My best friend was pregnant, so of course, the first thing I did was drag her to my ex-boyfriend’s hospital for her check-up. Dr. Leo Shen looked up as I practically bounced into his office, Chloe trailing nervously behind me. A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face as he took in my ridiculously wide grin. “Yours?” he asked, his tone completely deadpan. I stopped short, the giddy bubble of my excitement popping. “Huh? What did you just say?” He leaned back in his chair, enjoying my confusion. “Is the baby yours?” “No,” I said, shaking my head automatically. “Then what are you so happy about? You’re showing off every tooth in your head.” I was speechless. Utterly speechless. 1 My best friend was pregnant, and I was going to be a godmother. This was, without a doubt, a cause for monumental celebration. Which is how I ended up dragging her into Leo’s office. It was Wednesday during the lunch hour, his shift, leaving the room blissfully empty except for him. The thought of getting to be an auntie was intoxicating. I could already picture it: a tiny, chubby human I could spoil rotten and then hand back the moment it started crying. It was going to be the absolute best. I was so lost in this fantasy that my grin was probably splitting my face in two. Still recovering from his initial jab, I decided to restart, puffing out my chest with the kind of pride usually reserved for Nobel Prize winners. “Leo, my best friend is pregnant.” A flicker of amusement danced in his eyes, a clear sign he was going to continue messing with me. “Mine?” “What?” I blinked, my brain rebooting. I glanced at Chloe, then back at the man who had occupied far too much of my headspace for the past two years. A little huff of indignation escaped me. “What kind of joke is that? Of course not yours!” “So,” he leaned forward, steepling his fingers, the picture of cool professionalism except for that glint in his eye. “Is it yours?” “What?” I was floored again. The man was speaking my language, but I couldn’t seem to process the words. He’d already asked me this, and my brain still couldn’t compute the sheer absurdity. “Is the baby yours?” he repeated, his expression unwavering. “No,” I shook my head again. “Then why are you grinning like you just won the lottery?” he said, echoing his earlier sentiment and leaving me, once again, completely lost for words. Before I could formulate a comeback, he went on. “And if it’s not mine, and it’s not yours, what are you doing in my office?” That lit a fire under me. “Leo, does your family own this hospital? Since when do I need your permission to be here?” “They don’t,” he replied smoothly, not missing a beat. “The Dean’s name is Shaw. My name is Shen. No relation.” 2 I let out a couple of pointed, frustrated hums. “Well, there you go. You’re a doctor. I brought Chloe here for a check-up. It’s what people do at hospitals.” Leo’s smile finally broke through, warm and genuine for a second. “Riley, anyone who didn’t know better would think you were the one who’s pregnant. I don’t remember you ever looking this happy when you were with me.” I couldn’t help but roll my eyes. “I’m going to be the godmother, Leo. I’m allowed to be excited. Just because you’re incapable of joy doesn’t mean you can’t let other people celebrate.” A faint blush crept up his neck. “Riley, don’t talk nonsense.” I was enjoying myself far too much, about to fire back with another jab when the office door swung open. A man in a white coat walked in, and my good mood evaporated, replaced by a cold dread. Oh, God. It was over. It was all over. All three of us—me, Chloe, and Leo—shot to our feet, a triangle of sudden, awkward tension. “Dr. Evans,” I managed to say, my voice a squeak. “Dr. Evans,” Leo said, his tone respectful. “Dad,” Chloe whispered, her voice barely audible. Leo’s head snapped toward me, his face a perfect mask of confusion. His eyes were wide, practically screaming three giant question marks. Dr. Evans is Chloe’s dad? he mouthed silently. I ignored him. Chloe had just called the man “Dad.” What more confirmation did he need? “Riley? Chloe? What are you two doing here?” Dr. Evans asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is everything alright?” Chloe’s hand found mine, her grip like a vise. I shot a panicked look at Leo, frantically trying to use my eyes to tell him to hide the patient file on his desk—Chloe’s file. But he just stood there like a deer in headlights, completely missing my desperate telepathic signals. Useless. My teammate was completely useless. 3 “Dad… I…” Chloe stammered, her eyes darting around the room. Then, she took a deep breath and delivered the line that would seal my fate. “Riley’s pregnant. I’m just here with her for her appointment.” My knees went weak. I felt a sudden, intense urge to drop to the floor and bow before my best friend’s treachery. Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. How could you? I come here to support you, and you throw me right under the bus. She gave my sleeve a tiny tug, her eyes pleading with me to play along. Fine. For the sake of twenty-three years of friendship, from scraped knees on the playground to navigating our first heartbreaks, I’d take the fall. My face flushed a deep, humiliating red. I squeezed my eyes shut. “Yes, Dr. Evans. It’s me. I’m… I’m pregnant. I asked Chloe to come with me for support.” Chloe let out a shaky breath of relief. I did, too. Okay. The lie was out. Surely her dad wouldn’t suspect anything now, right? Just as I thought we were in the clear, the door opened again. “What’s going on? Is there a party in here?” “Dad,” I croaked, a new wave of panic washing over me. “Dean Shaw,” Leo said, his voice laced with shock as he glanced from the newcomer back to me. Your dad? he mouthed, his eyes wider than before. I didn’t have time to answer him. “Dr. Shaw,” Chloe whimpered, stumbling slightly. I had to grab her arm to keep her from collapsing into me. This wasn’t just a complicated situation anymore. This was a five-car pile-up of awkwardness. A full-blown disaster zone. “Well, Bill,” Dr. Evans said, a huge smile spreading across his face as he turned to my father. “Congratulations. Looks like you’re going to be a grandfather.”

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The eve of my wedding, I got served a video on TikTok. It was one of those viral trends, a guy doing a funny, over-the-top impression of a dramatic movie scene. Without thinking, I tapped on the comments to see what nonsense people were writing. The top comment wasn’t text. It was a photo. A man has a woman pinned against the wall in a dimly lit alleyway. He’s tall, dressed in a sharp suit; she’s in a short, burgundy dress, her body electric. Anyone would say they looked good together. Made for each other, even. Only the crushed diamonds on his watch face caught the light and stabbed me in the eye. They reflected two letters, E and C, with a tacky, heart-shaped ampersand sparkling between them. E for Ethan, C for Chloe. My five-year anniversary gift to him. And the woman he was kissing? A little rabbit charm, adorned with a red rose, dangled from her purse. A gift I knitted with my own hands for my best friend. 1 I made three of those rabbits. The day I finished, I’d just put down my needles, not even having had the chance to arrange them on the shelf, when Maya burst in carrying a clinking tote bag. She made a beeline for the fridge, pulling out mixers with the ease of someone who practically lived here. “Chlo, tonight I’m drinking until I forget my own name.” I smiled, helping her line up the bottles on the counter. “When was the last time you were drunk enough to actually make it back to your own place?” Maya loved to drink. She was a mixologist at one of the city’s best cocktail bars, so she couldn’t indulge at work. My apartment was her sanctuary, the one place she could really let go. I have asthma and have to be careful about everything, so it was always Ethan who would drink with her, while I’d sip on whatever non-alcoholic concoction Maya made for me. When she’d had enough, we’d carry her to the guest room and Ethan would take the couch for the night. She paused, then let out a huge, uninhibited laugh. “You got me. Okay, then—let’s just get wasted!” Maya’s talents weren’t limited to alcohol; her mocktails were just as incredible. While I stood in front of the open fridge, trying to plan dinner, her eyes lit up and she darted over to the couch. “Well, look what we have here!” Maya squealed, grabbing one of the rabbits by its armpits and holding it high above her head. “Simba!” She clutched it to her chest like it was a priceless treasure. “Is this my birthday present?” “It is.” Maya ran over and wrapped me in a hug that smelled faintly of lime and bitters. “Oh, thank you, my love! I’m going to kiss your whole adorable face on God’s behalf!” We ended up wrestling playfully in the kitchen. The cake Maya had ordered arrived, and without a second thought, she swiped a dollop of frosting onto my nose. “Bet you can’t catch me!” she taunted. “Hey! You and your long legs!” I was annoyed, but she was right. I could never catch her. Not when we were kids, not now. We messed around like that for two hours until we collapsed in a heap, completely exhausted. I face-planted onto the sofa and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. I woke up to the smell of takeout. Ethan was home from work, unpacking containers on the counter. He’d also brought a small, palm-sized cake. It was from the bakery on the west side. The one I’d been begging him to make a detour for for months, the one he always said was too out of the way. I leaned against the kitchen island, a pouty, half-joking complaint on my lips, and completely missed the rigid set of Maya’s shoulders. Ethan arranged the food on plates, then dimmed the lights and sat down next to me. Maya held up the cake, two crooked candles sputtering on top. “Happy thirtieth to me!” she shouted. “Happy birthday!” Ethan said, a fraction of a second before I could. The smile froze on Maya’s face. The air in the room thickened into a strange, uncomfortable silence. A sudden wave of awkwardness washed over me. I stood up and went to my bedroom to get her real gift. When I came back, an open gift box sat on the table next to her. So that’s what had been bulging in Ethan’s pocket. It was a bracelet. The exact same one I was about to give her. I froze, unsure what to do. Maya snatched the bag from my hand, tore open the box, and fastened the second bracelet onto her wrist. She held her arm up to the light, taking a dozen pictures from every angle, her praise a waterfall of superlatives. “It’s gorgeous! I absolutely love it! Chloe, darling, your taste is impeccable! You’re such an artist!” But her performance didn’t dispel the awkwardness. It amplified it, feeding on the way Ethan’s lips were pressed into a thin, hard line. “You two are on the same wavelength,” Maya gushed, filling the silence. “Ethan got me the same one. Now we can wear them as friendship bracelets!” “I’m glad you like it,” I managed to say, my smile feeling like a cheap mask. Eight years together, and Ethan had never given me a gift that felt like he’d put any real thought into it. My mind was a tangled mess. I forced myself to smile and listen to Maya’s drunken, off-key singing, staying with her until she was completely wasted. For some reason, Ethan, who could usually hold his liquor, was drunk even faster than she was. I was so busy taking care of the two of them that I didn’t notice until Maya was stumbling out the door that she’d grabbed the wrong rabbit. The one I’d made for her—the one with the red rose—was sitting primly on the shelf next to the rabbit in the little black suit. The one she’d taken was the painter rabbit, the one with the tiny beret and easel. The one that was supposed to be me. 2 I rushed after her into the hallway. “Maya! You took the wrong one.” How do you describe the look on her face? It was like she’d been struck by lightning. A kaleidoscope of emotions flickered across her features: three parts laughter, two parts surprise, four parts panic, and one part guilt. She’d been in the middle of saying she didn’t want to leave, but the words died on her lips. Maya stared at me for a long moment, then let out a laugh that sounded more like a sigh of relief. “Well, you made them look like such a perfect couple. For a second there, I thought I was officiating your wedding.” I looked down at the little red dress on the rabbit in my hand. She was right. It did look better with the black suit. A knot of discomfort tightened in my stomach, and my voice was sharper than I intended. “I have to go meet a client. I’ll see you later.” “I’ll give you a ride.” “They’re picking me up.” I heard Maya sigh, a sound of weary resignation, but she didn’t press, didn’t try to explain. It was the first time Maya had ever hidden something from me. Our origin story was a cliché. The invisible girl at school—parents who didn’t care, grades that were just okay—I was the perfect target. The kind of person who fades into the background is the easiest to bully. But I got lucky. The very first time a group of girls cornered me in an alley, Maya was there. She was two years older than me and had gone straight to work after her vocational high school program. Her family was a black hole for money, so she’d moved to the city and gotten a job as a hostess at a bar to escape them. The day she found me, she’d just been kicked out by her manager to “think about what she did” after telling off a customer. “Hey, kid.” Maya had a cigarette dangling from her lips. “Go home. What are you standing around for?” It was fine when she was at a distance. But as she got closer, the smoke hit me. My chest seized up. I collapsed, gasping, pointing desperately at my backpack. My inhaler was in there. But Maya, bless her heart, was an idiot. She didn’t understand what I was trying to tell her. She started giving me CPR with all the finesse of a jackhammer and nearly broke my ribs. One emergency room visit wiped out her entire savings. My parents weren’t around and I had no cash at home. Luckily, Maya wasn’t expecting me to pay her back. She just muttered something about her bad luck and left the hospital. From then on, I was determined to repay her. A few thousand dollars wasn’t insurmountable. I could pay it back over time. I started making a point of walking by that alley every single day, just hoping to see her. At first, it was hit or miss. Then, she started waiting for me. And after a while, she always seemed to have a small cupcake in her hand when I arrived. Just like that, Maya became my protector, and I became her little shadow. No one at school ever bothered me again. Maya was always watching her figure, so she never ate any of the treats. It seemed like all the “protection money” I gave her just ended up in my own stomach in the form of snacks. We went on like that for a year, and then my parents came home. They demanded I cut ties with the “trash” I was hanging out with, or they’d pull me out of school and put me to work. I refused. I took my ID—proof that I was seventeen and could make my own choices—and walked out. I didn’t have an umbrella. I got soaked. Maya called me a brainless idiot for fighting with my parents. I just grinned foolishly and said, “You’re the best person to me in the whole world, Maya.” And I was right. She quit smoking because the smell triggered my asthma, and she’d change her clothes before meeting me. She gave up spicy food because I couldn’t eat it, sneaking out at two in the morning to get her fix at a late-night barbecue stand. Things like that, countless things. She paid the rent, the utilities, our living expenses, and my tuition. I wanted to drop out and get a job to help, but she tore into me, screaming at me for the first and only time. And even then, the harshest things she said were about herself. “Chloe, do you want to end up like me? With people pointing at your back and calling you a slut?” I didn’t. “Don’t worry,” she’d said, her voice softening. “I can take care of you. I’ve got this.” I remember her expression, her words, as clearly as if it were yesterday. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach. How did we get here? How did we end up like this? 3 The comments and likes under the photo were piling up. I clicked on the profile of the person who posted it. Her avatar was a girl in a high school uniform. A stranger. A breath I didn’t know I was holding escaped me. It wasn’t Maya who posted it. But even so, the cheating was undeniable. Set in stone. There was no way two other people in the world had their exact builds, my custom watch, and a one-of-a-kind charm I’d made myself. Eight years of love, twelve years of friendship, turned to ash in an instant. Was a man really worth all this? Maya, who never bought herself a nice handbag, who hadn’t upgraded her phone in two years, had bought me the latest model the second it came out, no questions asked. And me—the first two years after I started making real money, I didn’t get a mortgage for myself. I bought her a car, paid in full. I treated Maya the same way she treated me. We would have emptied our pockets for each other. If she and Ethan had just told me they had feelings for each other, I would have stepped aside. I could have walked away from the relationship. Why did they have to play me for a fool? Was the thrill of sneaking around that much more exciting? I wiped the tears from my eyes and opened Maya’s profile. Back when I was just a student, just starting out, she was already a semi-famous singer at a local club. Every time she posted a video or an update, she’d make me like and comment, and then she’d reply and pin my comment to the top to drive traffic to my page. After I became a successful illustrator with a steady stream of commercial work, she stopped linking our accounts. “It’ll hurt your brand,” she’d said. “Driving your followers to a lounge singer’s page will make you lose credibility. You won’t get as many big clients.” But now, everything was different. Maya’s most recent post was from a bar event three days ago. The video was shaky, but besides her on stage, the camera kept panning to the right, lingering on a man in a white button-down shirt, only his forearm visible. I didn’t need to look closely to know. It was Ethan’s arm. Three days ago, Ethan told me there was a problem with a shipment at work and he had to work late. How convenient. One minute he’s working late, the next he’s at a bar listening to her sing, not coming home all night. September 11th. Ethan was “working late” again. But in the background of Maya’s video, I could see his reflection in a TV screen. They were in a hotel room. He was still wearing the watch. Our watch. September 1st. The owner of Maya’s bar opened a new location out of state. Maya went to perform for the week-long grand opening. Ethan was on a “business trip” for five of those days. When he came back, there was a Band-Aid on his temple and the scrapes on his knuckles were still healing. He said he’d seen a drunk harassing a girl and had beaten the guy up. And today, Ethan was working late again. The tears turned to laughter, and the laughter dissolved back into tears. The past and present collided in my head, a chaotic, brutal war. I wanted to believe I was losing my mind, that this was all some paranoid delusion, anything but the reality staring me in the face. We were supposed to get married tomorrow. My wedding dress is hanging in the closet. The hair and makeup artists are scheduled to arrive at my apartment in eight hours. My bouquet is sitting on my vanity. I had practiced the bouquet toss eight hundred times, determined to make sure Maya would be the one to catch it. Everything was ruined. They say that after a person breaks, they become colder, more rational. Numb. I opened my laptop to draft an email canceling the wedding. My eyes drifted back to my phone against my will. Should I call them? Confront them? Listen to them scramble for excuses, a flurry of pathetic lies until they finally admit their disgusting behavior, only to turn it around and blame me? The screen lit up. A notification from our joint account. I tapped it open. A charge from a hotel. The room type, priced at $1,888, was the “Eros Suite.” Ethan and I had only been there once, the night he proposed. He really knew how to spend money. The thought of ending things gracefully lasted for a single second before it was incinerated by a blaze of fury. I’m the kind of person who holds a grudge. After what they did to me, I had to get them back. 4 I hit the delete key on the email draft and walked into my studio. If they were so in love, then I would help them celebrate a long and happy life together. About half of the invitation envelopes were left, stacked in a corner. I found a template online, typed in the guests’ names, and soon a thick stack of new invitations was printing out. It was much faster than the ones I had painstakingly illustrated by hand. As I unstuffed the original invitations, a sharp pain lanced through my stomach. I looked at the name on the paper. It was love at first sight with Ethan. He was the student body president, on stage giving a speech in a crisp white shirt and thin, silver-framed glasses. His voice was calm and steady, giving him an air of cool detachment that made you want to be the one to break through it. The line of people trying to win him over stretched from the main building to two miles off campus, from high school freshmen who’d had a crush on him for years to seniors, both men and women. I was just one of the countless, unnoticeable ones. My fundamentals in art were weak, so I was already spending twice as much time as anyone else on coursework and homework. I had no time for “chance encounters.” My only connection to him was through the campus forums online. My girlish crush didn’t escape Maya. The day after she figured it out, she cornered Ethan in an alleyway not far from campus as he was heading back from his tutoring job. She had a lollipop stick poking out of the corner of her mouth, her voice cocky and tough. “My girl wants to get to know you. Give her your number.” Ethan’s gaze fell on me, and he sighed with a kind of weary resignation. My hand trembled as I scanned his QR code. He held his arm out for me, then turned to Maya. “What about you?” Maya gave my shoulder a shove and swaggered away. “Don’t have a phone.” Later… When did they exchange numbers? I sealed the last new invitation and clutched my stomach, curling into a ball against the desk. Every single moment Ethan and Maya had been in the same room replayed in my mind. The way he would turn his head to watch her laugh, the way he’d join in on her antics, go shot for shot with her, drive her home. And I, like a fool, thought it was just him being kind to my best friend because he loved me. Once the pain subsided, I grabbed my wedding dress and took a cab to the hotel. This wedding was the culmination of all my dreams, a fantasy I had spent a year and a half designing and supervising, building from the ground up. Ethan hated all that stuff, so I never asked him to be involved, only getting his opinion on the invitations and the party favors. Now, I was about to destroy that dream with my own hands and face the brutal truth. I had all the photos of us taken down, leaving only our two names, stark and bare, at the entrance to the ballroom. I whispered his name, Ethan, and the suffocating pressure in my chest began to ease. More than Ethan, I hated Maya. She was the one who encouraged me to pursue art, the one who was with me through college. She was the best person to me in the world. I had long considered her my family. And a knife from family always cuts the deepest. I sat on the top floor of the hotel all night. As the sky began to lighten, spots of light danced on the floor. I pulled open the curtains and realized it was dawn. In the ballroom next to mine, the parents of another couple were bustling around, checking the arrangements with joyful faces, ready to celebrate the most important day of their children’s lives. I looked down at my own shadow. I was used to being abandoned, to being given up on. Being alone didn’t feel so lonely anymore. At nine o’clock, the wedding cars pulled up to the hotel entrance. The other bride, the one getting married on the same day as me, walked through the doors surrounded by her loved ones, stepping toward her happy future. I looked in the direction the cars had come from and saw Ethan in a corner. He was standing in the shadows, smoking one cigarette after another, until a hand reached out and took the last one from his lips. Maya ground the cigarette out with her high heel and, without a moment’s hesitation, slapped him across the face. “Ethan, don’t make me lose respect for you.”

