On graduation day, Liam Archer strode up to me, his expression arrogant. “You’ve done well these past few years. You’ve earned the right to join the Archer Corporation.” “But you’ll have to go through the standard hiring process. I’m not pulling any strings for you.” I was stunned. “Who said I wanted to work for Archer Corp?” With that, I pulled out my acceptance letter from a prestigious international university. The smug look on Liam’s face shattered. “You’re leaving the country? How are you supposed to chase after me from that far away?” Wait, who said I was chasing him? 1 Liam Archer was convinced that I had an ulterior motive for getting close to his sister. He believed my real target was him. As God is my witness, when I first helped Lily Archer, I had no idea who she was. That day, she was wearing a simple tracksuit and a backpack, with no jewelry in sight. She looked like any other college girl. If there was anything that set her apart, it was how incredibly cute she was. She had fair skin and big, round eyes, like an adorable, well-behaved kitten. It was a Friday afternoon, and I was rushing out of the school gates right after my last class. An hour earlier, during a lecture, I’d received a text from the mother of the student I was tutoring. She informed me that I was fired and that I didn’t need to come back. I didn’t understand why. I had been tutoring her son for two months, and on his recent monthly exam, his math score had improved by over thirty points. I could tell he was finally starting to get it. His mom had been thrilled, even promising me a big bonus. Why the sudden dismissal? After class, I tried calling her, but she didn’t pick up. I decided to go to their house and ask her in person. As I was running, someone grabbed my arm. I nearly stumbled, and I spun around, annoyed, only to be met with a pitiful-looking face. The girl blinked her watery eyes, a look of guilt on her face. A face like that, a look like that… it was enough to make all my anger evaporate. Her voice was timid. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you, but I’m really in a bind…” Before I could even respond, tears started rolling down her cheeks like pearls. “I lost my phone, and I can’t get in touch with our driver, and I can’t find my brother. I’ve been waiting here for so long.” “But everyone else looks so intimidating, I was too scared to talk to them. You’re the only one who looks kind.” “And you’re so pretty, you probably wouldn’t yell at me, right?” Well, thank you for the glowing review of my appearance and temperament. But she really did have an innocent look in her eyes. She seemed like the shy, introverted type who barely spoke to anyone. I softened my voice, afraid of scaring her. “Do you need to use my phone?” She nodded. “Yes!” I unlocked my phone and handed it to her. She pulled up the dial pad, then froze. “Um, I don’t remember my brother’s number,” she said, on the verge of tears again. “Why don’t you go back to your dorm? I have something urgent I need to do.” If she didn’t know the number, there was nothing I could do. As I turned to leave, she tugged on the corner of my shirt. “I don’t live in the dorms, I go home every night. Could you… could you please take me home?” Her voice got quieter and quieter, and she wouldn’t meet my eyes. “I’ll pay you! I’ll give you triple the cab fare! No, five times!” Five times the fare? I stopped in my tracks. 2 I could go to my student’s house tomorrow. Or I could call his mom again later tonight. But five times the cab fare? That was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. “Where do you live?” I asked. “Lotus Gardens.” My head snapped up. Lotus Gardens? The most exclusive, well-known gated community in the city? As far as I knew, that was a long way from our campus. I pulled up the map on my phone. The cab fare would be over eighty dollars. Five times that would be over four hundred. I could take the subway back and clear more than three hundred. Deal. Once we were in the cab, the girl shyly thanked me. “Thank you so much.” “No problem. Just make sure you keep your promise,” I reminded her. But someone who lived in Lotus Gardens was bound to be rich. They wouldn’t stiff me. The car fell silent. “By the way, what’s your name?” I asked. “Lily Archer.” “I’m Chloe Reed.” She really was a quiet girl. She only answered when I asked a question. I decided to try and liven up the atmosphere. With a little more probing, we learned about each other’s majors and years. She was a freshman, a year below me, studying literature. I was in journalism. Just as I was trying to think of another topic, I heard a strange noise. I turned and saw that her face was bright red. I stifled a laugh, trying to keep my voice gentle. “Are you hungry?” “Yeah,” she mumbled. “Hold on.” I dug into my bag and pulled out a small, sealed package. “This is a chestnut pastry, a specialty from my hometown. I made them myself. Want to try one?” She took it, opened the package, and took a bite. Her eyes lit up. “It’s delicious!” She ate with such delicacy. Even though she was clearly starving, her movements were slow and graceful. You could tell she had been raised well. After she finished, I asked, “Want another one?” She nodded. I handed her another. I was about to enjoy watching her elegant eating again when my phone rang. It was my student’s mother. “Chloe Reed, I’m warning you, stay away from my son!” Her tone was harsh. “What are you talking about?” I asked. “And you have the nerve to ask me? I hired you to teach my son, not to seduce him! He’s only seventeen! Have you no shame?” The baseless accusation made my blood boil. I argued with her, defending myself. It turned out she had read her son’s diary and discovered he had a crush on me. In her eyes, her son was just a minor; he couldn’t possibly have any bad intentions. It had to be me, the adult, who was the predator. At this point, it was clear I wasn’t getting that job back. Thankfully, I had already been paid for the hours I’d worked. Since there was no point in arguing, I just hung up. When I looked up, Lily was staring at me curiously. I coughed awkwardly and gave her a brief rundown of what had happened. She was surprisingly empathetic. She looked even angrier than I was, her fists clenched. “How could she say that about you? You’re such a nice person! It’s her son who’s the problem!” “Instead of talking to her own son, she blames you!” My anger dissipated. I teased her, “So you can say that many words at once.” She blushed again. The car finally reached our destination. I gaped at the mansion in front of us. The Archer family wasn’t just rich; they were loaded. 3 I had intended to just drop her off at the gate and leave. But Lily insisted I come in for a cup of tea. What can I say? I’m a sucker for her. When she held my arm and pleaded in that soft, sweet way, I just couldn’t say no. Lily was a gracious host, having the housekeeper bring out a table full of pastries for me. She handed me five hundred dollars, as promised. I happily accepted it. When I was leaving, she insisted that her driver take me back. At the door, she held my hand, reluctant to let me go. I laughed and gently pinched her nose. “It’s not like we’ll never see each other again. Come find me at school tomorrow.” “Okay!” she beamed. “Bye, Chloe!” As I waved and stepped back, I bumped into something and stumbled. I turned around to see a young, handsome man with a commanding presence standing behind me. “Liam, you’re home!” Lily exclaimed, rushing over to link her arm with his. On the way here, Lily had mentioned she had a brother who was six years older. She spoke of him with immense pride, saying he was brilliant and had started taking over the family business while he was still in college. Now, their parents lived abroad most of the time, and it was her brother who looked after her, acting as her guardian. I stared at him, momentarily lost in thought. Until his sharp gaze met mine. I snapped back to reality, offered a polite greeting, and quickly scurried away. What an intense aura! That’s what years of navigating the cutthroat business world does to you. Sitting in the car, my heart was still pounding from that one look. We hadn’t even left the neighborhood when the driver received a call and immediately turned the car around. “Hey, where are you going?” I asked nervously. “Mr. Archer wants to see you.” Mr. Archer? Lily’s brother? Why would he want to see me? The driver pulled back up to the mansion and said curtly, “Follow me.” I trailed behind him through several corridors until we entered a spacious living room. In the lavishly decorated room, a set of sofas faced a massive floor-to-ceiling window. In the center of the sofa sat a man. He was dressed in a suit, a lit cigarette held between his fingers. His face was calm, partially obscured by a cloud of smoke. I waited, but he didn’t speak. My patience was wearing thin. I cautiously broke the silence. “Mr. Archer, you wanted to see me?” He lifted his eyelids and glanced at me. “Tell me, how long have you been planning this?” His voice was deep and magnetic, but I had no idea what he was talking about. “What do you mean?” I asked, confused. “Getting close to Lily, to get close to me.” 4 I was floored. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand what you’re saying.” He let out a soft, dismissive snort. “You’re smarter than you look. You actually managed to get into Lotus Gardens.” What on earth was he talking about? My head was spinning. “I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” “You think I have some ulterior motive for being with Lily? Let me explain. We met by chance today, and she was the one who asked for my help—” “No need to explain,” he cut me off. “I called you back for one reason: to warn you to stay away from Lily.” “She’s naive and kind. But I’m not so easy to fool.” You really give me too much credit. I wouldn’t dare try to fool a man like you, even if you gave me a hundred chances. Do I look like I have a death wish? Okay, I get it. This is a world I don’t belong in. I stopped trying to explain and simply nodded. “Okay, I understand.” I made a mental note to stay as far away from this family as possible. Not worth the trouble. He gestured, and the driver reappeared. “Take her back to her school. On the way, tell her what happens to people who get too clever for their own good.” On the ride back, the driver stated, in a flat, emotionless tone, “Many women have tried to get close to Mr. Archer. None of them are in this city anymore.” I thought for a moment, then asked, “Have people tried to use Lily to get to him before?” “Mr. Archer despises that tactic more than anything. Those who use his sister suffer the most severe consequences.” Perhaps under specific instructions from Mr. Archer to intimidate me, the driver became quite talkative. It turned out that Lily, despite being a wealthy heiress, hadn’t had the fairytale life I’d imagined. She had a congenital heart condition and had been in and out of hospitals since she was a child. Her family, terrified of something happening to her at school, had homeschooled her since elementary school. Having never attended school or made friends, she yearned for a normal social life. In middle school, after much crying and pleading, her family finally relented and let her attend a regular school. Having had little contact with the outside world, Lily was soft-hearted and desperate for friendship. She would do almost anything anyone asked of her. Her classmates quickly figured this out and, discovering her family’s wealth, began to take advantage of her financially. It wasn’t until Liam received a notification for a twenty-thousand-dollar transaction that he realized something was wrong. He hadn’t paid much attention to the smaller, few-thousand-dollar debits. But recently, they had become more frequent and the amounts larger. An investigation revealed that his sister had transferred over two hundred thousand dollars to her “friends” in a single semester. And none of it was a loan; it was all given away freely. One of her desk mates had managed to scam over eighty thousand dollars from her. Liam realized that his sheltered sister was a little too naive. But he couldn’t bring himself to scold her. It was those other kids who were greedy and cruel. What angered him most wasn’t the money, but the way they had deceived and mocked his sister. He secretly sent people to collect the money. Those who couldn’t pay it back were forced to sell their houses or borrow from relatives. After that, those students never spoke to Lily again. In fact, they would tremble in fear whenever they saw her. But Lily never knew why. 5 When Lily started high school, Liam attended a parent-teacher conference for her. From that day on, she was constantly surrounded by women. Not just girls from her school, but their older cousins, friends, and even adult women from outside the school. All of them beautiful. They all tried to get close to Lily, to be her friend. But their real target was always her brother, Liam. One girl convinced Lily to help her get Liam’s number, then proceeded to harass him with nude photos. Another used Lily’s phone to call him, pretending Lily was in trouble. When Liam rushed over, he was met by a woman posing seductively. Others coaxed information about his whereabouts from Lily and then “accidentally” ran into him. For Lily’s birthday, one girl persuaded her to throw a party at their mansion. A crowd of scheming women filled the house. When Liam opened his bedroom door, he found a woman lying in his bed. He dealt with all of them harshly. Lily knew none of this. Liam didn’t want to tarnish his sister’s world with such ugliness. He figured she was just naive, and he could teach her better over time. When Lily started university, he gave her strict instructions not to reveal anything about their family. He didn’t let her live in the dorms, afraid of opportunistic people getting close to her. He had a driver pick her up from school every evening. To avoid drawing attention, he even bought a modest Volkswagen specifically for this purpose. Lily was already introverted and had some social anxiety. Not living on campus and not joining any clubs meant she had almost no interaction with her classmates. And so, she had no friends. But on the bright side, no one with ulterior motives had tried to get close to her either. Well, except for me. But that was just Liam’s baseless accusation. As if I didn’t know my own intentions. Before that day, I had never even heard of Lily Archer. If I had known about her prominent family, I, being someone who hates trouble, would have steered clear. I figured that with Liam’s cautious nature, I would never see Lily again. And sure enough, the next day, Lily didn’t come to find me. Good. That was exactly what I wanted. Although, why did her face keep popping into my head? Was it just because she was my type? I thought about her during class, and again at lunch. Ugh, this was annoying. After my last class, I was scrolling through part-time job listings as I walked out. Suddenly, an arm shot out, blocking my path. “Ms. Reed, Mr. Archer would like to see you.” I jumped, startled. “Who’s Mr. Archer?” “Mr. Liam Archer, CEO of the Archer Corporation,” the bodyguard-like man explained. “Why does he want to see me?” “You’ll find out when you get there. Don’t worry, it’s on campus. You won’t be in any danger.” I followed him around a corner to a sleek, understated luxury car parked by the curb. The back door was open, and there sat Mr. Liam Archer, dressed in a suit. When he saw me, he looked up, a cold smirk on his lips. “Chloe Reed, I really underestimated you.” 6 “Mr. Archer, what is the meaning of this?” I disliked his tone and the way he was looking at me. “I will do as you asked yesterday. You don’t have to worry, I won’t go near your sister.” “Hah.” He stared straight ahead, not even bothering to glance at me. “No wonder you agreed so readily. You knew she wouldn’t give up, didn’t you?” “Give up?” I mulled over his words. “I don’t understand.” “Stop pretending. This was all part of your plan, wasn’t it?” My own temper flared. “Can you just say what you mean? Do all you powerful people have to talk in riddles?” He finally shot me a look. It was a fleeting glance, but I could sense a storm brewing in his eyes. He was angry. The bodyguard, who was always by his side, was much more attuned to his boss’s moods. He was clearly skilled at reading people, and seeing Liam’s anger, he quickly stepped in to explain. “Ms. Reed, our young miss didn’t go to school today. She’s been crying at home all day and has refused to eat anything. She said that if Mr. Archer forbids her from seeing you, she’ll go on a hunger strike and starve herself to death.” “Mr. Archer told her she’s too naive and can’t just make friends with anyone, that she’ll get tricked.” “So, she declared that she doesn’t need friends. She needs a calculus tutor, and since you’re good at math, you can tutor her.” I was flabbergasted. We had only met once. How could she have developed such a deep attachment to me? Was it really worth all this drama? “Quite the actress,” Liam sneered. “This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?” This was so unfair! Do these powerful people, who live in a world of constant scheming, think that all of us regular folks are the same? We’re actually quite simple. We might be a little greedy for small gains, but we’re also cowards. If I found a hundred-dollar bill on the street, I’d be thrilled. But if I found a million, I’d be terrified. I’d probably think I was being targeted by human traffickers. How could I possibly dare to plot against someone like Liam Archer? But clearly, we thought on different wavelengths. He believed that people would do anything for money. And in his eyes, there were also the hopelessly naive, the ones who were too stupid to know their place and dared to provoke him. To be fair, I couldn’t entirely blame him for being suspicious. Countless people had tried all sorts of schemes to get close to him. In his eyes, I was just one of them. Because he asked, “Lily has never revealed her identity at school. How did you find out?” “I didn’t find out—” “Was it because of how she was dressed?” he interrupted, not waiting for my answer. “None of her clothes are from high-end brands, but they are all custom-made. Are you an expert in that area?” “I don’t know anything about luxury brands, let alone custom-made clothes,” I said honestly. “It doesn’t matter if you admit it or not,” he said. “Since you’ve succeeded, you can keep up the act.” “Huh?” I was completely lost. “Act like what?” “Lily has never had a real friend in her life. She’s desperate for one. Since she’s convinced you’re a good person, then you will play that part until the very end.” “From now on, you are her best friend.” This is insane. Is this how all rich people think? You can just hire a friend? I rolled my eyes and turned to walk away. “Fifty thousand a month,” his voice came from behind me. “To stay by her side.” My feet were glued to the ground.

