1 The day they buried Elara Vance, her son appeared at my studio. “Mom said that if… if she was gone, I should come find you.” “You knew my mom, didn’t you, miss?” Those clear eyes, a perfect, haunting echo of Elara’s, stabbed at me like shards of glass. I was about to coldly turn him away when I saw the birthmark behind his ear. It was a small, heart-shaped mark, crimson against his pale skin. In the exact same spot as the one on my son—the son who had lived for only three days before he was taken from me, ten years ago. It was identical. A thought so monstrous it made my entire body tremble exploded in my mind. The world went dark, and I had to grip the doorframe to stay upright. “What… what’s your name?” “Leo,” the boy whispered, his voice laced with a fear he was trying to hide. “Leo Blackwood.” Blackwood. Adrian Blackwood’s son. The name ripped open the scar on my heart, a wound I thought had closed a decade ago, and it bled anew. Ten years ago, I, Stella Morgan, was the official Mrs. Blackwood. And Elara Vance was the woman my husband, Adrian, had always loved. The one that got away. My son was born and lived for three days before the doctors declared he had died from a sudden, aggressive infection. Adrian wasn’t even there. It was his mother, my impossibly poised and powerful mother-in-law, Meredith Blackwood, who handled everything with cold efficiency. She wouldn’t even let me see him one last time, claiming it would be too much for my fragile state. Soon after, broken in body and spirit, I signed the divorce papers. I set Adrian free to be with his true love. I had always believed that Elara’s existence had indirectly led to my son’s death. That she was the one who had destroyed my life. And so, I hated her. But now, her son was standing before me, bearing the same birthmark as mine. In that instant, my decade of hatred was drowned by a tidal wave of absurdity and terror. I stepped aside, my voice a dry rasp. “Come in.” The studio was a chaotic mess of canvases and scattered art supplies—a perfect reflection of the island I had made of my life for the past ten years. Leo was unnaturally quiet for a child. He stood hesitantly at the door, clutching a faded blue backpack, not daring to take another step inside. “Sit,” I said, pointing to the only clean sofa. He shuffled over and perched on the edge, his small hands gripping the straps of his bag. I fought down the storm raging inside me and stared at the red mark behind his ear. It was too similar. No, it was exact. Even the placement was perfect. “Your mother… Elara. How did she die?” I lit a cigarette, my hand trembling so violently I could barely hold the lighter. Leo looked at me with a vacant expression, as if struggling to process the question. His reactions were slow, delayed. After a long pause, he whispered, “Mom… fell asleep.” “The policeman said she fell asleep while she was driving.” A car crash. I took a deep drag, and the harsh smoke sent me into a fit of coughing. The sound startled Leo, and he flinched, curling into himself like a frightened animal. The sight sent a strange pang through my chest. “Kid, how old are you?” He thought for another long moment. “Nine… almost ten.” The timeline matched. An invisible hand squeezed my heart, and I could barely breathe. “What about your father? Why isn’t he here to get you?” At the mention of his father, Leo’s gaze fell to the floor. “Dad’s… busy.” The same excuse. The exact same words Adrian used ten years ago. I stubbed out the cigarette and began to pace, the agitation unbearable. Something was wrong. None of this made sense. If Leo was truly Elara and Adrian’s son, why wouldn’t Adrian have taken him in the second she died? Why would Elara’s final wish be for her son to find me, her supposed rival? It was completely illogical. Unless… Unless Adrian didn’t know. Or worse, he had been lied to as well. I walked over to Leo and crouched down in front of him. “What’s in the bag? Let me see.” He hesitated, then obediently slipped it off his shoulders. I unzipped it. Inside, along with a few drawing pads and a worn-out Transformer toy, was a white, unlabeled pill bottle. “What’s this?” “Grandma’s smart pills,” he answered quietly. “She said I have to take them every day, or I’ll get dumb and Mom won’t like me anymore.” Grandma? Meredith. A roar filled my ears. A chill shot up from the soles of my feet to the crown of my head. Why would Meredith Blackwood be feeding Elara’s son mysterious, unlabeled drugs? Could it be… I couldn’t let my mind go there. Not yet. I pocketed the bottle and looked at the small face before me—a face that was the spitting image of Elara, but with the ghost of Adrian in his features. My emotions were a tangled, violent mess. “Tonight, you’ll stay here,” I finally said. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you home.” And by home, I meant our home. Leo was heartbreakingly obedient. I told him to take a shower, and he silently padded into the bathroom. After a while, I realized I hadn’t heard any water running. I pushed the door open to find him on his tiptoes, struggling awkwardly with the showerhead, which was mounted far too high for him. He didn’t even know how to turn on the hot water. I sighed and went in, adjusting the temperature for him. As the warm water streamed over his small, thin body, I saw them. His thin arms and back were a constellation of bruises, angry purples and faded yellows, new injuries laid over old ones. They looked like fingerprints, like the marks of a strap or a stick. My hand froze. A crushing weight settled on my chest. “Who did this?” Leo flinched and quickly tried to cover the marks, his head bowed in silence. “Answer me!” My voice came out sharper than I intended. He trembled, tears welling in his eyes, but he stubbornly refused to let them fall. “It was… I was bad… I made Grandma angry…” Meredith again! That woman. To me, she had always been the picture of grace and aristocratic poise. But behind closed doors, she was capable of this? Hurting a child so cruelly? Even if Leo wasn’t her biological grandson, he was still Adrian’s son! Even vipers don’t eat their young. How could she? I swallowed my fury, finished his shower, and found an old t-shirt of mine for him to wear. The huge shirt hung off his tiny frame, making him look even more fragile. “Don’t you ever say you were bad again. Ever.” I led him to the sofa and took out a first-aid kit, gently dabbing ointment on his bruises with a cotton swab. He sat stiffly, letting me tend to him without a sound. “Tell me if it hurts.” “It doesn’t hurt,” he whispered. “Mommy used to kiss it and make it better.” At the mention of Elara, I paused. “Was she… good to you?” “Mommy was the best,” Leo said, his eyes lighting up for a second before the sadness returned. “But she was always sad. She would hold me and cry.” “She also told me… to grow up fast. To run. And not to get caught.” Run? Get caught by whom? My mind was a chaotic storm. Elara’s death, Meredith’s abuse, the mysterious “smart pills,” the warning to run… every clue was pointing toward a single, terrifying truth. Just then, my phone rang. It was a number I hadn’t seen in ten years. Adrian. I walked out to the balcony and answered. “Stella.” His voice was tired and hoarse. “Elara… she’s gone.” “I know,” I said, my voice ice. “I saw the news.” “Her son… Leo. He’s missing. Did she… did she ever contact you?” The question was laced with a desperate, probing hope. I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “Did you forget, Adrian? We got divorced ten years ago. The love of your life is dead, her son is missing, and you think I would know where he is?” “You destroyed my life. Now you want my help finding your son? Do you deserve it?” I twisted the knife without mercy. A long silence stretched between us, filled only by the sound of his heavy breathing. “Stella, I’m sorry…” “Save your cheap apologies,” I cut him off. “Don’t call me again.” I hung up. When I went back inside, Leo had curled up on the sofa and fallen asleep. Even in his dreams, his brow was furrowed, his small hand clutching the hem of his shirt in a gesture of pure anxiety. I looked at the heart-shaped birthmark behind his ear, and a part of my soul I thought was long dead simply collapsed. I gently covered him with a blanket. Then, I called my family’s private physician. “Dr. Alistair, I have something I need you to analyze. I need the results as soon as possible.” “No matter how late it is. Call me the second you know.” I didn’t sleep that night. I sat by the sofa, watching Leo, the scenes from the hospital ten years ago playing on a loop in my mind: the sterile room, Meredith’s cold face, the weightless piece of paper that was a death certificate. Everything I had accepted as truth now seemed riddled with lies. Elara, what secrets did you die with? Did you send my son back to me out of guilt, or was there something more? The next morning, I met Bella at a café. Bella. My former “best friend.” After my divorce, she was the only one who kept in touch. And for ten years, she had been the one to faithfully report every detail of Adrian and Elara’s “happy life” to me. “Stella, you look amazing! You haven’t aged a day,” Bella said, stirring her latte with a bright, concerned smile. “But Elara… the last time I saw her, she looked so worn out. I don’t know what Adrian was thinking, letting her go like that.” I took a sip of my coffee, hiding the cold fury in my eyes. “Really? I thought she was doing wonderfully.” “Wonderfully? Please,” Bella scoffed, leaning in and lowering her voice. “You know Meredith never approved of her. Thought she was common, from the wrong side of the tracks.” “If she hadn’t given Adrian a son, she never would have gotten a foot in the Blackwood door.” “But,” Bella added, her tone thick with envy, “Meredith absolutely dotes on Leo. Spoils that grandson of hers rotten.” “Flies in all sorts of special supplements and smart pills from Europe, and personally makes sure he takes them every day. God forbid the sole Blackwood heir be neglected for a second.” My hand clenched around my cup. Hot coffee sloshed