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In the sixth year of our marriage, my husband—a man who had always been the epitome of quiet predictability—started acting strange. He began spending an hour getting ready each morning, two hours at the gym, and three hours of his workday to personally deliver my lunch, his eyes scanning every young man who walked past my office with a wary intensity. I didn’t understand what was happening to him. Not until I found his journal. “She left the house without her wedding ring today. Was it an oversight or a threat? I can’t stop thinking about it. I don’t have the courage to ask. I think I’m going crazy…” “She liked that intern’s post again. Is she trying to kill me? It’s his fault, that goddamn kid has no sense of decency…” “The man in the mirror is getting older. He’s decaying, turning ugly. No. I have to make this vessel more perfect. Then she won’t leave me.” “I feel so helpless, so hopeless. I’m five years older than her. I’m not young anymore. My looks will fade, and when they do, her love will too. This is how it ends for me…” 1 Ethan and I had been married for six years, and we’d never had a single fight. To everyone else, he was the perfect husband. Handsome, successful, gentle, and unfailingly respectful. A walking template for a flawless partner. But only I knew the suffocating pressure hidden beneath that perfection. During my lunch break, my coworker, Sarah, leaned against the counter in the breakroom, complaining with dramatic flair about getting home late last night. She painted a vivid picture of her husband’s silent treatment, the elaborate apology she’d had to perform, and how, in the end, her “short skirt privileges” had been revoked for the week. She finished her story and turned to me, a glint of challenge in her eyes. “Ava, Mr. Sterling is so buttoned-up at the office. I bet he’s the super possessive, jealous type behind closed doors, right?” I offered a small, noncommittal smile, looking down at my tea. A bitter taste filled my mouth. It was the exact opposite. For six years, Ethan had been as stoic and placid as a programmed machine. He never got jealous. He never asked who I was with or what time I’d be home. He’d never once so much as glanced at my phone. Sarah always said that love and possessiveness were two sides of the same coin. If there was no possessiveness, there was no love. So maybe… Ethan had never loved me at all. Was I the only one who had fallen in this marriage? My fingers tightened unconsciously around the warm glass in my hand. It was the ginger tea Ethan had made for me before he left this morning. He’d placed it silently in my tote bag before disappearing into our walk-in closet. Lately, he’d been paying an almost obsessive amount of attention to his appearance, even starting to wear cologne—something he used to hate. Thinking about it sent a prickle of unease through me. An unwelcome thought began to form. On a dark impulse, I opened the security camera app for our apartment on my phone. On the screen, Ethan was working out, positioned perfectly in front of the living room camera. He was shirtless, his throat moving as he swallowed. The clean lines of his muscles were carved by the afternoon sun, a light sheen of sweat glistening on his abdomen, rippling with every movement. His low-slung athletic shorts hung precariously on his hip bones, slipping slightly with each motion before he’d casually hook a thumb and pull them back up. Every gesture felt like a dangerous invitation, charged with a raw, magnetic pull. My throat went dry. My thumb hovered over the zoom button for a long moment before I finally pressed it. The next second, the screen flickered and my boss’s face popped up in a sudden video call. The spell was shattered. I slammed my laptop shut, my fingers digging into the edge of the desk, nearly crushing the mouse in my hand. 2 My boss was calling to announce a last-minute team dinner. My mind immediately went to Ethan. I instinctively reached for the wedding ring on my left hand, but my finger met only bare skin. My heart skipped a beat. Then I remembered messing around with him the other night. I’d been afraid of scratching him, so I’d taken the ring off and left it on the nightstand. I’d forgotten to put it back on for two days straight. As soon as the call ended, my colleagues started making their calls home, clearing their schedules for the night. After a moment of hesitation, I stepped into the hallway and dialed Ethan’s number. He answered on the first ring, as he always did. His voice was a low, sexy hum that seemed to vibrate through the phone. “Ava.” A strange heat bloomed in my cheeks. “Ethan, I have a team dinner tonight. I might be home late.” Silence. The other end of the line went completely dead. Ethan said nothing. It felt like he’d stopped breathing. I sensed something was wrong. “Ethan?” I asked softly. “I’m here.” He sounded like his throat was full of gravel, the single word frayed with a tremor I almost missed. “Do you… have to go?” I was about to say yes, but he cut me off, his voice trembling. “Will you… still come home? Ava, are you coming home tonight?” I frowned, confused by the bizarre question. “Of course I’m coming home.” “You—you are?!” His volume shot up before he clamped down on it, leaving only the sound of his ragged breathing in my ear. “No, I—I just mean, I’ll wait up for you. Come home whenever you want. As long as you come home. I’ll always be here, waiting for you…” Something was definitely off. “Just leave a light on for me,” I said, trying to sound normal. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He answered so quickly it was as if he was afraid I’d change my mind. “Okay.” 3 Our boss was a notorious penny-pincher. The team dinner was at a crowded, greasy dive bar on the edge of town. By the time we were finally done, my exposed neck, my calves, and my wrists were covered in red, itching mosquito bites. Gritting my teeth against the discomfort, I played designated driver, dropping off a few of my drunker coworkers one by one. It was past ten by the time I finally pushed open the door to our apartment. A light rain was falling outside. The motion-sensor light in the entryway flickered on, illuminating an empty living room. Ethan wasn’t home. I pulled out my phone to check the time, about to call him, when the door swung open behind me. And there he was, drenched from head to toe. Rainwater dripped from the messy ends of his hair, pooling on the hardwood floor. His usually crisp white shirt was plastered to his body, outlining the lean muscle of his torso. His suit jacket and tie were gone. The poised, elegant man I knew had vanished, replaced by someone who looked like a lost, broken dog left out in the storm. We stared at each other for a few seconds before he spoke, his tone so calm it was almost eerie. “You’re home.” I nodded, rushing to pull him inside. “Where were you? You’re soaked. Get in here…” Ethan moved stiffly, his eyes tracing every inch of my face—my eyebrows, my nose, my lips. Finally, his gaze landed on my neck. He froze. I caught a familiar smell on him, a mix of rain and fried food. It smelled exactly like the dive bar we’d just left. “Ethan, were you there to pick me up? I’m so sorry, you must have missed me because I was busy—” “I don’t want to know!” he snapped, his voice sharp and ragged. He looked away, flustered. “I mean, I wasn’t there to pick you up. I was just… out for a walk.” I licked my lips, the awkwardness thick between us. “Right. Well, okay. Ethan, tonight I—” His eyelashes fluttered wildly. “Stop. I—I’m tired. I need a shower. I’m going to take a shower…” Without another word, he bolted for the bathroom, his retreat so hasty it felt like a panicked escape. 4 I stood in the living room, stunned, for a long moment. I could hear it clearly. Over the sound of the running water, there was another sound coming from the bathroom. The quiet, desperate sound of someone trying to swallow their sobs. A knot of worry tightened in my stomach. I walked over and knocked gently on the door. “Ethan, what’s wrong? Are you crying? Are you not feeling well?” A beat of dead silence, then his voice, unnaturally steady. “You heard wrong. I’m fine.” Hearing him say he was fine, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding and went back to the couch to watch some TV. When Ethan finally came out, he stood silently in front of the full-length mirror, a short distance from me, meticulously choosing a tie and knotting it. I glanced up from my show. “You’re off tomorrow, right? Why are you bothering with a tie? It’s such a hassle…” At my words, his hands froze mid-knot, his knuckles turning a stark white. I rubbed my eyes. “That tie looks a little dated, anyway. I’ll pick out some new ones for you this weekend.” Ethan didn’t say anything. He slowly lowered his hands, and the tie slipped from his fingers, falling silently to the floor. “Is it… just the tie that’s dated?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. I leaned closer, catching the fresh, clean scent from his shower. “What did you say, Ethan?” He suddenly spun around, the movement of his bathrobe stirring the air. I flinched, startled. I could see it all now: the raw red of his eyes, the way he was biting his lower lip so hard it had to hurt, and the outfit he was wearing underneath the robe. It was the set of risqué lace pajamas I’d bought for him as a joke right after we got married. He had refused, mortified, to ever wear them. But now… Just as I’d imagined, it was shockingly effective on a man who was usually so reserved. My breath hitched. I forced myself to look away, my voice strained. “Haha, well… you’ve still got it, huh…” The words hit him like a physical blow. He flinched violently. “Got… it?” My face was burning. I nodded, reaching out to take his hand. “Well, it’s getting late. We should…” Ethan stared at me for a few seconds, then snatched his hand away as if he’d been burned. He bit his lip, his voice choked with emotion. “I—I have some work to do in the study. You should get some sleep.” 5 It was happening again. That same look. The panic and avoidance in his eyes were so thick you could taste them. It was as if I wasn’t his wife of six years, but some kind of contagious disease he couldn’t bear to touch. I took a deep, steadying breath, fighting back the surge of anger. I didn’t have the energy to chase after him and demand to know what this whole wounded-little-bird act was about. I had my quarterly presentation tomorrow. My promotion depended on it. I couldn’t afford to get into a fight with him tonight. I fell into a restless sleep alone, only to be woken sometime in the middle of the night by a sudden cold sensation on my neck. I pried my eyes open. Ethan was sitting on the edge of the bed. The moonlight spilling through the window carved a silver edge along his clenched jaw. His lashes were downcast as he stiffly applied something to my neck. I caught his wrist. “Ethan, what are you putting on me?” He pressed his lips together, his voice a low rasp. “An anti-inflammatory cream.” He paused, then added, “You have your presentation in front of the whole company tomorrow. This… people might talk.” He had a point. My skin has always been sensitive. Mosquito bites left angry red marks that took forever to fade. Showing up to a major presentation looking like that wouldn’t be a good look. I let go of his hand and closed my eyes again, mumbling, “You’re right. Thanks, honey. You should get some sleep, too…” Ethan didn’t answer. His breathing grew shaky. He leaned down and pressed a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead. I was too lost in the fog of sleep to make out his next words. “I won’t blame you for changing your mind about me. I won’t question you or accuse you. That wouldn’t be the kind of supportive husband I’m legally obligated to be.” “And I know it’s not your fault. It’s that shameless bastard at your office who’s seducing you. I’ll take care of him.” “Our marriage will get back on track. Divorce is something that only exists in other people’s fantasies. It will never, ever happen to us.” In the final moments before I slipped back into sleep, I thought I heard a pained, muffled sob. The kind of sound a heartbroken husband, abandoned by his wife, might make. Then, a single warm drop landed on the corner of my mouth. 6 The next morning, Ethan was in the kitchen early. He was wearing nothing but a pink apron, boldly displaying the results of his recent, rigorous workout routine. The apron strings dug deep into the small of his back, and the muscles of his back and abdomen flexed with his every move. I had no idea when my once-stoic, uninteresting husband had become so… forward. A breakfast view like this was enough to make me forget all about the frustration he’d put me through last night. I ducked my head, trying to hide the smile threatening to take over my face. “You know, Ethan, cooking like that is a good way to get a couple of nasty burns. That’ll teach you.” Ethan went still. The atmosphere felt… strange. I peeked up at him and saw the dark circles under his eyes. “Didn’t you sleep well last night?” He paused, then said without missing a beat, “No. I slept great.” I walked over and sat down across from him. “Oh, by the way, that new intern at the office invited me out for dinner tonight. I might be late. I might not even come home, actually. There are a few things I need to take care of…” The hand Ethan was using to ladle porridge trembled, and the ceramic spoon clattered against the side of the bowl. After a long silence, he forced a tight, brittle smile. He squeezed the words out from between his teeth. “Okay. You… you should take care of yourself. Don’t… don’t stay out too late.” He agreed so readily. He didn’t ask a single question. It was like he didn’t care who I was going with or what I was doing. My suspicions from yesterday, his bizarre, timid behavior—it all came rushing back. A familiar ache tightened in my chest. I grabbed a couple of slices of toast and headed for the door. Just as I reached it, I remembered something and turned back. Ethan’s back went ramrod straight. His eyes lit up, and he looked at me, his face full of hopeful expectation. I didn’t even look at him. I slipped the ring off my finger and tossed it onto the coffee table in front of him. “I won’t be wearing this today. It’s… inconvenient.” The small clink of metal against wood made Ethan’s pupils constrict. He pressed his lips into a thin, white line, his gaze fixed on the ring. His knuckles were white, and a vein pulsed in his neck. I swept the files from the table into my briefcase and turned to leave. Just before the door clicked shut, some impulse made me glance back. Ethan was standing in the same spot, frozen, watching me go. His eyes were so dark they looked like black holes, as if he were trying to contain a violent storm. Even after I was halfway down the hall, I could still feel his gaze locked on my back. 7 I ran through the rain to the parking garage, my heart pounding with a frustration I couldn’t name. I slid into the driver’s seat and my phone buzzed with a string of messages from Sarah. The seven-year itch… A marriage of convenience… The words stung my eyes. Furious, I started firing off texts to Ethan. 【Ethan, if this isn’t working, we should just get a divorce.】 【Honestly, do you even love me? If you do, then say it. If you don’t, then there’s no point in dragging this out.】 【Let’s just cut our losses. Stop wasting my time. You’re getting in the way of me finding someone young and fun.】 After sending the messages, I frantically deleted the conversation thread and tossed my phone onto the passenger seat. I had no way of knowing that, because of the poor signal in the garage, only the first and third messages had gone through. The minutes ticked by. I waited in the car for a full twenty minutes. No reply from Ethan. My heart sank. The last bit of hope fizzled out. With a dull ache in my chest, I called my assistant and told her to draft a divorce agreement and have it couriered to our apartment. 8 The moment I got to the office, all thoughts of Ethan vanished. I threw myself into my work. After a successful and productive morning, I was in a great mood. I bought bubble tea for the whole team to celebrate. Leo, the new intern, was the first one to rush over, taking the drink from my hand. As he did, he lightly brushed his fingers against my palm. “Congratulations, Ava. This one tastes extra sweet today…” I pulled my hand back, uncomfortable. I frowned, about to say something, but my eyes were drawn to a figure outside the glass wall of our office. It was Ethan. Dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, he stood silently in the shadows of the hallway, holding a thermal lunch box. His eyes were dark, his expression unreadable. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there. Seeing him was a shock. “E-Ethan? What are you doing here?” His gaze shifted from Leo to me. He slowly pulled the corners of his mouth into a smile that sent a chill down my spine. “I came to bring my wife her lunch.” He enunciated the word “wife” with a loud, deliberate precision. The sound echoed through the quiet office, causing a stir among my colleagues. My breath caught in my throat. That word, from him, was usually reserved for the soft, hazy light of our bedroom. In those moments, he would press his face into the curve of my neck, his eyes flushed with passion, his damp hair brushing against my chin. His breaths would come in ragged gasps, and only then would that single, husky word escape his lips. But today, he was shouting it in public, a place he’d always avoided any show of affection. A jolt, like a tiny electric current, shot through me. My heart hammered against my ribs. This Ethan was different. Leo raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. “Oh, Mr. Sterling. Ava mentions you to me all the time.” Ethan’s smile didn’t falter. “Is that so? Funny. Ava has never once mentioned you to me.” The smirk vanished from Leo’s face. He looked like a kid who’d just been put in his place, powerless in the face of Ethan’s quiet authority. Ethan ignored his reaction, looking down at the young man with a detached amusement, as if observing something utterly insignificant. “But thank you for taking care of my wife. Cigarette?” As he spoke, Ethan reached into his jacket pocket. I was wondering when he’d started smoking. But what he pulled out wasn’t a pack of cigarettes. It was a small, official-looking red booklet. Our marriage certificate. After six years, he had kept it in pristine condition, like it was brand new. Only the corners were slightly faded, as if from being held and rubbed in someone’s hands for a very long time. Ethan angled his hand slightly, and the certificate spun in a perfect arc, the gold-embossed seal catching the light as it faced Leo. His tone was one of manufactured annoyance. “My apologies. Wrong pocket. Accidentally pulled out our legal documentation…” “…” Leo’s jaw tightened. He looked like he wanted to say something, but one look at the cold darkness in Ethan’s eyes and he deflated. He stiffly turned away, his breathing shallow. It was clear that whatever anger he felt would have to be swallowed. My face had been burning since the moment Ethan produced the certificate. I quickly stepped in front of him, snatched it out of his hand, and shoved it deep into a hidden pocket of my bag. “Ethan, what are you doing with this? Let’s not stand here and make a scene. Come to my office.” The moment I spoke, the look of cool composure on his face shattered. His hand remained suspended in the air. He looked down at me, his eyes a swirling mix of despair, resentment, and defeat. Looking at his face, drained of all color, a single phrase popped into my head, unbidden: a man undone. 9 I took his arm and pulled him toward my office. Every person we passed on the way made me want to bury my head in my collar. Ethan followed silently behind me, his gaze dimming with every step I took to hide us away. The second I pushed open my office door and we were inside, Ethan let out a ragged breath. The tight leash he’d been holding on his control finally snapped. He grabbed my wrist. I cried out as he yanked me into his arms, pushing me hard against the floor-to-ceiling window. My face was pressed against the cold glass. My back was flush against Ethan’s scorching, solid chest. The collision of hot and cold was dizzying. I bit my lip, my body suspended in a state of shock and anticipation. “Ethan, you—!” We were sixty-seven floors up. Outside, a storm was brewing. A flash of lightning cracked across the sky, so close it felt like it had exploded right in front of my eyes. The next second, I felt a faint sensation at the small of my back. Ethan was using his teeth to pull down the zipper of my dress. The sound of the metal teeth separating echoed in the silent office. His cold hand slipped under the fabric, his palm greedily cupping the sensitive skin of my lower back. A shiver racked my body. My toes curled and uncurled reflexively. The heel of my shoe ground against his leather loafer. Ethan moved from a crouch to his knees. He was kneeling behind me, pressing desperate, frantic kisses to the curve of my spine. His voice was a raw, obsessive whisper. “You’re five years younger than me. It’s normal for someone so young to be dazzled by the world.” “I told you, I can tolerate whatever you do out there. Whatever mistakes you make, I will forgive you…” “Because I know it’s not you. It’s those shameless bastards seducing you. You’re just confused. You’ll come back to our family in the end.” “And even if you’re thinking about divorce, I know it’s because they put the idea in your head. Those little pricks. I’ll deal with them. I’ll fix everything…” Another bolt of lightning illuminated the terrifying, possessive hunger in his scarlet-rimmed eyes. He murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “But you should never have actually brought up divorce. To say it so casually… Even with all my tolerance, Ava, you need to be punished.” 10 I had never seen Ethan like this. So out of control. I didn’t understand what he was talking about, and a knot of fear tightened in my stomach. “What are you saying? Seducing me? What are you talking about?” “No! Stop it! Ethan! This is my office! Let go of me!” “You bastard! If you don’t stop, I mean it, I’m going to divorce you! I want a divorce—” Ethan froze for a second. But my threat seemed to fuel his frenzy. He threw me onto the sofa. I tried to sit up, to fight back, but his mouth was on mine. He pinned my chin with one hand and tore off his shirt with the other. The kiss was deep and punishing, his tongue forcing its way past my teeth, almost reaching my throat. I had never been treated so roughly by him. My body trembled as I arched my back, my nails digging fiercely into the flawless skin of his back. He didn’t even flinch at the sharp pain. It was in that moment that I realized something terrifying. If he wasn’t willingly, consciously choosing to be gentle and tolerant with me, I was nothing more than a baby chick in his hands. One squeeze, and he could snap my neck. I bit down hard on his shoulder, tears of pain and shock springing to my eyes as I writhed beneath him. Outside, the storm raged. Inside, the temperature skyrocketed. My sanity was crumbling, and the situation was spiraling toward something I couldn’t control. … Knock, knock, knock. A sharp rap on the door, followed by my secretary’s apologetic voice. “I’m sorry, Director, but… it’s time for the meeting.” The sound seemed to jolt Ethan back to reality. He pulled back, panting, the dark tide in his eyes slowly receding, replaced by a wave of regret and self-loathing. I felt like I was falling from a great height. I lay there, gasping for air, my eyes unfocused, my lips numb, my clothes a complete mess. Ethan stared at me for a long time. Then he got up and knelt by the sofa. With trembling hands, he zipped up my dress and tried to smooth my hair, his eyes filling with a guilty sheen. “Ava, I’m sorry. I—I…” He turned his head away sharply, letting out a pained whimper. He stood up abruptly and started for the door. I couldn’t stand it. I couldn’t let him run away again. I scrambled to my feet to stop him, but I stumbled, knocking into the edge of my desk. The stack of files I’d brought from home this morning, the ones I hadn’t had time to organize, went flying, scattering across the floor in a cascade of white. And there, amidst the chaos— A small, black object slid out from between the pages and landed with a soft thud on the carpet.

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When the plane hit severe turbulence, I was on board with my husband, Matt. In the tense, rattling cabin, everyone was frantically writing their last words. I gripped Matt’s hand tightly, but out of the corner of my eye, I saw him send his final message not to me, but to my best friend, Maya. Matt’s lips were a thin, tight line. After a moment, he finally explained, “Don’t misunderstand. She’s the person we both trust the most, isn’t she?” Thankfully, it was a false alarm. As I stumbled off the plane on shaky legs, the first thing I did was call Maya. “Let’s get it notarized,” I said, my voice dead calm. “I’ll be your witness.” 1 “Chloe, what are you talking about?” Maya’s voice was a frantic squawk on the other end. “I just saw the news about the plane! Are you okay?” “I’m on my way to the airport right now, wait for me!” She hung up abruptly. Matt walked beside me, a look of weary frustration on his face. “Your parents and mine are getting older. I didn’t want to scare them. That’s why I sent it to Maya.” “Come on, you… okay, okay, I was wrong. Can you forgive me?” Matt pulled me close, kissing my cheek. “Don’t be mad. When Maya gets here, she’s going to chew me out. You don’t want to see your darling husband get yelled at, do you?” A knot of ice was forming in my stomach. I pulled away and walked ahead. Matt chased after me, murmuring apologies. When we reached the arrivals hall, I saw Maya jump out of her car. The panic in her eyes looked genuine. But I saw it clearly. The first person she looked for was Matt. Only then did she rush over to me, pulling me into a fierce hug before turning to punch Matt playfully on the shoulder. “You idiot! What was that last will and testament crap? You scared me to death!” Matt just smiled. “Hey, we’re fine. Besides, if something did happen, I knew we could count on you to handle everything for us.” “And for that,” he added with a teasing glance at me, “Chloe is giving me the silent treatment.” He said it like a joke. Maya rolled her eyes at him and pulled me toward her car. I watched them, how they bantered, how they moved around each other with an effortless familiarity that screamed of something more. There was no boundary, no sense of propriety. Back at our apartment, I told them I was exhausted and went straight to the bedroom. Lying in bed, sleep was the furthest thing from my mind. I’d known Matt for eight years. We were returning from our honeymoon. I thought I knew him inside and out. But on that plane, staring death in the face, my only thought was of being with him forever. Matt, meanwhile, was tapping out a message to Maya with trembling hands. He called it a will. But in that moment of pure terror, my senses had been dialed to eleven. I had seen the words he sent to her. Everything I have goes to you. And one last line: The vows we made remain, but the letter can never be sent. My nails dug into my palms. Just then, I heard his voice from the living room. “Chloe, I’m walking Maya downstairs. I’ll be right back.” I got up silently and went to the living room. His phone was on the coffee table. In a flash of pure impulse, I picked it up, my fingers flying as I entered his passcode. I checked all the usual apps, but found nothing. Was I just being paranoid? Then, my hands shaking, I went into his settings and tapped ‘Switch Account.’ And there it was. A second profile, one he used so often it didn’t even require a password. In that account, I found their chats. They went back eight years. To when Matt and I had just met. It turned out Maya had known him even before I did. “You’re a lucky guy, getting to know the ice queen of our department. Chloe doesn’t let just anyone in.” “Ask Chloe to the badminton court today. She loves playing. Don’t say I never help you. Make sure you play well!” “So, how’d it go? I’m a good wing-woman, right? Chloe’s my best friend. If you ever dare betray her, I’ll be the first one to come after you.” And then, the conversation shifted. From helping him woo me, to their shared interests, to their dates, and then… to sex. It started with hesitation, then guilt, and then blossomed into a thrilling, passionate affair. In twenty minutes, I scrolled through eight years of deceit. I took pictures of everything I needed, logged out, and locked the phone. Then I walked to the window. Down below, in the parking lot, I saw them. They were wrapped in an embrace, their hands lingering, stroking, like two lovers unable to say goodbye. I took a deep breath. A part of me, a core belief in my life, had just crumbled into dust. 2 I didn’t sleep a wink. When Matt came back to bed, he wrapped his arms around me from behind. The feel of his breath on my neck sent a wave of nausea through me. I pushed him away and went to the guest room. The next morning, I left before he was awake. I couldn’t stand being under the same roof with him. I was afraid I would be physically sick. When Matt called, I was at my lawyer’s office, staring at a draft of our divorce papers. I answered. “Where did you go so early?” “My vacation leave is over. I came to the office to catch up on work.” I was impressed with myself. How could I lie so calmly at a time like this? Matt seemed to buy it. “Okay. I’ve got a busy day too, so I won’t be home for lunch. I sent you a gift, make sure you sign for it.” After hanging up, the lawyer across from me pushed a glass of hot water in my direction. “Are you all right?” he asked, his voice gentle. My face must have been a mess. I gave him a weak smile and thanked him. Then I pointed to a clause in the agreement. “Change this. I get ninety percent of everything. He’s the one at fault.” “He’s had a long-term affair. He won’t fight you on material assets. Just do as I say.” Matt, I would make him pay for this. For the rest of his life. The gift he sent was a two-thousand-dollar handbag. Almost immediately, Maya called. “Someone’s lucky,” she chirped, her voice dripping with fake envy. “Sends me a dramatic last will yesterday, and today he’s already dropping two grand on a bag for you. I’m telling you, you’re being too hard on him. Just forgive him already!” Listening to her defend him, even hinting that I was being petty, was so absurd I almost laughed. As if I were the one in the wrong. My silence on the other end must have tipped her off. “What’s wrong? Why aren’t you saying anything?” “I don’t feel like talking. Probably just jet lag. I’m tired.” “Okay, well, get some rest. We’ll catch up later!” After hanging up, I went on the offensive. I scoured all of Maya’s social media accounts. We’d been friends for years, but our “best friend” status had only solidified in the last five—thanks to Matt, who brought us closer. I found nothing suspicious on her main pages. Then I started looking through her ‘following’ lists. One profile stood out—a cartoon avatar of a chubby girl in traditional dress, just her type. I clicked on it. It was her secret account. A digital shrine to her and Matt. Though the man in the photos and videos never showed his full face, I’d known Matt for eight years. I recognized the back of his head, the curve of his jaw in a fleeting side profile. It was him. They had a secret life, a secret home, all behind my back. I watched every single video. The account’s bio read: The Fox and the Rabbit: Eight years and three months of love. July 13, 2017: Saw the Rabbit for the first time. Love at first sight! Got his number. Found out we go to the same university and shamelessly joined the same club as him. October 1, 2017: My roommate has become friends with my crush. She’s so fake, always using that baby voice around him. Do all men fall for that crap? She got to him first. It hurts so much. December 25, 2017: There’s hope! He told me he’s conflicted. He said he feels like he has more in common with me! … 3 Thousands of posts over eight years. I read every single one, my heart shredding with each word. Three months after Matt and I made our relationship official, he started his affair with her. For a long moment, I was numb. Then, a volcanic rage erupted inside me. Matt, how could you do this to our eight years? In that instant, I wanted to burn his world to the ground. As it happened, my mother-in-law’s birthday was in two days. In all the years I’d known Matt, she had been genuinely kind to me. It pained me to have to disappoint her, but this had to be done. I took the jade bracelet she had given me as a wedding gift and placed it in a box. Then I went out and bought a two-thousand-dollar wallet, put it in the same gift bag, and had it beautifully wrapped. On the morning of her birthday, I reminded Matt, “It’s your mom’s birthday today. Be home early.” He promised he would, then left for work. I took the day off. I packed my suitcases. Then I picked up the sledgehammer I’d bought and started swinging. Three hours later, our beautiful home was a wasteland of shattered plaster and broken furniture. I dragged my suitcases out, took the gift, and drove straight to my in-laws’ house. When I arrived, Maya was already there. She saw me and wrapped her arm around mine as if nothing was wrong. “Chloe! You’re finally here! We’ve been waiting for you.” She led me to a seat and brought me a glass of water, acting for all the world like she was the lady of the house. My mother-in-law sat there, beaming at her, seeing nothing amiss. My heart sank even further. They all knew. I was the only one who didn’t. “Where’s Matt?” I asked. It was already six. He should have been here. I was about to text him when Maya spoke up. “Matt said he has a last-minute meeting. He’ll be about half an hour late.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “He’s certainly honest with you. He never mentioned it to me.” Maya blinked, then forced a laugh. “Oh, I didn’t know! I just overheard his mom on the phone with him.” “I just got here myself,” she added quickly. “Matt said the more, the merrier!” My mother-in-law jumped in. “Yes, Matt’s just so busy. He took a whole month off for the honeymoon, so he has a lot of catching up to do. You have to be understanding, Chloe.” Before I could reply, Maya squeezed my shoulder, smiling sweetly at my mother-in-law. “Our Chloe is the most understanding person I know. Of course she gets it, right?” I said nothing. Half an hour later, just as predicted, Matt arrived. He came straight to my side and started peeling an orange for me. We all sat down for dinner. The maid brought out the dishes. I presented my gift. “Happy birthday, Mom. This is for you.” My mother-in-law took the box and opened it. Inside was the wallet. Maya gasped beside me. “Ooh, the monogram print! Chloe, you have great taste! That must have cost a fortune.” “Two thousand dollars,” I said flatly. My mother-in-law immediately pushed the box aside. “It’s too much! No, no, Chloe. You and Matt work hard for your money. Don’t be so extravagant.” “It’s fine, Mom,” I replied, my voice light. “If I don’t spend his money, he’ll just spend it on another woman. I’d rather you have it.” She froze. “Don’t say such silly things, dear.” I just smiled. “There’s more underneath.” When my mother-in-law found the smaller box at the bottom and opened it, her face turned pale. “Chloe, what is the meaning of this?” Matt snatched my wrist. “Chloe, what are you doing? You don’t take back a gift you’ve given!” Maya patted my arm. “Chloe, don’t be foolish. This is a very bad omen.” I looked at their faces—the shock, the fear, the panic. Matt took the bracelet and tried to force it back onto my wrist. I pulled my hand away and stood up. “You’re right. I am returning it. And I want a divorce.”