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For the woman he called his one true love—the one that got away—my father was willing to burn his entire life to the ground. He was even willing to leave my mother with nothing but the clothes on his back. My mother agreed to his terms. And I couldn’t wait to see if his high school sweetheart would still want him when he had absolutely nothing left to give. 1 The air in our house was thick and strange the moment I walked in. My father, Robert, a man who usually lived at the office, was home before me for the first time in years. My mother, Catherine, whose laughter was the constant soundtrack of our home, sat on the sofa, her face a mask of stone. “Chloe,” my mother said, her voice flat. “Your father and I are getting a divorce.” The words hit me like a physical blow, knocking the wind out of me. As she laid out the story, the strange atmosphere sharpened into a sick, ugly clarity. Dad had a sweetheart back in high school, Diane. The one he never got over. She’d moved away, he’d lost his chance, and that was supposed to be that. Then my mother, Catherine Sterling, had fallen for him—young, brilliant, and dirt-poor. She’d pursued him relentlessly. Eventually, he’d married her. Now, Diane was back in town. A chance encounter had convinced my father it was destiny. He was ready to throw away twenty-five years of marriage for a ghost. “Let’s forget for a second that you haven’t seen this woman in almost thirty years,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “Back then, you were a kid with empty pockets and she wasn’t interested. Now you’re the CEO of a publicly-traded company, and suddenly she is. Does she want you, Dad, or does she want the Sterling name?” “You will not disrespect Diane!” he snapped, his face flushing a deep red, as if I’d just desecrated a holy relic. He had never, not once in my entire life, spoken to me with that kind of fury. I was his pride and joy. I glanced at my mother, and in her eyes, I saw the same profound disappointment that was churning in my own gut. “Well,” I sighed, forcing a detached tone. “If you’ve both made your decision, it’s not my place to interfere. You’ll always be my parents, no matter what.” Relief washed over my father’s face. “Chloe, I knew you’d understand. You’ve always been such a good kid.” “But I should remind you,” I continued, my voice hardening slightly, “when you walk away from this marriage, you walk away with nothing. You’ve poured your heart and soul into Sterling Corp. Are you really willing to give all of that up?” My dad married into my mother’s family. He was a brilliant nobody when my mom, head-over-heels in love, insisted she had to marry him. My grandfather, a man who never did anything without a contract, had agreed on one condition: my father had to sign a rock-solid prenuptial agreement. If the marriage ever ended, for any reason, he would leave with nothing. My mother was a socialite, brilliant at hosting parties but clueless about business. The company had always been my father’s domain to run. But the shares, the actual ownership, had always been in my mother’s name and mine. He didn’t own a single one. A divorce meant he was out. Completely. On the big things, my mother had always been surprisingly clear-eyed. “Diane and I have true love,” he declared, his chest puffed out with a self-righteousness that made me want to scream. “True love isn’t measured in dollars and cents. I won’t take a dime of the Sterling money. I’ll build a new life for her with my own two hands!” It was a noble speech. But if he couldn’t build a life for himself when he was young, hungry, and brilliant, what made him think he could do it now, in middle age? Years at the helm of Sterling Corp had given him more than a platform; it had given him an ego. He truly believed he was Robert Quinn, the titan of industry, not Robert Quinn, the man who ran his wife’s company. “I respect your choice, Dad,” I said smoothly. “In that case, we should probably schedule a board meeting for next week. I’ll need to be appointed as the new CEO.” He stared at me, dumbfounded. “What are you talking about? The board appointed me CEO. Since when is that your decision to make?” I let out a small, pitying laugh. “Dad, you seem to be confused. The board chose you because Mom and I, as the majority shareholders, voted for you. Now that you’re divorcing her, do you honestly believe we’ll continue to support you? A CEO with no shares doesn’t even have a right to a seat on the board, does he?” He was speechless, the wind knocked out of his sails. He turned to my mother, grasping for a lifeline. “Catherine, is this what you want, too?” My mother’s voice was more venomous than mine. “What part of ‘leaving with nothing’ are you struggling with? Once this divorce is final, you are no longer part of this family. Why on earth would we let you run our family’s company and draw a salary from our family’s profits? The audacity!” His face was beet red. “I am still Chloe’s father!” “Yes, you are,” I said, nodding brightly. “And don’t you worry. When you hit retirement age, I’ll make sure your support checks are mailed on time. I’ll take very good care of your twilight years, Dad. You won’t be left all alone.” My father was a man ruled by pride. That was the last straw. “I don’t need it!” he roared. “The Sterling money has nothing to do with me. I’ll build my own empire, and you’ll see! You’ll all see!” He stormed out. The moment the door slammed shut, my mother and I burst into laughter. When we finally caught our breath, I looked at her, genuinely curious. “Mom, you were so crazy about him back then. You went on a hunger strike against Grandpa to marry him. Why is it so easy to let him go now?” She shrugged, a wry smile playing on her lips. “Honey, I was blinded by a pretty face. Now, that potbelly of his is bigger than his head. The magic died a long time ago. I was staying out of a sense of duty. He’s the one who asked for the divorce. Why wouldn’t I celebrate?” Turns out the best cure for being blinded by love is watching the object of your affection lose his looks. 2 Mom and Dad signed the papers and filed them at the courthouse. All that was left was the mandatory thirty-day cooling-off period. In the meantime, Dad started moving his things out, preparing to build his new life with his old flame. While he was technically leaving with nothing, he’d made a good salary over the years and had his own personal savings. My mother, in a gesture of goodwill, didn’t touch his personal accounts. He wasn’t walking away literally penniless. But the houses, the stocks, the investments tied to the Sterling name—those were all hers. After buying a new house for himself and Diane, most of his savings were already gone. With the personal assets settled, it was time to deal with the company. The board meeting was set for the following week, and our PR team was already drafting strategies to manage the fallout from a CEO change at a publicly-traded company. I thought things were moving along smoothly. Then I walked into the office on Monday and stepped directly into a crisis. “Ms. Sterling,” my assistant, David, said, his face pale. “We have a problem. Horizon pulled out of the contract renewal.” “Horizon? They’ve been with us for twenty years. The renewal was a sure thing. What happened?” David looked down at his shoes, shuffling his feet. My voice dropped. “Tell me. Now.” “It was the new manager, Ms. Bishop. Mr. Quinn put her on the account. She… she told Horizon that the discount we offer them was too generous. She said Sterling is the only company that can meet their supply needs, so she was raising the price. Horizon refused to sign.” “Why wasn’t I told about something this important? And who the hell is Ms. Bishop? Why would HR hire such a monumental idiot?” “Mr. Quinn said she was to have full authority and report only to him,” David mumbled. “And… HR didn’t hire her. Mr. Quinn brought her in himself.” My father was a sharp businessman. He never made careless mistakes with major accounts. For him to bring in this “Ms. Bishop” and give her this much power meant something was very wrong. “Get me Mr. Davis from Horizon on the phone. I’ll handle this personally. And tell Ms. Bishop I want to see her in my office. Immediately.” While David was gone, I pulled up the new manager’s file. Brianna Bishop. A degree from some obscure overseas university that sounded more like a diploma mill than a real school. Zero prior work experience. And she’d been hired directly as a manager in the sales department. When had the standards at Sterling Corp. dropped so low? Then I saw it on her resume, listed under emergency contacts. Her mother: Diane Bishop. My father’s “one that got away.” Of course. 3 When my assistant showed Brianna Bishop into my office, she carried an air of undisguised contempt. She didn’t greet me, just dropped into the chair opposite my desk. “You wanted to see me, Ms. Sterling?” “You’re fired.” I had planned to question her, to understand her reasoning. Seeing her entitled smirk, I realized it was pointless. “On what grounds?” she demanded, her voice sharp with indignation. “Mr. Quinn hired me personally!” “On the grounds that you just lost us the Horizon account,” I said without looking up from the file in front of me. “Horizon has been a loyal partner for two decades. In one meeting, you managed to destroy that relationship. That’s a catastrophic failure. I’d fire you twice if I could.” “Sterling is a huge company. We have other clients,” she scoffed, as if she were explaining basic economics to a child. “And that discount we were giving Horizon was costing us a fortune. I was saving the company money!” Her complete and utter cluelessness was so staggering I almost laughed. Arguing with her would be like wrestling with a pig in mud. “David,” I said to my assistant, “please escort her to HR to process her termination.” Brianna refused to move. “You can’t fire me! Do you think Uncle Robert knows you’re doing this? He brought me in himself!” She shot David a dirty look as he approached. “Don’t touch me!” Then she pulled the ultimate card. “You’re only doing this because your parents are getting divorced, and you blame my mom! Well, guess what? My mom and Uncle Robert are getting married. I’m going to be his daughter soon, and this company is his! That means it will be half mine one day!” I pressed my fingers to my temples, feeling a headache bloom. If the daughter was this stupid, the mother couldn’t be a genius. What on earth did my father see in her? “David, what are you standing there for? Call security.” He fumbled for his phone, his face a mixture of shock and embarrassment at witnessing this family drama. Brianna saw him make the call and escalated, whipping out her own phone. “Uncle Robert, you have to come quick! They’re trying to throw me out!” My father, it turned out, was faster than building security. He burst into my office, his face etched with worry. The second he appeared, Brianna’s entire demeanor shifted. Her face crumpled, her voice became a fragile, wounded thing. “Uncle Robert,” she whimpered, “I don’t know what I did to make Chloe so angry. She just came in and said she was firing me.” “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’ll handle this,” he soothed, looking at her with heartbreaking tenderness before turning to me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Chloe, this is about us, the adults. You will not drag Brianna into it. She’s an innocent party here.” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “Innocent? She used her connection to you to get a job she’s completely unqualified for, and her first act was to lose us one of our biggest clients. And you’re telling me she’s innocent?” My father clearly hadn’t heard about the Horizon deal. He glanced at Brianna, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. She immediately launched into her defense, her voice thick with fake tears. “Uncle Robert, I didn’t mean to! I was just trying to do what was best for you. Giving Horizon such a huge discount… it was your money I was trying to save.” I snorted. She wasn’t trying to save his money. She was trying to save what she thought would one day be her money.

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My father was the king of Sterling City, the man they called Mr. Cain, whose name was whispered in alleys and boardrooms with the same mixture of fear and reverence. But he was my mother’s creature. He had only one good leg. The other, a state-of-the-art prosthetic, was a testament to his devotion—a piece of himself he’d sacrificed to a rival to save her life. The night I was born, fireworks exploded over the city until dawn. It was a welcome, they said, for the city’s new princess. Then, when I was five, a woman who looked like a faded photograph of my mother returned from overseas and moved into the old Cain family estate. She pinched my cheek, her smile a cruel slash of red lipstick. “Little thing,” she purred, her voice dripping with a saccharine poison. “Your mother is just my shadow. Your father only noticed her because she copied the way I dressed.” “Now that I’m back,” she said, her eyes glittering, “the little mutt and her counterfeit mother can get the hell out.” I ran upstairs, tears blurring the world into a watercolor painting of pain. I found my mother in her bathroom, calmly using a straight razor to slice away the tattoo on her shoulder that matched my father’s. Blood patterned the marble floor like spilled wine, but my mother was smiling. That night, the woman’s screams echoed from the old estate for hours. My mother held me close, her hand a warm, steady presence on my back. “Cora, darling,” she whispered against my hair. “Doesn’t the moon look fuller tonight?” 1 The crunch of tires on the gravel driveway sent me scrambling to the window. “Mom, look! Dad’s home! He brought me Marielle!” Marielle was the doll I wanted more than anything, with eyes the color of sapphires, just like the pendant my mother always wore. But in the next second, Marielle was tossed to the ground. My father, his limp more pronounced than usual, rushed into the grand house. Moments later, he emerged carrying an woman in his arms—the woman from the old estate. I called out to him, my voice small against the vastness of the lawn, but he didn’t even look my way. Instead, his foot came down on Marielle’s porcelain head, crushing it into a dozen pieces. He returned just before dawn, his eyes as red as the blood I’d seen on my mother’s arm. A tremor of fear went through me, but I held my arms out, expecting him to lift me up the way he always did. “Daddy…” He raised his prosthetic leg, the hard composite material catching the dim light, and kicked me in the stomach. My head hit the sharp corner of the coffee table. I reached up and my fingers came away sticky and dark with blood. It hurt. So much. But I didn’t dare cry out. Because my father had just slapped my mother across the face. “What the hell do you want, Rosalind? Do you have any idea that Eva almost died?” “She’s just a girl. Can’t you leave her be?” My mother’s gaze was unnervingly calm. “Leo, have you forgotten who gave you this life? Who gave you the throne to this city?” She tilted her head. “And now you have the nerve to question me?” The color drained from my father’s face. “I earned this throne with my own blood! And Eva… Eva is carrying my son! She can’t be harmed!” A slow, dangerous smile spread across my mother’s lips. “And you were stupid enough to bring your precious little incubator here? Have you forgotten what I told you?” Her voice dropped to a whisper, cold and sharp as ice. “Anyone so much as lays a finger on my daughter, and I salt the earth where their family stood.” She rose from her chair and walked toward him, a predator closing in. “Leo Cain, I’ll ask you one last time.” “That woman called my daughter a mutt. Do you think she deserves to live?” My father froze. It was only a second’s hesitation, but it was enough. The last warmth in my mother’s eyes vanished, leaving behind a frozen wasteland. She picked up a letter opener from the desk, its silver blade gleaming, and held it out to him. “Either you stick this in my heart right now, and you can live happily ever after with the one that got away… or…” Her voice was silk and steel. “You get on your knees and tell me you will be Rosalind Darrow’s dog for the rest of your life.” I could feel the rage radiating from my father. He snatched the letter opener and, in one swift motion, plunged it into my mother’s chest. “Goddammit, Rosalind, when does it end!” he roared. “This isn’t the old days! I am Leo Cain, the king of this city! You will always be Mrs. Cain. No one can take that from you!” “Eva is different. She’s… simple. She doesn’t want to compete with you for anything!” My mother actually laughed. She pulled the blade out of her own flesh and pressed the bloody tip against his throat. “Leo, I let you wear the crown. I let you play king. But I never intended for you to forget who you belong to.” “Your last name might be Cain,” she whispered, “but this city… this city belongs to the Darrows.” The red in his eyes deepened to a furious crimson. He shoved her back, wrenching the blade from her grasp and holding it up to her face. My mother had always said her face was her greatest asset. I threw myself in front of her, my small arms spread wide. “You’re a bad man! You broke my Marielle! You hit me! You hit Mommy!” With a frustrated roar, my father slammed his fist into the mahogany cabinet beside him. “Rosalind, all I want is for Eva’s son to be born safely! I abandoned her ten years ago. I owe her this.” He stormed towards the door. “Take a good look at yourself. And stop this goddamn drama.” The door slammed shut behind him. A crimson flower was blooming on the front of my mother’s dress. I was afraid to touch it. “Mommy, does it hurt?” She didn’t answer me, just stared at me for a long, silent moment. “Cora,” she finally said, her voice soft. “Your father has changed.” “He no longer deserves to be your father.” That night, I had a nightmare. In my dream, my father was holding that woman, Eva, and they were laughing. A little boy stood beside them. My father pointed at me. “That’s your sister,” he said to the boy. “From now on, she’s your personal punching bag. Hit her whenever you want.” I woke up screaming and ran downstairs to find my mother. But I saw him first. My father was moving Eva into our home. “Ugh, what is that smell? It’s awful!” Eva whined, wrinkling her nose. “Leo, darling, all this… clutter… it’s not good for our son. I want to redecorate. Make it my own.” My father immediately called his men in, and they started hauling my mother’s belongings out of the living room, piece by piece. I rushed forward, trying to save my mother’s antique jewelry box. But Eva’s stiletto heel pinned my hand to the floor. She leaned down, poking my forehead with a perfectly manicured finger. “Listen here, you little mutt. I’m in charge now.” “As soon as I give birth to my son, you and your lunatic mother are going to be sleeping with the fishes.” She pulled a handful of candies from her purse, waving them in front of my face before dropping them one by one onto the floor, grinding them into dust with her heel. “Want one? Get on your knees and bark like a dog. Maybe I’ll toss you a piece.” My father stood nearby, a frown creasing his brow, but all he said was, “Cora, Eva is just joking with you. Say hello to her.” When I remained silent, Eva’s smirk widened. “What, the cat got your tongue? I guess your mother never taught you any manners.” My father said nothing, his silence a tacit agreement. But then I saw her. My mother was descending the grand staircase. She moved slowly, gracefully, holding a platter of sliced fruit. A small, sharp fruit knife was stuck into a piece of melon. “Eva, dear, you’ve just arrived. Don’t trouble yourself with a child.” She offered the platter. Eva, assuming my mother was surrendering, beamed with triumph. “Well, it’s about time you learned your place.” She reached for a piece of fruit. In a flash, my mother grabbed her, forcing her mouth open and shoving the fruit knife inside. She gave it a vicious twist. Eva’s tongue fell onto the pristine white rug. My mother used a silk scarf to slowly, meticulously wipe the blood from her fingers, then patted Eva’s pale cheek. “What sort of creature are you to lecture my daughter on manners?” “You like barking so much? Is that a little mongrel you’re carrying in your belly?” “Perhaps we should cut it out and see?” The knife in my mother’s hand moved towards Eva’s swollen stomach. My father finally snapped. He lunged, shoving my mother away with a wild roar. “Rosalind, you crazy bitch! You dare!” His eyes were bloodshot. He snatched a heavy crystal vase and smashed it over my mother’s head. “Rosalind, if you harm Eva, I will destroy you today!” Shards of crystal and streams of blood ran down my mother’s face. But he wasn’t finished. He grabbed her by the hair and slammed her head against the wall. Once. Twice. A crimson stain appeared on the wallpaper. His face was a twisted, unrecognizable mask of fury that terrified me. But my mother didn’t scream. She didn’t even flinch. After another sickening thud, just as she began to slide down the wall, she kicked out, her heel connecting squarely with my father’s prosthetic leg. She smiled, spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor. “Leo Cain, I gave you a chance.” “But a dog… is always a dog.” His prosthetic flew off. He clung to a cabinet for support, glaring at her with pure hatred. Then his expression changed. His hand went to his belt, to the gun he always carried. I tried to stop him, but he threw me aside. “Go to your room!” I landed hard, scraping my elbow raw on the floor. But I didn’t care about the pain. Because I saw a group of my father’s men surround my mother. The same men who always bowed their heads and called me “Little Miss.” Now, at my father’s command, they seized her arms. My mother’s eyes were filled with a sadness I couldn’t comprehend. “Leo, think very carefully about what you’re doing.” “You’re really going to do this? For some woman off the street and a bastard of unknown origin?” His chest heaved. “You forced my hand, Rosalind! Eva can’t take any more stress! The doctor said she’s at risk of miscarrying!” “You will stay in the chapel until you’re ready to come out and apologize to her!” I watched them start to drag my mother away. I scrambled forward, sank my teeth into my father’s good leg, and bit down as hard as I could. I am my mother’s daughter. I would not let them hurt her. One of the men started to pull me off. My mother’s voice cut through the air, cold as a tombstone. “Touch Cora, and I guarantee you won’t see the sunrise.” My father’s face was a thundercloud of rage. Just then, Eva, still gurgling on the floor, pointed a trembling finger at her own mouth. Something in my father’s eyes snapped. He grabbed me by the throat, his hand tightening. I couldn’t breathe. My face was turning purple. “You little monster! You can rot in the chapel with your mother!” My mother held me as the men led us away. I wasn’t scared. Because I heard her whisper. “Don’t be scared, Cora. The sun will be up soon.” 2 We were locked in the family chapel for three days and three nights with no food or water. I was so weak with hunger I could barely move, limp in my mother’s arms. Through a haze of exhaustion, I saw her fingering the sapphire pendant around her neck. “Soon,” she murmured. “Very soon.” I could hear celebrations outside, the murmur of the guards at the door. They were saying that my father had put the word out: anyone who touched Eva again would have their entire family wiped out. They were saying that all of Sterling City knew Mr. Cain was finally turning on his wife for the one that got away. On the morning of the fourth day, my father’s men dragged us out. He was standing in the great hall, comforting the now-tongueless Eva. His prosthetic had been replaced with a newer, more advanced model. He walked with an almost undetectable limp. He looked more like the true Mr. Cain than ever before. He threw a stack of papers at my mother’s feet. They slid across the polished floor. “Sign them, Rosalind. I’ll give you half the company shares.” “I have only one condition. I’m going to marry Eva. I’m going to give her, and our son, a proper name.” Eva cradled her belly, looking at my mother with smug triumph. Her mouth was bandaged, but her eyes screamed victory. My mother didn’t even glance at the divorce papers. “Leo, do you really think you’ve finally grown wings?” My father let out a cold laugh. “I gave you time to reflect, Rosalind. It seems you still don’t get it.” “Stop living in the past. Your era is over. This is my world now.” He clapped his hands. A dozen men armed with assault rifles stepped forward, aiming their weapons at my mother. “Today, in the Cain family home, in front of everyone, Eva will drink the tea of the new bride.” He looked at Eva, his expression softening. “From now on, you are the lady of this house.” Eva’s eyes curved into crescents as she smiled, leaning against my father and pushing her stomach out proudly. She looked at my mother and mouthed the words silently: Bitch. You and the little mutt are finished. But the triumphant look on her face hadn’t even faded when a hole erupted in the center of her pregnant belly. Blood gushed out, dark and thick. My mother casually inspected the small pistol in her hand. “Leo, I seem to recall we made a promise to each other. The first one to ask for a divorce pays with their life.”