onto my skin, but I didn’t feel a thing. Smart pills. There it was again. “You know, Elara’s accident was so strange,” Bella said, a thoughtful, pitying look on her face. “The police ruled it driver fatigue, but I heard there might have been something wrong with her brakes.” “And isn’t it weird? A woman who barely drives, speeding down a winding canyon road in the middle of the night… It was like she was running from something.” Every word was a hammer blow to my heart. Running. Elara was running from Meredith. She knew the pills were dangerous. She was trying to escape with my son! And so, Meredith arranged an “accident” to silence her forever. “Stella? Stella, are you okay?” Bella’s voice pulled me back. “I’m fine. Just thinking about the past.” I put down my cup and took a jewelry box from my purse, sliding it across the table. “It’s been a while. This is for you.” Bella’s eyes lit up as she opened it. Inside was a diamond necklace, easily worth a small fortune. “Oh, Stella, you shouldn’t have…” she demurred, but her hands were already lifting it from the box, eagerly fastening it around her neck. “As long as you like it,” I said, a cold smile touching my lips as I watched her preen. Bella, you’d better pray you had no part in this. Because if you did, I will make you choke on every last thing you’ve ever taken from me. I left the café and drove straight to Dr. Alistair’s clinic. Leo was in the children’s play area, quietly trying to stack blocks. His movements were slow, agonizingly so. He tried several times to place a single block, his hand-eye coordination failing him. A much younger child next to him had already built a towering structure. When that child accidentally knocked over Leo’s small pile, Leo just stared, his face a blank canvas. No tears, no anger, not a flicker of emotion. Dr. Alistair called me into his office. His face was grim as he handed me the lab report. “Stella, where did you get this?” “From a child,” I said, my heart sinking. “My God!” His voice was sharper than I’d ever heard it. “This is a psychotropic drug that was banned in Germany years ago! It was designed for controlling violent felons in high-security prisons!” “Long-term use causes severe damage to the central nervous system. It leads to delayed reflexes, cognitive decline, and memory loss!” “To put it bluntly, it’s designed to turn a normal person into a drooling imbecile.” “This child… how long has he been taking this?” My nails dug into my palms. “Possibly… for years.” Dr. Alistair shook his head, his face etched with sorrow and disgust. “This is monstrous. It’s not just abuse, Stella. This is attempted murder.” The silence in the room was absolute. The thin report in my hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds. Meredith. You absolute monster. You didn’t just steal my son. You tried to destroy him from the inside out. I walked out of the office. When Leo saw me, he stood up immediately, a hopeful light in his eyes. “Miss…?” I walked over, knelt, and pulled him into a crushing hug. This boy. The son of the woman I’d hated for a decade. The child I thought was the flesh and blood of my enemy. He was my stolen treasure, returned to me at last. He was my own son, abused and poisoned for ten long years. “Leo,” I choked out, my voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry… Mommy is so sorry she’s late.” He went rigid in my arms, completely still. After a long moment, he slowly raised a small hand and gently patted my back. As if he were comforting a crying child. “Don’t cry, miss,” he said softly. “Mom said crying makes you less pretty.” And at that, the dam broke. The tears I had held back for a decade came pouring out. Elara, thank you. Thank you for protecting him for ten years. Now it’s my turn. And all those who hurt him, I will make every single one of them pay.

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1 To save me from an invader, my parents traded their lives to the System. After they died, our assets were frozen. My brother, now hating me, was diagnosed with leukemia. I worked as a movie corpse to pay for his treatment. After ten coffin scenes, I finally had enough for one chemo session. Then I saw my “dead” parents taking a family photo with Tiana, my lookalike. My mother suggested inviting me, but my healthy brother objected, “This was her punishment. We’ll tell her when she’s no longer a threat. Besides, she’s bad luck now.” Clutching the money, I cried laughing. My phone buzzed: “Get treatment or you’ll die, Willow!” … “I’m not getting treatment,” I whispered. I shut off my phone and sat on the curb, the world fading to black around me. The pain, sharp and splintering like broken bones, seized my body again. Fumbling, I pulled out the painkillers I always carried, swallowing more than a dozen pills until the agony receded to a dull throb. My phone chimed. I opened it to see that their family portrait was trending online. Though their faces were artfully blurred, I knew it was them. The parents and the brother who had once cherished me. The sense of familiarity was a phantom limb, an ache I couldn’t shake. The caption read: ‘Billionaire and family dote on their beloved princess for a stunning family portrait!’ I had endured the agony of bone cancer without a single tear, but those words… a wave of grief so profound washed over me, and I finally broke. My brother’s call came through. “Where’s the money you earned today? Get it to me now! I heard you were in a coffin ten times. I want every single cent!” “Okay,” I answered, my voice flat as I swallowed the bitterness. My coldness must have unsettled him. “Don’t try anything funny,” he warned. “Every dollar you earn for the rest of your life belongs to me.” After hanging up, I drifted to the bus stop in a daze. As I waited, a luxury car glided past. It was only there for a few seconds, but through the window, I saw it all. My mother, her face glowing with affection, fastened a necklace around Tiana’s neck. My father stood beside them, clapping and smiling. Tiana sat between them… a perfect little princess. Before she had taken over my life, I was the princess. I was the one they had adored. In fact, until today, I had believed it was still true. I thought my parents had sacrificed their lives for me, that my brother’s hatred was just a mask for his unbearable grief. But it was all a lie. The person they loved was Tiana. For her, they had constructed this elaborate, cruel theater to deceive me, to punish me, to ensure I would live forever drowning in guilt for their ‘deaths.’ The pain was coming more frequently now. I stumbled back to my dingy walk-up, collapsing to the floor in a tight, agonized ball. I fumbled with the pill bottle, but just as I was about to shake some out, the door flew open. My brother was there, and he slapped the bottle from my hand, sending pills scattering across the dirty floor. “What’s with the act? If you want to sleep, go to your room! Don’t lie here like a corpse. Or have you gotten too used to the role?” I wrapped my arms around myself, my body convulsing in silent, excruciating pain. He kicked me, his voice laced with rage. “Hey! If you’re going to play dead, don’t do it on my doorstep! Go back to your coffin! You’re such bad luck!” When I didn’t move, he gave me one last, vicious kick and slammed the door shut. A moment later, the neighbor, Mrs. Gable, came out to take out her trash. She saw me and gasped. “Oh my God! Honey, your nose is bleeding!” 2 I scrambled to scoop a handful of the scattered pills from the floor and shoved them into my mouth. The door creaked open again. My brother stood there, his eyes wide with shock at the sight of my bloodied face and the small pool of crimson on the floor. He spoke, his concern awkward and forced. “What the hell happened? Why’s your nose bleeding?” The pills began to work their magic, dulling the sharpest edges of the pain. I used the wall to haul myself to my feet and stumbled inside. “It’s nothing.” Mrs. Gable’s eyes were filled with worry. Before she left, she called into the apartment, “Young man, you should take your sister to a hospital! She doesn’t look well at all!” I slumped onto a stool, closing my eyes and waiting for the world to stop spinning. My brother crossed his arms, studying me with a detached curiosity. “Willow, have you been playing dead for too long? The more I look at you, the more you look like you’re actually dying.” He smirked. “You look more like a patient than I do.” “Now, where’s the money you earned today? Hand it over. I need to get my prescription.” I pulled the wad of cash from my pocket—my payment for ten descents into a wooden box—and placed it in his outstretched hand. He slapped it against his other palm and turned to leave, then paused at the door, his gaze cold. “Don’t go in tomorrow. This is enough for a while. You wouldn’t want to actually die playing the part.” A bitter smile twisted my lips. I couldn’t tell if it was a flicker of concern or just more of his biting sarcasm. I must have dozed off, slumped against the wall, because the ping of my phone jolted me awake. The extras’ group chat was blowing up. “OMG! Who is that CEO brother?! He rented a luxury yacht for his sister for a whole month!” “I know, right?! He’s the best! He was so happy today he was literally throwing money off the deck! I’d be a janitor on that yacht for a month just to pick up cash all day!” … I scrolled up and found the video that had sent them into a frenzy. I pressed play, and the blood in my veins turned to ice. My brother’s voice, unmistakable and cheerful, filled the air. “Take it! This money feels tainted anyway! It’s the corpse cash my dead-beat sister earned!” “If I wasn’t faking being sick, I wouldn’t even touch this stuff.” With a grand gesture, he flung my hard-earned money into the sea. Then he turned and placed a diamond tiara, worth millions, on Tiana’s head. My body shook violently. I clapped a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob. He had thrown away my blood and sweat. To pay for his ‘leukemia,’ I hadn’t spent a single dollar on myself. I stretched one meal from the set into three. My clothes were patched and washed so thin they were nearly transparent. The only money I had ever spent was for the hospital visit that had diagnosed my bone cancer. And even then, I hadn’t dared to start treatment. The money was for him. And now I knew. He thought my money was tainted. Tears streamed down my face, my shoulders shaking with silent, racking sobs. The emotional shock sent a fresh wave of agony through my bones. Overwhelmed, I pitched forward and the world went black. When I woke up, I was in a hospital. It was Mrs. Gable. She had been worried about me, and after wrestling with her thoughts, she had decided to check on me. She’d found me unconscious on the floor and rushed me here. Her voice was tight with concern. “Honey! How could you, at your age…” Just then, my brother burst through the door, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “Willow! What the hell are you doing, causing trouble? You get a little sick and I have to come running? I’m busy! You’re messing up my plans!” 