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The bride wanted me to make her look like Anne Hathaway. I tried to gently dissuade her. “Replicating a celebrity’s entire face for your wedding isn’t usually recommended.” She took it as a challenge. “I’m paying, so I get what I want. What, you can’t do it?” As the top SFX makeup artist in my field, of course I could do it. A tight, humorless smile stretched across my face. “Oh, I can do it. Let’s get started.” 1 I’m a makeup artist. I had just wrapped up a special effects project overseas, a grueling marathon of four consecutive all-nighters. The moment my plane touched down, a text from my colleague, Sarah, buzzed on my phone. She was practically crying through the screen, saying her kid had a fever and if she took another day off, she’d lose her entire performance bonus. She was begging me to cover her shift. I was reluctant. “Sarah, I do special effects. Bridal makeup isn’t really my thing.” She wouldn’t take no for an answer. “Yes, it is! You know how to do it. It’s that standard package we all learned when we first started at the studio.” Her texts became more frantic. “Just do the first look. My mother-in-law will be here soon, and then I can come in.” I sighed. Fine, I’d do her a favor. The moment I stepped into the makeup suite, one of the bridesmaids sidled up to me. “You know, our Chloe is a pretty big influencer,” she said, her voice conspiratorial. “Lots of followers. Do you think we could get this session for free, you know, for the exposure?” The bride, Chloe, tilted her chin up with a smug little smile. I shook my head instinctively. “I’m just the artist. I don’t handle the pricing.” Besides, they were already here for the pre-wedding photoshoot. Hadn’t they paid already? Chloe’s face fell instantly, her lips pressing into a thin, unhappy line. When I presented her with the portfolio of bridal looks, she shoved it aside. “I don’t need to choose. Make me look like this.” She held up her phone, displaying a photo of Anne Hathaway clutching a bouquet of flowers, her smile radiant and luminous. This was a problem. The woman in the mirror had sharp, demanding eyes and a condescending tone. Her skin was sallow, framed by massive dark circles under her eyes. But the biggest issue was her face shape—a soft square. For a face like hers, the key was to create dimension and contour, shifting the focus away from her strong jawline and up toward her eyes and brows. It was the best way to highlight her features and minimize the rest. “Ma’am,” I suggested gently, “your features would be stunning with a classic, sultry Hollywood look. A warm, earthy eyeshadow palette and some soft waves would really bring out your natural glamour.” She shot me a glare. “Are you making a crack about my teeth?” I froze. A dozen diplomatic responses flashed through my mind, but the furious clench of her brow told me none of them would work. I swallowed them back down. “Not at all, ma’am,” I said, my voice carefully neutral. “We’ll proceed with whatever you’d like.” She wasn’t satisfied. “What’s with the attitude? Are you trying to be sarcastic?” “No, ma’am.” She let out a sharp huff. “Cut the crap. I paid for a service, and I expect to get exactly what I want.” Then, she shifted gears. “I’m thirsty. I want… what’s it called? That fancy cloud water.” Her bridesmaid chimed in instantly, “Evian. It’s called Evian.” I pursed my lips. “We don’t have that in the studio, I’m afraid. Would Perrier be alright?” She waved a dismissive hand. “Another generic brand.” She glanced down at my chest, her nails—a tacky explosion of pink rhinestones—flicking my work ID. “Vivi, is it? I’m not a fan of your attitude. Are you trying to get a formal complaint filed against you?” This was Sarah’s client. Even though I was just covering, a complaint would still hit her record and dock her pay. That didn’t seem fair. But seven days of travel and no sleep had drained me of the energy required to even feel angry. I just wanted to get this done and go home to collapse. “One moment,” I told the bride. I turned and asked an assistant to run across the street and buy a bottle of Evian. 2 When the young assistant handed me the water, she leaned in and whispered, “Did she ask you for a discount the second you walked in?” I raised an eyebrow and nodded. Her expression was a perfect “I knew it.” She continued in a low voice, “Her future sister-in-law is the one paying for this whole photoshoot package. She’s trying to get it for free so she can pocket the refund herself.” “Honestly,” she sighed, “we never used to put up with clients like this. The new manager has no backbone at all. Sarah was so tired of dealing with her that she just didn’t want to come in today.” I shot her a questioning look. She immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, her eyes wide with embarrassment. “Oops, never mind. Forget I said that. Her kid is definitely sick. She’s at the hospital.” And with that, she scurried away. I walked back into the suite, her words echoing in my mind. I placed the bottle of Evian on the vanity in front of Chloe. She took a sip before finally gracing me with her attention. “Alright. You can start now.” I let out a quiet breath of relief and began applying her foundation. Her skin was a challenge. It was fair but had a dull, yellowish undertone. Whatever products she’d been using had left her with enlarged pores, and just prepping her skin and minimizing them took the better part of half an hour. I had just finished setting her makeup when she let out a piercing shriek. The plastic water bottle flew from her hand and slammed into my shoulder. I stumbled back, stunned. “What… what’s wrong?” Her eyes were blazing. “Are you even a real makeup artist? You have no idea what you’re doing! Look at this! You’re just dumping white powder all over my face.” I clamped down on my patience. “Ma’am, this is a technique called ‘baking.’ It’s for long-wear makeup, especially for photoshoots. It ensures your makeup stays flawless for hours.” But a thought pricked at my mind. How could a supposed beauty influencer not know about baking? Her two bridesmaids seized the opportunity to jump in. “What’s that supposed to mean? Are you questioning our sister’s expertise?” “Nobody sets makeup like that! It’s supposed to be a fine mist of setting spray, a delicate process. You just poured flour on her face!” I tried to explain, my frustration mounting, but one of them suddenly shoved a camera tripod toward me. Caught off guard, I staggered back, my forehead smacking against the cold metal. I cried out, more in shock than pain. The bridesmaid sneered. “What are you doing? Trying to fake an injury for a payout?” I was speechless, the injustice of it all catching in my throat. Another makeup artist saw the commotion and hurried over, trying to de-escalate the situation and explain the technique on my behalf. After a tense moment, Chloe finally seemed to relent, sinking back into her chair. “I’ll give you one last chance,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. 3 I was fuming. She knew she was in the wrong, yet somehow she twisted it into an act of her own generosity. I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting the overwhelming urge to snap. A colleague handed me some paper towels, and I numbly dabbed at the water soaking my shirt before picking up my brush and stepping forward again. When I was finally done, a wave of relief washed over me. “The makeup is complete. My colleague will guide you through the next steps of your photoshoot.” “Wait,” Chloe snapped. She pulled out her phone, placing the photo of Anne Hathaway right next to her face in the mirror. Then she grabbed my arm, shoving the phone so close to my face I could see the pixels. “Does this look anything like her?” she demanded, her voice rising with each word. “Did you get the features right? The nose? The mouth, the eyes, the brows? Are you blind?” My brow furrowed. The other clients in the studio were now whispering amongst themselves, their eyes darting our way. In the phone’s glow, the image of the real Anne Hathaway was all grace and serene beauty. And then there was the woman in the mirror. I kept my voice low and steady. “Ma’am… we agreed to replicate the makeup in the photo. It’s makeup imitation, not a full facial transformation.” My professional composure was shattering. When she showed me the picture and said, “Make me look like this,” who in their right mind would think she meant to literally become the celebrity? That wasn’t makeup; that was sculpting a new person from scratch. And besides, who wants to get married looking like someone else? She scoffed. “Don’t try to hide your incompetence behind a bunch of jargon. ‘Makeup imitation, not transformation’? I showed you the picture of Anne Hathaway from the start, didn’t I? I pointed right at her and told you to make me look like that!” As her voice reached a fever pitch, she lunged at me. I jumped back, but it was too late. Her hand swiped across my station, sending a container of loose powder crashing to the floor. The cloud of dust was followed by a sickening thud as my entire makeup case, which had been resting by the chair, was knocked over, its contents spilling across the tiled floor. My God. That was my personal kit. My expensive, carefully curated collection of cosmetics. Several of the brushes in there were custom-made by hand, tools I had waited 128 days for. It wasn’t just the money. A hot, uncontrollable rage surged up from the pit of my stomach. I stepped forward to salvage what I could, but she misinterpreted the movement. “What, you got a problem with me?” she shrieked, as if I were the one attacking her. Her two bridesmaids shoved me hard. I lost my balance and fell to the floor, instinctively curling up and covering my head with my hands as their accusations rained down on me. “Our Chloe told you what she wanted, and you said you could do it! Now you’re getting violent because you’re not good enough!” “Where’s your manager? Get your director out here! Is this how you treat your customers?” The studio manager came running over. He took one look at the scene—me on the floor, Chloe screaming—and his eyes narrowed, pinning me with the blame. “What is going on here?” He was new. I’d been away on a project when he was hired, and Sarah had already told me he wasn’t my biggest fan. He resented me for holding a senior position at the studio without contributing to the daily sales figures. So, his immediate assumption that I was the problem didn’t surprise me. But it still stung. Chloe launched into a tirade. “A refund! I want a full refund!” At the word “refund,” the manager’s head whipped around, his glare intensifying on me. “I specifically called you in to cover this shift because I knew the client wanted to look like Anne Hathaway.” My head snapped up. What? No one had mentioned a single word of that to me. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Are you kidding me? When exactly did you tell me that? You’re just going to throw me under the bus without even asking what happened?” His face hardened. “How dare you speak to me like that? The customer is always right, and right now, the customer is unhappy. Get over here and apologize.” My hand tightened around the makeup brush still clutched in my fist, my knuckles white with rage. “Find someone else. I’m done.” I turned to leave. Let someone else deal with this circus. Seeing me walk away, Chloe seemed to sense her chance for a refund slipping away. Suddenly, she was insisting that only I could do her makeup. The manager, now desperate, pleaded with her. “Can we please have another artist help you? We can find someone else, just please, let’s not talk about refunds.” Chloe crossed her arms. “You’ve already switched artists on me once. Are you just going to keep cycling through people to run out the clock? At this point, I think a full refund is perfectly reasonable.” The manager fell silent. A full bridal package was expensive. If he comped the entire thing, who would absorb the cost of the makeup, the photography, the couture rentals, the products? “Fine,” Chloe declared. “Then she has to do it. And if it’s not perfect, it’s on you.” So, you want your money, and you want a freebie, and you’re both willing to sacrifice your artist to get what you want? I kept walking. This wasn’t my problem. “Sarah, you’re here!” the manager yelled at my back. “Tell us! Did you or did you not tell Vivi what the client wanted when you asked her to cover?” Sarah stepped out from the small crowd that had gathered. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her voice was quiet, but clear. “I told her.” I stopped dead in my tracks. A boundless, burning rage unlike anything I had ever felt consumed me. It was worse than the bride’s ridiculous demands, worse than the manager’s blatant lies. This was a betrayal. Sarah was the first person I’d met when I joined the studio. The owner and I had met at an international makeup competition. I needed a stable job with a 401k and health insurance to appease my mother, and she wanted to leverage my reputation in SFX to break into the overseas market. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement. Out of respect for our deal, I always pitched in when the studio needed help. I even took their basic bridal training courses, which is why Sarah knew I was capable of covering her shift. The manager’s voice was sharp with urgency. “If you can’t handle this, we’ll have to cancel the project, and you will be held fully responsible.” “Fully responsible” meant I would have to cover the client’s refund, plus all the studio’s losses for time and resources. I looked at Sarah. Her body was trembling, her head bowed in shame. I walked back toward her, stopping right beside her. I leaned in, my voice a low, chilling whisper in her ear. “You know I can do it.” “You wanted Anne Hathaway? Who ever said I couldn’t deliver?”