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My life was a good one, until my younger son was born. At five years old, he was diagnosed with a severe congenital intellectual disability. My husband, David, worked himself to the bone to pay the bills. My older son, Michael, grew up overnight. I quit my job and spent our days shuttling between therapy and rehabilitation centers with my little Leo. Leo’s mind never developed past that of a three-year-old. The clearest sentence he could ever manage was, “I love Mommy.” I thought, despite it all, that things were slowly getting better. Then my husband died. And Leo developed a more severe cerebral atrophy. He would spend the rest of his life confined to a bed. The weight of our world fell onto Michael’s shoulders. He became a brother and a father in one. By forty-five, his hair was already shot through with gray. From the time he was ten years old, Michael never asked me for a single thing. Until the day he fell to his knees, wrapped his arms around my legs, and pleaded with me. “Mom,” he cried, his voice breaking. “I’m his brother. I don’t mind sacrificing for him. I never have. But my son… Ethan doesn’t owe his uncle his future.” “He has the grades, Mom. He got into City Central High. He can’t lose that chance because we don’t have the money.” I owed my oldest son so much. He’d gotten into college himself, all those years ago. He tore up his acceptance letter to start working sooner, to earn money for his brother. I ran my trembling fingers through his graying hair, stroking it just like I did when he was a little boy. “Don’t cry,” I whispered, my own voice thick with unshed tears. “Mom will figure something out.” 1 I had just finished feeding my younger son, Leo, his nutrient paste, carefully wiping the residue from the corners of his mouth, when my older son, Michael, arrived. He didn’t sit down. He just stood there in the middle of the living room, a stiff, awkward statue of exhaustion. When he finally spoke, his voice was raspy. “Mom. Ethan’s acceptance letter came. He got into City Central.” A jolt of pure joy went through me. “Really? Oh, that’s wonderful!” City Central High. It was the best school in the state, a feeder for the Ivy Leagues. But my elation was short-lived. Michael’s next words erased my smile. “But the tuition, the boarding fees, the cost of the advanced placement track they require… all together, it’s going to be…” He held up five fingers, and my heart froze. Fifty thousand dollars. “Mom,” Michael took a step forward, his voice dropping to a desperate plea. “I know how hard things are. But Ethan… he’s earned this. We can’t throw it away.” “You’ve still got a little saved, right? Just to get us started. I swear, I’ll pay you back as soon as I get my end-of-year bonus from the plant.” “Mikey…” I couldn’t meet his eyes. I stared at the worn floorboards, a hot flush of shame creeping up my neck. “That money… it’s for Leo’s nutritional supplements and his medication for the next quarter. If he misses it, he won’t…” I couldn’t finish the sentence. “What if… what if Ethan goes to Northwood instead?” I offered weakly. “It’s a good school, too, and the tuition is a fraction of the cost. He can still get into a good college from there…” A loud bang shattered the quiet. Michael had kicked the small ottoman across the room. “It’s always Leo! It’s always about him!” he roared, his eyes instantly turning red. “From the day he was born, everything in this house has been for him!” “The better food, the new clothes, every last scrap of your attention! It was always his!” “I was so scared of being a burden I didn’t even dare to cough too loudly when I was sick!” “I’m five years older than him, Mom, not a whole damn generation!” I flinched, my whole body trembling. “Mikey,” I stammered, “Leo is sick…” “But it’s not my fault he was born that way!” Michael screamed. I froze. He was right. It wasn’t his fault. It was mine. I was the one who brought him into this world. 2 It was as if a dam had finally broken inside him, releasing forty years of dammed-up resentment in a torrential flood. “When Dad was alive, I was the responsible one. The good older brother. Never fighting, never asking for anything, just taking care of myself and helping you with Leo.” “His disability was hard enough, but then the atrophy started.” “After Dad died, I became a brother and a father. I paid the bills, I put in the hours, I put off my own wedding for years!” “I missed my own son’s birth, Mom! Do you know that? I wasn’t there when Jess was in labor because Leo was having a seizure and I was here, holding him down!” “Do you have any idea how many years she held that against me?” “I’m a foreman at the plant now. Guys I supervise, guys younger than me, they own houses, they drive new cars. We’re still renting a tiny apartment!” “All our money… it’s been poured into this house, into him!” “I don’t smoke, I don’t drink, I stretch every single dollar until it screams. What more do you want from me?” He scrubbed a hand over his face, his voice cracking into a sob. “He’s my brother. My own flesh and blood. And taking care of him… that’s my duty. I accept that!” “But my son… Ethan… he doesn’t owe him anything!” “He shouldn’t have to sacrifice the best future he can get for his uncle!” Every word was a dull blade, carving into my heart. I looked at my son’s gray hair, the deep lines etched around his eyes, and the guilt was a physical thing, a tide rising up to drown me. “Mikey, I’m sorry…” It was all I could say. There were no excuses. “It’s my fault. I’m so sorry…” With a choked sob, Michael fell to his knees in front of me, wrapping his arms around my legs. “Mom, please. Ethan has to go to Central. Kids from Central go to Harvard, to Stanford. I can’t let him lose that. Please, Mom!” I closed my eyes, a tear tracing a path to the corner of my mouth. It tasted bitter. I remembered when Leo was born. He was such a quiet baby, he rarely cried. My husband David and I were overjoyed. We held him up for a five-year-old Michael to see. “Look, Mikey,” we’d said. “Your little brother is a gift. He’s such a good boy.” We were so happy then. A loving couple with two beautiful, well-behaved sons. Our neighbors all said how lucky we were. Even when Leo was slow to talk, when his walk was clumsy and uncertain, David and I would reassure each other. “It’s fine,” we’d say. “Late bloomers are often the most brilliant. Our Leo is destined for great things.” Until, at age five, he was diagnosed with a severe congenital intellectual disability. And our world fell apart. 3 David began working himself into an early grave, chasing every hour of overtime just to make a little more. I quit my job to take Leo to his endless appointments and therapy sessions. And Michael… Michael grew up overnight. He stopped asking for my affection, stopped wanting candy or toys. He managed himself perfectly. I never had to worry about his homework. He even learned how to cook. He was only ten, but he was already carrying the burdens of a grown man. And for a while, our collective effort seemed to be working. Slowly, Leo learned to signal when he was cold, to express when he was hungry. He reached the intellectual capacity of a three-year-old. The first time he looked at me and mumbled, “I love… Mommy,” I wept with a joy so fierce it felt like pain. I thought things would keep getting better. But fate had one more cruel twist in store. Ten years ago, my David died from a heart attack, brought on by years of relentless overwork. Michael was forced to become the man of the house. I knew how much he’d sacrificed for his own small family. I looked down at my weeping son, my hand shaking as I stroked his gray hair. “Don’t cry,” I whispered. “Mom will figure something out. We’ll get the money. Go home. I’ll call you tonight.” Michael looked like he wanted to say more, but he just nodded, rising to his feet with the weariness of an old man, and left. I started searching through the house. This little house we’d lived in for decades, so full of memories, so cluttered with the debris of a life. I found some old newspapers and cardboard boxes, tied them into a bundle. It wouldn’t be much, but every dollar counted. I’d heard people bought old furniture. Some of our pieces might be worth something. And the house itself… it was old and small, but the neighborhood had improved over the years. The location was good. It would sell for a decent price. If I sold the house, it would be more than enough for Ethan’s tuition. There might even be some left over. I could take Leo and rent a small, cheap apartment somewhere. We could manage. The thought sent a sharp pain through my chest. This was the home David and I had built, piece by piece. It was filled with the echoes of Michael’s childhood laughter, of Leo’s happy babbling before the diagnosis. But there was no time for sentiment. I walked over to the old dresser and pulled out the bottom drawer. Tucked away in the back, I found a small cloth pouch. Inside was the wedding ring David had given me. A simple, plain gold band. I rubbed the smooth metal, David’s warm, sheepish smile flashing in my memory. “I’m sorry, my love,” I whispered. For my grandson, even this had to go. 4 As I was taking stock of everything I could sell, a violent coughing fit seized me. At first, I thought it was just the dust I’d kicked up. When I finally caught my breath, I looked down at my hand. There was blood on my palm. My mind went completely blank. Fear, cold and sharp, washed over me, leaving me shivering. I can’t be sick. If I get sick, what will happen to Leo? After a long moment, I picked up the phone and dialed Michael’s number. “Mikey, could you possibly come over tomorrow? Just to watch your brother for the day? I have… an errand I need to run.” Before he could answer, I heard my daughter-in-law, Jessica, in the background. “Mom! It’s not that we don’t want to help! But Michael has done everything, everything for his brother!” Her voice was high and strained. “We’ve been pinching pennies for years to help you out! Years!” “My own health isn’t great, I’m on medication constantly, have I ever complained?” “As his brother and sister-in-law, we have a clear conscience!” “But Ethan’s education is non-negotiable!” “He’s the only child we have, and he’s so bright. We can’t let his future get ruined over money!” “Mom, we’ll borrow the money! We’ll sign a contract! We’ll pay you back with interest! We won’t let you lose a dime, I swear it! Is that good enough?” Her rapid-fire words felt like lashes from a whip. I knew it was true. Michael’s family was at their absolute limit. He’d earned a scholarship to a state university, but because of the black hole of Leo’s medical bills, he’d ripped up the acceptance letter and gone to work at the factory. Now his son, Ethan, had the same gift for learning. If he too had to settle for second best because of Leo, I would never be able to rest in peace. I spoke softly, trying to soothe her. “Don’t worry. Just give me a few more days. I promise, I’ll get the money together for Ethan’s school.” 5 Michael’s voice came on the line. “Mom, don’t listen to her. Whatever you need. I’ll be there tomorrow. Don’t worry about a thing.” He came early the next morning. He didn’t ask about the money again, just silently began massaging Leo’s stiff limbs. “I might not be back for lunch,” I told him. “There’s leftover stew in the pot. You can heat it up.” With that, I left and took the bus to the hospital alone. The waiting room was filled with anxious faces, the air thick with unspoken fear. While waiting for my test results, I went to the restroom. My eyes scanned the dozens of small, scribbled ads on the back of the stall door. “Quick Cash Loans.” “Discreet Buyer.” “Surrogacy.” My gaze landed on one: “Generous Compensation.” My heart began to pound. I remembered hearing that you only need one kidney to live. Making sure no one was around, I shakily dialed the number. When a man answered, I lowered my voice. “I… I’d like to sell a kidney. How… how much would that be?” He asked my age. When I told him I was seventy, he scoffed. “Lady, a twenty-year-old’s kidney goes for a hundred grand. For a seventy-year-old? Eight thousand, tops.” I tried to bargain. “Could you do a little more? Could we make it ten?” “At your age, the risk is high,” the man said impatiently. “That’s the price. Take it or leave it.” My hand gripping the phone was slick with sweat. An image of Ethan’s hopeful face flashed in my mind, followed by Michael’s stooped shoulders, and Leo’s helpless form in his bed. I gritted my teeth and forced out two words. “I’ll take it.” After hanging up, I felt completely drained. I had to lean against the wall for a long time before I could walk out. Just then, a nurse called my name. The doctor pointed to a shadow on the CT scan, his expression grave. “Mrs. Miller, the results are back. It’s lung cancer. I’m afraid it’s already in the advanced stages. I strongly recommend you admit yourself to the hospital immediately…”

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After I got sick, my brother, Ethan, moved me into a high-end condo downtown, the closest one to his office. It was supposed to be easier for him to look after me, and quieter for my recovery. It turned out to be anything but quiet. The tenant upstairs, a woman I’d never met, had a religious devotion to her morning smoothie. Every day, at 5:00 AM on the dot, she would fire up a commercial-grade blender that sounded like a jet engine taking off over my head. My live-in caregiver, Maria, worried about my sleep. She went upstairs with a fruit basket from Dean & DeLuca—a classic peace offering—hoping for a truce. The neighbor accepted the basket with a saccharine smile and then, the next morning, started her blending routine half an hour earlier. Maria, incensed, went back up to confront her. The neighbor, whose name we learned was Chloe, just shrugged. “My fiancé only drinks the smoothies I make for him. He has to catch a flight to the coast this week, and if I’m late, he won’t get his special breakfast.” Maria’s patience snapped. “Your love life doesn’t give you the right to ruin everyone else’s.” Chloe laughed out loud, a sharp, ugly sound. “Ma’am, my fiancé is Ethan Sterling. As in, the Ethan Sterling, the youngest partner at Sterling Capital.” She leaned against her doorframe, looking Maria up and down. “I’m a pretty low-key person, and I’m just living here to, you know, have an authentic experience. But don’t get it twisted. We’re not in the same world, you and I.” She smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “We’re neighbors, so let’s not make this ugly. Because with one text, he could have you both thrown out of here.” Defeated, Maria came back down and sealed every window in the apartment. And at 3:00 AM, I pressed the doorbell to the apartment upstairs. “I hear your fiancé is Ethan Sterling,” I said when she opened the door. “Does he know that?” 1. “Are you insane? It’s the middle of the night. Who the hell rings someone’s doorbell at three in the morning?” Chloe Shen stood in the doorway, her robe pulled tight. She raked her eyes over me, the disdain immediate and unconcealed. I leaned against the doorframe, my voice deliberately slow. “You use your blender at 4:30. I ring your doorbell at 3:00. Seems fair to me.” Her expression flickered from confusion to dawning realization. “Oh, you’re her boss. The one who lives down there. What, didn’t your maid tell you who I am?” “I’m just here to inform you that if the noise continues, I’m calling the police.” “The police?” She looked at me as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “Go ahead. Call them. What are they going to do? Didn’t your help tell you who my fiancé is? Is it illegal for me to make him a smoothie?” I stared at her, my face a blank mask, and repeated my earlier question. “Your fiancé is Ethan Sterling? Does he know that?” “Who the hell are you to even say his name?” she sneered, drawing herself up. “My life with Ethan is none of your business. Who do you think you are?” “I’m his sister,” I said, my tone flat. For a second, she froze. Then she burst out laughing again. “Wow, you really did your homework. You even know my Ethan has a sister.” Her eyes were dripping with mockery. “If I remember correctly, your last name is Holt, right? You’re Ethan’s sister? Does he know that?” She took a step closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Miss Holt, I guess your landlord didn’t tell you, but this entire floor is one of my fiancé’s assets. If he knew you were up here spreading rumors, you’d be out on the street by morning.” She shot me one last withering look and slammed the door in my face. The heavy wood cut off her sight, but it couldn’t stop the buzzing in my head. A frantic, rising hum. My bipolar disorder feeds on stimulation. On conflict. She had just served it a five-course meal. Maria must have heard the commotion. She came out of her room and saw my face, drained of all color. Her own face paled in alarm. “Miss Holt, are you alright? Do you need your medication?” I shook my head, my hand finding the wall to steady myself as I walked back to my room. In the darkness, I curled up on my bed. I felt like a tiny boat, caught in a hurricane, the waves crashing over the deck, the wood groaning, ready to splinter and give way. 4:30 AM. WHIRRRRRRR— The blender upstairs roared to life, right on schedule. The sound felt like it could pierce bone, drilling straight into my brain. I lay there with my eyes wide open, having not slept a second. Maria moved through the apartment like a ghost, sighing as she double-checked that all the windows were shut, but the noise seeped through the cracks, unstoppable. “This Chloe woman is just awful!” Maria fumed. “I’m going to file a complaint with building management!” She opened the front door, and a putrid stench immediately flooded the hallway. 2. Piled right in front of our door was a large, leaking garbage bag. A sticky, brown liquid was pooling on the polished floor. We both knew exactly who it was from. Maria, shaking with anger, started to march upstairs again, but I stopped her. “Let’s call management,” I said. My voice felt distant. When the building manager arrived to clean it up, he pulled the security footage from the hallway. The video was crystal clear: Chloe Shen, carrying a trash bag, walking directly to our door and placing it squarely in front. The manager went to speak with her. She was utterly unapologetic. “That woman harassed me in the middle of the night,” she claimed, her voice ringing with indignation. “It gave me terrible anxiety. My hand must have slipped when I went to take out the trash. Is that a crime?” She then turned on the manager. “Frankly, I think you need to get Miss Holt under control. She’s an unemployed shut-in with mental problems who likes to bang on people’s doors in the middle of the night. Who knows what other crazy things she’s capable of?” Watching her frantic, theatrical performance, I felt a strange, detached sense of amusement. “Miss Shen,” I said, my voice cutting through her tirade. “I was simply trying to inform you that your blender was disturbing my rest.” The manager turned to Chloe, his expression pained. “Miss Shen, we have actually received other complaints about the noise. Perhaps you could consider making your smoothie a bit later in the morning?” “Later?” Chloe shrieked, looking as if he’d suggested she commit murder. “Do you have any idea who my fiancé is? If I’m late making his breakfast, can you take responsibility for that?” She looked back at me. “If it’s so loud, why don’t you just buy noise-canceling headphones like I did? Then again,” she added, eyeing my simple clothes, “mine were five hundred dollars. You probably can’t afford them.