3 I stared at him for a moment, a bitter smile touching my lips. A complete stranger could see that I was unwell, but my own brother, who saw me every day, was blind to it. The image of him laughing as he crowned Tiana flashed in my mind, and a single tear traced a path to my temple. His genuine, adoring smile would never be for me again. Mrs. Gable opened her mouth to tell him the truth, but I gripped her hand and shook my head. She reluctantly fell silent. As she left, she couldn’t stop herself from saying, “Young man, stop being so hard on your sister. Just be good to her.” Ethan ignored her completely, striding over to my bed. He glared at me, then sat down with a sigh, as if forced. “Willow, I have something to tell you. Try not to get too excited.” I kept my head turned away, my eyes closed. He didn’t care. He continued, “Mom and Dad aren’t dead. They’re coming back tomorrow.” His words hit me like a physical blow. I shot up in bed, my mouth opening and closing, unable to form a word. They were coming back? They hadn’t abandoned me. Of course. I was their precious daughter, the one they had cherished. How could they discard me for someone like Tiana? A genuine laugh escaped my lips, a terrifying sound coming from my pale, gaunt face. Ethan recoiled in disgust and left. Even with the searing pain knitting through my bones, my heart felt light. I ripped the IV from my hand and ran home. The reflection in the mirror startled me. My complexion was a ghostly, ashen white. My parents would be so worried if they saw me like this. I dug out a jar from under my bed, filled with years of saved-up coins. Pennies, dimes, nickels. I clutched a handful and ran to a dollar store, buying the cheapest, brightest red lipstick I could find. The next morning, I was up at dawn. I applied a thick layer of lipstick and dabbed some on my cheeks for color. I checked myself in the mirror again and again, satisfied that the ghastly pallor was hidden. Then, I sat by the door to wait. The hands on the clock spun, and waves of pain washed over me, each one a trial. Finally, as dusk settled, they arrived. My mother was dressed in a stunning gown, my father in a tailored suit. I looked down at my own tattered clothes and felt a pang of insecurity. As tears welled in my eyes, I stepped forward and whispered, “Mom…” She wrinkled her nose and took several steps back, her eyes filled with undisguised distaste. “Willow, it’s natural for a girl to want to look beautiful, but you don’t have to try so hard. It’s just laughable.” I forced down the lump in my throat, telling myself, It’s just because we’ve been apart. In a few days, it will be like it was before. My mother continued, “We came to take you home today.” “But, I have one condition.” I nodded eagerly. To spend my last days with them, I would agree to anything. She gestured toward the door. “Tiana, sweetheart, you can come in.” A moment later, Ethan walked in, leading Tiana by the hand. I was confused, until my mother spoke again. “It must be strange for you, seeing Tiana, who looks exactly like you.” “There can only be one face like this in the world.” “So…” She placed a small, sharp fruit knife on the table between us. “Ruin your face.” For a second, the world stopped. I stumbled back, my mind blank. What… What did she mean? My father’s cold voice pulled me from my stupor. 4 “Willow? Did you hear your mother’s condition?” “Just do as she says. Even with a ruined face, you’ll still be our precious daughter.” So, that was it. This was the reason they had come. Ethan picked up the knife and pressed it into my hand. “Don’t hesitate. You love Mom and Dad, don’t you? You want to live with them again, right?” He looked away, mumbling, “If you do this, I’ll… I’ll admit you’re still my sister.” Ha. He couldn’t even bring himself to say it clearly. I looked at them—the family who had once adored me, now cornering me like a pack of wolves for a stranger. A wild, unhinged laugh tore from my throat. The cheap lipstick smeared with my tears, running down my cheeks in grotesque, crimson rivers, mocking my foolish hope. I turned away, wiping my eyes. “You don’t have to do this. I’m going to die soon. Then, there will only be one Tiana.” Their expressions instantly soured. Ethan was the first to explode. “Willow! What’s this about dying? Is this your excuse to get out of it? You think playing a corpse makes you an expert on death?” Even my quiet father couldn’t hold back his anger. “If you don’t want to do it, just say so! Stop playing these manipulative games! You’re a young woman. What kind of person talks about dying all the time?” “Fine! Let there be two identical faces in the world. We’ll just disown you!” At his words, Tiana burst into tears, as if she were the one being wronged. “It’s all my fault! I shouldn’t have taken over her body. Daddy, Mommy, please don’t be angry!” “Let me be the one to do it! Let me ruin my face so there’s only one Willow!” She snatched the knife and raised it to her own cheek. But before the blade could touch her skin, Ethan lunged, grabbing the knife. Blood dripped from his hand. He threw the knife at my feet. “Tiana! You’re not the one in the wrong!” My mother rushed to Tiana’s side, fussing over her. “Oh, my darling girl, why would you do that? What if you had really hurt yourself?” I stood outside their circle of four, the villain in their story. Ethan glared at me, then suddenly lunged forward, snatching the fruit knife from the floor. He tackled me, and a searing line of fire ripped across my cheek. The fall sent a jolt of agony through my already ravaged body. The sharp, repeated agony of the knife on my face, combined with the deep, grinding pain in my bones, was more than I could bear. But I didn’t struggle. I didn’t reach for my pills. My mother stood by, directing him. “Ethan, a few more times. Make sure it’s completely unrecognizable. Don’t worry, we’ll take good care of Willow at home. After this, she won’t have to suffer another day.” He only stopped when my face was a bloody, unrecognizable mess. They all waited for me to get up, but I could only lie there, convulsing. They stared, their brows furrowed in confusion. Ethan finally nudged me with his foot. “Hey! Get up. You were always talking about Mom’s cooking. They brought ingredients to make you a meal at home.” Suddenly, there was a frantic banging on the door. After a few loud thumps, the door burst open, and Mrs. Gable rushed in. She saw me lying in a pool of my own blood, my body emaciated, and she let out a horrified shriek, her eyes wide with terror. “My God! What have you done?! The poor girl has bone cancer! She only has days to live! Couldn’t you just let her die in peace?!”

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I was on a street corner, happily devouring a kebab, when I saw exactly what I expected to see on Finn’s Instagram feed: a picture of my girlfriend, Ava. The caption read: Your cooking is the best medicine. After being stood up by Ava this many times, my heart was a placid lake. I was even thinking I should just break up with her already, to get out of their way. 1. I was chewing on a tough piece of grilled beef when my phone screen lit up with Ava’s name. It was just slowing down my kebab consumption. I was about to ignore it, but the side of my hand brushed against the screen and accidentally answered the call. Guess I had to deal with this. “Yeah?” I said. Ava’s voice was breezy, completely normal. “Hey, something came up at the office. Sorry I had to bail on you again. I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” I bit off the last piece of beef and picked up a grilled mushroom skewer. “Right. Got it. No worries.” A hint of suspicion crept into her voice. “Where are you?” I glanced around at the bustling, noisy street. The Empyrean, our original destination, was definitely not this loud. “Oh, I was craving some street food, so… yeah.” The grilled mushrooms were perfect. Her voice sharpened with annoyance. “You just decided that on your own? I pulled strings to get that reservation! Not showing up makes me look bad. What am I supposed to tell my friend?” “Why not just tell her the real reason you couldn’t make it? I’m sure she’d understand.” “The real reason? What are you implying now?” I sighed. “Is Finn feeling any better?” Her voice dropped, laced with a guilt she couldn’t quite hide. “How did you know… No, that’s not it. Let me explain.” “Don’t bother. I get it,” I said, cutting her off. “My kebab’s getting cold. Talk later.” I hung up. “Hey man, your grilled eggplant!” the vendor called out. “Awesome, thanks!” Ah, garlic-roasted eggplant. My absolute favorite. As for why Ava ditched me, it didn’t take a genius to figure it out. On my way to The Empyrean, I’d seen Finn’s Instagram post: Dinner time, but I feel awful. No appetite. Don’t want to eat a thing. That was my cue. I told the driver to turn around and head for the food truck court. It was practically a conditioned response by now. Ever since Finn entered the picture, he’d always been her number one priority. Finn was a fresh-faced intern at Ava’s company, full of youthful energy. Ava’s opinion of him had morphed from, “He’s so incompetent, I’m tempted to fire him every day,” to “He’s actually trying really hard, and he hasn’t had it easy.” I knew then that she was falling for him. Soon enough, any little problem Finn had in his life, Ava would be the first to rush in and solve it. I watched it happen, feeling completely powerless, completely helpless. It wasn’t like I didn’t fight it. We argued, we yelled. But Ava’s excuses were always so infuriatingly dismissive. “He’s just a kid, fresh out of college, with no friends in this city. I’m just looking out for an employee.” “Anniversaries aren’t a big deal. We can celebrate later. But his stomach bug is acting up now. You’ve had that pain before, you know how bad it feels, right?” “You just sprained your ankle. He has a fever. You can see which one is more serious, can’t you?” So, I became immune. Numb. Getting stood up for a fancy dinner? Compared to everything else, it was nothing. Barely a blip on the radar. 