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The first time my fiancé’s adopted sister threw a tantrum over her separation anxiety and ruined our engagement party, I laid down the law. I told him if we weren’t married by my twenty-eighth birthday, he would have to choose between her and me. But he was so sure of himself. He knew my dying mother’s last wish was to see me happy, and he was convinced that meant marrying him, her long-time love. So, at our ninth attempt at an engagement party, just before my twenty-seventh birthday, when his sister locked me in a bathroom, put on the wedding dress my mother had made for me, and took my place at the altar, he told me to just endure it a little longer. I watched her in my dress, a placid smile on my face. “She looks quite pretty.” My fiancé, Evan, let out a sigh of relief and reached for my hand. “Don’t worry, I promise I won’t let her cause any more trouble next time. Just be patient.” I smoothly sidestepped his touch. “There won’t be a next time. What I mean is, you two make a perfect pair.” Sorry, but you’re not the only one who can make me happy. 1 Smack. A searing pain bloomed on my cheek. “What on earth are you saying?” Evan’s mother shrieked, her face contorted with rage. “Anyone would think we’re some kind of dysfunctional, incestuous family! Your sister is just having an anxiety attack! She needs her brother’s comfort. It’s just a dress. As her future sister-in-law, you should be more understanding, not spreading vicious rumors that will ruin her reputation!” She shot Evan a look of pure disappointment. “I told you she has no grace. Why would you marry a woman like this? She’ll bring nothing but misery to your sister and me!” Evan’s brow furrowed, his eyes filled with a familiar weariness as he looked at me. He sighed. “Chloe, I just praised you for being so understanding. Why can’t you just let it go?” he said, his voice laced with frustration. “It’s just a dress. She wore it. She walked out in it. So what? We’re the ones getting the marriage license. Does it really matter who stood up there for a silly engagement party? Why are you making such a big deal out of this?” He softened his tone. “Just apologize to my mom and Maya. I’ll be more careful next time.” I swallowed the bitter taste in my mouth. I had heard this same speech nine times now. I was so, so tired. “No,” I said, my voice quiet but firm. “I already told you. This wedding is off.” The air grew heavy. All three of them stared at me, their faces grim. Evan looked at me as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Before he could speak, Maya clutched at the skirt of my dress, her voice trembling. “Brother, did I do something wrong? I was just scared… Scared that after you get married, you won’t be close to me anymore. I just wanted a memento. I didn’t mean to ruin your engagement.” I watched their performance, my face a mask of indifference. “You don’t need a memento. If you want him that badly, you can have him.” His mother lunged at me again, her hand raised, but I was ready this time. I stepped back, and her swing met empty air, sending her stumbling and clutching at her lower back. Her eyes burned with hatred. Evan’s face was a canvas of disappointment. “I’ve told you before, Maya developed this anxiety after she was trapped in an empty room trying to save me. She can’t be away from me. Why do you always have to be so difficult about it?” he said, his voice laced with accusation. “If you don’t want to get married, then we’ll wait. It’s not like I’m the one in a hurry.” His words hit me like a physical blow. I froze. He knew. He knew I was rushing to get married before my twenty-eighth birthday to fulfill my mother’s dying wish. And at some point, he had started using that knowledge as a weapon, a tool to force me into submission, to make me apologize, to make me yield. I took a deep breath, turned my back on them, and walked away without another word. At the hospital, I watched my mother through the glass panel of her room. She was so thin, a fragile skeleton of the woman she once was. A nurse was helping her walk, her movements slow and pained. “You’re putting yourself through so much, practicing walking like this,” the nurse said gently. “All so you can walk your daughter down the aisle. But it’s so hard on your body.” My mother smiled through the pain. “It’s not hard… I promised her father I would remember her happiest moment, so I could tell him all about it when I see him again. I’ve waited for this for so many years. What’s a little more pain?” I shrank into a corner of the hallway, tears streaming down my face, my body wracked with silent sobs. Years ago, when my parents were working abroad, they were caught in a mass shooting. They were both hit while shielding an important political figure. My father was killed instantly. My mother was hit with a shotgun blast. She survived, but of the six pellets lodged in her body, only four could be removed. The other two were in locations too dangerous to operate on. Removing them would be a death sentence. As the years passed, the pellets shifted, burrowing deeper, causing her unimaginable, constant pain. She had held on for me, for so long, and I couldn’t even give her this one thing, this one piece of peace. I was useless. I couldn’t even fulfill such a simple wish. I wiped my tears and put on a smile before entering her room. The nurse left us alone. My mother’s weary eyes lit up when she saw me. “How did it go today?” she asked, her voice a hoarse whisper. Looking into her hopeful eyes, I swallowed the lump in my throat. “It went perfectly. Everything’s on track. We should be married by next month.” She let out a breath she seemed to have been holding. But just as the tension left her body, two unwelcome voices echoed from the hallway. Maya stood in the doorway, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Auntie, I am so, so sorry. It was my fault. My anxiety flared up again, and that’s why Chloe and my brother’s engagement didn’t go smoothly.” Then her eyes met mine, and her tone shifted, becoming sickly sweet. “Sister, I know you don’t want to disappoint Auntie, but you can’t use her health to force my brother’s hand. Nothing’s been decided about the wedding yet. My mother is so upset with you she can’t even get out of bed.” She turned back to my mother, her expression a perfect picture of innocence. “But don’t you worry, Auntie. We’ll have it all sorted out before the end of the year. I’ll take my medication, and I promise I won’t cause any more trouble. Just be patient. You’ll see them get married soon.” Her words were sweet, but her expression was pure mockery. In an instant, the smile on my mother’s face froze. Her breathing became ragged and shallow. Her eyes, wide and red-rimmed, fixed on me. “Is it true?” she whispered. I glared at them, my voice shaking with fury. “Who let you in here? Didn’t you hear what I said? I am not marrying him! Are you incapable of understanding simple words?” My mother started to tremble, gasping for air. The monitor beside her bed blared to life, a symphony of alarms signaling her distress. I screamed for a doctor. As the medical team rushed in, my legs gave out from under me. I could only watch, helpless. Maya started to sob hysterically. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I just wanted to explain, to tell you not to be so impulsive. It’s all my fault Auntie is like this.” I snapped. I slapped her hard across the face, my voice a low, vicious snarl. “My mother is not dead yet. If you want to cry over a grave, go home and do it.” They both stared at me, stunned. Evan’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “Chloe, that’s enough. She didn’t mean it, and she’s apologized. Why are you taking it out on her? Besides, your mother’s health has always been fragile. You can’t blame other people for that.” My eyes, burning with unshed tears, locked onto his. “Get out,” I hissed. “Both of you, get out!” Just then, a doctor rushed out of the room, his face grim. “It’s not looking good. You need to prepare yourselves. We’re taking her into surgery now.” Panic seized me, and I collapsed onto the floor. My gaze fell on the two people who had caused this, the two architects of my mother’s pain. Maya shrank back from my glare, clutching her chest and gasping for air as if she couldn’t breathe. Evan hesitated for a fraction of a second. Then he scooped her into his arms and turned to leave. “There’s nothing I can do to help with the surgery,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion. “I’ll take her home and come back later.” I couldn’t believe he could say those words. But then again, in his eyes, my mother had long ceased to be a person. She was just a tool, a lever he could use to force me to bend to his family’s will. After an agonizing hour, my mother was out of surgery. She was stable. Looking at her tear-streaked face, I knew I couldn’t let her down again. I took a deep breath and dialed a number I hadn’t called in years. “Is your offer still on the table?” “Of course. Anything you want.” I bit my lip. “Marry me. Three years, max. Then you’ll be free.” There was a long silence on the other end. “Done. When?” “Three days. My mother can’t wait any longer. I’ll meet you at the city hall.” With everything settled, I rushed home to pack. The most important thing was my mother’s wedding dress. I had to get it back, intact. I had promised her I would wear it on my wedding day. When I walked in, Evan was pressing an ice pack to the red mark on Maya’s cheek. My eyes immediately locked onto a box on the table. The box where I kept the dress. I breathed a sigh of relief. But when I opened it, the dress was in tatters, a shredded heap of silk and lace. My vision blurred with red. “What is this? Who did this?” Maya, her face still covered by the ice pack, sniffled. “I’m sorry, sister. I didn’t mean to ruin it.” Evan immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her from me. “Don’t scare her. It’s not your main wedding gown anyway. I’ll have a better one made for you. She just accidentally stepped on it when she was taking it off. We had no idea the quality was so poor.” Without a second thought, I slapped him. “You knew my mother poured her heart and soul into making this for me, and you just let her destroy it? Poor quality? I’ve worn it nine times without a single tear, and she rips it to shreds the one time she puts it on? Open your eyes! Those are clean cuts! She took a pair of scissors to it! And you’re still defending her!” A flash of annoyance crossed his face, but he quickly masked it with a weary sigh. “Maybe it was difficult for her to take off, so she had to cut it,” he said, his voice placating. “She’s still young, and she has her issues. Try to be more understanding. It’s just a dress. Let’s not ruin our relationship over it. We’re going to be family soon. How are we supposed to get along if you make a scene over every little thing?” I clenched my fists so hard my nails dug into my palms. I could taste blood in my mouth. “Who the hell wants to be family with you and your sick, twisted sister? Evan, the biggest regret of my life is ever loving you!” “It’s just a dress,” I spat, my voice dripping with contempt. “A dress in exchange for seeing you for who you really are? A bargain.” At my words, Maya, who had been trembling in the corner, suddenly dropped to her knees. She started hitting herself, her cries escalating. “It’s all my fault! Why did I have to have an attack then? Why do I always destroy things when I’m upset?” she wailed. “Sister, my brother loves you so much! Please don’t leave him! I’ll go! I’m not even a real part of this family anyway! I won’t let my problems ruin your love!” With that, she scrambled to her feet and ran to the open window, climbing onto the ledge. Evan was horrified. “What are you doing? Get down from there!” Maya looked back at him, her face a mask of despair. “As long as I’m alive, I can’t control my attacks! The only way to stop this is if I’m dead!” She was about to jump. Evan was frantic. “No, don’t! It’s not your fault! No one blames you! You’ll always be our family! Chloe doesn’t care about the dress!” He turned to me, his eyes wild with desperation. “Say something!” I just stared at them, my heart a block of ice. “That’s your family’s problem. It has nothing to do with me.” As I turned to leave, Evan’s hand shot out and slapped me across the face. “You are unbelievable!” he roared. “That is a human life! Over a stupid dress, are you serious?” He rushed to the window, not even glancing back at me. “Get down, Maya. I hit her for you. See? It’s okay. Please, get down. If it makes you happy, I won’t get married. We can wait until you’re feeling better, okay?” Maya climbed down, and as she fell into his arms, she shot me a look of pure, triumphant malice. Only then did Evan seem to remember I was there. A flicker of guilt crossed his face. “It was an emergency. You have to understand. You were being so cold. Thank God nothing happened.” My teeth were clenched so tight my jaw ached. All I could see was my mother’s pale, bruised face. I slapped him back, hard. “You knew it was an emergency for her, but what about my mother? When she was having a medical emergency because of your sister, that wasn’t an emergency?” “The first time, she switched out the welcome signs. The second time, she drove her car into me. The third time, she dug up my father’s grave! Are you the only ones who are human? Are my mother and I not?” I was so furious I stormed out without even bothering to pack. He grabbed my arm, his face a mess of guilt, trying to explain. But Maya clung to his other arm, refusing to let him go. He gave me a helpless look and sighed. “She’s having an attack. She can’t be left alone. I’ll… I’ll visit your mother when I have time.” For the next two days, I didn’t leave my mother’s side. Evan never showed up. But my social media feed was flooded with pictures of Maya, smiling and happy, with Evan by her side. I had already given up on him. I blocked them all. On the morning of the third day, I finally got the text I was waiting for. From Liam. I helped my mother get dressed and ready to go out. She looked at me, confused. “Where are we going?” I smiled. “I’m taking you to meet someone. And to do something that will make you very happy.” We took a cab to the city hall. Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why are we here?” I pushed her wheelchair forward. “To get married, of course.” Her expression turned serious. “I want to see you get married, but you can’t just marry a random stranger!” I laughed. “He’s not a stranger. You’ll see in a minute—” I was cut off by Evan’s voice behind me. “I knew you couldn’t stay away,” he said, a smug smile on his face. “All that talk about not getting married was just you being dramatic. Now here you are at the city hall, trying to force my hand.” He took my hand, his grip firm. “Fine. We can get married. But no wedding, no reception. My sister can’t handle it, and it puts me in a difficult position.” As if on cue, Maya started to cry. “Brother, are you really going to abandon me? Sister doesn’t like me. She’ll make you stay away from me.” Evan sighed and patted her head. “You see? My sister is still very upset about what you did. So here’s the deal. You apologize to her, and you write a formal letter promising you will never bully her again.” Looking at his self-righteous expression, I snatched my hand away and walked toward the appointment check-in. “Did I say I was marrying you? Don’t be so delusional.” Evan froze for a second, then let out a cold laugh, blocking my path. “Don’t be stubborn. We’ve been together for years. Who else would you marry? Come on, stop making a scene. Apologize, and we can get the license right now.” I ignored him and asked a clerk to help me check in. Seeing me dismiss him so completely, his face darkened with anger. “I told you, if you don’t apologize, I am not marrying you. I will not allow you to bully my family! I am not going to enable your bad behavior!” he shouted, his voice drawing the attention of everyone around us. “All this time, you’ve been nothing but cruel to my family. What’s so hard about saying you’re sorry? You want to marry me, but you’re not willing to make any concessions. Is that how you think this works?” Maya started to sob dramatically. “Sister, I know you think I’m trying to steal your brother from you, and I don’t blame you for being mean to me. But my illness is real. I really can’t be without him,” she cried. “If you really can’t accept me, then I’ll just die. I would do anything for my brother’s happiness.” Suddenly, I was the villain. Murmurs of disapproval rippled through the crowd. I looked at the two of them, their performance perfectly synchronized, not a shred of guilt on their faces. I wasn’t going to waste my breath. I turned to wheel my mother away, but Evan grabbed my arm. “Where are you going? How long are you going to run from this? I’m telling you, this is your only chance. Apologize to my sister in front of everyone, and I will marry you right now,” he said, his voice low and menacing. “If you walk away, this engagement is over. And when your mother dies, don’t come crying to me for help. I won’t be there.” I trembled with rage. “How dare you say that about my mother? I’m telling you, your entire family will be dead and buried before my mother is! And you think I’d come to you for help? In your dreams!” Evan’s eyes were wide with disbelief. “You’ve really lost your mind! How dare you speak about my mother that way! I’m going to teach you a lesson!” He raised his hand to strike me. I braced myself, ready to call the police the second he touched me. But the blow never landed. I opened my eyes to see a strong, steady hand gripping Evan’s wrist. “My fiancée is not for you to discipline.”