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan Sterling’s fiancée? I should ask him when he gave you permission to run wild in his building.” I pulled out my phone and pretended to dial a number. “Oh, here we go again,” Chloe rolled her eyes. “Still trying to pretend you know him? Are you going to tell me you’re his sister again?” She smirked. “Let’s see if your call even connects.” I put the phone on speaker. A crisp, automated voice filled the silence. “The person you are calling has their phone switched off.” Chloe howled with laughter. “If you’re going to put on a show, at least make it believable. What’s your excuse this time? He’s on a plane?” My stomach dropped. I’d forgotten. Ethan had told me last night he had an unexpected early meeting out of state. He wouldn’t be able to visit for a few days. Right now, he probably was on a plane. The manager stepped between us, trying to de-escalate. “Ladies, please, let’s all just calm down and talk this through.” But Chloe was relentless. “You think saving a number as ‘Ethan’ in your contacts makes it real? That’s hilarious. You want me to give you his real number so you can try again?” She pointed a finger at me. “Listen to me. If you know what’s good for you, you’ll pack your bags and get out. Otherwise, don’t blame me for what happens next.” A familiar tightness gripped my chest. The dizzying, suffocating onset of an episode. Maria saw it in my eyes and quickly put a hand on my arm to steady me. She glared at Chloe. “Miss Shen, that’s enough! Our Miss Holt has bipolar disorder. You can’t keep provoking her like this!” “Aha!” Chloe’s eyes lit up with triumph. “Did you hear that, management? This woman has a certifiable mental illness! Her living here is a threat to the safety of every other resident!” She was practically vibrating with self-righteousness. “She’s been targeting me from the start. It’s obvious she’s just jealous that I’m about to marry into a wealthy family!” She was on a roll now, convinced she had painted me as some pathetic, hysterical wannabe. I forced a deep breath into my lungs, centering myself. Then I walked right up to her. Crack. My hand connected with her cheek. 3. Chloe was stunned into silence. Her hand flew to her reddening face. After a long moment, she stammered, “You… you hit me!” Before she could say another word, I slapped her again, just as hard, across the other cheek. “For the blender and the trash,” I said calmly. “Now we’re even.” Without another glance, I turned and walked away. Behind me, I could hear Chloe screaming, trying to lunge at me, but the building manager held her back. “Miss Shen, please! You saw for yourself, the woman has… issues. It’s not worth it.” Her voice echoed down the hall after me. “Holt! I’m telling Ethan! I’m going to have him throw you out of this building! Out of this city! You just wait!” Back in the apartment, Maria looked at me, her eyes wide with worry. “I don’t think the manager can do anything about her. He told me Miss Shen threatened that if they tried to discipline her, Mr. Sterling would buy the entire building and have them all fired.” I listened, my face impassive. “I need some air.” I had my driver take me out of the city, just to cruise for a while. When we returned, a flashy red Porsche was parked in my private spot. My apartment number was clearly displayed on the sign above it. With a sigh, I called building management again. A few minutes later, the elevator doors opened and Chloe emerged, clicking across the concrete on her high heels, her face a mask of fury. “You again? Why won’t you just leave me alone!” She looked at me like I was something she’d scraped off her shoe. “I could ask you the same thing,” I said, my voice cold. “This is my parking spot.” Chloe laughed, crossing her arms. “Your spot? Don’t be ridiculous. You’re a renter. You don’t get a deeded space.” She was so certain of my status. “I work so hard making breakfast for Ethan every single day. Of course I should get the spot closest to the elevator!” She tilted her chin up, playing the role of the lady of the manor. “I’ll say it one more time. Move your car,” I said, my eyes locked on hers. “And what if I don’t? What are you going to do, have the manager talk to me?” She smirked, turning to leave, confident that I was powerless. “Do you think I won’t smash it to pieces?” I opened my trunk and pulled out the heavy wrench from the roadside emergency kit. I tested its weight in my hand. Chloe stopped dead in her tracks. She looked from the wrench in my hand to my expressionless face, a flicker of uncertainty in her eyes. “You wouldn’t dare.” “I have bipolar disorder,” I said softly. “Watch me.” I started walking toward the Porsche, raising the wrench high. That finally broke her. A shriek tore from her throat as she scrambled for her keys. “You’re a lunatic! A complete psycho!” She fumbled her way into the driver’s seat and peeled out of the spot, but not before leaning out the window to scream one last thing. “You just wait! I am not letting you get away with this!” 4. Chloe’s new masterpiece arrived shortly thereafter. My unit was a ground-floor duplex with a small, private garden. It was my sanctuary. I’d filled it with orchids, my mother’s favorite flower before she passed away. I tended to them like they were my children. But today, the moment I stepped outside, my heart sank into my stomach. The terracotta pots were shattered, their dirt-caked shards strewn across the flagstones. A patch of irises along the wall had been trampled, their petals scattered like purple bruises. And my two most prized orchids, a rare Phalaenopsis cultivar called ‘White Dawn,’ were ruined. On one plant, the buds had been snapped off, lying limp and lifeless in the soil. The other plant was gone entirely. All the blood rushed to my head. That orchid was my medicine. After my mother died, my bipolar disorder spiraled. Ethan had spent a small fortune tracking down that specific plant, hoping its presence could soothe the jagged edges of my grief. And now, someone had destroyed it. There was no doubt in my mind. It was Chloe. I stormed upstairs and pounded on her door. “Chloe! Give me back my orchid!” It took a long time for the door to open. When it did, she looked at me with an expression of pure innocence. “What are you freaking out about now?” My eyes shot past her, into her living room. There, on her coffee table, sat my White Dawn orchid. White-hot rage flooded my senses. “How dare you destroy my garden and steal my flower?” “Watch your tone,” Chloe said, her voice a lazy drawl. “It wasn’t stealing. It was borrowing.” She examined her nails. “And some stray dogs got into your garden. Don’t blame me for that.” “I was kind enough to rescue this poor orchid for you.” I had already checked the security feed. It showed Chloe lurking outside my garden fence late last night. Moments later, a few stray dogs jumped the fence and began tearing everything apart. It was obvious she had lured them in. But she continued her charade. “I saved one of your plants for you. You can consider the flower a thank-you gift.” “I heard Ethan’s sister loves orchids,” she said, a condescending smile playing on her lips. “This one is quite lovely. It’s time it served a higher purpose.” I was shaking with a fury so intense I could barely speak. “That is my property! You have no right!” “Your property?” she scoffed. “Honey, when I’m Mrs. Sterling, this entire building will be my property, let alone your stupid little flower.” She leaned in, her voice dropping. “I’d advise you to get on my good side while you still can.” She paused for effect. “Because believe me… one word from me, and you’ll be gone.” “Miss Holt, calm down. We’ll call the police!” Maria was behind me, grabbing my arm, terrified I was about to lose control completely. At the mention of the police, Chloe’s smile widened. “The police? Oh, please do. Who do you think they’ll believe? The mentally unstable lunatic, or the future Mrs. of the Sterling Capital empire?” She was certain I wouldn’t dare escalate. She was certain Ethan would take her side. Looking at her smug, triumphant face, a strange sense of calm washed over me. I stopped arguing. Instead, I took out my phone and, right in front of her, dialed the number I knew by heart. “Oh, playing the ‘call Ethan’ card again?” Chloe laughed, thoroughly amused. “What’s the story this time? Is he in a meeting? Or still on that plane?” The phone rang only once before it was answered. I put it on speaker. A voice I knew better than my own filled the hallway, still rough with sleep. “Clara? What’s wrong?” I lifted my eyes and stared directly at Chloe, whose face had instantly turned the color of ash. “Ethan.” My voice was steady. “I hear you’re engaged.” “So, you found a fiancée and you weren’t even going to bring her home to meet your big sister?”

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The Blackwell Group was launching a new division. The chairman appointed his wife, Audrey, as its president, giving her carte blanche to build her own team. Everyone assumed I’d be her VP. Friends were congratulating me in advance, celebrating our joint ascent up the corporate ladder. But on the day the official announcement went out, I received a termination notice. And the intern Audrey had been so close to, the one who always seemed to be whispering in her ear, was named Vice President. Later, Audrey tried to explain. “Leo has depression, Cole. He’s incredibly sensitive. He needs the validation more than you do.” She straightened my tie, her fingers cool against my skin. “Besides, he’s already thought of you. He said you could be his personal driver. The pay is great, and the hours are easy. See how thoughtful he is?” I looked into her eyes, searching for a hint of a joke. There was none. She was dead serious. I gently removed her hands from my collar and met her gaze with the same unnerving sincerity. “Okay,” I said. “I’ll support my wife’s decision.” 1 The next morning, dressed in a black driver’s uniform, I had the car waiting outside Leo’s apartment building on time. I waited for nearly an hour. Three calls to his phone went straight to voicemail. Finally, with only ten minutes left before the workday officially began, he sauntered out of the lobby doors, rubbing sleep from his eyes. He pulled open the rear door and flopped onto the leather seat without so much as a glance in my direction. “Let’s go.” I said nothing, just put the car in drive. The morning rush hour had the interstate in a gridlock. From the back seat, Leo’s impatience grew. “What are you doing? Don’t you know any shortcuts?” he whined. “Audrey won’t be happy if I’m late on my first day.” We finally pulled up to the office building, thirty minutes late. The second I put the car in park, Audrey’s call came through. Her voice was sharp enough to cut glass. “Cole! Where are you? Do you have any idea what day it is? It’s the executive morning briefing! How is Leo supposed to command any respect when his own driver makes him late on day one?” Before I could get a word in, Leo’s voice cut in, dripping with faux-distress. “Audrey, don’t blame Cole. It’s his first day as a driver. It’s an adjustment.” He paused for effect. “He was trying so hard to get here on time, he even ran a few red lights for me.” That sent Audrey into a fresh spiral of fury. “Cole! Are you doing this on purpose? Are you so bitter about being let go that you have to sabotage Leo’s first day just to make yourself feel better?” “You are such a disappointment.” “Forget about this month’s paycheck. You’re not getting it.” She hung up with a sharp click. Leo sat up. The wounded look vanished, replaced by a smirk of pure satisfaction. “Tough break, Cole. Must sting, driving me around.” He laughed softly and swung his leg over the center console, planting a mud-caked leather shoe on the back of the passenger seat. They were the shoes. The custom Italian leather ones Audrey had a friend bring back from Milan for my birthday last month. Now they were on Leo’s feet, sullied with dirt, staring me in the face. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re not good enough,” he said, pushing the door open. He sauntered toward the building, whistling. I sat there in the silence of the car, staring at the muddy footprint on the seat back. My knuckles were white on the steering wheel. A little while later, a few of the senior managers came down for a smoke break after the meeting. They saw me in the car and ambled over. “Jesus, Cole. You’ve got the patience of a saint,” one of them said, leaning against the window. “Getting ridden like that by an intern? We could hear Audrey tearing you a new one from down the hall. If it were me, I’d have driven this thing straight into the river.” Another one just smirked. “I don’t know, man. Maybe he’s got some kind of special kink for this.” I ignored their jeers and pulled out my phone. A new text from Audrey had just popped up. “Honey, I’m sorry. I was just angry. I have to establish Leo’s authority in front of everyone, otherwise they’ll walk all over him. Don’t take it personally. I’ll deposit double your salary into our account tonight. Your old office is gone, per company policy. Just relax in the car for a bit. I’ll come down and have lunch with you.” I stared at the message, then deleted it and locked the screen. Establish his authority? Using my dignity as his stepping stone. Audrey, you really are a wonderful wife. She didn’t come down for lunch. She sent her assistant with a sad-looking boxed salad, explaining that she had to take Leo out with the department heads for a ‘get-to-know-you’ lunch. I tossed the cold salad directly into the nearest trash can. 2 Three days later was our fifth wedding anniversary. I’d made reservations at Le Ciel Bleu, her favorite French restaurant, and bought the diamond necklace she’d been dropping hints about for months. I wanted to surprise her. At five p.m., I texted her: “Hey, are you free tonight?” She replied almost instantly: “Have to take Leo to meet a huge client. It’s going to be a late one. Don’t wait up.” A follow-up text came a second later: “It’s his first time leading a pitch. I need to be there to guide him.” I stared at the screen, my thumbs hovering over the keyboard. I typed out a single sentence: “Do you remember what day it is?” After a long moment, I deleted it, letter by letter. I canceled the reservation and tossed the velvet jewelry box onto the passenger seat. Restless and angry, I called a few friends and met them at a hole-in-the-wall taco joint on the other side of town. We had just ordered a round of beers and a platter of carne asada when two familiar figures walked through the door, hand in hand. It was Audrey and Leo. Audrey wore a playful, giddy smile I hadn’t seen in years. She was pointing at the greasy, handwritten menu on the wall, laughing about something with him. She used to despise places like this. She’d complain that the smoky air would ruin her thousand-dollar perfumes. Now, I heard her say to him with genuine excitement, “See? Places like this have so much more soul.” Then I noticed it. Leo was wearing a bespoke suit. The one Audrey had commissioned for me as my anniversary gift. My gaze locked onto the fabric, the perfect tailoring. Leo must have felt my eyes on him. He turned his head and saw me. He froze for a second, a flicker of panic in his eyes. Then, as if on purpose, he jerked his arm, knocking a full glass of orange soda all over himself. “Oh!” Audrey gasped and immediately grabbed a fistful of napkins, kneeling down to dab at the stain on his pants. The gesture was so tender, so careful, as if she were handling a priceless artifact. I couldn’t sit there anymore. I stood up and walked toward their table. “Audrey,” I said. My voice was a raw whisper. She looked up, and her face hardened the moment she saw me. “What are you doing here?” My eyes went past her to the suit on Leo’s back. “I thought you were meeting a client.” Audrey got to her feet, her expression a mask of annoyance. “The meeting finished early. Leo said he was craving tacos, so I brought him here.” “And the suit?” I asked, nodding toward Leo. “How do you explain that?” “He was meeting a major client, Cole. He couldn’t show up looking shabby, could he? I just lent him your suit.” She looked at me as if I were the unreasonable one. “Can you stop being so petty? It’s just a piece of clothing.” “You’re a driver,” she added, her voice dripping with disdain. “It’s not like you have anywhere to wear something that nice.” “Petty?” I let out a bitter laugh. “That was my five-year anniversary present!” The color drained from Audrey’s face. Her eyes darted away for a second. “I’ll… I’ll buy you a better one later.” Just then, Leo, who had been silent, stood up. He draped a proprietary arm around Audrey’s shoulders, pulling her close. “What can I say, Cole?” he said, his eyes gleaming with triumph. “Someone’s got to pick up the slack when you can’t even hold down a job. Your wife has been under a lot of stress.” He leaned in. “Someone has to help her out. At work… and at home.” His last words were loaded, his eyes locked on mine in a direct challenge. And Audrey just stood there, letting him hold her, not saying a single word. My friends had seen enough. They stormed over, getting in Leo’s face. “Who the hell do you think you are?” “You’re a goddamn leech, living off a woman, and you have the balls to act like this?” The scene devolved into shouting. One of my friends looked ready to throw a punch. I quickly stepped between them, grabbing my friend’s arm. “It’s not worth it. Let’s just go.” They stormed out, one of them cursing me under his breath for being a doormat. After they were gone, I stood by the door of the taqueria, waiting silently for Audrey to come out. I needed to talk to her, away from all of this, to get a straight answer about what was happening. I waited until after midnight. 3 At one in the morning, Audrey and Leo finally stumbled out, both clearly drunk. Leo was unsteady on his feet, practically hanging off Audrey as she supported him on the walk to the car. When they reached my car, Leo suddenly spun her around, pinning her against the passenger door. He lowered his head, his lips finding the soft skin of her neck. “Audrey, you’re so good to me,” he murmured. Her body went stiff. She seemed to want to push him away, but when she raised her hands, they landed weakly on his shoulders, clinging to him. “Leo, stop… I’m still married to Cole.” “Who cares about him? He’s just some loser you kicked to the curb.” Leo’s mouth moved to her earlobe, then trailed down her jawline. Audrey’s resistance melted away. A soft whimper escaped her lips. She closed her eyes and gave in. I was standing not twenty feet away, watching the whole sordid scene. Something inside me snapped. A roar of pure rage tore from my throat as I lunged forward, shoving Leo away from her with all my strength. He stumbled backward and fell to the pavement. My eyes, burning with betrayal, were fixed on Audrey. She looked at me as if I had just shattered a beautiful dream. Then, she drew back her hand and slapped me hard across the face. “Cole! Are you insane?!” she screamed, her voice filled with a cold, venomous disgust. That slap shattered the last, desperate illusion I had been clinging to. Audrey didn’t even look at me again. She turned and rushed to Leo’s side. “Leo, baby, are you okay? Did he hurt you?” He whimpered in her arms like a child who’d scraped his knee. Ignoring me completely, they hailed a cab and disappeared into the night. I drove home alone. The house was cold, empty, devoid of life. I was about to step into the shower when my phone buzzed. It was a notification from my bank. [Alert: Your joint savings account has been frozen. Current balance: $0.00.] Audrey. Because I had trusted her, trusted our marriage, every dollar I’d ever earned was in that account. Below the bank alert was a text from her. “I gave you a chance to walk away with your dignity, Cole. You chose not to take it. After the scene you made tonight, you don’t deserve my respect. You think you’re so tough? Let’s see how tough you are with no money.” I had never kept a secret stash. I was penniless. 