text was the picture. Me, standing in the middle of Washington Square Park, looking over my shoulder with a smile. The photo was taken from inside a passing car, grainy and immediate. It had the distinct feel of a hurried glance, a fleeting moment that had somehow been stolen and frozen in time. “The private investigator couldn’t dig up anything more than this,” said AJ, my father’s last loyal man. “Now that we know who she is, you want us to go have a word with her? A warning, maybe?” “A warning?” I asked, my voice flat. AJ rolled up his sleeves. “Yeah. Teach her a lesson.” “Oh? And you’re aware that assault is a felony, right?” The men my father left me were as brilliant as he was. My father, the third-generation heir who had managed to run the formidable Hayes Corporation straight into the ground, leaving a mountain of debt in his wake. AJ’s face fell. “But Ms. Hayes, this guy is throwing a fit about the engagement. He’s been fighting with his family for days. Said he’d rather die than marry you. He even defied his grandfather and moved out of the family estate.” I gave a slight nod. “I see.” “Ava,” AJ pleaded, his tone softening. “The Hayes family may be bankrupt, but we were once one of Boston’s most powerful families. You don’t have to humiliate yourself like this. Let’s just go back home and figure out the debt another way.” What home? I wanted to ask. There was nothing left to go back to. My finger traced the outline of my own younger, brighter smile in the photograph. “Not yet,” I said, closing the file. “Do we know Ethan Prescott’s schedule for today?” “He has a reservation at The Summit Lounge this afternoon.” “Get me a table there. Not a private room. I want to be in the main hall.” AJ blinked. “You’re going to see him? But he can’t stand the idea of you.” “I’m not going to see him,” I corrected, rising from my chair to gaze out at the river of yellow cabs flowing below the hotel window. “I’m simply going for a drink. To enjoy the view.” I paused, a small smile playing on my lips. “And to let the view come find me.” AJ looked completely lost, scratching his head before heading off to make the call. He’d been a street fighter before my father saved him from being beaten to death by a rival gang. His loyalty was absolute, even if his intellect wasn’t. He was the only one who stayed after everything fell apart. “The reservation is made, Ms. Hayes.” “Thank you.” I walked into the dressing room and selected a moon-white, halter-neck silk dress. I twisted my hair into a loose chignon, securing it with a single pearl pin. The dress was understated, its clean lines exposing the pale curve of my shoulders. Elegant, but with a quiet magnetism. They say you should never meet someone too dazzling when you’re young. If it doesn’t work out, they become the yardstick by which you measure everyone else, and no one ever measures up. But what if you’re the ghost he’s been measuring every other woman against? When I arrived, The Summit Lounge was an oasis of hushed tones and old money. The air smelled of expensive perfume and aged whiskey. The furniture was all dark mahogany, and even the tables in the main hall were partially enclosed by ornate privacy screens. It was easy to see why it was a favorite haunt for Manhattan’s elite. My table was strategically placed along the path to Ethan’s private room. A few minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text from AJ. 【His car just pulled up.】 I silenced my phone and took a sip of my martini. Showtime. Through a gap in the screen, I watched the doorman respectfully pull open the heavy glass door. A tall, impeccably dressed figure stepped inside. He wore a dark grey suit that seemed molded to his frame, and he moved with the unhurried confidence of a man accustomed to being in charge. His face was lethally handsome, sharp angles and intense eyes that immediately drew the attention of everyone in the room. “That’s him,” a woman whispered nearby. “Ethan Prescott. The only son.” “Did you hear? The Hayes family from Boston went bust. They’re basically selling their daughter to him to cover their debts.” “Can you imagine? What kind of woman from a bankrupt family does she think she is? As if Ethan Prescott would ever look at her.” “Exactly.” “Look how tense he is. Bet he’s furious about the whole arrangement.” Ethan’s gaze was fixed straight ahead as he walked toward his room. Just as he was about to pass my table, I picked up my glass, tilting my head down as if completely absorbed in the drink. In my mind, I counted his steps. One. Two. Three. As he passed, his peripheral vision caught my profile. It was just a glimpse, but it was enough. Ethan Prescott, the unshakable prince of New York, faltered. His