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I was on the hunt for a stud for my best friend’s prized pedigree cat when I accidentally stumbled onto a male model’s profile. Me: [Hey, what are your rates?] Model: [Ten grand a session. Top-tier looks.] I gritted my teeth and agreed. Me: [Deal. Can I film the session?] Model: [You want to film it?] Well, yeah. What if it’s not a successful pairing? The next day, I showed up with my cat, ready for the appointment. The door opened to reveal a masked, doting pet dad who took my breath away. “Filming is fine,” he said, his voice a low rumble. “But I don’t show my face.” 1 My best friend, Zoe, had tasked me with finding a suitable mate for her precious firstborn. As the cat’s official godmother, I took the job very seriously. Zoe told me all the prep work—vaccinations and deworming—had to be done a month in advance. After a trip to the vet, I brought Poppy home and started my search for a handsome tomcat while we waited for her to go into heat. Late one night, drowsy and bleary-eyed, I accidentally clicked on someone’s profile. It was filled with pictures of cats. One, in particular, a long-haired Golden Shaded British Longhair, made my eyes pop wide open. Oh. My. God. Those looks were on a whole other level. Suddenly wide awake, I shot him a private message. [Hey, what are your rates?] He must have been a night owl too because the reply was almost instant. [10k.] I scratched my head, baffled. Stud fees were this expensive nowadays? He must have sensed my hesitation. A new message popped up: [He’s gorgeous.] I gently shook the sleeping Poppy awake and pointed to the picture on my phone. “What do you think of this one, P?” Poppy just blinked at me before plopping her fluffy butt directly onto my screen. Alright, then! My god-cat wholeheartedly approved of this handsome gentleman! I took a deep breath and typed back: [Deal. Can I film the session?] [You want to film it?] Duh. What if it didn’t take? Me: [It’s just for proof. To make sure everything goes smoothly for both parties.] The “user is typing…” indicator lingered on my screen for an eternity. I frowned. What was there to think about? It was a perfectly reasonable precaution for my pet’s safety. Was that so hard to understand? A few minutes later, a new message arrived: […Fine. But the client will need to sign a strict non-disclosure agreement. The footage cannot be shared.] I raised an eyebrow. The stud industry was this professional now? Me: [No problem! And… he’s healthy, right? Physically?] Model: [Five gym sessions a week, very low body fat, powerful core strength. Don’t worry.] What? He takes his cat to the gym? Was the pet world this competitive? Then again, cats and humans were both mammals. A strong core probably helped with… performance, right? The thought made a weird kind of sense, and I found myself even more impressed with this tomcat. Not only was he stunning, but he was in peak physical condition. I grinned and typed: [Oh, okay, that’s great. What about his… temperament? Is he aggressive?] Model: [Depends on the client. With the right one, he’s very gentle and attentive. Puts a premium on the experience.] Oh my god. This was the holy grail of stud cats. He even cared about the experience? Poppy was in for a treat! Me: [Can we schedule for 10 days from now?] [Why the wait?] The ideal time for mating is between the third and fifth day of a female cat’s heat cycle, and Poppy’s was still about a week away. Ten days was the soonest we could do. I figured he probably wasn’t familiar with the specifics of female cat biology. So I kindly explained: [We have to wait for her fertile window.] He went silent again. What was it now? Was he shy? After a long pause, he slowly typed: [I just looked it up. You mean her ovulation period, right?] Umm… I guess you could call it that. I didn’t argue. [Yeah, basically. It’s just the best time to… you know.] […Right. All of the client’s needs will be met.] 2 I exchanged contact info with the stud’s owner, who went by the username “XC,” and sent over a deposit. Then I sent the picture of the Golden Shaded dreamboat to Zoe. My best friend, currently honeymooning on the other side of the world, showered me with praise. “That’s my girl! You’re the best godmother ever!” Zoe suggested I check out the stud’s living conditions beforehand. It sounded like a smart idea, so I messaged XC. [Yoo-hoo? What’s the… venue… like?] XC: [? The venue…] Yeah, the venue. The female cat is supposed to be brought to the male’s territory. It increases the chance of success and reduces stress. The stud’s owner is responsible for providing a safe and secure environment, like a quiet room with properly screened windows. Unfazed, I pressed on: [Is the environment safe?] This time, the silence was even longer. Finally, a single sentence appeared: [Yeah. You won’t get caught.] Caught? Oh, he must mean his cat is gentle and won’t scratch. What a little gentleman. I chuckled to myself, remembering the most important question. I sent a winking emoji. [So, uh, what’s the… hardware like?] XC: [Excellent.] Oh? Excellent how? I needed details. But he clearly didn’t get the hint. I waited, but no pictures or further descriptions came through. I had to be more direct: [Can you be more specific? Maybe a… picture? I need to be sure my baby’s physical and mental well-being are taken care of!] What if this cat was all fluff and no stuff? I couldn’t let Poppy suffer for nothing. After another long pause, XC replied: [The dimensions are… impressive. Client feedback has always been… very positive about the experience.] My eyes nearly popped out of my head. Wow! He even had client testimonials! This was a whole new level of professional. I struggled to maintain my composure. [Oh? And… stamina?] XC: […I have a lot of confidence in that department. Clients always leave satisfied.] My heart was racing. Oh. My. God. He was the perfect specimen! Gorgeous, gentle, well-endowed, and he could go the distance! Poppy, your godmother has found you a supermodel! Me: [That’s fantastic! So… is there anything I need to do to… assist?] XC: [You can watch from the side. If you need some direction.] Direction? How was I supposed to direct a cat? But I definitely had to be there to supervise. What if the stud got too rough? I had to be there to protect Poppy. Me: [Okay, I’ll definitely be there! By the way, will one session be enough? What if it doesn’t take the first time?] XC: [One is usually enough. If the client requires multiple sessions… there’s an extra charge.] So confident. One and done, huh? I guess that was better for Poppy, less stressful. Me: [I get it! You get what you pay for! So, it’s just the one visit?] XC: [Yes. I’ll provide my services until you’re completely satisfied.] The customer service was impeccable! I clutched my phone, giddy with excitement. This was the best ten thousand dollars I’d ever spent! I sent one last confirmation: [It’s a date, then! Ten days from now, I’ll bring her over. The rest… is up to him!] XC: [Don’t worry. I won’t let you down.] 3 A few days later, I was standing outside a high-end apartment building with Poppy in her carrier. Whoa. Does cat breeding pay this well? This place was fancy. My heart pounded as I rang the doorbell. I was excited to finally meet the handsome Golden Shaded, but also a little nervous. Ten grand was a lot of money. This had better work. The door swung open, and I was face-to-face with a masked, doting pet dad who stole the air from my lungs. He was tall, with a lean, muscular frame outlined by a fitted black tank top. A black face mask covered the lower half of his face, leaving only a pair of deep, intense eyes that seemed to be… sizing me up. “You can film,” he said, his voice a low, magnetic rumble. “But I don’t show my face.” Whoa. That voice. I snapped out of my daze and nodded quickly. “Right, right. Privacy. I get it.” Is this guy an influencer or something? I wondered. He stepped aside to let me in, his gaze falling on the cat carrier in my arms. He frowned slightly. “Oh, Poppy’s a little shy,” I explained quickly. “And she gets carsick. She’ll be fine in a bit. Is… uh… is he ready?” I craned my neck, trying to spot the cat. The man paused, as if processing my words. “Come in. We need to… go over the details.” I carried the carrier into the living room. The apartment was stylish and minimalist, but I didn’t see any scratching posts, cat trees, or toys. Strange. How could a cat owner’s place be this spotless? I set the carrier on the sofa and opened the door. “Come on out, Poppy…” Poppy huddled in the back, eyeing the new surroundings warily. I felt a little embarrassed. I turned to explain, only to see the man reaching for the hem of his shirt and slowly, deliberately, starting to pull it off. “W-wait, wait, wait!!!” I shrieked, nearly dropping my phone. “What… what are you doing?!” His hands froze mid-air, his visible eyes wide with confusion. “…Isn’t this what you wanted? Ten grand a session.” A cold, dawning horror began to creep up my spine. “What did I want?! I wanted a stud for my cat! A stud! Can’t you see what’s in this carrier?!” I thrust the carrier toward him, practically shoving it in his face. The man looked at the fluffy, slightly terrified cat inside. Then he looked at my face, which was now burning with a mixture of shock and mortification. The confusion in his deep-set eyes slowly morphed into a tidal wave of gut-wrenching, soul-crushing embarrassment. “…A cat?” “What else would it be?!” “…” The silence in the room was absolute, broken only by Poppy’s innocent, questioning “meow.” 4 My brain short-circuited for three solid seconds. Then, all our bizarre conversations came flooding back, scrolling through my mind like a cursed news ticker. “He’s gorgeous.” “Five gym sessions a week, powerful core strength.” “Puts a premium on the experience.” “The dimensions are… impressive. Client feedback has always been very positive.” “One is usually enough.” WHOOSH. A fiery blush rocketed from my neck to the roots of my hair. I was so hot you could have fried an egg on my forehead. So this is what social death felt like. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me and my cat whole. The man across from me was clearly having his own meltdown. He yanked his tank top back down with the speed of a hummingbird’s wings, leaving an afterimage in the air. His eyes, the only part of his face I could see, darted around the room, desperate for a place to land. Finally, he spun around, giving me his broad, rigid back. “Look…” he began, his voice raspy, “I’m sorry. I… I misunderstood.” What could I possibly say to that? No problem, it’s my fault for being an idiot who can’t read a profile properly? I clutched the cat carrier like it was a live grenade. “So…” I struggled to find the right words. “You’re… not a breeder?” His shoulders slumped. “No.” “And the cats on your profile…” “Are my pets.” “So the ten-grand-a-session thing was for…” “…” His silence was all the answer I needed. My entire worldview had just been shattered. I had spent ten days meticulously researching, filled with giddy anticipation, and had agreed to spend an obscene amount of money… to hire a male escort? For my cat? I looked down at the innocent Poppy, who was now calmly licking her paws. Sweetie, I am so sorry. Godmommy booked you the wrong species. “Well, I should probably get going,” I mumbled. I couldn’t stay here another second. I just wanted to teleport off the planet. I spun around, ready to make a break for the door. “Wait!” He turned back around and called out to me. I froze, not daring to look at him. Please, just let me go. You can keep the deposit. It’s the price I pay for being blind. “Are… are you looking for a long-haired Golden Shaded for stud?” he asked, his voice hesitant. I nodded stiffly. “My cat… he’s the one in the pictures.” My head snapped up. He was pointing toward the balcony. I followed his gesture. There, on the top perch of a cat tree in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, sat a magnificent, fluffy, golden creature, yawning lazily in the afternoon sun. The light caught its long fur, making it shimmer like spun gold. The handsome face, the emerald green eyes… it was him. My dream cat. Holy crap. He was real. And a hundred times more stunning in person. The awkwardness of the last five minutes evaporated. My eyes lit up, and I rushed toward the window. “Oh my god! It’s him! What’s his name?” The man seemed taken aback by my complete one-eighty but answered nonetheless. “…Ten Grand.” “What?” “His name is Ten Grand.” “…” Well. That was certainly on the nose. 5 I pressed my face against the glass, staring at Ten Grand like a complete stalker. He seemed to sense my gaze, turned his head, gave me a cool, dismissive glance, and went back to watching the world go by. Wow. That aloof attitude. He was just like his owner. I opened the carrier, and Poppy cautiously poked her head out. When she saw Ten Grand, a soft purr rumbled in her chest. She was definitely interested. A spark of hope ignited within me. I was already here, right? Might as well see this through. And honestly, this cat was the most beautiful Golden Shaded I had ever seen. I turned back to the masked man, who was now leaning against a wall, watching me with a complicated expression. I cleared my throat, deciding to just go for it. “So… uh… handsome.” His body tensed. “I admit,” I said, trying my best to look sincere, “this has been a massive, astronomical misunderstanding. But, look, I really am here to find a mate for my cat, and your cat, Ten Grand, really is ridiculously handsome…” I gestured from Poppy to Ten Grand. “And I think they have a connection! What do you say we just… roll with it?” The man was silent. His mask hid his expression, but I could see the emotions warring in his eyes: embarrassment, then disbelief, and finally… a flicker of amusement? “Let me get this straight,” he said slowly. “You want to pay me ten thousand dollars… for my cat to mate with your cat?” “Yes!” I nodded enthusiastically. “Money is no object!” (It was very much an object, but for Zoe’s firstborn, I would make the sacrifice.) My earnestness seemed to amuse him. A low chuckle rumbled from behind his mask. It was a nice sound. “Ten Grand… has never been studded before.” “That’s fine! First time is even better! Means he’s clean!” I blurted out. The words were out of my mouth before I could stop them. Why does everything I say sound so weird today? The amusement in his eyes deepened. “And I never planned on using him as a stud,” he added. “Just once! Please, just this one time!” I clasped my hands together, shamelessly begging. “Please? Look how cute Poppy is! Their kittens would be absolutely gorgeous! I’ll give you one! No, two!” I scooped Poppy out of her carrier and held her up for him to see. Poppy, bless her heart, chose that moment to let out a soft, sweet “meow.” The man looked at the cat in my arms, then at Ten Grand on the balcony. He seemed to be seriously considering it. Maybe it was my desperate puppy-dog eyes, or maybe it was Poppy’s charm. After a few tense moments, he finally sighed. “…Okay.” Yes! I almost jumped for joy!

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1 In the final days of my life, I grew to despise my daughter. If not for her, I could have lived a life of wild freedom—I wouldn’t be dying young, worn out from exhaustion. So I began to torment her. I made her cook, clean, and serve me endlessly. I watched coldly as she cut her finger chopping vegetables, blood beading like a red jewel. I grabbed my cane and struck her hard across the back. “Are you really this useless?” I snarled. “Can’t you do anything right?” Finally, I called my ex-husband. “Come get your daughter. I can’t handle her anymore.” But Claire dropped to her knees, her voice trembling. “Mommy… are you sending me away?” I clenched my jaw and nodded. “Yes. I don’t want you anymore.” Heartbreak swept over her young face. She couldn’t understand—in the time I had left, I had something far more important to do. I was going to become Ethan Knight’s greatest regret. The one love he lost forever. When Ethan walked through the door, his eyes swept the room, a deep frown forming on his face. His gaze landed on me, cold as ice. “Is this what you call a ‘good environment’ for our daughter?” he demanded. “You let Claire live in a place like this?” I was lounging on the sofa, casually eating a slice of apple Claire had just handed me, the picture of lazy contentment. Ethan’s frown deepened. “My God, Elara, you have no shame! If you didn’t want to take care of her, why did you fight so hard for custody?” “To make your life hell, of course,” I said with a shrug. “You left me for Stella Locke without a second thought. Why should I let your daughter have a good life?” My careless words hit their mark. Ethan’s control snapped. He slammed his fist into the wall, his voice raw with anger. “I was right about you, Elara! You’re nothing but a lazy, self-indulgent parasite!” “That huge settlement I gave you when we divorced—I bet you didn’t spend a dime of it on Claire. You blew it all on yourself, didn’t you?” My breath hitched, and my fingers dug into the armrest of the sofa. Ethan’s voice pressed on. “And now that the money’s gone, you’re tired of playing mom? Or is this just another ploy to squeeze more cash out of me, using Claire as bait?” He looked down at our daughter, at her worn-out clothes, and his eyes blazed with fury. “You’re overthinking things,” I said, popping the last piece of apple into my mouth. “I’ve had Claire for three years, and frankly, I’m done.” “The kid’s got a difficult personality, no sense of gratitude. She’s always causing trouble for me at school.” “And she’s slow. A total nightmare to teach anything to. Her grades are a disaster.” “I’m not wasting any more of my life on her. You take her. You always adored her so much, didn’t you?” I added, a saccharine smile on my face. “Or are you afraid Stella won’t let you bring Claire home?” Ethan’s eyes widened in disbelief. “Elara, you carried her for nine months. She’s your own flesh and blood. How can you say such horrible things about her?” I let out a small, bitter laugh inside. “I know it’s hard to accept, but it’s the truth. Claire is not an exceptional child. Maybe… my genes dragged her down. So I’m giving her back to you. Maybe you can do a better job.” Ethan’s chest heaved, his face flushed with rage. He turned and knelt, taking Claire’s hand. His voice was gentle, a stark contrast to the venom he’d directed at me. “Claire, sweetheart. Daddy’s taking you home.” Instinctively, Claire pulled her hand away and took two steps toward me. I held her gaze, my expression unyielding. For a heartbeat, I saw a flicker of something in her eyes—a question, a plea. Then, she turned back, took Ethan’s hand, and looked up at him. “Daddy,” she said softly, “I’ll go with you. But… will you be good to me?” I saw Ethan’s eyes glisten with unshed tears as he nodded fiercely. His head snapped back toward me, his voice thick with hatred. “Elara, I want you to stay out of Claire’s life. You stay away from my daughter. A person like you doesn’t deserve to be a mother.” He pulled Claire with him, storming out and slamming the door so hard the floorboards rattled. The moment they were gone, my body gave out. I collapsed over the side of the sofa, vomiting up the apple and everything else in my stomach. After a long moment, I closed my eyes, breathing through the nausea, and dialed Ethan’s assistant. “Mr. Davis,” I said, my voice weak. “When Ethan and I divorced, how much was the settlement he arranged for me?” The man on the other end went silent. The pause stretched, heavy with guilt. Finally, he took a deep breath. “Ms. Croft… I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “Mr. Knight gave you a million dollars in cash and a luxury condo. But… Ms. Locke intercepted it all.” “The Locke family is powerful. They threatened my job, my family… I’m just an employee, Ms. Croft. I’m truly, deeply sorry…” “I understand,” I said, my voice flat. “I don’t blame you.” “But I need you to tell Ethan the truth when the time is right. You owe that to me, and you owe it to Claire.” Another long silence. Then, a quiet, resigned, “Yes.” I hung up and let my body sink completely into the sofa cushions, my mind drifting. My story with Ethan was painfully simple. I loved him, and he loved someone else. I’d adored him from afar for three years, and when his perfect Stella Locke went abroad to study, I saw my chance and took it. We married, and soon we had our beautiful daughter. For a while, the way Ethan looked at me grew softer, warmer. Just when I thought we were building a real life, his perfect girl came back. What followed was the oldest story in the book. A forced divorce. But unlike in the novels, there was no grand, regretful