2. The next morning, I walked into the living room and was shocked to see Ava there. This was a rare occurrence. Usually, after a night like last night, she’d just head to work straight from Finn’s apartment. She glanced at me, her expression casual. “Got back too late yesterday, so I just crashed in the guest room.” “Hm,” I grunted. She paused, then added, “You’re up a little late. Probably don’t have time to make breakfast, huh?” “I’ll grab something on the way,” I said flatly. She offered a small smile. “That’s a shame. I was kind of missing your porridge and omelets.” My hand was on the bathroom doorknob. “What’s there to miss? I’m sure you’ve already had breakfast.” I shut the door behind me. I used to wake up early every single day to cook for her. But ever since Finn invaded our lives, she’d gradually stopped eating the breakfast I made. After changing, I was heading for the door when I saw her standing there, her face a mask of complicated emotions. “I know I’ve been busy lately,” she said, “and haven’t been home for breakfast. I’ll try to be home more often from now on.” I managed a thin smile. “Don’t bother. I’d rather get some more sleep.” That extra thirty minutes of sleep today had me feeling surprisingly refreshed. She stared at me, looking like she wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. As I reached for the front door, she lunged forward and grabbed my hand. I looked at her. Her lips tightened. “I only saw Finn’s post later last night. He didn’t mean anything by it. And nothing happened between us. Don’t get the wrong idea.” Even knowing he’d posted it, she was still defending him. In the past, any time I expressed the slightest dissatisfaction with Finn’s behavior, she’d frown and call me “petty” and “small-minded.” If I pushed back, she’d get defensive, accusing me of having a “dirty mind,” insisting their friendship was purely platonic. I just smiled. I was used to her bias. Seeing my lack of reaction, she pressed on. “I know you’re upset that I stood you up. But Finn got sick so suddenly. You know he’s all alone here, no family, no one to look after him…” I pulled my hand free. “I know,” I said calmly. “I get it. Can I go now? I’m going to be late for work.” She blocked the door again, her tone growing frustrated. “I told you, nothing happened between us! Why are you still sulking?” “And I told you I believe you,” I shot back. “So why are you still blocking my way?” “You…” “Seriously, I’m going to be late.” Ignoring her stunned expression, I walked out. 3. When I got home that evening, I went straight to the bedroom to grab a change of clothes for a shower. As I passed the study, I heard Ava’s voice drift out. “Just send it to me. I’ll take care of it.” “It’s no problem, really. It’s just a little bit of work, I can knock it out in no time.” “Haha, you got it. You owe me a big dinner for this.” I knew what this was. Ava, once again, doing Finn’s work for him. I remembered asking her once to help me grade some of my students’ papers. After two days of waiting, I gently reminded her. She snapped. “It’s the weekend! Can’t I just relax and have some fun? Do your own work. Helping you is a favor, not my duty.” I ended up pulling an all-nighter to finish them myself. But ever since Finn joined her company, a man who seemed to know nothing, she had patiently lowered herself to handle his tasks for him. When I confronted her about it, she said, “He’s new to the professional world. It’s normal for him to be clueless about a lot of things. Weren’t you the same when you first started teaching?” The memory of the student papers flashed in my mind, and we had a massive fight. She ended it by saying coldly, “At least when I help Finn, it benefits my company. What do I get out of helping you?” We gave each other the silent treatment for a long time after that. But I was still an idiot back then, so I forgave her after a half-hearted apology. After my shower, I settled into bed with my tablet to watch a show. A little while later, the bedroom door creaked open. I looked up. Ava was standing there with a weary smile. She climbed into bed and wrapped her arms around me. “You’re home! You didn’t even say hi, just started playing on your own? Your wife just finished a long day of work, and she’s starving.” “Ask Finn to make you something.” Her arms stiffened, and her face went dark. “Why do you have to bring Finn into everything? Can you stop having such a dirty mind for one second?” I put my tablet down. “I’m not. You just spent all that time doing his work for him. It’s only fair he cook you a meal in return, right? To pay you back.” She froze. “You heard that?” Then her brow furrowed. “I told you, Finn’s new. It’s normal for me to help him out. It’s for the good of the company! When the company does well, we both benefit. The money I earn helps us build a better life together! “Why can’t you just understand that?” So she did remember that I’d invested my inheritance from my parents into her company. Funny, because when I demanded she fire Finn, her response had been, “Who’s the boss here, me or you?” “I guess I don’t understand,” I said peacefully. “All I know is that if a teacher at my school was still a complete mess at their job after six months, they’d have been fired long ago.” Ava sighed, a long, dramatic exhalation. “Fine, fine. I’ll push him to get up to speed. I’ll try not to help him anymore. And if you have any student work in the future, you can give it to me. I’ll handle it for you. Is that good enough? “Anyway, I’m hungry now. Hubby, go make me a late-night snack? We haven’t eaten together in so long.” She was trying to sweet-talk me, clearly remembering how well it worked in the past. “No, thanks. You were right before—everyone should do their own work. Besides, I already ate before I came home. Just order some takeout.” Her face instantly turned to ice. She was silent for two long seconds, then she shot off the bed, turned, and slammed the door behind her. 4. After that night, Ava and I entered another cold war. But unlike previous times, when I’d be a nervous wreck, unable to focus on anything, this time I was… happy. Utterly, blissfully happy on my own. And I certainly wasn’t about to swallow my pride and beg for her forgiveness the next day like I used to. A week later, around nine at night, her best friend Sarah called me. Her message was brief. “Eddy, get down to the bar near the office. Ava’s—” I hung up before she could finish. Her little clique of work friends never liked me. They thought a high school teacher like me wasn’t good enough for a “young, successful, independent woman” like Ava. On the rare occasions Ava dragged me to a company party, they’d mostly ignore me or make thinly veiled digs. I wasn’t even allowed to look annoyed, or Ava would accuse me of being a bad sport. Thinking back on it, I was pathetic. But I have to admit, I brought it on myself. Sarah called again. I declined and blocked her number. Then I started calling real estate agents to schedule apartment viewings. I’d spent the week looking for a new place. The current apartment wasn’t just Ava’s; it was close to her office and a long commute from my school. Waking up early every morning left me perpetually exhausted, walking around like a zombie. My colleagues had even suggested I see a doctor because I looked so terrible every day. With a schedule like that, of course I looked terrible. 5. After I blocked Sarah, her friends started calling me, one after another. I’d just finished a call with an agent when another one came through. I was about to block this number too, but I saw the caller ID: “Maya.” I decided to answer. Maya was the only one in that group who was ever genuinely nice to me. She never joined in on the passive-aggressive comments. It was only fair to return the courtesy. “Eddy?” she asked tentatively. “Ava’s really drunk. She keeps calling your name. Could you please just come get her?” “Ask Finn to pick her up. I’m busy,” I said, eyeing the moving boxes I needed to pack. This was going to be a project. “But… it’s Saturday… and honestly, there’s nothing going on between her and Finn…” Suddenly, a loud crash echoed through the phone, followed by Ava’s furious roar. “Hang up! Why are you calling him?! What is there to explain to him?!” I hung up first, not wanting to put Maya in a more awkward position. After I finished packing, I collapsed on the sofa and idly scrolled through my social media. As expected, Finn hadn’t disappointed me. He’d posted something new. Feel so bad for someone. So drunk her own boyfriend won’t even pick her up. Guess it’s up to a lowly intern like me to save the day. The photo was of Ava, sleeping. I felt nothing. I put my phone down, then had a sudden urge to go back and like the post. But packing had worn me out. By the time I picked up my phone again a few minutes later, the post was gone. Just then, the sound of a key turning in the lock echoed through the apartment. The door swung open. Standing there, the woman who was supposed to be passed out drunk, was Ava. Her face was a thundercloud.