stride broke. He stopped, turning his head to get a better look, but in that same instant, I leaned back in my chair. The privacy screen perfectly obscured my face. 2 From where Ethan stood, all he could see was the table, the stem of a martini glass, and a pair of long legs, clad in silk, crossed delicately beneath the hem of a white dress. He remained frozen outside the screen, his well-manicured hand trembling slightly. It was probably the first time in his life he’d ever had to approach a woman. When his voice finally emerged, it was a low, pleasant baritone, but laced with an uncharacteristic nervousness that clashed with his cool, distant persona. “Excuse me.” “Could I… see you for a moment?” When I didn’t respond, he quickly added, “I don’t mean to be forward. It’s just… you look like a friend of mine. I wanted to be sure.” “Sir, your pickup line is painfully cliché,” I said, slowly swirling the olive in my glass. “So cliché it’s uncomfortable.” I finally lifted my eyes, though he couldn’t see them. “You’re a creep.” Ethan couldn’t have expected this. First, the rejection. Then, being called a creep. A man of his looks, wealth, and status was used to women falling at his feet. Rejection wasn’t just uncommon; it was nonexistent. The whispers in the lounge started up again. “Did you see that? Ethan Prescott, making a move on a woman? I thought he was completely untouchable.” “I have to know what the woman in that booth looks like. To get the Ethan Prescott to approach her like that…” The word “creep” seemed to strike him like a physical blow. He stood there, rigid with a mixture of shame and indignation. Because, of course, no one knew that he wasn’t hitting on me. He was genuinely trying to confirm if I was the girl he’d been searching for. But to the outside world—and to me, the woman he assumed was a stranger—it looked like a clumsy, low-class pickup attempt. After a long moment of silence, he flexed his fingers, his knuckles turning white. “I apologize. I was out of line.” Then, Ethan did something that stunned the entire room. The famously composed gentleman reached out and shoved the ornate screen aside. The air in the lounge seemed to thin. The screen slid halfway open. My face was just about to be revealed when his phone, tucked inside his suit jacket, began to vibrate insistently. The buzzing was relentless; it was either a family emergency or urgent company business. He took a deep breath, pulling out his phone to check the caller ID. His brow furrowed in annoyance as he turned his back to me to answer it. “What is it?” I leaned forward slightly, studying the man who was supposed to be my fiancé. His back was broad, his shoulders tapering down to a narrow waist, the perfectly tailored suit accentuating a physique that was like a drawn bow, taut with latent power. He was even more handsome in person than in his photographs. At six-foot-two, with a body like that, even the back of him was enough to make you look twice. “Grandfather, I told you,” he said into the phone, his voice sharp with frustration. “I will not marry the Hayes girl.” There was a pause. The old man on the other end seemed to be making a concession. “I’m not forcing you, Ethan. It’s just… old man Hayes and I were friends, back in the day. His family is bankrupt, and they owe us a hundred million dollars. I thought if his only granddaughter could marry into our family, become a Prescott, the debt would be forgiven. She wouldn’t have to suffer.” The old man sighed. “But if you refuse, you refuse. It’s your life. But your grandmother chews me out every day since you moved out in a huff. Just come home, will you?” Ethan’s irritated tone softened, replaced by a hint of relief. “Fine.” “I’ll move back in a few days.” 3 On the other end of the line, his grandfather, clearly not ready to give up, made one last attempt. “Are you sure you don’t want to at least meet her? The Hayes girl? I’ve met her myself, you know. She’s brilliant, beautiful… a vision in a qipao. Graceful, elegant… honestly, she’s exactly your type. I’m telling you, just one look, and you’ll be hooked.” “No,” Ethan said, his refusal immediate and absolute. “I told you, I have someone.” “Alright, alright,” his grandfather conceded, sounding defeated. “I’ll call her family and tell them to send her back to Boston. But if you have someone, you bring her home for us to meet. You’re twenty-seven, Ethan. It’s time to settle down.” A flicker of something crossed Ethan’s face, and the corner of his mouth lifted into an almost unconscious smile. “I think I just found her.” “Found who?” “Nothing, Grandfather. I have to go.” He ended the call, a smile still playing on his lips as he turned around. But the