4 The next morning, a frantic ringing jolted me from a nightmare. “Cole! It’s your father! He had a massive heart attack, he’s in the hospital! They’re taking him into surgery now!” My world went numb. I raced to the hospital, arriving just as they were wheeling my father into the operating room. A nurse handed me a clipboard. “Sir, we need a deposit of one hundred thousand dollars for the surgery to proceed.” I jammed my hands in my pockets, a pointless gesture. I remembered. I had nothing. With a trembling hand, I dialed Audrey’s number. It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice thick with sleep. “What? What do you want this early?” “Audrey, now! Transfer me a hundred thousand dollars! My dad had a heart attack, he needs emergency surgery!” There was a pause on the other end, followed by a cold, sharp laugh. “Are you serious, Cole? You’re so desperate for money you’d use your own father as an excuse?” “Do you really think I’d fall for a lie that pathetic?” “I’m busy prepping Leo for a client meeting. Don’t bother me with this nonsense again.” She hung up. I tried calling back, but it went straight to a busy signal. Swallowing every last ounce of my pride, I started calling my friends, my brothers, anyone who would listen. “Hey, Mark, it’s Cole… Listen, man, I’m in a really tight spot… Can I borrow some money…?” As I was hunched over, whispering humbly into the phone, I looked up and saw two familiar figures walking down the hospital corridor. It was Audrey, with Leo on her arm. She wasn’t meeting any client. She was speaking to him in a soft, gentle voice, guiding him toward the psychiatric wing of the hospital. When she saw me squatting on the floor, her expression instantly soured. She must have felt a pang of guilt, because she walked briskly toward me, already pulling her phone out of her purse. But before she could do anything, Leo suddenly flinched, his body seizing as if he’d been electrocuted. He clung to Audrey’s arm and let out a theatrical shriek. “Ah! Don’t come near me! You’re scaring me!” He cowered behind her, pointing at me, his body trembling like a leaf. Audrey immediately spun around to shield him, her face contorted with rage as she turned on me. “Cole! Look what you’ve done! You’ve triggered him!” “Leo is having a severe anxiety attack! Are you trying to kill him?!” I just stared, baffled by the ridiculous performance. “What did I do? My father is waiting for life-saving surgery. I don’t have time for your little drama.” Audrey’s neck flushed with anger. She held Leo tight and spat her words at me. “Leo’s first big project failed today because you decided not to show up for work. Your absence cost the company millions in lost orders.” “You pushed him to this point, and you still have the nerve to ask me for money?” So that was it. She was pinning Leo’s failure on me. “If it weren’t for the fact that we were once married, you wouldn’t even have a job as a driver!” She guided the trembling Leo into the therapist’s office. Before closing the door, she looked back at me, her eyes like ice. “You go to the office right now. You walk into that boardroom and you take full responsibility for this disaster. You make it clear that Leo had nothing to do with it. You do that, and I’ll transfer the money.” My chest felt tight enough to burst. I wanted nothing more than to wipe the smug expressions off both their faces. But then I thought of my father on the operating table, and my head sank. I was ready to accept. Just then, my phone buzzed. A new notification. A transfer of three hundred thousand dollars had just been deposited into my personal account. I thought it was from one of my friends, but then a text message came through. I read the message, and the crushing weight of humiliation and rage began to lift. I took a deep, steadying breath. Audrey poked her head out of the office, her voice sharp with impatience. “Cole! What are you waiting for? Get to the office and confess!” I didn’t look at her. I simply turned and walked toward the payment office, my back straight. “Cole! Stop right there! Did you hear me?!” Her frantic screams echoed behind me, but for the first time in a long time, my steps felt light.

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It took me three years, but I finally found him. The husband who vanished during our honeymoon. But it didn’t matter if I broke down, if I screamed, if I fell to pieces in front of him. Leo, my Leo, the man with no memory of me, remained perfectly, unnervingly calm. “The trust fund kid you’re talking about,” he’d say, his voice flat, “that’s really not me.” Then, a little softer, a hint of something that might have once been affection, now directed at a ghost. “You should go. If I’m out too late, Savannah will make me sleep on the couch again.” That casual intimacy, the gentle complaint about another woman, was a shard of glass in my heart. Every word twisted deeper. I was on the verge of giving up, of letting the ghost of him go, when I overheard his friend, Ben, cornering him outside a bar. “You faked your own death during your honeymoon with Clara, just to be with Savannah,” Ben hissed, his voice a low thrum of disbelief. “And now you want your cushy life as a Maxwell heir back, so you’re playing the amnesia card with her?” Ben’s voice dripped with a disgust I couldn’t have summoned myself. “Don’t you think you owe her more than that?” Leo downed his whiskey in one long, desperate swallow. “Savannah’s pregnant,” he slurred, the words thick. “I have to get her into the family. I have to.” In that instant, the last ember of hope inside me turned to ash. I became perfectly still, perfectly cold. When I saw his parents’ car pull up, no doubt summoned by Ben in a misguided attempt at a reunion, I walked over and intercepted them before they could get out. “Mom, Dad,” I said, my voice steady for the first time in years. “I saw him myself. I was wrong. That man… it’s not Leo.” 1 An hour earlier, I’d been leaving the restaurant when I saw him stumble out of the bar next door. Leo. My heart seized in my chest. He saw me and froze, a flicker of recognition—or maybe just annoyance—in his eyes. He shook his head with a practiced weariness. “I’ve told you so many times. Please, stop following me. I’m not your husband.” Ben, standing beside him, had the decency to look ashamed. “Clara,” he started, his tone pleading. “You haven’t slept in days. Just… go home. Get some rest.” I wrenched my arm from his grasp, my eyes locked on Leo. “Not a few days, Ben. Three years.” My voice, when it came out, was a raw, ragged thing. “I haven’t had a single full night’s sleep since the day you disappeared. Do you know what they called me? The black widow. The woman who got her husband killed for the inheritance.” I took a shaky breath, the memories flooding in. “The stress, the grief… I was a wreck. I fell down a flight of stairs. I lost the baby, Leo.” The words hung in the air, heavy and dead. “For three years, I’ve scoured this entire country, haunted by a guilt that has eaten me alive. And for what?” My gaze fell to the simple, silver band on his ring finger. A replacement. “For what?” I repeated, my voice trembling. “For my husband, the man I married, to tell me he’s in love with someone else.” For a moment, something shifted in his expression. His hand instinctively went to the plain ring, to the place where the custom band I had designed for him used to sit. The movement was a ghost of a memory. But then his eyes cleared, the brief flicker of connection gone, replaced by a cold, hard impatience. “Look, that’s a tragic story. It really is. But what does any of it have to do with me?” What does it have to do with you? The sheer audacity of it stole my breath. He was the architect of my entire nightmare. An image of his parents flashed in my mind—their faces, etched with hope before I’d left, so sure I was finally bringing their lost son home. A fresh wave of pain crashed over me. The only thing more devastating than Leo’s death was the fact that he had orchestrated it himself. All those days I’d spent with him since I’d found him, my heart breaking as I recounted our shared past, desperately trying to spark a single memory—was he feeling anything at all? Or was he and Savannah laughing at my pathetic, desperate performance later that night? He must have seen the raw anguish in my eyes, because he frowned and took an involuntary step toward me. He started to lift his hand. SMACK! The sound cracked through the night air. A woman—Savannah—had appeared out of nowhere, her handprint already blooming on my cheek. She jabbed a manicured finger at my face. “What’s with the sob story?” she spat, her voice shrill. “You got some nerve, chasing after another woman’s boyfriend, calling him your husband. Are you pathetic or just crazy?” Leo stared, a flicker of shock on his face as he looked at the red mark on my skin. But it was gone in a second. He immediately pulled Savannah behind him, shielding her. “Savannah’s just… direct,” he said to me, his tone a warning. “Don’t take it personally.” His eyes were full of suspicion, of defense, as if I were the threat to the precious woman he was protecting. A slow, burning heat spread across my cheek. The conversation I’d overheard in the bar echoed in my head, and the gaping wound in my chest ripped wider. His amnesia was a lie. But his coldness, his cruelty? That was real. I pulled out my phone and, with numb fingers, booked a flight home. I looked straight at Leo. “Don’t worry,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “I won’t bother you again.” He wants to be dead? Fine. I’ll grant his wish. 2 The next morning, my bags were packed by the door when my father-in-law called. “It’s Anne,” he said, his voice cracking. Anne was my mother-in-law. “She had a heart attack. She’s in the ICU, and she keeps… she keeps saying Leo’s name.” He took a ragged breath. “Clara… are you sure? Is it really not him?” My hands tightened on the steering wheel until my knuckles were white. My father-in-law, always the stoic, composed patriarch, was openly weeping on the phone. “The doctors… they don’t know if she’s going to pull through. I’m afraid she’ll die without seeing her son one last time.” A sharp pain lanced through me. I made a sharp U-turn. “I’m on my way, Dad,” I said, my voice firm. “Don’t worry. I’ll go get him.” When he opened the door and saw me, Leo’s face hardened into a mask of irritation. I didn’t have time for niceties. I shoved my phone into his hand. “Your mother had a heart attack. She’s in intensive care, and she’s asking for you. Are you really going to keep this act up now?” The mention of his mother made the color drain from his face. He fumbled with the phone, his finger hovering over the video call button, but before he could press it, a slender hand with a glittery manicure snatched it away. Savannah glared at me, her face a mask of contempt, before throwing the phone back at me. It bounced off my chest and clattered to the floor. “Lady, are you sick?” she snapped. “I thought you said yesterday you were done harassing us.” Leo’s eyes darted nervously between us. He wanted the phone back; I could see the panic rising in him. “She said my…” He caught himself, glancing at me. “She said her mother-in-law is sick. She wants me to pretend to be her husband to comfort her.” Savannah snorted. “What ‘pretend’? She’s obviously lying to trick you into admitting you’re him! I’ve seen this kind of desperate move a million times. Don’t you dare call her! If you do,” she purred, her voice dropping to a seductive threat, “don’t even think about touching me tonight.” Leo immediately went into placating mode, wrapping his arms around her. “Okay, okay, you’re right. I won’t call.” Seeing him grovel like that, so weak and compliant, turned my stomach. “Leo, that’s your mother,” I said, my voice shaking with disbelief. “You’ve been gone for three years. She has cried herself half-blind over you. And you won’t even grant her a single phone call? This could be the last time you ever speak to her!” His body tensed. His lips parted as if to say something, but Savannah tightened her grip, her arms snaking around his waist. She looked at me with an expression of cloying innocence. “I told you, my boyfriend isn’t your husband. You can’t ask him to lie to a sick old woman.” Then, with a dismissive shrug, she added, “Besides, he’s not a doctor. Is a phone call going to magically save her? Why can’t you just leave us alone?” She shot me a triumphant look and gestured for Leo to close the door. He hesitated for a fraction of a second, but then Savannah’s hands started moving, slipping restlessly under his shirt. That was all it took. He turned his attention from me completely, muttering a final, hurried dismissal. “I can’t deal with that. You guys should find a good doctor.” The coldness in his voice was like a physical blow. The door didn’t latch properly. Through the crack, the sound of her hurried, breathless gasps stabbed at my ears like needles. His mother was dying, and he was in there, with her. For the first time in three long years, I saw the man in front of me with perfect, horrifying clarity. The answer I’d been searching for was not the one I wanted, but it was the one I had. I made it to the airport, only to be told at the check-in counter that my ticket had been canceled. Confused, I turned around and saw Ben hurrying toward me. He grabbed my arm. “You came all this way to find Leo,” he said, his eyes wide with a frantic energy. “Why are you leaving by yourself?” I looked at his earnest, worried face and felt a profound sense of exhaustion. “He said it himself,” I replied coolly. “He’s not Leo Maxwell.” Ben blinked, thrown off. “But… you know he has amnesia! That’s why he doesn’t remember anything. You can’t just give up on him like this! You can’t be that cruel.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. I’m the cruel one? Who faked his own death right after I found out I was pregnant? Who abandoned his family without a word for three years? Before I could unleash the torrent of questions, I saw them. Leo and Savannah, walking out of a nearby store, their arms loaded with gift bags. My blood ran cold. Savannah spotted me and a smug, victorious smile spread across her face. She walked right up to me and shoved a handful of cheap, brightly wrapped candies into my hand. “Leo and I are getting married,” she announced, her voice dripping with syrupy sweetness. “On the Fourth of July, just a few days from now. You should come.” She leaned in closer. “Maybe if you see us exchange our vows, you’ll finally accept reality.” Leo gazed down at her, his expression soft with an adoration that he had once reserved for me. “It’s a shotgun wedding,” he said, stroking her hair. “The baby will be here in seven months.” 3 His voice, so full of happy anticipation, was a dagger to my heart. We were supposed to have a baby, too. I’d found out I was pregnant a week before our honeymoon. Our families were ecstatic. I was walking on air, dreaming of this perfect little life we were creating, the ultimate symbol of our love. But while I was joyfully awaiting the arrival of our child, he was plotting how to fake his death and run off with his mistress. Even the knowledge of his own child growing inside me wasn’t enough to make him hesitate. If he never loved me, why didn’t he just call off the engagement? Why go through with the wedding, the grand charade of love, only to shatter my world so completely? The sharp corners of the cheap candy dug into my palm. Savannah’s triumphant smirk was the ultimate mockery. I knew exactly what he was doing. He needed to make things official with her before he tried to reclaim his identity. That way, he’d have a legitimate reason to bring her—and their child—into the Maxwell family. He met my gaze, not a trace of guilt in his eyes. “You should come, if you have the time.” I was silent for a long moment. Then, I nodded. “Okay. I’ll be there.” Sometimes, you have to see the destruction up close to finally believe it’s real. The wedding was nothing like the lavish affair Leo and I had, but it still cost a pretty penny. I heard through the grapevine that Leo had borrowed heavily to pay for it. He’d grown up as the sole heir to the Maxwell fortune, never wanting for anything, and certainly never holding a real job. Life in hiding with Savannah had apparently been funded by debt and IOUs. No wonder he was in such a hurry to get back to his trust fund. For the Maxwells, the amount he owed was pocket change. But Leo didn’t know. He wasn’t going back. I took a slow sip of my water, watching as he slid a gold band onto Savannah’s finger. That ring was the final, definitive period at the end of the twenty-year story of my youth. I watched them, both beaming, their faces alight with victory, and I spoke into the quiet that followed their kiss. “I’ve seen the wedding,” I said, my voice calm and even. “Can I go home now?” Leo started, a flicker of panic in his eyes. He had expected tears, a scene, a dramatic confrontation. He hadn’t expected… acceptance. He hadn’t expected me to believe his lie. But if I left, how would he orchestrate his grand return? “Wait!” he called out suddenly, clutching his head in a display of theatrical pain. “Wait… I think I remember something. Have we… have we met somewhere before?” Watching his pathetic, clumsy acting, I almost had to smile. “You must be mistaken,” I said, my voice gentle. “We’ve never met. You just look a lot like my late husband.” I threw his own words back at him, polished and sharp. His jaw tightened, but he was trapped in the character he’d created. He couldn’t get angry. “But… my head is… I’m suddenly seeing things,” he stammered, pointing vaguely at the floral arrangements. “Did we… did we have a wedding? I remember… lilies of the valley, I think. And you were wearing a mermaid-style dress.” He was recalling the details of our wedding, the one I had spent a year planning, every detail a testament to my naïve belief in our future. But hearing him speak of it now only fueled the ice-cold rage solidifying in my veins. We’d been childhood sweethearts. I had never imagined a future that didn’t have him in it. He’d insisted on the Maldives for our honeymoon, only to vanish on the second day. It wasn’t just his mother who had cried herself blind. It was me, too. Inconsolable, shattered, my body giving up on our baby while my family whispered that it was all my fault. And where was he, then? In bed with his lover, probably laughing. I looked up to see him staring at me, his face a carefully constructed mask of guilt and confusion. “I’ll try to remember,” he said earnestly. “I really will. Why don’t you… why don’t you take me home to see Mom and Dad? Maybe being there will…” I cut him off with a serene smile. “I told you all about that before. Don’t you remember? You said you had no idea what I was talking about.” Not only that, he’d been annoyed, impatient to get me out of his sight. “You must have had too much champagne,” I continued, my smile never wavering. “You’re confusing my memories with your own. I think I would know my own husband. And you, sir, are not him.” Leo hadn’t even processed my words before Savannah shrieked. “Yes, he is!” I turned my gaze on her, pinning her with a direct look. “A minute ago, you were insisting he wasn’t. Why the sudden change of heart? Did you get amnesia, too?” Savannah’s mouth snapped shut. I knew what she wanted. She wanted to ride Leo’s coattails to the top. If he couldn’t reclaim his identity, she was even more screwed than he was. But they had both been too adamant, too loud in their denials. She had spent weeks telling anyone who would listen what a pathetic stalker I was. It was a hard position to walk back from. As whispers broke out among the wedding guests, Ben shot to his feet, pointing an accusing finger at me. “He is Leo Maxwell!” he boomed. “Clara, I know you’re angry that he’s with Savannah, but you can’t just deny who he is! His parents have been searching for him for three years. Are you really going to let your pride make them bury their own son?” Every eye in the room turned to me. I could hear the muttering start. Vindictive. Cruel. Ben shook his head, holding up his phone like a trophy. “I knew you’d try to stop this. So I already called them. They’re on their way here right now!” 4 Leo let out a breath he’d been holding, a wave of relief washing over his face. He looked at me with profound disappointment. “Clara, what’s happened to you? You’ve become so… bitter.” He shook his head, as if pained by my transformation. “I was going to make it right. Once I was back in the family, I planned to give Savannah a generous settlement and end things. I wanted to make it up to you. But now I see… you’re not worth giving her up for.” I watched him perform his noble, long-suffering act, a scornful smile playing on my lips. “So, what’s the plan? Divorce me and marry Savannah?” Leo hesitated, a flicker of calculation in his eyes. I knew what he was thinking. I was the appropriate wife, the good-on-paper choice from a family of equal standing. A strategic alliance. Savannah was from a poor background, offering him nothing but a baby and a mountain of debt. He was a man who wanted it all. Why else would he orchestrate this entire charade to come back after three years? Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with false solemnity. “During my amnesia, Savannah was the one who stood by me, who took care of me. I could never abandon her.” He paused for dramatic effect. “As for you, I’m willing to give you a chance to redeem yourself, for old times’ sake.” He looked between me and a suddenly glowing Savannah. “From now on, you’ll handle the public-facing duties, she’ll manage the home. And you are not to give her any trouble.” For a second, I was stunned into silence. Then, a harsh laugh escaped me. He was actually living in a fantasy world where he could have two wives. Oblivious to my derision, Leo took Savannah’s hand, his voice thick with emotion. “Savannah is carrying my child. The first Maxwell grandchild.” He puffed out his chest. “I’ve already decided. He will be the future heir to the Maxwell Corporation.” Savannah shot me a look of pure triumph, then leaned against Leo, feigning concern. “Oh, darling, won’t that be unfair to Clara?” Leo’s brow furrowed. “Unfair to her? If anyone’s getting a raw deal, it’s you. She’s a petty, vindictive woman. The fact that I’m willing to let her remain Mrs. Maxwell is more than she deserves.” I watched their little performance with detached amusement. “And who said I agree to share a husband with Savannah?” Savannah’s face lit up. “You’re willing to grant a divorce?” Leo’s expression soured. He finally looked at me directly. “If you force me to choose, Clara, I will choose her.” I laughed again, a real, genuine laugh this time. “You don’t have to choose.” I leaned forward, my voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Because you both have to get out.” Just then, the doors to the chapel swung open. My in-laws walked in, their faces grim. Leo’s face split into a wide grin. He rushed toward them. “Mom! Dad! I’m back!” Savannah hurried after him, one hand placed protectively on her still-flat stomach. “What a wonderful day,” she cooed. “My baby is kicking with joy!” Leo turned to me, his voice full of righteous indignation. “If it wasn’t for Clara’s interference, we would have been reunited long ago. Now you can see her for who she really is!” But his parents didn’t rush to embrace him. His father stared at him, his face like stone, and when Leo reached for him, he violently shook him off. “Don’t call us that,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Our son is dead.”

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His ex-wife and daughter were back from Europe. And just like that, our marriage was no longer a private affair. It wasn’t until I saw the photos that I truly understood. The pictures splashed across Page Six: Michael Ashford—a man so disciplined he scheduled his own spontaneity—stuffed into a fuzzy, bright blue cartoon character costume, smiling for a selfie with his ex and their child at the Central Park Zoo’s family day. That’s when the realization hit me, cold and sharp. I had never seen that version of him. The version of Michael Ashford in love. But I am Audrey Rhodes, the sole heir to the Rhodes Corporation. And I have never learned how to share. 1 The second the tabloid photos hit my phone, I was dialing my PR team to kill the story. But someone was faster. Within three minutes, the images were scrubbed from the internet. A complete digital blackout. I let out a dry, humorless laugh. That was Michael, all right. As the CEO of Ashford Holdings, the last thing he would tolerate was a scandal that could tarnish our merger—the very union our marriage represented. Fifteen minutes later, the low hum of a town car announced his arrival. A wave of bright, cheerful laughter drifted from the driveway. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window in the foyer, a silent observer. I watched Michael—a man known for his calculated composure and ruthless boardroom tactics—gently holding a little girl’s hand. His face was softened in a way I’d rarely witnessed. I knew about the ex-wife, Clara. I knew about their daughter. He had never tried to hide them. “Michael, are you sure this is a good idea?” Clara’s voice was laced with a practiced hesitancy as she held the little girl’s other hand. “As Michael Ashford’s legal wife, I understand that I have a role in raising his daughter,” I said, my voice cutting through the evening air. I stepped into the doorway, my expression a mask of cool indifference. “That does not, however, grant you an invitation to forget your place.” Clara’s face flushed with embarrassment. She lowered her gaze. “I’m sorry. It’s just… today was the Children’s Festival, and Lily really wanted to…” The little girl, Lily, suddenly let go of her father’s hand and charged at me, kicking my shin with a surprising amount of force. Her voice was thick with tears. “You’re the mean lady who stole my daddy!” A sharp pain shot up my leg. I winced, but I couldn’t bring myself to scold a three-year-old. “Lily,” Michael’s voice was firm but held no trace of impatience. “That’s not polite.” I stood there, a perfect stranger on the other side of their perfect family portrait. The absurdity of my situation was almost comical. “Michael, you and I both know this marriage is more than just you and me,” I said, pulling my composure back around me like a shield. “It’s Ashford and Rhodes.” Clara saw her opening. “Mrs. Ashford, we were just—” “I am speaking to my husband,” I said, my gaze flicking to her with a clear warning. “When did I ask for your opinion?” Michael sighed, scooping his startled daughter into his arms. “Audrey, it was just a family day at the zoo. I’ve already handled the press. There will be no fallout.” His voice, a low, magnetic baritone, was as cool as ever. My heart clenched. A bitter, mocking taste filled my mouth. No fallout. So that’s what I was. My feelings, my humiliation… they were just variables in his risk assessment. The ones that required the least consideration. I saw the flicker of triumph in Clara’s eyes. I narrowed mine. “Audrey, Lily will be staying the night. Have the housekeeper prepare one of the guest rooms.” “And her?” I asked, my voice flat, my gaze fixed on the woman at his side. Michael paused for a beat. “She can stay in the adjacent room. Just for tonight.” I nodded. My upbringing had instilled in me a deep aversion to making a scene. That evening, the sound of laughter and games echoed from the guest wing below. Meanwhile, I, the lady of the house, lay wide awake in the cavernous master suite, the bed feeling colder and emptier than ever. Around midnight, a restless energy in my chest forced me downstairs for a glass of ice water. “Mrs. Ashford.” Clara’s voice emerged from the shadows of the living room, dripping with newfound confidence. “Lily is Michael’s flesh and blood. As long as she exists, he and I can never be truly disconnected.” I calmly set my glass down on the marble countertop and turned to face her, my height giving me a slight but satisfying advantage. “And?” Her composure flickered. She took a small step back. “And… you should give him back to me. We only broke up because I was young and foolish. It was never because we didn’t love each other.” A short, sharp laugh escaped my lips. “Love?” I twisted the large emerald on my finger, the Ashford family heirloom. “For people like us, ‘love’ is the most irrelevant commodity there is.” The contempt in my voice made her flinch, her breath catching in her throat. I gave a small, dismissive smile and turned to leave. “Audrey!” Clara’s voice was sharp now. She closed the distance between us, leaning in to whisper in my ear. “Does it not bother you at all? Knowing that he and I… that we could have…” She pulled down the collar of her silk pajama top. There, against the pale skin of her collarbone, was a collection of angry, purple marks. My fingers, hanging by my side, curled into a tight fist. But my face remained a mask of serene indifference. “Carnal novelty,” I said, my voice barely a whisper, “has a notoriously short shelf life.” I left her standing there, her face a burning red, choking on her own impotent rage. Back in my room, my hand went to the emerald ring, the symbol of my status as the Ashford matriarch. A wave of despair washed over me. He was Michael Ashford. A man of his caliber, his presence… after three years of sharing a life, a bed, it was inevitable that I would develop feelings. But affection is built up over time. And so is the lack of it. Three strikes, Michael, I thought. That’s the rule. Don’t make me call strike three. 2 The next morning, the door to the master suite opened. Michael stood there, with faint, bruised-looking smudges under his eyes. He must have been up half the night entertaining them. A familiar tightness constricted my chest. Michael was a man of almost pathological self-discipline. For years, even the most intense moments of passion between us, the ones that left a flush on his high cheekbones, were never enough to disrupt his rigid sleep schedule. “Do you like children?” I asked, getting out of bed. I took his tie from the valet stand and began to knot it with practiced precision. He looked down at me, a flicker of surprise in his eyes. “They’re fine.” “Let’s have one,” I said. Michael stared at me, his expression unreadable. But he nodded. “Alright.” I knew he wouldn’t refuse. It was a logical, strategic move for our dynasty. Downstairs in the dining room, Clara was holding Lily in her lap. The moment the little girl saw her father, she scrambled down and ran to him, sobbing. As she passed me, she grabbed a piece of still-scalding French toast from my plate and threw it at my silk blouse. “I hate you! You’re a mean lady! Why are you in my daddy’s house?” The sticky heat seeped through the fabric. I frowned, looking directly at Clara. “Control your child. She has no manners—” “Audrey,” Michael’s voice cut in, sharp and cold. “That’s enough. She’s just a child. Clara has been raising her alone for years. I’m the one who owes them.” The words caught in my throat. I felt a dizzying sense of displacement. In three years of marriage, he had never, not once, taken that tone with me. “That’s between you and her,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, but the anger was already boiling over. “She’s a child, which is precisely why she needs to be taught. What will people say? That Michael Ashford’s daughter is some kind of feral little—” “Audrey Rhodes!” Michael’s warning, laced with an icy fury I had never heard before, snapped me back to reality. I took a deep breath, realizing I shouldn’t have directed my anger at a child. But the man standing before me was a stranger. His eyes were filled with a cold rage. “When Lily was born, Clara was my wife. The woman I married in a church, before God and everyone. You will choose your words more carefully.” With that, he lifted Lily into his arms and turned to leave. Clara rushed to his side, tucking her arm into his. He didn’t pull away. Just before they walked out the door, Clara glanced back over her shoulder. Her smile was pure, unadulterated triumph. I told you, her eyes screamed. He still loves me. The house fell silent. The housekeeper, ever discreet, began clearing the guest rooms, a quiet sigh escaping her lips. I sank onto the sofa in the foyer, my breath coming in ragged, angry gasps. That’s strike two, Michael. Three years ago, after a fundraising gala, Michael and I had both ended up in the wrong hotel suite. Two powerful people, fueled by too much champagne and the magnetic pull of ambition, lost control in the dark. When we woke up, despite our extreme caution, a photographer had caught us leaving the room together. To quell the impending scandal, the Rhodes and Ashford families proposed a merger of the most permanent kind. Before we were married, he told me everything. About his ex-wife, about his daughter. I hadn’t cared. I wasn’t in love with him. After the wedding, he gave me everything a Mrs. Ashford was due: respect, status, a life of impeccable luxury. “Audrey,” he’d once said, his voice low and serious, “you are my wife. You will always be my wife.” But looking back now, it was clear. I was the only one who had ever been truly invested in this marriage. … The following week was the annual Ashford Holdings corporate gala. As the wife of the CEO, my attendance was non-negotiable. Michael drove us, the silence in the car thick and heavy. “Audrey,” he said finally, breaking the tension. “You don’t need to worry. I married you. The title of Mrs. Ashford will always be yours.” I stared out the window at the blur of city lights, saying nothing. My silence was shattered the moment we stepped into the ballroom. A familiar figure approached us. “Mr. Ashford.” Clara was wearing a black evening gown with a neckline that plunged daringly low. Michael gave a curt nod. Only then did she turn to me, her expression a perfect picture of timid deference. “Mrs. Ashford.” I took a slow, deep breath, turning my gaze to my husband. “What is she doing here?” “Clara just moved back to the city. She needed a job. I gave her a sinecure in the marketing department,” he said, as if it were the most reasonable thing in the world. My hands, hidden in the folds of my gown, began to tremble. I stared at him, my voice a furious whisper. “You put your ex-wife on your payroll? What am I, Michael? A decoration?” He blinked, as if the thought had genuinely never occurred to him. But I knew better. Michael Ashford was no fool. This wasn’t an oversight. He was indulging her. I would not lose my composure in a room full of sharks. I took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter, downed it in one go, and pasted a polished, corporate smile on my face. Hooking my arm through Michael’s, I began to navigate the crowd. An hour later, my head felt thick and heavy. I excused myself to the terrace for some fresh air. I found a wrought-iron bench near the gardens, the cool night air a welcome shock to my system. “Hiding out here all alone? Where’s Ashford?” A warm cashmere jacket was draped over my shoulders, smelling of sandalwood and pine. I turned. Carter Shaw. The formidable head of Shaw Industries. “Thank you,” I said, pulling the jacket tighter. The warmth was unexpectedly comforting. He sat down beside me. “His ex is back. What’s your play?” he asked, his voice low. He looked at me, his gaze unnervingly direct. “If you want her gone, Audrey, I’ll be your blade.” The casual way he spoke of making a person disappear, as if discussing a line item on a budget, didn’t faze me. I turned my head slightly. “Not necessary. I don’t want you to dirty your hands.” Suddenly, he leaned in, invading my space, his face so close I could feel the warmth of his breath. “Forget him. What about me? You know I’ve been a perfect gentleman for you all these years.” His intensity was overwhelming. For a moment, I was at a loss for words. “Carter,” I said softly. “Not right now.” I stood up, leaving him there with a shadow of disappointment in his eyes, and walked back to our car. The gala ended soon after. From the moment Michael got behind the wheel, his eyes were on me. “You and Carter Shaw seem close.” I shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “We grew up together, more or less. Our families—” Before I could finish, Michael, the man who lived by rules and restraint, unbuckled his seatbelt. He lunged across the center console, his body pressing me into the leather seat. A kiss, tasting of whiskey and desperation, crushed against my lips. It was fierce, possessive. After a long moment, he pulled back, his dark eyes, usually so calm, now wild with an emotion I couldn’t place. “Audrey,” he breathed, his voice ragged. “You’re mine.” 3 This sudden, raw display of possession didn’t flatter me. It infuriated me. He could carry on a tangled affair with his past, but I was expected to remain a pristine, untouched asset? “Let go of me,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet. Michael didn’t move. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. “Are you jealous?” I turned my head away, the petulant gesture feeling childish even to me. “Fire her.” The smile vanished. He pulled back, settling into his seat, the cool, familiar mask of Michael Ashford sliding back into place. “Audrey,” he said, removing his gold-rimmed glasses and rubbing the bridge of his nose with a weary sigh. “I’ve told you. You will always be Mrs. Ashford.” “And she still needs to support Lily,” he added. I turned to face him fully, my brow furrowed. “I never said you couldn’t send her money.” He sighed again. “But Lily needs her father. And you know your family—and mine—would never agree to me bringing her to live with us.” I stared at him, a knot of disbelief and hurt tightening in my stomach. “Are you forcing me to choose?” Michael reached across the console, his warm, dry hand covering my own chilled fingers. “I’m just asking you not to make this difficult for her. I promise you, Audrey, your position is secure.” His words, meant to reassure, felt like a slap. He was defending her. And all he thought I cared about was the damned title. The sadness of it was overwhelming. Perhaps, in his eyes, our marriage had never been about anything more than a title. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number. Mrs. Ashford, Michael had a bit too much to drink tonight. Just a reminder, he’s allergic to honey. Please don’t use it to sober him up. Attached was a photo. Michael, leaning against a wall in a dimly lit corner of the gala, his tie loosened and the top button of his shirt undone. I laughed, a sharp, ugly sound. I tossed the phone into his lap. “What is this? Some kind of sick power play?” He frowned, looking at the screen. He sighed, but his voice was calm. “She’s my executive assistant now. This is part of her job.” That was it. The last thread of my control snapped. “Do I need an outsider to remind me of my own husband’s habits? Who the hell does she think she is?” “Audrey,” Michael’s voice was sharp with impatience. He rolled down the window and lit a cigarette. “You’re losing your composure. Clara is the mother of my child. The least you can do is show her a basic level of respect.” I thought I had misheard him. A cold, derisive laugh escaped me. “Respect?” I spat the word out. “She’s earned nothing of the sort.” This time, the look in his eyes stopped me cold. “Audrey Rhodes, watch your tone.” The wind whipping through the open window felt like a thousand tiny needles against my face. It was strong enough to steal the breath from my lungs, and in that moment, it felt like it took my pride with it. I turned to him, my voice cracking almost imperceptibly. “Michael, I am your wife.” “Why do you keep making exceptions for her? Why do you break your own rules for her, again and again?” He just frowned, his expression one of genuine confusion. “The first year we were married, I had a fever of 103. You said you had an important meeting the next day and couldn’t afford to lose sleep. You left me alone in the emergency room. But you can stay up all night playing games with them?” “You knew having her around would upset me, yet you brought her into the company, made her your assistant. You couldn’t just wire her the money?” “And that night, Michael. What happened that night? Did those marks just appear on her neck by magic?” A thousand other small betrayals, like scattered grains of rice, were lodged in my heart. Picking them up one by one was exhausting. The wind stung my eyes, making them water. The pain was immense, yet impossible to articulate. Michael’s composure finally broke. His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. He looked completely lost. “I…” He wanted to explain, but he had no words. We arrived home. He parked the car, but neither of us moved. “Leaving you at the hospital was wrong,” he finally said, his voice strained. “But I sent my assistant to stay with you, didn’t I?” He sounded almost frantic. “I just wanted to compensate Clara for taking care of Lily all these years.” “And I swear to you,” he said, turning to cup my face in his hands, “nothing happened between us.” “I’m sorry, I—” His words were cut off by a child’s cry from outside the car. “Daddy! Come play with Lily!” 4 I snapped back to reality, pushing his hands away from my face. We got out of the car. Clara stood there, holding Lily’s hand, her expression timid. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford. Lily just missed her daddy so much. I couldn’t stop her.” Michael glanced at my rigid, icy expression. He took Lily inside, handed her off to the housekeeper, and then returned to the living room where Clara and I stood in silence. He sat on the sofa, his face a mask of cold fury. “Explain,” he said, tossing his phone onto the coffee table. The sound made Clara jump. Seeing the thunderous look on his face, she seemed genuinely flustered. “What do you want me to explain?” “Sending these manipulative texts to Audrey. What was your goal?” Tears instantly welled in Clara’s eyes. Her voice trembled. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking! I just remembered that both you and Lily are allergic to honey, and I just… I acted on instinct.” She turned to me, wringing her hands, a picture of remorse. “I’m so sorry, Mrs. Ashford. I overstepped.” I rose from my chair and walked over to her. I tipped her chin up with my finger, my touch conveying utter disdain. “In what capacity, exactly, did you feel the need to ‘remind’ me of anything?” My eyes were like chips of ice. I released her chin as if touching something unclean. “Lose the act. I’ve seen countless women try to claw their way into the Ashford family. Trust me, you don’t want to know what happened to them.” Clara’s face went white, the humiliation of my gesture stinging her more than a slap. Michael, hearing the explanation about the allergy, seemed to relax. The tense line of his jaw softened. “That’s enough. Take Lily and go home. And from now on, you are not to come here without my explicit permission.” He positioned himself slightly between us, breaking our standoff. Clara’s tears fell freely now. With a choked sob, she collected her daughter and left. But the next evening, my world tilted on its axis. A frantic call from Michael summoned me to the hospital. Lily was in the ICU. I stood there, stunned into silence. “Audrey!” Clara, her face a mess of tears and rage, shoved me hard. “I took her away! I left! Why did you have to hire someone to run her down? She’s only three years old!” I stumbled, catching my balance, my voice sharp with disbelief. “Are you insane? You can’t just invent accusations out of thin air!” Michael, his face dark with a terrifying mix of grief and suspicion, stepped forward. He pushed a tablet into my hands. It was a video of a police interrogation. “It was Audrey Rhodes,” a grimy-looking man said, his words tumbling out in a rush. “She gave me a hundred thousand dollars to hit the kid with my car. Said she’d give me another hundred when it was done.” I stared at the screen, my heart hammering against my ribs. “He’s lying! This is a setup!” I looked at Michael, my voice pleading. “You don’t actually believe I did this, do you?” He closed his eyes, his voice heavy with defeat. “I don’t want to. But the man is the distant nephew of a Rhodes family chauffeur, Audrey. Are you telling me that’s a coincidence?” His roar of accusation echoed in the sterile hallway. And in that moment, something inside me broke. It was a clean, quiet snap. Some people, I realized, were simply not worth the fight. “That’s strike three, Michael.” He looked at me, confused. I met his gaze, all the pain and hurt in my own eyes now gone, replaced by a chilling clarity. “Believe whatever you want. But know this: I, Audrey Rhodes, do not resort to such pathetic, low-life tactics.” I then turned to the sobbing Clara. “You’re just like Medea, aren’t you? Willing to sacrifice your own child to destroy the queen. You’re a monster.” I took a deep breath, refusing to show any weakness. Then I turned and walked away. In the car, I made two calls. The first was to my lawyer. “Prepare the divorce papers and a full asset division. I want them on my desk by tomorrow.” The second was to my executive assistant at the Rhodes Corporation. “Starting in three days, I want a full-scale corporate assault on Ashford Holdings. Liquidate everything. I want them bleeding.” I looked up at the dark, bruised sky. My heart was cold. “Michael Ashford,” I whispered to the empty car. “Betraying me comes with a price.”

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The stage buckled with a groan of tortured metal, and from the wings, my first instinct was to find Claire. But she was already moving, a blur of motion rushing not toward the chaos, but toward him. I was pinned beneath a fallen lighting rig, the weight crushing the air from my lungs, but my eyes were fixed on her. On Claire, my impossibly composed wife, losing all composure as she administered CPR to Leo. His voice, a fragile whisper, reached across the space between them. “Claire… do you still love me?” She didn’t answer, but her eyes welled up, a storm gathering in their cool gray depths. Her hands, the steady, unerring hands of a surgeon, were trembling. I closed my eyes, letting a single, hot tear trace a path through the dust on my cheek. Just this morning, I had asked her if she could come to my performance. She’d told me she had a surgery she couldn’t get out of. Claire, I thought, the sound of my own heart thundering in my ears. We’re done. 1 They wheeled me out of the operating room, and the surgeon’s eyes went straight to my legs. “Are you a pianist or a dancer?” he asked. “Pianist,” I managed. The tension in his shoulders eased. “Good. Your hands are fine. But the leg… it’s going to be a long road back.” I looked down at my hands, thankfully unscathed, then tried to move my legs. My right one was a dead weight, a stranger attached to my body. Later, as a nurse was changing my IV drip, I overheard her talking to a colleague. “That dancer in 30B, Leo Vance? I guess he and Dr. Allen are a thing.” “You didn’t see it? The way she carried him in? She’s ice-cold to every guy in this hospital, but yesterday, she looked like her world was ending. When those reporters got in her way, she screamed at them to move. I’ve never heard her raise her voice.” Claire. My Claire was a creature of quiet control. I’d rarely seen her truly laugh, and I’d certainly never seen her lose her temper. The nurse attending to me was gentle, her touch kind. She placed a warm compress on my arm where the needle went in. “The meds are cold, and it can ache if the drip is too fast,” she explained with a small smile. “This helps. Just press the call button if you see any swelling.” I nodded, mustering a weak smile in return. As she was leaving, she added with a sigh, “This is the first time Dr. Allen has ever taken a leave of absence. All to stay here and watch over him.” The door clicked shut, leaving me alone in the silence. I picked up my phone and dialed Claire’s number. It rang and rang before she finally picked up. Before I could speak, her voice came through, cool and distant. “Ethan, I won’t be home for dinner.” A pause. “I have to scrub in for another surgery.” It was the first time she had ever called to update me on her schedule. And it was a lie. For the three years of our marriage, I was the one who chased, who sent a barrage of texts, who chattered endlessly in her presence, desperate for a crack in her perfect facade. Now I knew why the facade was there. The nurse had said she was on leave. Claire, who treated the hospital as her temple, who volunteered for every holiday shift, trading Christmas for New Year’s so her colleagues could be with their families. We never even had a wedding, let alone a honeymoon. The internet was already on fire with pictures of Claire and Leo. When I saw his face clearly on a news site, it all clicked into place with a horrifying certainty. I finally understood why she had run to him without a second thought. I was in the hospital for two weeks, and for those two weeks, Claire called me every day. The calls were punctual, her voice a flat monotone. “Working late again. Don’t wait up.” And every day, I gave the same reply. “Okay. Got it.” She had taken a month off, the nurses whispered. For two weeks, she hadn’t left Leo’s side. My leg was still useless, confining me to the bed. A physical therapist would come to help me with basic movements, but otherwise, I was a captive audience to the hospital gossip. I found myself listening with a strange, detached interest. If the woman in the story wasn’t the one on my marriage certificate, I’d probably find it all fascinating—a made-for-TV movie unfolding in the room next door. I could order a milkshake and popcorn and treat it like entertainment. But in this tragic reunion of star-crossed lovers, Claire was my wife. And I was the villain, the inconvenient husband keeping them apart. It’s hard to be happy about that. 2 Leo posted a selfie on Instagram from his hospital bed. He was in a patient gown, looking artfully pale. Casually, just in the frame, was the back of a woman. A tall, slender silhouette. A hand with long, elegant fingers resting on the edge of his bed. On the wrist, a Cartier watch with a worn leather strap. The caption read: Don’t worry. She’s taking good care of me. The comments exploded, a frenzy of fans and gossip hounds smelling blood in the water. Leo, is that your girlfriend?! OMG that hand! I’m in love. She should be holding my hand. Leo replied to that one almost immediately, staking his claim for the world to see: Already am. He posted a second picture, still in the hospital gown, clearly taken in the same moment. His hand was intertwined with hers, fingers laced together. It looked so easy for them. I remembered trying to hold Claire’s hand when we were in college. It felt like a clandestine meeting between spies. She never allowed any public displays of affection. My own roommate, Mark, didn’t even know we were dating until graduation. When I told him Claire and I were getting married, he stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “Dude, I think your crush finally broke your brain.” If it weren’t for the marriage certificate, Mark would have assumed I was just another one of the countless guys who fantasized about the unattainable Claire Allen. Mark came to visit me in the hospital. He tiptoed around the subject before finally asking, “So… are you and Claire… done?” I took a moment before answering, my voice more level than I felt. “Almost.” He didn’t push. As he was leaving, he clapped me on the shoulder. “Hey, my couch is always open to you, man. You know that.” I gave him a genuine smile. That night, just as I was drifting off, Claire called again. Her voice was the same as always, a calm, unreadable current. “It’s going to be a busy couple of weeks at the hospital. I probably won’t be home at all.” “Got it,” I replied, my voice a hollow echo of hers. She had no idea that I could see her, a lone figure standing in the brightly lit hallway, just on the other side of the frosted glass of my door. After that call, she didn’t call again. I guess she figured a single, sweeping excuse was more efficient than daily lies. Sometimes, Mark would come and wheel me down to the hospital garden for some fresh air. One afternoon, I saw her. She didn’t see me. Her tall, willowy frame was bent over a wheelchair. In it sat a man in a patient gown, his skin pale, his features fine and gentle. Leo. He was whining about wanting ice cream. Claire crouched in front of him, her voice low. “It’s too cold, Leo. You can’t.” He grabbed her hand, wheedling like a child, and she relented. She came back with a single cone. When a dab of vanilla stuck to the corner of his mouth, she reached out instinctively to wipe it away, but then stopped herself, shoving her hand back into her coat pocket. I saw it then—the love in her eyes, disciplined and restrained, but undeniably there. Leo just smiled, a bright, triumphant flash of white. “Claire, can you get that for me?” His smile seemed to travel across the crowded garden and land directly on me. Claire’s back was still to me, a wall I could never scale. In that moment, I understood. There wasn’t just distance between us. There were entire continents, oceans I could never hope to cross. Claire would have bought me ice cream in the middle of winter. She wouldn’t have cared if I caught a cold. But she never would have crouched down to wipe my face. She would have said, “Ethan, use a napkin. It’s not sanitary.” 3 My surgeon reviewed my chart and gave me the rundown. “You can be discharged next week.” I nodded. Mark was scheduled for a business trip next week. I’d have to hire someone. “And make sure you get out in the wheelchair,” the doctor added on his way out. “Keep moving.” I managed a clumsy lap around the garden by myself. When I got back to my room for lunch, I saw a new hashtag trending on Twitter. It was a photo collage. Claire’s back, Leo’s face. From sixteen to twenty-six. In the first, she’s hugging him, a tall, protective figure. In the last, a candid shot from the hospital, she’s leaning over him. And in the blurred background, almost an afterthought, was me, a solitary figure struggling with a wheelchair. #TheDancerAndTheDoctor #ChildhoodSweetheartsReunited My heart seized. Then I saw the caption that went with it, and the floor dropped out from under me. The best kind of second-chance romance is between step-siblings. So what if they broke up? They still have to see each other at Thanksgiving dinner every year. The words unlocked everything. A fog of confusion I had been living in for three years suddenly evaporated. The worn photograph Claire kept in her wallet—it wasn’t her brother. It was her stepbrother. The one her father brought into the family when he remarried. I knew she had one, but in three years, I’d never met him. Every time I suggested it, she shut me down. It all made sense now. She must have known I had a crush on her back in college. One night, I saw her drinking alone at a bar off-campus. I followed her, my heart pounding, wanting to make sure she was okay. I finally worked up the courage to approach, but she turned around just as I was about to lose my nerve. I spun around, my back to her, pretending to be looking at something else. Then I heard her voice, that cool, clear sound. “Ethan.” My heart stopped. “Weren’t you going to offer me that water?” she asked, a small smile playing on her lips. After that, we started talking. She knew I was gone for her. She was the one who asked me out. The one who suggested we get married. The whole thing, from first date to marriage license, took less than six months. It was all so impossibly easy. What I had mistaken for a fairy tale, for the sweet reward of a long-held crush, was actually a cage. A cage Claire had built for me, and for herself. She married me because she was in love with Leo. Her own twisted sense of morality told her she couldn’t be with him. Their parents had forced them apart, sent him abroad to study dance while she stayed here for med school. She needed a distraction. A shield. Someone who could make her forget, and convince her parents she had moved on. And I was the volunteer who walked right into the trap. I pieced it all together from his social media history and the whispers I’d overheard. Now, it was the week before Christmas. I searched online for a home health aide, but no one was available. Most agencies were closed for the holidays, and the few freelancers I found considered a hospital job bad luck at the end of the year. I tripled my offer, but got no replies. It looked like I’d have to stay here until Mark got back. The hospital was overflowing, and they needed my bed. A new patient had already been assigned to the room next door—an elderly woman who moved with more agility than I did. “All alone, handsome?” she asked with a wink. I just nodded. My doctor and the nurses kept stopping by, gently reminding me about my discharge. I felt a flush of embarrassment, a deep sense of apology. “My friend is coming. Soon. I’ll be out of your hair.” The young nurse, the kind one, saw the panic in my eyes. She was about my age. “Hey,” she said softly, “it’s okay. I’ll ask Dr. Miller to give you one more day. Just one.” She saw my helpless expression and gave me a conspiratorial wink, mouthing the words: Don’t worry. 4 The next day, Mark’s flight was delayed by a snowstorm. And the new patient for my room arrived. I heard a familiar, sharp voice from the doorway. “What is he still doing here? Does he think this is a hotel?” Mortified, I started frantically packing my things, piling bags onto my lap as I sat in the wheelchair. The sweet old lady from next door saw me struggling and came over to help. When we pushed the door open, I saw her. A thundercloud of a face. High cheekbones, a frown etched between her brows. She was radiating impatience. She looked right through me. “Do you have any idea how badly this bed is needed? You’ve been delaying for a week. This isn’t your home.” My eyes met hers, and for a second, I just stared. It was Claire. Her right hand was gripping the handle of a suitcase. She was in street clothes. Standing beside her, his arm linked through hers, was Leo. I was wearing a surgical mask. My face burned with shame. I dropped my gaze to the floor. “I’m going,” I mumbled. I wheeled myself out into the hallway, my belongings scattered around me like debris. Just then, the kind young nurse came around the corner. “Ethan! Let me help you with that. My shift just ended.” At the sound of my name, Claire’s head snapped up. She grabbed the back of my wheelchair, her grip like steel, and strode around to face me. Our eyes locked. Recognition dawned on her face, a slow wave of shock and disbelief. I offered a tight, painful smile. The nurse, oblivious, kept chattering. “Ethan, where’s your wife? I saw on your chart you were married.” My gaze lifted, meeting Claire’s. After three years of marriage, her own colleagues didn’t even know she had a husband. I smiled at the nurse, a brighter, falser smile this time. “That was a mistake on the form. I’m not married.” Claire started to move toward me, but Leo’s hand tightened on her arm, holding her back. I pushed myself toward the elevators. As the doors began to close, I saw a flicker of genuine panic in her eyes. It was the first real emotion I’d seen from her in a month. Just as the doors were about to seal shut, she lunged forward, shouting my name.