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I was on vacation with my mother-in-law, Katherine. After checking into the hotel, we went for a swim in the pool. That’s when a woman, dressed to the nines even in her poolside attire, pinched her nose in disgust. “This is a luxury resort. What is with the class of people they’re letting in these days? I bet they just snuck in to use the pool.” Her voice dripped with contempt. “Sharing the same water with you people… I’m afraid I’ll catch something.” The mood was instantly ruined. “This is a public pool for hotel guests,” I said, my voice cold. “If you can’t handle that, build one in your own backyard.” Her eyebrows shot up. “How dare you speak to me like that? Do you have any idea who I am? My husband owns this hotel. The penthouse suite is mine, year-round.” She jabbed a finger at us. “I’m ordering you to get out. Now. The stench of your cheapness is fouling the water. It’s disgusting.” Katherine and I exchanged a look. I saw the same icy fury in her eyes that I felt in my own heart. This hotel was one of dozens owned by Terence McMurray. Since when was he someone else’s husband? … We’d wanted to keep a low profile on this trip, checking in without revealing our connection to the McMurray hotel empire. So much for that. Our relaxing getaway had just turned sour. Katherine, a titan of industry her entire life, wasn’t about to be intimidated. She scoffed. “And who are you to order us around? You’re the one who should get out. It’s the stench of your bad manners that’s truly disgusting.” Ignoring the woman, who was now sputtering with rage, Katherine turned to me. “Amelia, let’s just swim. Pay her no mind. When we get back, you and I will have a little chat with Terence and find out what in the world is going on.” Being ignored sent the woman into a full-blown tantrum. A vicious smile twisted her lips. “Fine. If you love the water so much, you can stay in it all day.” She made a call. A moment later, a young, athletic-looking man appeared, fawning over her. “Rose, what can I do for you? Ready for that swimming lesson?” She pointed at us with a perfectly manicured nail. “Marco, teach these two ignorant women a lesson for me.” Marco understood immediately. “You got it, Rose,” he said with a greasy smile. “I’m a swim coach. I know all the tricks for handling people in the water.” He dove in. Before we could react, he grabbed Katherine by the head and shoved her under the water with all his strength. She was no match for him; she started choking instantly, thrashing wildly. “Stop it!” I lunged at him, but he was agile, twisting away and pushing my head under, forcing a lungful of chlorinated water down my throat. I came up sputtering and, in a blind panic, I sank my teeth into his arm. Hard. He yelled and let go. I immediately pulled Katherine to the side of the pool. Her eyes had rolled back, and she was coughing so hard it sounded like she was trying to hack up a lung. She was a woman who had commanded boardrooms and built an empire that spanned the country. She was treated with reverence everywhere she went. When had she ever been subjected to such humiliation? Her voice, when she could finally speak, was steel. “Do you realize you could have killed me? This is criminal!” she raged at Rose. “I’ll have my legal team sue you into oblivion!” Rose just laughed. “So what if you died? My husband owns hundreds of hotels. He makes enough in one day to buy your pathetic lives a thousand times over. You should have found out who you were messing with before you started something. Lawyers? Please. You can’t even afford the filing fee.” This hotel was just one of many Katherine had entrusted to Terence’s management. This woman’s possessive, arrogant attitude made no sense. Did Terence have a second wife? I rubbed Katherine’s back, trying to soothe her. “Is your husband’s name Terence McMurray?” I asked, my voice dangerously calm. Rose preened. “That’s right. At least you’re not completely clueless. Now, if you kneel and apologize, then scrub this entire pool clean, I might consider letting you go. Otherwise, when he gets here, you’re in for a world of hurt.” Ice flooded my veins. Terence. The man who had sworn his undying love and loyalty to me… was he really cheating? Then, my eyes locked on the tattoo just above her collarbone. A single, perfect rose. I had seen the exact same tattoo on his chiseled abs. He’d told me he got it because I loved roses. I was so touched at the time. What a fool I’d been. It was a couples’ tattoo. If we hadn’t run into her today, I never would have known he was keeping a mistress in a gilded cage. The angrier I got, the calmer I became. “As far as I know,” I said, my words sharp enough to cut glass, “Terence McMurray’s wife is named Amelia. And she looks nothing like you. You’re the mistress, yet you have the audacity to be this arrogant? You have no shame.” I raised my chin. “Go on. Call him. I’d love to see how he plans to make us hurt.” The word “mistress” struck a nerve. Her face contorted with hatred. “In love, there’s no first or second. The one who isn’t loved is the other woman,” she spat. “My husband is on his way over right now. You just wait.” She dialed a number, and her voice instantly transformed into a sickly sweet, baby-talk purr. “Jules, darling, when will you be here? There are these two old hags bullying me at the pool. I’m so scared. You have to come and stick up for me.” She giggled. “And you should reserve the pool just for me from now on. I’ve learned a few new tricks in the water… and I can’t wait for you to enjoy them.” Hanging up, her face was a mask of smug triumph. “He’ll be here in thirty minutes. You’re dead. He has a million ways to deal with people like you.” The thought of Terence, acting the part of the doting husband with me while carrying on with this woman, made me want to throw up. Katherine saw the look on my face and understood everything. She gritted her teeth. “Terence. That bastard. He’s just like his father.” Her voice was laced with a lifetime of pain. “Everything I gave him, I can take away.” Katherine despised infidelity. She had divorced Terence’s father years ago after he’d had an affair with a young model, and she’d raised Terence on her own while building her business empire. To think her own son would betray her in the same way… it was a knife to the heart. Katherine Kingsley was the true power behind the McMurray hotel chain. And I, Amelia Davenport, came from a family whose standing was every bit the equal of his. Terence McMurray, I thought. Let’s see you explain this. Just then, I saw Katherine’s face go pale. I quickly tried to help her out of the pool to get changed. But Rose waved a hand. Marco leaped onto the pool deck and, as Katherine was climbing the ladder, he kicked her squarely in the back. She tumbled back into the water. I scrambled to get to her. On the deck, Rose was laughing hysterically. “You look like a pair of drowning ducks! You love the water so much? Then stay in it!” She turned to Marco. “Don’t let them out until my husband gets here.” “You got it, Rose,” the lapdog said. “Just put in a good word for me with Mr. McMurray when he arrives.” Every time we tried to climb out, he would kick us back in. Our strength was fading fast. Katherine was clutching her chest, struggling to breathe. I held her up, trying to keep her head above water. “Are you trying to kill her?” I screamed at the deck. “My mother has a heart condition! Let us out, now! You will regret this when Terence gets here!” Marco hesitated, a flicker of fear in his eyes. But Rose just scoffed. “Nice try. Old women like you are full of tricks. Faking a heart attack? You were swimming just fine a minute ago.” She turned to Marco with a wicked grin. “Go turn off the pool heater. Let’s see how long she can keep up the act.” “I’m telling you, if she dies, the police will be here, and you’ll both go to jail!” I yelled, my voice raw with fury. Rose simply picked up a glass of red wine and took a leisurely sip. “Stop the drama. If you want out, beg me. Weren’t you so tough a minute ago? What, you’re scared now that my husband is coming?” Katherine did have a heart condition. The stress, the shock, and the near-drowning had taken their toll. She was in real trouble. I bit my lip. I had to get her out of there. I would swallow my pride, do anything to keep her safe. But as I was about to speak, Katherine gripped my arm. Her voice was a ragged whisper. “I have never bowed my head to anyone in my life. And I will not start by begging a classless creature like her. Amelia, I can hold on. When Terence gets here… I will never forgive him. Don’t you worry. A man ruined my life once. I will always be on your side.” Seeing our defiance, a cruel glint appeared in Rose’s eyes. “Marco, go to the kitchen. Bring back two buckets of ice. Let’s cool them down a little more.” The ice cubes plunged into the water, and the temperature dropped immediately. I was already shivering uncontrollably. Katherine’s lips were turning blue, and her eyes were becoming unfocused. “Katherine?” I patted her cheek, but she barely responded. I gathered what little strength I had and tried to swim for the edge, but each time, Marco used a pool skimmer to push us back. I was frantic, my eyes burning with tears. “My mother is dying!” I screamed. “Let her out! If she dies, this hotel is liable! Terence will never let you get away with this!” Marco, as a swim coach, could see Katherine’s condition was deteriorating rapidly. “Rose,” he said nervously, “that older one… she doesn’t look so good. Maybe we should let her out. I mean, if she dies in the pool, it’s not like you’ll want to use it anymore. And I don’t think Mr. McMurray would be happy if you actually killed someone. I could lose my job.” Rose thought for a moment, then sneered. “Worried about your job, are you? I’m not trying to kill anyone. But some people are just stubborn. I told them, if they beg, I’ll consider it. Clearly, they’re not at death’s door yet. Let’s just see how long they can last.” Marco puffed out his chest, emboldened by her. “Let me make this clear,” he said, looking down at me. “Rose is Mr. McMurray’s woman. This whole hotel is basically hers. Everything revolves around her. You shouldn’t have even been allowed in here today. If you want to live, you’ll apologize and beg her. If not, nobody can help you.” I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. Looking at Katherine, so fragile and fading, I knew I had no choice. Pride was a luxury I couldn’t afford. “Please,” I choked out, the words tearing at my throat. “I’m begging you. Let my mother go. She has a heart condition. She’s going to die.” A triumphant smirk spread across Rose’s face. “Didn’t you call me a shameless mistress earlier?” she purred. “I want you to say it again, but differently. I want you to say, ‘That bitch Amelia is the mistress, and you are Terence McMurray’s wife.’” She had no idea that I was Amelia, but in a stroke of cruel irony, she had found the one thing that would humiliate me the most. My fists clenched, my nails digging into my palms. I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced the words out, one by one. “That bitch Amelia… is the mistress. You are Terence McMurray’s wife.” “There. Are you satisfied? Now let my mother out!” Rose laughed, a delighted, wicked sound. “I said I’d consider it. And I have. I’ve decided… no.” Pure rage surged through me. I wanted to tear her apart with my bare hands. I had one card left to play. “You’ve gone too far! She is Terence McMurray’s mother! If anything happens to her, he will destroy you!” But Rose just howled with laughter. “You pathetic liars will say anything! A minute ago, you called her ‘Mom.’ Now she’s Terence’s mother? You ruined my swim today, and I’m going to make sure you learn your lesson. Next time, watch who you cross!” In my arms, Katherine began to tremble violently. Her breathing grew shallow. It was a full-blown cardiac episode. If she didn’t get her nitroglycerin pills, she would die. “Help!” I screamed, my voice cracking with desperation. “Somebody help us! It’s an emergency!” But the pool area was deserted. Even Marco was starting to panic. “Rose, what if…” “It’s fine,” she cut him off, utterly unconcerned. “Old ladies like her are tougher than they look. She’s faking it. My husband will be here any minute. We’ll let them out then. A few more minutes won’t make a difference.” A few minutes was all it would take to lose her. Despair washed over me, cold and absolute. Suddenly, the hotel manager came running over. “Help!” I shrieked. “My mother is having a heart attack! Get her out of the water! Call an ambulance!” The manager had met Katherine once, years ago, but he didn’t recognize the pale, shivering woman in my arms. He had heard there was trouble and had come to kiss up to Rose. Now, seeing the reality of the situation, he quickly weighed his options: piss off Rose, or have someone die on his watch and lose his job. He chose his job. “Miss Rose,” he said with a practiced smile, “perhaps it would be best to let them out. If something… unfortunate… were to happen, this pool would be unusable for you in the future.” Rose glanced at him, then shrugged haughtily. “Fine. For your sake, I’ll let them out.” The manager and Marco quickly pulled us from the water. Katherine was limp, unresponsive. I didn’t even stop to catch my breath. I scrambled to the locker room, grabbed my bag, and fumbled with the vial of emergency heart pills. Just as I was about to put one under her tongue, a designer heel flashed out and kicked the vial from my hand. The pills scattered across the wet tiles and into the pool. Rose looked at my face, twisted in anguish, and laughed. “Alright, the show’s over. We let you out. Now get lost, and if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay out of my way from now on. I’m feeling generous today.” Something inside me snapped. I lunged forward and slapped her across the face with all my might. “If anything happens to my mother,” I seethed, my eyes blazing, “I will make you and Terence McMurray pay!” She shrieked, stunned that I would dare touch her. “You psycho! I should have just let you both drown!” I tried to go for her again, but Marco and the manager grabbed my arms. Rose, freed, slapped me again and again, more than a dozen times, until my face was numb and burning. The stinging pain cleared my head. Katherine was running out of time. I wrenched myself free, found my phone, and dialed Terence’s number. “Terence, it’s Mom. She’s having a heart attack. We’re at the pool at the resort in the Hamptons. Get the nearest medical team here now!” My voice was shaking. “If you’re late, she’s not going to make it!” His reply was impatient. “Your mother has a heart condition. Doesn’t she know how to take care of herself? I’m in a meeting. Call an ambulance yourself.” He hung up. I trembled with a rage so profound it left me breathless. My mother? Did he really not know whose mother had the heart condition? Just then, Rose’s face lit up. “Terence, darling! You’re finally here!” She flew into the arms of the man who had just walked in, melting against him. “Jules, what took you so long? Those two women were horrible to me.” She tilted her head, showing him the red mark on her cheek. “Look, that bitch even hit me. You have to make them pay. And then you have to stay and comfort me for a few days.” The man stroked her cheek, his voice hardening with anger. “Who had the audacity to lay a hand on you? Don’t worry. I’ll make them regret it.” He smiled down at her. “And of course I’ll stay. I cleared my whole week for you.” This was the man who had just hung up on me. The man who, just last night, had been complaining about how much he would miss me during his week-long “business trip.” It was all a lie. The vows, the promises… they were worth less than dirt. Rose wrapped her arm around Terence’s waist and led him toward me like a trophy. “That’s the one who hit me,” she said, pointing. “And that’s her mother on the ground. Teach them a lesson they’ll never forget.” I slowly raised my head and stared directly into his eyes. “Terence,” I said, my voice like ice. “How, exactly, are you going to teach me a lesson?”

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Liam Archer lost a bet with his newly adopted “little sister.” The punishment: be single for a month. So he handed me the divorce papers. “Just sign them. It’s only for a month. You’ve got to have a sense of sportsmanship.” I didn’t say anything. I just obediently wrote my name. Not long after, Liam lost another bet. “This time, I have to spend the night with her. We’re just talking, nothing else. Don’t get any ideas.” As he spoke, a small, square foil packet fell out of his pocket. He cleared his throat, made an excuse about a work emergency, and headed for a hotel. Once he was gone, I replied to a message that had just come in. [I’m leaving the country in a week. Want to come?] [Yes.] 1 The next day, I started packing. Halfway through, Liam, who hadn’t been home all night, walked in. There were fresh, angry red marks on his neck, and he yawned from lack of sleep. “Going on a trip?” I nodded, a knot of guilt in my stomach. Liam didn’t seem to notice anything was wrong. “It’s about time you got out. You’re always cooped up in this house, you have no idea what’s going on in the world. Not like Zoey. We can talk about anything.” Zoey. The “little sister” he’d met at a bar six months ago. They were inseparable, constantly making bets. The stakes started small—a coffee, a meal—but had escalated to hugs and kisses. I had cried. I had thrown fits. All it earned me was Liam’s disgust. “It’s just a game. Why do you have to be so serious?” Gradually, I stopped speaking up. So now, hearing him praise her at my expense, I just stayed silent and continued packing. After a moment, Liam asked, “When do you leave?” “Six days.” The next thing I knew, I was airborne. He lifted me, tossed me onto the bed, and pulled me into his warm embrace. “Don’t move. Just sleep with me for a bit.” I couldn’t break free. I was forced to breathe in the scent of another woman on his skin, my mind conjuring a chaotic slideshow of images. Tangled limbs, frantic passion, filth. Tears started to fall, hot and silent. Liam frowned, annoyed. He gave my back a few perfunctory pats. “You know, I’m the only one who could ever put up with you being so dramatic, Kiara.” “Without me, you’d be worse off than a stray dog on the street.” He repeated the same lines he’d said a thousand times before and slowly drifted off to sleep. I wiped my tears and carefully slipped out of his arms. Staring at the face I had loved for ten years, a cold resolve settled in my heart. Even if I had to live like a dog, I wouldn’t stay by his side any longer. 2 As the day of my departure grew closer, I started having vivid dreams of the past. The first time eight-year-old Liam saw me, he stared so intently that he tripped and fell flat on his face. It left a small, permanent scar on his forehead. He wore it like a badge of honor, announcing to everyone that he would be my one and only knight, protecting me for the rest of our lives. He was a boy of his word. When the chubby kid next door stole my candy, Liam cornered him in an alley after school and knocked out two of his teeth. When a girl in my class, Chloe, deliberately spilled ink on my dress, he drew ninety-nine hideous caricatures of her and plastered them all over the school, scaring her into staying home. Back then, wherever Kiara Reed was, Liam Archer was never more than a few feet away. We were inseparable. We were in love. Until eighth grade. On a perfectly ordinary day, my parents died in a plane crash. I was an orphan. My uncle took me in. I changed schools, moved my legal records, and traveled thousands of miles to a new city down south. In that strange new world, I learned to go to school alone, to eat alone, to be alone. My days were full, but my heart was always empty. The day I was diagnosed with depression, the confused, accusatory look in my uncle’s eyes was a weight I couldn’t bear. I found myself standing at the foot of a thirty-story building, gazing up at the roof with a strange sense of longing. When I looked away, I saw him. Liam. I thought I was hallucinating, but he walked right up to me, his eyes shining like stars. “Kiara, I’ve been going crazy thinking about you.” I broke down, sobbing. “Take me with you. Please.” “I can’t stand it here anymore! The clothes get mildewed if you leave them out, and the roaches are indestructible!” Liam held me for a long time. Then he went to my uncle and got down on his knees. He swore an oath: “I will take care of Kiara. I’ll help her finish school, we’ll get into our dream college together. If I fail, may I die a horrible death.” And just like that, he took me home. After college, he married me. At our wedding, as he slipped the ring on my finger, he cried like a child and swore on his life, again, that he would make me happy forever. But now, I opened my eyes. The other side of our king-sized bed was empty and cold. Liam hadn’t been home in five days. The only way I knew what he was up to was through his social media. In his latest post, there was a sterile white gauze patch on his forehead, like he’d just had surgery. A comment below asked what happened. He replied: “Zoey said the old scar was ugly and ruined my good looks, so I had it removed.” I froze. The mark of my knight was gone. He wasn’t going to protect me anymore. It’s okay, I told myself. I was leaving tomorrow. There was no point in dwelling on it. But the sharp, needle-like pain in my heart was impossible to ignore. 