booth behind the screen was empty. The chair was vacant, the martini glass gone. Ethan’s eyes scanned the room, searching. A moment later, a man eager to curry favor with the Prescott family approached him, holding out his phone. He had, with the dedication of a professional paparazzo, captured my departure from every conceivable angle: front, side, back, a perfect forty-five-degree shot. By the time I returned to the hotel, AJ was waiting for me. “Ms. Hayes, the Prescott family called.” He paused, his expression grim. “They said the engagement is off. They want you to go back to Boston.” It was exactly what I expected. “Son of a bitch!” AJ exploded, unable to contain his fury. “Who the hell do they think they are? They summon you here, they kick you out… Ms. Hayes, just say the word, and I’ll go find that prick, stuff him in a sack, and beat the ever-living crap out of him.” He took a breath, his anger shifting to curiosity. “But what happened at the lounge? You just saw him, and now his grandfather is calling off the whole thing? Did you… did you slap that asshole when he was rude to you?” There was a hopeful, almost excited glint in his eye, as if he truly hoped I had put the high-and-mighty prince in his place. “I didn’t meet with him,” I said calmly, sitting at the vanity and removing my earrings. “I told you. I just went for a drink and to enjoy the scenery.” I met his gaze in the mirror. “And AJ? From now on, you will not refer to Mr. Prescott as an asshole.” “But Ms. Hayes!” he protested, his voice rising with indignation. “What are we to them? A toy they can just pick up and throw away? Why should we take this?” I placed the earrings in their velvet box and replied softly, “Because the Hayes family owes the Prescott family one hundred million dollars.” “How… how… how much?” I ignored AJ’s stuttered shock, remaining silent. 4 AJ’s voice dropped to a defeated whisper. “I’ll book the flights back to Boston.” I stood up, my bare feet sinking into the plush carpet as I crossed to the sofa. “No flights. We’re not going back. Pack our things, check out of the hotel, and find a cheap, run-down apartment to rent somewhere in the city.” AJ stared at me, bewildered. “The engagement is off. Why are we staying?” I gazed out the window at the glittering, seductive sprawl of New York. This city was a hunting ground, and the game of cat and mouse was about to get more interesting. “I saw the scenery today,” I said quietly. “And now, the scenery is on its way to find me. How could I possibly leave?” AJ rubbed the back of his neck. “Ms. Hayes, sometimes I have no idea what you’re talking about.” “You don’t need to understand. Just do it. I want to be moved in by tonight.” Just then, I heard a faint noise from the hallway outside our suite. A small smile touched my lips. I hadn’t even been back from the lounge for an hour, and the man Ethan sent to investigate me was already at my door. I raised my voice, deliberately making it loud enough to be overheard. “AJ, we can’t go back to Boston! If we go back now, my father will kill me!” AJ froze, his face a mask of confusion. My father adored me; he would never lay a hand on me. He opened his mouth to object, but I pressed a single finger to my lips. Shhh. “I’m out of money,” I continued, my voice laced with panic. “We can’t afford this five-star hotel anymore. Please, just find a small place for us. We have to move out right away.” I turned to him, my eyes wide with manufactured despair. “AJ, I’m so sorry you have to live in some awful place because of me.” AJ, the tough guy with a straight-shooting heart, had no idea what I was doing. He thought I was truly broke. “Ms. Hayes, I was nothing before you. An orphan, a street rat. Your father saved my life. I know all this. Before, I wasn’t even worthy of walking behind you. Now that everyone else is gone, I’m happy that I get to be the one to protect you.” His voice was earnest. “I don’t care if the place is a dump. I’m a person with no roots. Wherever you are, that’s my home.” He pulled a bank card from his wallet and held it out. “Ms. Hayes, this is all my savings. You take it. I’ll find work tomorrow. I swear I won’t let you suffer.” I gently pushed the card back. “I can’t take your money, AJ. You earned it.” I beckoned him closer. As he leaned down, I whispered, “I need to live in a broken-down apartment. It’s part of the plan. Don’t ask why, just do as I say.” I met his loyal, confused eyes. “And AJ? We will go back to Boston. Sooner than you think. I’m going to rebuild the Hayes Corporation, and I’m taking you with me.” New York was a massive market. To rebuild my family’s legacy, I needed capital, connections, and power. And to get all of that, I needed one