gesture, no dramatic chase to win me back. The only surprise was that in the three years since we’d split, he and Stella had never married. I never doubted Ethan’s love for Claire, but his affections were fickle. With Stella constantly whispering in his ear, I couldn’t risk our daughter’s future on a gamble. And I couldn’t bear the thought of leaving the child I’d fought so hard to bring into this world all alone. So when we divorced, I fought for her. I had a job; I could support us. This apartment wasn’t the hovel Ethan made it out to be. It just wasn’t the Knight family mansion. My thoughts grew hazy, and I drifted off, only to be jolted awake by the shrill ring of my phone. Ethan’s voice was a low growl, laced with icy fury. “You’re a monster, Elara.” “You dared to abuse my daughter?” “She’s just a little girl! How could you hit her? The nanny saw the bruises on her back when she was giving her a bath. Even she was in tears.” “And you… you’re her mother. How could you be so cruel…?” His voice cracked on the last word, and for a second, I thought I heard a sob. Suppressing my surprise, I answered calmly, “I was just trying to teach her a lesson. She’s so clumsy, she never learns.” “Bullshit!” he roared. The vulgarity was so unlike the polished gentleman he always tried to be that a small, genuine laugh escaped my lips. “You think this is funny? I’m telling you, Elara, I won’t let you get away with this!” He hung up. I waited for his revenge. But three days passed, and all I got was a call from my boss telling me I was fired. I just smiled. It didn’t matter. What’s a job when you only have a few days left to live? Two weeks later, I came home from a hospital appointment to find Ethan waiting outside my door. This time, he wasn’t shouting. He just watched me, his expression searching, confused. After a long silence, he spoke, his voice hesitant. “Elara… do you even know our daughter?” “Claire is sweet, she’s obedient, and she’s been top of her class every single year. Why would you say she’s a terrible student?” “At first, I thought you just didn’t care enough to know. But I heard you never missed a parent-teacher conference. Her teacher said you were always asking about her progress.” “So, Elara,” he asked, his eyes locking onto mine, “why did you lie?” I lowered my gaze, my mind racing. Then, I looked up and gave him a mocking smile. “Does it matter what I say, Ethan? When have you ever believed a word that came out of my mouth?” He flinched, a flicker of memory crossing his face, and his expression soured. “Remember when Stella moved into our house right after she came back?” I pressed on. “She knew she was allergic to shellfish, but she told me she was craving seafood risotto and begged me to make it for her.” She had made a show of praising my cooking right in front of him, then collapsed, gasping for air. No matter how much I tried to explain, Ethan was convinced I’d done it on purpose. “You can’t stand to see her happy, can you, Elara? Do you have any idea how dangerous an allergy can be? Your jealousy has made you into a pathetic, irrational monster!” His harsh words used to feel like daggers. Now, I felt nothing. “Remember when she tore her gown for the gala and blamed me? I explained, the housekeeper even backed me up, but did you believe me?” The color drained from Ethan’s face. “The day you took her to that art exhibit overseas, she paid off one of the counselors at Claire’s summer camp to call me and say Claire had gotten lost on a hike in the mountains.” “I drove out there in the middle of the night. Someone ‘guided’ me deep into the woods until I was completely lost. I nearly died out there.” “And when I told you what happened, what did you say?” He had looked at me with a flash of surprise, then immediately dismissed it. “That’s impossible. I was with Stella the entire time. When would she have had the time to arrange all that?” His excuses were pathetic then, and they were pathetic now. But I knew that once Ethan Knight made up his mind, nothing could change it. Unless… “Some things, you have to find out for yourself. You’ll only believe it when you see the proof.” My voice was cold, detached. He stood there in a long, heavy silence as I unlocked my door and stepped inside. Just as I was about to close it, I heard him whisper, “I’m sorry.” “I didn’t know Stella kept the settlement money from you. I’ll make it right.” I offered a dismissive smile. Money was the last thing on my mind. But one thing was critically important. In the time I had left, I would become Ethan’s other great love. The one he could never have back. A ghost that would haunt him forever. If he wouldn’t mourn me out of love, I would force him to mourn me out of guilt. Every woman knows the devastating power of a love lost to death. Only then would he truly, endlessly love my daughter. Only then would he shut his heart to any other woman who tried to get close. I admit, my plan was selfish and cruel. But I had no regrets. Inside, I swallowed a handful of the new painkillers, forcing down the wave of nausea. Then I picked up a pen and wrote in my journal. A week later, a frantic pounding echoed through my apartment. I opened the door and was violently shoved inside before I could even see who it was. The door slammed shut behind them. Five or six people stood in my living room. Leading them was Stella Locke. Her expression was more arrogant than ever, but her eyes burned with a raw, hateful fire. “You’re clever, Elara, I’ll give you that. Actually convincing Ethan to look into what happened three years ago.” “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? We were about to get engaged!” She stepped forward and her hand flew, striking my face with a sharp crack. I could have dodged it, but I took the full force of the blow. A bright red handprint bloomed on my cheek. I lowered my head, feigning fear, but a secret smile touched my lips. The slap seemed to have calmed her slightly. “Don’t get too smug,” she said, her voice regaining its composure. “So what if Ethan knows the truth? All I have to do is sweet-talk him a little, and he’ll come running back to me.” “Just like before. He abandoned you for me once, he’ll do it again.” She leaned in close, her voice a venomous whisper. “And after I marry him, I’ll be sure to take very good care of your precious daughter.” My head snapped up. I shoved her with all my might, sending her stumbling back. Rage contorted her beautiful features. “Teach her a lesson!” she shrieked. Rough hands grabbed me, forcing me to the floor. They held metal rods, and they brought them down hard on my back. After just a few blows, Stella called them off. “I’m not going to give you a chance to play the victim for Ethan,” she purred, looking down at me. “It’s just a few hits. You can handle that, can’t you?” With that, she and her thugs swept out of my apartment. I lay on the floor, unable to move for a long time. But inside, my heart was pounding with a wild, triumphant excitement. I had been trying to figure out how to lure her here, and she had walked right into my trap, playing her part perfectly. I let out a raw, broken laugh. With trembling arms, I pulled myself up and wrote the final entry in my journal. Then, I emptied the entire bottle of sleeping pills into my hand and swallowed them all. Don’t blame me for this, Stella. I no longer cared about her and Ethan’s twisted love story. But if she hadn’t stolen the money Ethan meant for me, I wouldn’t have had to work three jobs just to give my daughter a decent life. I wouldn’t have destroyed my own body in the process. This was a debt she owed me. I was never a good person to begin with. A mother who would strike her own child is destined for hell. What’s one more sin on my soul? Claire, my darling, Mommy can’t watch you grow up, can’t see you blossom into a beautiful woman, can’t be there for the spectacular life you’re going to live. But with my own life, I will buy you a ticket to a better one. With that last thought, my world faded to black.

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Late one night, someone tagged me in the company’s after-hours group chat. “@LilyLin-Design, that Hermès bag of yours, is it the global limited edition?” “I have a major gala next weekend and I’m in desperate need of a bag. Yours is just sitting there anyway, so lend it to me. I need to make an impression.” The sender was Mandy Wang, the star saleswoman. She had a habit of talking to people like she owned them. I typed back a simple reply: “No.” A string of voice messages immediately followed, her tone sharp and acidic. “Aren’t you a petty little thing? We’re colleagues, what’s the big deal with helping me out? Don’t worry, I won’t use it for free. I’ll give you fifty bucks for a rental fee. That’s more than generous, isn’t it?” I had to laugh. Fifty dollars to rent a bag worth tens of thousands? 1 It was ten o’clock at night when “The Water Cooler,” our company’s unofficial group chat, lit up. A message tagged me directly. “@LilyLin-Design, that Hermès bag of yours, isn’t it a limited edition?” The sender’s profile picture was a polished corporate headshot, her name listed as “Mandy Wang – Sales.” She was the company’s ace, consistently ranking number one in performance. Her every word and action carried an air of absolute authority. The chat instantly buzzed to life. A girl from Admin posted a star-eyed emoji: “Wow, Mandy’s taste is always top-tier!” Another salesperson chimed in: “Any bag would look a level up on Mandy!” I stared at the screen and said nothing. Mandy, it seemed, had little patience. A second message followed on the heels of the first. “I have a major gala next weekend and I’m in desperate need of a bag. Yours is just sitting there anyway, so lend it to me. I need to make an impression.” Her tone wasn’t a request. It was a notification. As if lending her the bag was a privilege she was bestowing upon me. A few of her cronies in the chat started to hype her up. “Come on, Lily! Mandy herself is asking, you have to say yes!” “Yeah, the fact that Mandy even noticed your bag proves you have good taste.” I looked at the messages, my fingers tapping out two words before I hit send. “No.” The chat fell dead silent. The peanut gallery that had been so vocal moments before was suddenly mute. After a full thirty seconds, Mandy’s icon popped up again. This time, it was a thirty-second voice message. I pressed play, and her sharp, grating voice drilled into my ear. “Well, well, Lily, aren’t you a petty little thing? We work in the same company, we see each other every day. What’s the big deal with helping a colleague out?” “Do you have any idea who I am in this company? You’re new, you should have asked around. Me asking to borrow something from you is me giving you face.” The message cut off, and another one started. “Don’t worry, I won’t use it for free. I’ll give you fifty bucks for a rental fee. That’s more than generous, isn’t it? That’s enough to cover your take-out for a few days.” Fifty dollars. I was so taken aback by her sheer, unadulterated entitlement that I laughed out loud. A bag worth tens of thousands, and she thought she could brush me off with fifty bucks. I was about to type back, to inform her just how many zeros were in the bag’s price tag, when another message from her appeared. This one was text, dripping with menace. “Don’t be ungrateful. I’m giving you a chance here. You’re new. Getting on my good side will make your life a lot easier.” “Besides, that bag of yours is probably gathering dust. I’m doing you a favor by taking it out to see the world, and you even get a free meal out of it. What’s not to like?” “It’s just a bag. Why are you being so cheap? Think about the big picture.” I stared at my phone, my expression growing colder by the second. It wasn’t just a bag. It was the only thing my mother had left me. Just then, a few private messages came through. One was cautionary: “Lily, Mandy runs this place. You’re new, don’t cross her. Your life will be hell.” Another was supportive: “She’s insane. Fifty bucks to rent a Hermès? The audacity!” I ignored them all and replied directly to Mandy in the group chat. “First, my bag is not for loan, especially not to you.” “Second, my bag has probably seen more of the world than you have.” “Third, keep the fifty bucks. Buy yourself a clue.” After sending those three messages, I didn’t bother to look at the chat’s reaction. I knew I had just made a powerful enemy. Sure enough, less than a minute later, my private messages were bombarded by Mandy. All voice notes, each one seething with rage. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, Lily!” “How dare you talk to me like that in the group chat? Are you trying to get fired?!” “Fine. You’re good. Just you wait!” I blocked her. And the world went quiet. I thought that would be the end of it. But just before I went to sleep, Mandy tagged me one last time in The Water Cooler. Since I had blocked her DMs, she resorted to shouting in public. “Lily, be in my office tomorrow morning. We’ll have a chat, face to face.” “Don’t make me come down to the design department to ‘invite’ you myself.” 2 The next morning, I had barely clocked in when my department director called me into his office. Director Lee was a man in his forties, usually all smiles. Today, however, his expression was grim. “Lily, did you have some kind of conflict with Mandy Wang from sales?” I nodded. “She wanted to borrow my bag. I said no.” Director Lee sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “Mandy is an incredible salesperson, but her personality is… a bit aggressive.” “She called me first thing this morning. Said you were a new hire with an attitude problem, that you don’t know how to respect your seniors.” I stayed silent, waiting for him to continue. “Look, the client she’s meeting next week is critical to the entire company. She just wants to represent us well, make a good impression. That’s why she wanted the bag.” “So why don’t you just…” I cut him off. “Director Lee, that is my personal property. It has nothing to do with the company. And that bag has immense sentimental value. It cannot be lent out.” My polite but firm refusal clearly irritated him. His face soured. “Fine. Handle it yourself. Just don’t let a petty issue like this affect your work.” I walked out of the director’s office and headed straight for the sales department. Mandy’s office was at the end of the hall. It had a glass wall, and I could see her inside, leisurely painting her nails a shade of bright red. I knocked. She glanced up, looking at me as if granting an audience. “You’re here.” She blew on her freshly painted nails, not bothering to lift her head. “You wanted to see me, Mandy?” I asked, getting straight to the point. Mandy pulled a beautifully wrapped box from her drawer and pushed it across the desk toward me. “Here. For you.” I didn’t move. She finally deigned to look at me, a smirk playing on her lips. “Go on, open it. It’s the latest perfume. I had someone bring it back from Europe for me. You can’t even buy it here.” “You’re a young girl, don’t be so stingy. The way you spoke in the chat yesterday made things so awkward for everyone.” She glossed over the incident, as if she wasn’t the one who had been throwing a tantrum. I still didn’t move. I just watched her perform. Seeing my lack of response, her patience began to wear thin. She steered the conversation back on track. “Let’s talk business. The bag. Have you reconsidered?” “Let me be clear. The client I’m meeting is the founder of the L&M Group. If I land this account, the company’s revenue for the year is secured. This is huge for everyone here. As an employee, you should be willing to contribute to the collective good, right?” She was trying to wrap her selfish desires in the flag of corporate interest. I finally spoke, my voice cold. “It’s my personal property. It has nothing to do with the company.” Mandy’s face fell instantly, the facade of friendliness vanishing. She shoved the perfume bottle toward me again, her voice rising. “Lily, don’t push your luck! The profit I generate in a single month could buy ten of your stupid bags! Who the hell do you think you are?” “I’m telling you now, you’re lending me that bag. You don’t have a choice!” She stood up, looming over me, her voice laced with threat. “If I want to make someone’s life in the design department a living hell, believe me, I have my ways. You think a fresh-out-of-college brat like you can fight me?” I looked at her face, twisted with rage, and I suddenly smiled. I reached out and picked up the exquisitely packaged perfume. A triumphant grin spread across Mandy’s face. She thought I’d finally caved. “There, you see? If you’d just…” Before she could finish, I let my hand go slack. The bottle of cheap perfume she claimed was “impossible to find” arced through the air and landed with a distinct clink in the trash can beside her desk. The smile froze on Mandy’s face. I looked her dead in the eye and said, enunciating every word, “My things, even my trash, are not for you to touch.” Then I turned and walked out without a backward glance. Behind me, I heard her enraged shriek and the sound of things being violently swept off her desk. As I reached the door, I heard her snarling into her phone. “Hello, Director Lee? That new girl, Lily Lin, has a serious attitude problem! Yes, her! Zero respect for her seniors!” 3 Mandy didn’t confront me again in the following days, but my life at the company became significantly harder. The design project I was in charge of was for none other than Mandy’s “L&M Group.” It was a massive account, and nearly all the company’s resources were being directed toward it. But my work was being blocked at every turn. The data I needed from Admin was perpetually “in processing.” For three days straight. The samples I requested from Purchasing were suddenly “out of stock” from the supplier, with no new shipment until next month. Even the printer seemed to have a personal vendetta against me, jamming every single time I tried to use it. My colleagues in the design department saw it all, but no one dared to say a word. They just gave me sympathetic looks. Director Lee called me in once more, hinting that I should try to “make peace” with Mandy. My only response was, “It wasn’t my fault. I won’t apologize.” He gave up on me after that, adopting a hands-off approach. I ignored the petty sabotage and poured all my energy into the design proposal. I knew it was my only chance to prove myself. Friday was the final project review. I walked into the conference room, my arms full with a thick binder of schematics and a physical model. As head of sales, Mandy was, of course, present. When she saw me, a malicious smile curled her lips. Ten minutes before the meeting started, I went to the breakroom for a glass of water. On my way back, I ran into someone right at the conference room door. It was Mandy. She was holding a steaming cup of coffee. It tilted, and the entire scalding contents spilled directly onto the design proposal in my arms. The white paper instantly soaked up the dark brown liquid, wrinkling and warping. “Oh my god! Lily, I am so sorry! I didn’t mean to!” Mandy’s mouth said sorry, but her eyes showed no remorse. She even made a show of grabbing a napkin. “Here, let me help you clean it up…” Her hand smeared across the wet pages, transforming the soaked drawings into a blurry, indecipherable mess. The room was utterly silent. Everyone stared. Director Lee’s face was so dark it looked like it was about to storm. Everyone knew how important this project was. With the proposal destroyed, weeks of work had just gone down the drain. They all thought I was finished. Mandy’s eyes gleamed with triumph, waiting for my inevitable breakdown. But it never came. I just stared at her, my face a blank mask, as she finished her little performance. Then, I reached into my laptop bag and pulled out a USB flash drive. “It’s a good thing I have a backup,” I said, my calm voice echoing in the quiet room. The smile on Mandy’s face froze solid. I walked past her and whispered, so low that only she could hear, “By the way, Mandy, I think they just installed a new security camera in the breakroom. HD. With audio.” I saw the color drain from her face. For the first time, her eyes flickered with genuine panic. During that review, I delivered a flawless presentation using my digital backup. My design concept and proposal received unanimous approval from all the senior executives, including the Vice President who had flown in from headquarters specifically for the meeting. When it was over, Mandy was the first one out of the room, practically stumbling over her own feet. Back at my desk, my phone buzzed. It was a text from an unknown number. “I need that bag tonight.” “Or next time, it won’t be coffee I spill on you.”