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The second month my boyfriend was missing, I saw him on the street. He was holding court with his friends, that familiar arrogance draped over him like a designer jacket. “Missing? Of course, I’m not missing,” he said, a smirk in his voice. “My girlfriend’s just way too clingy. Time to teach her a lesson.” Then he dropped the line that stopped my heart. “I’ve got Owen covering for me. She doesn’t suspect a thing.” Owen. His best friend. I pretended I heard nothing. Later that night, back in my apartment, a man wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Any news about him today?” Owen asked, his voice a soft murmur against my hair. “No,” I whispered, turning to kiss him, my voice full of manufactured sorrow. “Nothing.” “I think he might really be gone.” 1 It was the second month of Caleb’s disappearance when I saw him. He was with his crew, looking just as infuriatingly self-assured as ever. “Caleb, man,” one of his friends said, clapping him on the back. “This whole ‘going missing’ act… we barely get to see you either.” “Can’t be helped,” Caleb replied, his tone lazy and careless. “Claire was getting way too possessive, always needing to know where I was. Had to teach her a lesson.” “How’d you even come up with a plan like that?” “That was all me,” a girl next to him chirped, her eyebrows raised in triumph. “You think he has the brains for a move this brilliant? Please.” “Yeah, yeah, you’re the genius,” Caleb said, his smile indulgent as he looked at her. I knew her. Chloe. The only girl in Caleb’s tight-knit circle of friends. “But isn’t this a little extreme?” someone else asked. “You think Claire won’t get suspicious?” “Nah, I’ve got Owen running interference for me. It’s solid.” A wave of understanding passed through the group. “Oh, right. With Owen vouching for the story, who’d ever doubt it?” “Mr. Dependable himself.” Chloe let out a dismissive little scoff. “It’s not about Owen. It’s because Claire is an idiot.” I waited for Caleb to defend me. For a flicker of protest. Instead, he leaned in and murmured to Chloe, “It’s true. She’s got nothing on you.” The rest of the group started hooting and catcalling, as if this was a familiar routine. “Dude, just get with Chloe already and stop messing around with other girls.” “Nah, I don’t eat where I shit,” Caleb shot back. “Get lost,” Chloe retorted. “As if I’d ever want you.” They traded insults like playing cards, but under the table, their legs were brushing against each other in a lazy, intimate rhythm. Finally, as they were winding down, someone asked the question that was burning in my own mind. “You can’t stay ‘missing’ forever, man. When are you planning on going back?” Caleb’s smile was pure confidence. “I’ll wait,” he said. “I’ll go back when Claire has completely lost her mind looking for me.” 2 I was on my way to the police station to finally file a missing person’s report. I changed my mind. Instead, I went to the grocery store and bought all my favorite snacks. Then I treated myself to a long, luxurious afternoon at a spa. It was dark by the time I got home. The apartment was unlit, and I figured Owen had already left. I had just slipped off my shoes when a pair of arms slid around my waist from behind, pulling me against a hard chest. My body went rigid for a second. “Have you been drinking?” Owen didn’t answer directly. “Where were you today? You didn’t answer my calls.” “Sorry, I didn’t check my phone.” “Any word on Caleb?” “No,” I sighed, letting my voice fill with exhaustion. “Nothing.” He held me tighter, his breath warm on my neck. “This is all my fault. If I hadn’t pushed him to go on that stupid hike, he wouldn’t be gone.” He sounded genuinely remorseful. He would have been convincing, too—if the warm tip of his tongue hadn’t grazed my earlobe. Owen was one of Caleb’s best friends. After Caleb vanished, they had their roles perfectly cast. Caleb was the victim, hidden in the shadows. Owen was playing the part of the guilt-ridden friend. But Caleb, it seemed, had no idea just how… dedicated his friend was to the role. His method of repentance was… unique. 3 Owen was born with a silver spoon in his mouth, from a family whose wealth and influence dwarfed Caleb’s. To the outside world, he was cool and aloof, almost untouchable. That’s how I’d always seen him, too. In all the time I’d been with Caleb, Owen and I had barely exchanged more than a few sentences. After college, I landed a job at a company that, by sheer coincidence, was one of his family’s many assets. That made him my boss’s boss’s boss, or something like that. The distance between us felt even greater. It was only a month ago, when the news of Caleb’s “disappearance” hit, that we got closer. I was a wreck, and Owen, as the one who had organized the hiking trip, was consumed with guilt. He insisted on taking care of me in Caleb’s absence. But his care was… meticulous. He cooked all my meals, personally delivering them to me. It made me deeply uncomfortable. “Owen, you can’t blame yourself,” I’d told him. “Caleb loves hiking. He was planning on climbing that mountain anyway, with or without you. His parents don’t blame you, and neither do I. You should get back to your own life. You really don’t have to—hey, put that down!” I lunged across the room, snatching my lingerie from his hands. “I can wash these myself!” His expression was utterly serious. “I get things cleaner. Are you sure?” “Positive!” I was so flustered at the time that I didn’t notice him hiding his hand behind his back, rubbing his fingertips together in disappointment. The moment I realized the full extent of Owen’s other side came late one night. I got up to use the bathroom and found he was still in my apartment, asleep in the guest room. I was about to ask him why he hadn’t left when I peeked through the cracked door. He was shirtless, his back lean and muscled in the dim light. In one hand, he was holding my black lace camisole. His other hand was obscured by a nightstand. Under the soft, yellow light, the muscles in his back were pulled taut, the veins on his forearm standing out. He was completely still. The sight was so shocking, a small gasp escaped my lips. Owen’s head snapped around. The instant his eyes met mine, he tilted his head back, a low, guttural sound vibrating in his throat. 4 I had discovered Owen’s secret. And just like that, I was in his trap. I knew I should have pushed him away. I shouldn’t have allowed the hugs, the kisses. But I couldn’t stop myself. Maybe it was because when I was crying my eyes out for Caleb, Owen was the only one there, a silent, steady presence by my side. But there was a bigger reason. For weeks, I’d suspected Caleb’s disappearance was a sham. What kind of parents learn their son is missing and not only refuse to file a police report, but actively stop me from doing it? What kind of friends lose one of their own and just keep partying, living it up as if nothing happened? All those nagging doubts were finally confirmed today. They had all conspired to put on a play for my benefit. And Owen was a star performer. Back in the present, he still wouldn’t let me go. “Did you make dinner? I’m starving,” I said, my voice tired. “It’s ready. All your favorites.” “Go heat it up.” “Okay.” Owen went immediately. The fact that I was ordering him around didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. After we ate, I slipped off the camisole I’d been wearing under my sweater and tossed it to him. “Wash this.” Owen froze. “You want me to?” “Yeah. I’m too tired tonight.” He looked like he’d just been given a prize. He cradled the piece of silk and disappeared into the bathroom. I knew he’d be in there for at least twenty minutes. With him out of the way, I picked up his phone from the coffee table. Just as I suspected, Caleb had a burner phone and a private group chat to stay in touch with everyone. In the early days, he’d actually asked about me. [Caleb]: How’s Claire doing? [Owen]: She cried a lot today. [Caleb]: Don’t worry about it. That’s just her, always crying about something. It’s so annoying. Thanks for keeping an eye on her. [Owen]: When are you going to end this? [Caleb]: ? [Owen]: If you don’t like her, just break up with her. You don’t have to play with her like this. [Caleb]: I do like her. I just hate how she’s always on my case, not even letting me go out for a drink at night. Chloe was right. A little scare will make her more obedient. Owen hadn’t replied to that. A notification dinged at the top of the screen from another group chat. The name caught my eye. Princess Chloe and Her Three Servants. 5 [Princess Chloe]: Fresh tea, everyone! One of Claire’s coworkers saw her crying at the office again yesterday! [Servant #1 Caleb]: I heard. [Princess Chloe]: See? My methods work. You owe me dinner for this, Caleb. This was the group chat for Caleb and Chloe’s little crew. There were four guys in their circle. Three of them were labeled as “servants.” The one who wasn’t was Owen. His name was just his name. I remembered Caleb telling me once that Owen had joined their group later than the others. I never knew why. I figured with his family’s money and connections, Caleb and the others probably made a point of recruiting him. Owen rarely spoke in the group chat. It was mostly Caleb fawning over Chloe. [Servant #1 Caleb]: Owe you dinner? How many dinners do I already owe you? I literally gave you a credit card. Claire used to flip out about that all the time. [Princess Chloe]: That’s what’s so funny. We’ve known each other since we were kids. Who the hell is she to get jealous? eyeroll.jpg She’s just jealous that I have so many guy friends. Caleb sent a sticker of a knight captioned “Protecting my princess.” [Caleb]: Alright, don’t be mad. From now on, you get first pick of any gift I buy for her. How’s that, Your Highness? [Chloe]: Hmph. That’s more like it. I felt sick. I scrolled up, reading through weeks of their exchanges. It was a constant stream of flirty banter. Every single time Caleb had been late for a date with me, it was because of Chloe. The night I was sick with a fever, alone in an urgent care clinic with an IV in my arm, he was with Chloe. Even the Valentine’s Day gift he’d given me… it was what was left over after Chloe had taken what she wanted. … A new message popped up. It was a private chat from Caleb to Owen. [Caleb]: Hey, something else I just remembered. I typed back in Owen’s clipped style: [?] [Caleb]: That night of Chloe’s birthday a couple of months ago, when I got wasted… I ended up crashing at her place. Make sure you never let that slip. [Caleb]: Remember, I was with you that whole night. Got it? My fingers moved slowly across the screen. [What happened between you two?] [Caleb]: Ugh, I thought we agreed not to talk about it? [Caleb]: Both of us are just pretending that night never happened. [Caleb]: It’s the only way we can still be friends. 6 Owen came out of the bathroom. The camisole was clean. His expression was calm, but the corners of his eyes were still flushed a faint red. I smiled at him. “Did you have fun in there?” Owen blinked, caught off guard. Even though I’d caught him, and even though we’d shared kisses and embraces, we had never taken the final step. “Did you,” I started, pointing at the camisole, “get anything on it?” “…I washed it all out. You can check.” “Don’t worry,” I said, my eyes raking over him. “I’m not judging.” He was six-foot-two, with a body that was close to perfect. By any physical measure, he was miles ahead of Caleb. “I might need you to wash a dress for me in a little bit,” I said softly. “What?” Owen looked down at me, confusion in his eyes. He didn’t understand what I meant. Not yet. I slipped out of my clothes, stood on my toes, and pressed my lips against his. “Owen,” I whispered against his mouth, my voice a breathy, tragic thing. “I think Caleb might really be gone for good.” I pulled back, my eyes wide and pleading. “Will you stay with me tonight?” 7 After that night, all I had to do was crook my finger, and Owen would come. We had a chemistry, a silent understanding that I’d never had with Caleb. Owen was attentive to my needs, my pleasure. The entire experience was on another level—more intense, more satisfying. Honestly, the two of them weren’t even in the same league, physically or otherwise. I almost regretted not taking this step sooner. Why had I wasted so much time on a ghost? Owen didn’t suspect a thing. I had deleted Caleb’s incriminating chat history from his phone. Whenever I got the chance, I’d borrow his phone to check the group chat. In the last few days, I had stopped my frantic search for Caleb, and he was starting to panic. He tagged everyone in the group. [Caleb]: What’s going on? Why did Claire suddenly stop looking for me? [Friend 1]: Chill, man. She’s probably just tired. Give her a break. [Caleb]: No way. She would never give up, no matter how tired she was! [Caleb]: Should I go back? [Princess Chloe]: HOLD ON! You have to keep this up a little longer. If you go back now, it was all for nothing. [Caleb]: I can’t. I have to go see her tomorrow. [Princess Chloe]: Are you an idiot, Caleb? I worked hard on this plan for you. You can’t just ignore it. What does that make me? [Princess Chloe]: I’m a woman, I know how her little mind works. She probably heard a rumor and is trying to bait you into showing yourself. [Princess Chloe]: Just watch. I’ll take care of her. Caleb went silent for a moment. In the end, he caved. [Caleb]: Fine. I’ll listen to you. But even so, he was still worried. That night, he called Owen. The call came through right as I had climbed on top of Owen, straddling him. The screen showed an unknown number. I answered it myself, holding the phone to Owen’s ear. “Hey, man,” Caleb’s voice crackled through the speaker. “Sorry to bother you, just… had to check in. What’s going on with Claire lately?” Owen, thinking I couldn’t hear, answered in a thick, distracted voice. “She’s… she’s fine.” “Whoa, dude, what’s with your voice? You got a girl over there?” “…How can you tell?” “I just know, man. You sound happy. Did I interrupt something? You gotta bring her out and introduce us sometime—” Caleb didn’t get to finish. I leaned in close to Owen’s ear and spoke, my voice clear and demanding. “Are you done? Pay attention.” The phone went dead silent. When Caleb spoke again, his voice was completely different. “Owen, who the hell is with you right now?!” 8 The question jolted Owen out of his haze of passion. He quickly fumbled for the volume, turning it down as his voice regained its usual cool composure. “Just a girl. You don’t know her.” “But… that sounded exactly like Claire.” “You heard wrong. Look, I gotta go. Don’t call again.” Owen hung up. He rolled over, pinning me beneath him, a playful glint in his eyes. “Now, where were we? I promise to be much more focused this time.” “Forget it. Aren’t you worried Caleb’s on his way over here right now?” Owen froze. I continued, “He’s probably been hiding out at that suburban house his parents own, right? That’s only a thirty-minute drive.” “You… you heard him?” “Owen, I’ve seen him. In person.” His expression shifted into something complicated. It took him a long moment to process it all. “So you’ve known all along,” he finally said. “That he wasn’t missing.” “Yes.” “And you’re not angry?” “I was. But I got over it pretty quickly. Getting angry at someone like him is just bad for my health.” The day I saw Caleb on the street, I hadn’t stormed over to confront him. I didn’t scream or demand to know why he had deceived me. What would have been the point? He was already rotten to the core. You can’t expect a dog to cough up anything but filth. I looked at Owen. “And you? Don’t you have anything you want to say?” Of everyone in their little crew, Owen was the only one who had voiced any objection to the ‘fake disappearance’ plan. I was genuinely curious what had made him agree to it in the end. “I owed him a favor,” Owen said, and it was like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He told me everything. “Caleb helped me out with something big a while back, and he used that to guilt me into this. But it doesn’t matter. I never should have lied to you. I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m actually glad you were part of this.” “What do you mean?” I reached out, tilting his chin up so he was looking directly at me. A slow smile spread across my face. “How would you feel about betraying them and becoming my accomplice instead?”

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