3 A long time later, my phone buzzed with a new message. [Get to Midnight Sun now.] Midnight Sun was the city’s biggest and most exclusive nightclub, a chaotic, anything-goes place. It was also where Liam and Zoey had met. I hated it there. I put my phone down, pretending I hadn’t seen the message. Another one came through immediately. [If you’re not here in an hour, you’re not going anywhere, ever.] He knew I was leaving tomorrow. It was a threat. I gritted my teeth and went. As I pushed open the door to the designated VIP room, a roar of cheers erupted. “Forty-two minutes! Liam bet she’d be here in thirty! Liam loses! Zoey wins!” “That’s eighteen losses for Liam tonight! Is he throwing the game on purpose?” “He’s so whipped!” Liam glanced toward the door, a flicker of excitement in his eyes, but he didn’t acknowledge me. He turned, grabbed Zoey from across the table, and pulled her into a brutal, passionate kiss. A bottle of expensive liquor was knocked over, crashing to the floor, but neither of them noticed. When they finally broke apart, a thin, silvery thread of saliva connected them, disgustingly intimate. The catcalls and whistles from the crowd were deafening. A wave of nausea washed over me. I had to get out of there. I took one step back, but a voice stopped me. “Kiara. Over here.” Fighting back the sickness, I walked toward him. Liam pulled me onto his lap. He pinched my cheek, his voice scolding. “That was just a game. Don’t you dare get jealous. It’s your fault for being so slow. You made me lose.” “I’m sorry,” I said automatically. Someone at the table clicked their tongue. “Damn, Mrs. Archer is so obedient. Liam can do whatever he wants, and she doesn’t say a word. I need to find a girl like that.” Liam waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t. Too obedient is boring.” “Then I’ll find one like Zoey. Fun, exciting.” “Go for it,” Liam said, “if you’re not afraid of a little pain.” He tilted his head, revealing a fresh bite mark on his neck. Zoey, who was taking a drink, laughed and shot back, “Like you weren’t the one begging me to bite harder last night. Said it didn’t feel good unless it hurt.” Liam threw a banana at her playfully. “You need to work on your technique.” They bickered as if I wasn’t there, as if no one else was in the room. The curious, judgmental stares of everyone else were like knives, pressing in on me, making it hard to breathe. I clutched the fabric of my dress. “Can I go home?” I whispered. “I’m getting tired.” Liam seemed to notice me for the first time. He rubbed his nose and called for a server to see me out. But Zoey objected. “She just got here. Let’s make one more bet, for fun.” 4 My first instinct was to refuse. But Liam answered for me. “Sure. You’re on.” Zoey immediately produced a set of dice, blocking my exit. “Simple game. High or low.” “The winner gets to ask for one thing from the loser.” Her eyes glinted with a sly, unsettling light. Liam squeezed my shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t be nervous. Zoey just likes purses and jewelry. If you lose, just let her pick something from your closet.” I never cared about those things anyway. So I agreed. The dice rattled in the cup. Ten seconds later, she slammed it down on the table. “I call high!” Zoey declared. That left me with low. I lost. She immediately held out her hand. “I like your necklace. I’ll take that.” I froze, my hand flying to the pendant at my chest. I took a step back. “Not this one.” Zoey’s face darkened. “What’s your problem? Can’t afford to lose? Where’s your sportsmanship?” A dozen pairs of disdainful eyes turned on me. “This was my mother’s,” I explained frantically. “It’s the only thing I have left of her. I can’t give it away. Pick something else. You can have anything from my jewelry collection, even the pieces worth millions.” My parents didn’t leave me much, and over the years, I’d lost some of it during moves. This necklace was all that was left. I couldn’t lose it. Zoey scoffed. “You should have said that before the bet. It’s too late now. A deal’s a deal. If we start changing the rules, no one will ever want to play again.” She was relentless, refusing to back down. I looked to Liam for help. He knew how much this necklace meant to me. He would help me. But he just said, “Kiara. Take it off.” I stood there, stunned, all the strength draining out of me. Zoey, impatient, stepped forward to claim her prize. She yanked at the chain, her nails scratching my neck, drawing blood. I didn’t even feel the pain. I just stared at Liam. His expression was cold, indifferent. “You can always win it back later. You…” He was cut off by a sharp crack from the floor. “Oops,” Zoey said, feigning surprise. “My hand slipped. This thing is so fragile. It shattered into a million pieces. How ugly.” She stepped on the shards as she walked away, even giving one a kick. The room was dead silent. My hands were numb as I knelt to pick up the pieces. The last one was near Liam’s foot. He moved to help, but I snapped at him. “Get away from me!” Liam was used to being the center of attention. Being challenged like this, in front of everyone, extinguished any flicker of guilt he might have felt. His voice was glacial. “Kiara, there’s a limit to your tantrums.” I ignored him. I carefully wrapped the fragments in my handkerchief and turned to leave. Behind me, there was a loud crash as he kicked something over. Someone tried to play peacemaker. “Liam, maybe you should go after her. She looks really hurt.” Liam snorted. “Let her go. We’re already divorced. If she drops dead in a ditch, it’s got nothing to do with me.” “I’ve been too good to her over the years. I’ve spoiled her rotten. She thinks the whole world revolves around her. Now she’s throwing a fit and ruining everyone’s fun over some stupid dead person’s necklace. Is it really that serious? She’s insane.” “Let her go. Mark my words, she’s got no parents, no friends. I’m the only savior she’s got. In three days, she’ll come crawling back, begging for my forgiveness.” He kept talking, his words a venomous torrent. I didn’t look back once. I didn’t shed a single tear. This time, we were really, truly over. 5 Back home, I put the pieces of the necklace into a small silk pouch and hung it back around my neck. I stared at the empty room, feeling a profound sense of nothingness. It was like I had nothing left. After all these years, I hadn’t managed to hold on to anything. Useless. I found myself thinking again, why wasn’t I on that plane with them? Then I would be with my parents forever. I wouldn’t have been taken in by an uncle who only wanted my inheritance, and I wouldn’t have been rescued by a boy whose heart would eventually change. I wouldn’t be like a piece of driftwood, tossed about, unwanted. I sent a message to the person I was supposed to meet. “I’m not going to make it tomorrow. Have a safe trip.” Then, I went into the bathroom. Just as the water in the tub was about to close over my head, my phone started ringing, loud and insistent. By some strange impulse, I struggled to the surface and answered it. My throat was raw and swollen from the water. It took all my strength to force out his name. “Ethan?” Ethan Vance was a student I had sponsored. After Liam and I got married, he had turned down every job offer I received. He said the world was a dangerous place, and he was afraid that if I was exposed to too much, my depression would return. He said he would take care of me, that I should just stay home and be happy. For the first two years, it was bliss. I was completely cared for. I watched movies, surfed the web. One day, I came across a website for underprivileged students, kids who were struggling but full of dreams. My heart ached for them. I had the money, so I sponsored a dozen of them. Later, I found out most of them were scams. Only Ethan was different. He had the saddest story—no parents, working since he was in elementary school. He was also the most honest. He never asked for an extra penny. As long as he had enough for food each month, he would return the rest. He gave me all his personal information, sent me regular updates, shared his awards and certificates with me. I watched as Ethan got into a top university and started his own company with a friend. The day he graduated, he was not only the valedictorian but also a successful young entrepreneur. I was so proud of him, but I declined his invitation to the ceremony and cut off all contact. My father always used to say, “Lend a hand when they’re down, but disappear when they’re on top.” Until six months ago, when we met again at the headquarters of Liam’s company. He was there for a business meeting; I was there to bring Liam lunch. The negotiation had just ended. Liam, furious that he hadn’t gotten the terms he wanted, took his anger out on me, knocking the lunch I’d brought to the floor before storming out. The soup I had spent hours simmering stained the floor and the hem of my dress. The silence in the room was thick with embarrassment. Then, a man in a sharp suit walked over, knelt down, and began to wipe the mess from my dress. “Ma’am,” he said, looking up at me, “your husband has a terrible temper.” It was Ethan. He was no longer the hardened negotiator from the meeting, but a gentle, tame wolf. That was the first time we had met in person. Because of his business dealings with Liam’s company, we started running into each other more often, and we reconnected online. The day I walked out of the city records office, Liam had rushed off to his hotel. Ethan happened to message me. [How have you been?] I told him the truth. [Not great. I’m divorced. I don’t know where to go.] He suggested, [Maybe you should travel. Clear your head.] But a bird that has been caged for too long forgets how to fly. Then he said, [I’m going to Switzerland on business in a week. It’s beautiful there. Want to come along?] [Yes.] 6 “Did you make other plans?” he asked now, his voice tight with worry. I looked at the overflowing bathtub and was at a loss for words. “No.” “Then why did you change your mind?” “Because… I’m just tired.” My bleak, pathetic life was exhausting. I didn’t want to fight anymore. There was a long silence on the other end of the line. For a while, all I could hear was the sound of the wind. I thought he was about to hang up. I was about to get up and go back to the bathroom. Then he spoke again. “Let me take care of you. Then you won’t have to be so tired.” I froze. My resolve to leave this world alone crumbled. With a trembling finger, I managed a single, affirmative sound. “Okay.” Ethan was unbelievably fast. I don’t know how fast he was driving, but by the time we hung up, he was already downstairs. He changed his flight, picked me up, and we headed straight