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In my eighteenth year with the Hayes family, I brought their real daughter home. She stood nervously at the door in a washed-out white shirt and faded jeans, her face an exact replica of Mrs. Hayes in her youth. The sight of her alone was enough to stir a deep sense of pity in the Hayes family. But as they moved to embrace her, her eyes reddened, and she shrank back, hiding behind me with a look of unspoken fear. Just as everyone was feeling a sense of relief at how close she seemed to be with me, her thoughts suddenly echoed in my mind. 【Anna told me she only brought me here to make herself look better next to my shabby clothes. She said I can’t get close to the family, or she’ll throw me out.】 【If I told Mom and Dad that my foster mother used to abuse me, they probably wouldn’t believe me. They’ve known Anna for much longer.】 【I’m so jealous of Anna. She’s dressed like a princess, and I look like a servant…】 Chloe Summers bowed her head, her hands twisting the hem of her sleeves, a perfect picture of a frightened, bullied girl who couldn’t speak her truth. She thought the Hayes family would turn on me, that they would cast me out. What she didn’t realize was that the looks they were giving her now were filled with scrutiny and doubt. 1 It was Mr. Hayes who broke the silence. He avoided my gaze, cleared his throat, and spoke to the housekeeper standing nearby. “It’s getting late, Mrs. Gable. Please show her to her room.” Chloe looked up at him, her face a mask of disbelief. This was not the reaction she had anticipated. Could something be wrong with my mind-reading power? Before I could say anything, her thoughts flooded my mind again. 【The room I had at the Summers’ house was a storage closet. No windows, no sunlight. I hope my room here has a window.】 【But if I ask for a room with a window, will Mom and Dad think I’m being greedy?】 【Never mind. I’m just a rat from the gutter. What right do I have to ask for anything?】 Hearing her feigned misery, I had to suppress a cold laugh. In my past life, after I brought her home, I did everything I could to be good to her. I deferred to her in everything. But the Hayes family only grew to resent me more and more. Mrs. Hayes not only confiscated my allowance but also moved me into the basement. It was perpetually dark and damp, and they had left special ‘gifts’ for me down there. The moment I closed my eyes, I would hear the scuttling of rats and centipedes. From that day on, I never had a peaceful night’s sleep. I thought I had done something wrong, so I went to Mrs. Hayes to apologize, my heart heavy with guilt. But her eyes were filled with nothing but contempt, her voice laced with a hatred she couldn’t hide. “Chloe suffered for over a decade. You can’t even last a few days? Did you really start to think you were a princess?” It was only then that I understood. Everything she did to me was an attempt to make me suffer as Chloe had suffered, to assuage her own guilt. But she seemed to have forgotten one crucial fact: the Hayes family owed their entire fortune to me. The assets my biological parents left me were enough to last ten lifetimes. If the Hayes hadn’t used my adoption as a legal loophole to seize control of my family’s wealth, Mr. Hayes could have worked for a hundred years and never even touched the fringes of high society. And yet, they saw me as the usurper. The irony was laughable. Now, everyone’s eyes were on Chloe, their expressions unreadable. This time around, Chloe, you won’t be using your inner voice to destroy me. 2 Mrs. Hayes forced a smile and asked tentatively, “Chloe, dear, the Summers family wasn’t wealthy, but our investigation didn’t show any signs of deliberate abuse…” Chloe froze, her face turning deathly pale. She stammered, “The… the Summers family was very good to me. They treated me like their own daughter.” Just as Mrs. Hayes began to breathe a sigh of relief, Chloe’s inner voice piped up again. 【They were nice to me on the surface, but they abused me in secret.】 【But Mom must be saying that because she’s worried about upsetting Anna. I should probably keep the truth to myself.】 【It’s okay if I have to suffer a little.】 Listening to her internal monologue, I couldn’t help but let out a small laugh. I looked at her, my voice laced with meaning. “Chloe, I heard the Summers treated you even better than their own daughter. Is that true?” Chloe nodded, her voice as soft as a whisper, the very picture of obedience. “Yes, Anna. I had a good life with them.” In my past life, I only learned after I died that Chloe had a “mind-reading” system that allowed everyone but me to hear her thoughts. I had been confused and hurt by their sudden hostility, I’d questioned myself endlessly, but I never once imagined that Chloe was orchestrating it all with her fabricated thoughts. But this time, she had no idea that the moment I was reborn, I was bonded to a “life playback” system. The miserable past Chloe spoke of had already been laid bare for the Hayes family to see. Contrary to her inner thoughts, the Summers, while not wealthy aristocrats, were a comfortable middle-class family. And they had, in fact, treated her better than their own child. They’d spent a small fortune to send her to the city’s best private school and had given her the largest bedroom in the house. She had deliberately bought her current outfit from a thrift store to cultivate a pitiful image, one that would make the Hayes family pity her and despise me. But her little act had already been exposed. Even if they didn’t call her out on it now, the seeds of doubt had been planted. Chloe, this time, you will not be climbing over my back to get to the top. Seeing that none of us were speaking, she meekly followed Mrs. Gable out of the room. After she left, the living room was plunged into an even deeper silence. Mark Hayes, the eldest son, glanced at my calm expression, a flicker in his eyes. He casually draped his arm over my shoulder in a show of affection. “Hey, sis,” he said with a grin. “Chloe’s probably just a little overwhelmed. Don’t mind what she said.” I subtly shifted away from his arm, my eyes wide with feigned confusion. “What are you talking about, Mark? Chloe didn’t say anything bad.” He shot a quick, meaningful look at his parents, then let out an awkward laugh. “Oh, uh, I just didn’t want you to get the wrong idea. Even with Chloe back, you’ll always be a part of this family.” With that, the three of them disappeared upstairs into the study. I watched them go, a sneer forming on my lips. Mark had said the same thing in my past life. After Chloe returned, everyone turned against me, but he was the only one who defended me. I thought he genuinely saw me as his sister. I never imagined it was all an act for the trust fund I had left. Before I was even born, my parents had set up a trust fund for me to ensure my future. It was managed by a team of professional investors, and over the years, its value had multiplied many times over. There was only one condition for withdrawal: I had to claim it myself, in person, on my twenty-second birthday. In my previous life, the day I turned twenty-two, Mark came to me, his face etched with worry. He told me he’d made a terrible investment, that the company’s capital chain was broken, and they were on the verge of bankruptcy. I trusted him completely. Without a second thought, I withdrew the entire fund and gave it to him to save the company, desperate to be the good, understanding sister he wanted. The moment the money was in his hands, he changed. He hurled insults at me, threw me out of the house, and blacklisted me so I couldn’t find a job. To survive, I had to collect and sell trash. I lived on stale bread and cold water. When I got sick, I had to endure it, with no money for medicine. I died in that cold, damp basement. And him? He took my money and went on a lavish spending spree with Chloe—renting private resorts, buying yachts, emptying out designer stores. Now, my twenty-second birthday is just one month away. This time, I will not only protect my trust fund, but I will also take back everything that was stolen from me. 3 The next morning, as we were having breakfast, Chloe came downstairs wearing the same clothes from the day before. She looked anxious, her hands twisting the hem of her shirt. After a moment of hesitation, she approached me. “Anna,” she said timidly, “I have to register at my new school today, but I don’t have anything suitable to wear. Could I… could I borrow something of yours?” My eyes gleamed. I wondered what she was planning now. I grabbed her hand, my smile wide and welcoming. “Of course, you can! Come on, I’ll take you upstairs to pick something out.” Mr. and Mrs. Hayes said nothing, tacitly approving. I led Chloe to my walk-in closet. I pushed open the carved wooden doors, revealing a vast, pale pink space divided into sections by brand and style, with display cases for my most prized collector’s pieces. Even Chloe, who had so carefully hidden her malice, couldn’t stop a flash of raw jealousy from appearing in her eyes. I pretended not to notice and led her to the casual wear section. “Chloe, pick whatever you like,” I said, gesturing to rows of clothes, many with the tags still on. “If you find something you want, it’s yours.” Chloe remained silent, her hands clasped nervously in front of her. I knew what was coming, but I feigned confusion. “Chloe? Is there nothing here you like?” She shook her head, then pointed to a magnificent, diamond-encrusted white gown in the formal wear section. Her voice held a barely concealed tremor of excitement. “Anna… could I choose this one?” I feigned a moment of hesitation, but inside, I was ecstatic. That gown was a gift from Mr. Hayes for my eighteenth birthday. He had commissioned a master designer to create it, a year-long project, all to show the world that they had not mistreated me. Every single diamond was hand-selected and hand-sewn. Its value was astronomical. In my past life, Chloe had also chosen this dress. Seeing how much she loved it, I had given it to her without a second thought. I did, however, gently remind her that I had worn it once, so it would be best to wear it for a private occasion, not a major public event. There was an unspoken rule in high society: you never wear the same gown twice. But sure enough, at the school’s welcome gala the next day, she wore it. And I was the one who was publicly shamed. They called me malicious, saying I had deliberately set Chloe up to be humiliated by making her wear my cast-offs. No one listened to my explanations. I was forced to take the blame. After that, my reputation at school was ruined, and I was ostracized by my peers. Now, looking at Chloe’s expectant face, I smiled and handed her the gown. “This dress is priceless. If you love it, it’s yours.” Then, I grabbed several other new, tag-on outfits and pushed them into her arms. “Chloe, these more ordinary clothes will probably suit you better.” I emphasized the word “ordinary,” the mockery in my eyes unconcealed. Ignoring her sour expression, I turned and left the closet. Downstairs, I turned to Mrs. Hayes with a helpful suggestion. “Aunt Evelyn, the school is having a welcome gala tomorrow night. You should help Chloe pick out a suitable dress.” Since being adopted, I had always refused to change my last name, and I referred to them as Aunt Evelyn and Uncle Robert. Mrs. Hayes gave a noncommittal response, and I dropped the subject. Tomorrow, when Chloe wears a second-hand dress, no one can blame me. 4 Instead of going to school, I went to a café to meet with the manager of my trust fund. He was impeccably dressed in a bespoke suit, looking every bit the professional. But when his eyes landed on me, I saw a flicker of disdain. He nodded, a polite smile on his face. “Miss Preston. My name is Mr. Hughes. You can call me Ryan.” This was the first time I had ever contacted him, in either life. I didn’t beat around the bush. “Mr. Hughes, I want to see all the financial records for the fund since its inception.” He didn’t answer. Instead, he picked up his coffee and took a slow, deliberate sip, as if he were the client and I were the one seeking his approval. I let out a cold laugh. “Mr. Hughes, I pay you a seven-figure salary every year. Not so you can put on airs for me. This is our first meeting, and you’ve already made a terrible impression. If you don’t want this job, I assure you, there are plenty of others who do. Am I clear?” He seemed stunned by my directness. He immediately put down his coffee, the dismissive attitude gone. He then proceeded to give me a detailed overview of the fund’s investment projects over the past few years. “Miss Preston, I will send all the financial records to your phone shortly,” he said, his tone now respectful. “I apologize for my earlier behavior. Please, accept this as a token of my apology.” He pulled a small, velvet box from his pocket and offered it to me. I smiled and gently pushed it back. “Your professional attitude from this point on will be the only apology I require, Mr. Hughes.” From his report, I could tell that Ryan Hughes was a sharp man. The fund’s investments had rarely lost money. I have always had more patience for competent people. As long as he corrected his attitude, I was willing to give him another chance. Seeing that I had let the matter drop, he breathed a sigh of relief. “Of course, Miss Preston. I will dedicate myself to my work.” “By the way, Miss Preston, in one month, you will be eligible to withdraw the funds. Do you have any plans?” I raised an eyebrow and leaned back, my posture relaxed. “I plan to use it to acquire the Hayes Corporation. Are you confident you can handle that, Mr. Hughes?” He stared at me for a long moment, then nodded decisively. “I will begin gathering all the necessary information on the Hayes Corporation immediately. I’ll look into their upcoming investment projects.” That afternoon in class, Ryan sent over the financial reports. As a double major in finance and law, reading them was no trouble for me. But as soon as class ended, I noticed people were giving me strange looks. Just as I was about to ask what was going on, I heard Chloe’s inner voice. 【Anna told me to pretend I don’t know her at school. She said I can’t let anyone find out she’s the fake heiress.】 【I really want to make friends, but Anna said a country bumpkin like me doesn’t deserve any.】 【I hope Anna doesn’t lock me at home during the gala tomorrow night. I really want to go…】 She really couldn’t wait to start her smear campaign. A small smile played on my lips. Just as I was about to walk over to her, a boy blocked my path. It was Carter Vance, a guy who had been chasing me for ages, and whom I had rejected countless times. The malice in his eyes was palpable. He looked at me with a sneer. “So that’s why you always turned me down. You’re a fake.” My expression didn’t change. My voice was cool. “The reason I turned you down has nothing to do with that. It’s because you’re an idiot.” “You…” He was speechless, so he stormed over to Chloe instead. Chloe blushed, and her inner voice started up again. 【So Anna isn’t popular with her classmates. Does that mean I don’t have to be afraid of her threats anymore?】 【This guy is so handsome. But he likes Anna, so I can’t…】 Carter, the illegitimate son of the Vance family, was spoiled rotten by his grandfather and had a reputation for being an arrogant playboy. He and Chloe were a perfect match. Carter shot me a contemptuous glance, then turned to Chloe, his voice a low, charming murmur. “Chloe, would you do me the honor of being my date to the gala tomorrow night?” Chloe was about to nod when she seemed to remember something and glanced in my direction. She quickly lowered her head and whispered, “Tomorrow… I might not… be able to come.” Carter, assuming she was afraid of me, puffed out his chest. “You just come. If anyone gives you any trouble, I’ll make sure they regret it.” A faint blush spread across Chloe’s neck. She gave a small nod, but her voice was firm. “Okay. I’ll be your date.” 5 The gala was held in the school’s grand auditorium. I wore a vibrant red, custom-designed gown that I had prepared in advance. It accentuated my best features and made my skin seem to glow. I looked radiant and confident. The moment I entered, all eyes were on me. I ignored the stares and scanned the room until my eyes landed on a figure in the corner: Charlotte Vance. She was the legitimate heiress of the Vance family, but because she was a girl, her grandfather despised her. Despite her talent, he refused to let her have any role in the family business. I walked over to the elegant, melancholy girl and offered her a glass of wine. My voice was soft. “Miss Vance, I heard your new project was close to a breakthrough, but you suddenly lost funding?” She was already brooding over this. She took the glass from my hand and drained it in one gulp. Her voice was laced with self-deprecation. “What, are you here to mock me too?” Her grandfather had publicly declared that anyone who helped Charlotte was an enemy of the Vance family. Her only value in his eyes was as a marriage pawn. Her initial funding had come from her close friends, but their resources were limited. I watched her down another glass, then took it from her hand. “I can provide the funding you need,” I said calmly. “In return, I want a 30% stake in the company.” She looked at me, her expression wavering. “But you’re a Hayes…”

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