person to be my springboard. AJ was ruthlessly efficient. Just as I’d asked, he found a top-floor walk-up in a grimy corner of the Lower East Side. The stench of stale beer and fried food from the dive bar downstairs hung in the air, punctuated by the slurred curses of drunks in the alley. The tiny apartment was permeated with the damp, musty smell of old New York. “Ms. Hayes, wait on the fire escape. I’ll clean this place up before you come in.” “Don’t bother,” I said, leaning against the doorframe he’d wiped down. “Leave the luggage outside. And go hire a few guys to act like loan sharks. I want them to cause a scene.” A short while later, three beefy men AJ had hired were putting on a convincing performance. “You think you can just ignore us? Pay up, or else!” one of them bellowed. AJ glanced nervously down the stairwell and then rushed over to me. “Ms. Hayes, Prescott’s car is parked downstairs.” “Why is he here?” he whispered frantically. Because, of course, he is. I had left the lounge deliberately. I knew someone had taken my picture. Once Ethan saw that the woman in the photo was the same one he’d been searching for, he would use all his power to find me. I’d noticed the tail as soon as I got back to the hotel. That’s why I staged the whole performance for AJ about being broke. Before, he despised the idea of me, refusing to even look at my file. But now? Now he knew that the fiancée he’d so callously rejected was the very woman who haunted his thoughts. And because of his rejection, she had fallen into poverty and despair. What would that do to a man already consumed by a five-year-old infatuation? The guilt would be the final ingredient. Love is most intoxicating in the moments just before it blooms. Obsession sinks its roots deepest in the soil of regret. I needed him to feel guilty. I needed him to blame himself. 5 From the five-star hotel to this slum, cornered by thugs—it was a perfectly tailored trap, a damsel-in-distress narrative designed for an audience of one. I explained to AJ that the woman in the file was me from five years ago. Understanding finally dawned on his face. “Ms. Hayes,” he said, a look of dawning horror on his face. “In my world, we have a name for what you’re doing. It’s called a pig-butchering scam.” “You pay us today!” one of the hired thugs roared, getting back into character. “Back in Boston, you might have had powerful friends, but this is New York! Who’s gonna save you here?” He took a menacing step forward. “No money, no life!” The sound of expensive leather shoes ascending the metal staircase echoed in the cramped hall. I gave the lead thug a subtle nod. He raised his hand, preparing to deliver a fake slap. I squeezed my eyes shut, feigning terror. The rush of air from his hand passed by my ear, but the impact never came. A strong, long-fingered hand shot out and clamped around the thug’s wrist like a vise. Then, a low, cold voice cut through the air. “In New York, I’m her protection.” I slowly opened my eyes. Ethan Prescott stood before me. He’d changed into a high-quality black dress shirt, unbuttoned at the collar. He looked less like a ruthless CEO and more like a dark, brooding aristocrat. The neon lights from the street below cast a glow on his face, highlighting a small, alluring mole just above his collarbone. His handsome face was slick with a thin sheen of sweat. He must have run up the stairs. He released the thug’s wrist and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, fastidiously wiping his fingers. “How much does she owe you?” he asked, his voice dripping with ice. “A million,” the thug blurted out. Ethan didn’t even blink, as if he’d said a hundred dollars. He took out a checkbook, scribbled the number, and tossed the check at the man’s face like it was garbage. “Take it. And get lost.” “Wait,” I said. I had AJ retrieve the check and hand it back to Ethan. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t know you. Why would you pay my debt?” AJ, now fully committed to his role, chimed in, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Ms. Hayes, that’s Ethan Prescott. You know, the one from the Prescott family who was kicking and screaming about breaking off your engagement. The same family that summoned us from Boston with one word and is now sending us away with another.” My expression was serene as I looked at Ethan, whose face was burning with shame. “So you’re Ethan Prescott?” I met his cool, clear eyes, and saw a storm of emotions swirling within them: joy, embarrassment, guilt, self-reproach. But the strongest emotion of all was the raw, blazing thrill of having finally found the woman he was looking for.

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