for the airport. It was so sudden it felt like a kidnapping. When we boarded the plane, my hair was still damp. I was in a daze. He got me a blanket, draped it over my shoulders, ordered me a hot drink, and pressed it into my hands. Then, like a magician, he pulled a stack of magazines from his bag and set them in front of me. “You can look at these if you get bored. You studied art, right? These are some of the most respected publications from the last few years. I thought you might be interested.” His voice was gentle, comforting. “I just have a little work to do. Let me know if you need anything.” After I nodded, he turned to his laptop and began to work. The light from the screen illuminated his handsome face, his long fingers flying across the keyboard. He looked exactly like the stoic, unapproachable executives from the movies. But for some reason, I felt a sense of peace. I sipped my drink, feeling the warmth return to my body. I opened a magazine, and a riot of color filled my vision, a stark contrast to the black and white world I had been living in. The moon outside the window was bright. It lit up the sky. It felt like it could light me up, too. 7 When we arrived in Bern, the capital of Switzerland, Ethan took me to our hotel. One suite. I took the master bedroom, he took the guest room. He was there to inspect a potential partner’s manufacturing plant, a deal that was crucial for his company’s future. So the first week was incredibly busy. He was gone before I woke up each morning, leaving only a handwritten note and a freshly made breakfast. And a new, updated travel guide for the day. The guides were meticulously detailed: which bus to take, which restaurant to eat at, the best time to visit each attraction. He was like an invisible tour guide—I couldn’t see him, but he was everywhere. Following his guides, I visited art galleries, museums, clock towers, rose gardens… I took pictures, ate delicious food, saw incredible sights, and experienced all kinds of performances. It was magical, exhilarating. Even the most ordinary streets were fascinating. I could spend ages just looking at a uniquely designed streetlight. I felt like a country bumpkin, wandering through this magnificent city. But I had never felt so relaxed, so free. Liam had never taken me on a real trip. He always said that with my history of depression, I needed to limit my exposure to the outside world, to keep my mind from wandering. Trapped in his gilded cage, I had thought life was utterly pointless. But now, I found myself falling in love with the world. Ethan and I would meet for dinner, our second meeting of the day. He would listen patiently as I shared my adventures, a gentle smile always on his lips. Then he would turn into my personal hype man. “You should seriously consider photography. Your pictures are amazing.” “You’re a walking encyclopedia! I learned so much about art history today.” Being praised like that by someone five years younger than me made my cheeks burn. “Stop it,” I said, embarrassed. “Who taught you to flatter people like that?” “You did.” My heart skipped a beat. The soft light in his eyes pulled me back years ago, to when we first met. He was the student, I was the sponsor. “First place again? You’re incredible!” “You broke the record! You’re going to be amazing one day.” It was as if fate had come full circle. The tree I had planted all those years ago had grown, and now it was sheltering me from the storm. 8 While I was enjoying the peace and quiet in Switzerland, on the other side of the world, someone was losing their mind. The VIP room, usually a scene of wild partying, was thick with a tense, oppressive atmosphere. At the center of the storm was Liam, chain-smoking, his face a dark, terrifying mask. No one dared to speak. Because Kiara was gone. It had been seven days since their fight, and he still hadn’t gotten the apology he was waiting for. A strange panic had started to set in, and he had finally gone home to look for her. But she was gone. Her clothes, her documents, all her personal belongings were missing. He tried to call her, but he was blocked. Every other way he tried to contact her was met with a red exclamation point. This wasn’t a trip. This was a severing of all ties. Liam refused to believe Kiara would actually leave him. He had domesticated her, turned her into a helpless, broken-winged canary. She couldn’t survive without him. But what if? The thought gnawed at him. He tried to drink it away, but the alcohol only fanned the flames of his anxiety. Something had slipped from his control, and it infuriated him. Zoey arrived late, dressed in a slinky black dress that showed off a lot of skin. She slid in next to Liam, pressing herself against him. “Who upset my big brother?” she purred. “Tell me, and I’ll fix it.” Liam waved her away dismissively. “It’s nothing. Stay out of it.” “Is it because Kiara ran…” Zoey began, trying to be clever. “I said, stay out of it!” Liam roared, his voice suddenly sharp and dangerous. Zoey flinched, her eyes filling with tears. But this time, Liam didn’t comfort her. He just kept drinking, his voice cold. “If you’re going to be a buzzkill, you can get the hell out.” Zoey shut her mouth and quickly poured him another drink, a silent apology. For all her wildness, she was still just a parasite, surviving on the whims of men. Cut off from her source, she would quickly wither. That night, Liam drank himself into a stupor. Someone had to carry him home. Lying on the cold, empty bed, he groaned, “Honey, get me a glass of water…” But the only answer was a vast, crushing silence.

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Before the company went public, the intern suggested serving boba tea to our foreign investors. My boyfriend said, “That’s creative. Stop crushing new talent.” The shareholders chimed in, “Boba tea is so down-to-earth. It’s not like the investors are royalty.” I didn’t say a word. I just quietly swapped it for black tea and a fruit platter before the meeting started. The deal was a success, but she went on a livestream, crying that I had bullied her and stolen her credit. My boyfriend’s silence was his agreement. The live comments were a storm of ridicule, and the trending hashtag was everywhere: “Audrey Collins, get out of the business world.” I was murdered with a can of gasoline. My mother died of a heart attack. My father was killed in a hit-and-run, and no one dared to help him. Reborn into a second life, I just nod. “Fine. Just remember to add extra sugar.” Then I turn around, quit, and take every single investor with me. 1 “I just think, for the investor reception, we don’t have to be so… formal.” Chloe’s voice was soft as she stood before the conference table, a tablet cradled in her hands. She wore a simple white dress, her eyes wide and clear. “Something like artisanal boba… it’s a local, trendy brand that’s relaxed but also has a strong identity. It could reflect the young, vibrant atmosphere of our company.” As she spoke, she swiped through her presentation. Images of colorful boba teas flashed across the screen, paired with macarons and miniature cupcakes. It looked less like a pitch for serious investors and more like a mood board for an office party. I stared at the screen, my face a carefully composed mask of neutrality. Underneath the table, my fingers slowly curled into a tight fist. I had been in this meeting before. In another life. The last time she suggested boba, I shot it down immediately. I pointed out that one of the key partners from Dalton Capital had Type 2 diabetes and another had a severe dairy allergy. She had teared up on the spot. “Does Audrey… not like me?” My boyfriend, Ethan, had given me a cold look. “Don’t be so petty, Audrey.” Later that night, she went live on Instagram, sobbing to her followers about how I used my power to crush her ideas. That video got over a million views. And when the deal finally closed—thanks to my back-breaking work—she got all the credit. I was branded the toxic, creativity-killing female executive. Then came the breakup with Ethan. The systematic purge from the company I helped build. The relentless, suffocating wave of online hate. And then, the gasoline. I died in a blaze so hot it left me unrecognizable. When my father came to identify the body, he collapsed on the spot. A fatal brain hemorrhage. My mother, upon seeing the single, sterile line of text on the cremation certificate, suffered a massive heart attack. A neighbor found her hours later, long after her last breath had passed. And Chloe? She took everything that was mine, walked onto a stage in a custom couture gown to accept an award, and said, “I want to thank Audrey for teaching me what it means to be a professional.” I am reborn. Reborn in this conference room, as she says the words again, proposing boba tea for our most important investors. I watched the corner of her mouth. That faint, almost imperceptible smirk. She was waiting for me to object, just like last time. But this time, I didn’t give her the satisfaction. “I think it’s a great idea,” I said, my voice cutting smoothly through her presentation. I smiled. “Boba is young, it’s trendy, it’s creative. Chloe, you’ve put a lot of thought into this.” She froze. A strange, heavy silence fell over the room. “When you’re hosting executives,” I continued, my smile unwavering, “you want to show them who you are.” Ethan glanced at me, the corners of his lips lifting in a subtle, pleased curve. As if he was finally seeing the compliant woman he always wanted me to be. “Well, if Audrey’s on board, then let’s move forward with the plan,” he said. The room exhaled. A chorus of agreement followed. “The younger generation just gets it.” “Right? We don’t always have to do that stuffy English high tea thing.” “Who doesn’t love boba?” I let my gaze drift over the faces of my old friends around the table. The same ones who held my feet to the fire in my last life, all while claiming it was for the good of the company. This time, I’ll let you burn yourselves. I excused myself from the room and pulled out my phone, dialing a number from memory. “Noah,” I said, my voice low. “You told me once that you had a standing offer for me. Senior partner, equity, full decision-making authority… is that still on the table?” There was a pause on the other end, then a rich, knowing laugh. “Always. For you, Audrey, my door is always open.” “Good,” I said. “Then let’s talk.” 2 In my last life, Chloe stood in the center of this same room. White dress, ponytail, tablet in hand, selling her boba tea gospel with a pure smile and a gentle voice. I couldn’t help but offer a word of caution. “We’re hosting the executive partners from Dalton Capital, not a panel of TikTok influencers.” She flinched. Her lips trembled. “Does Audrey… not like me?” Ethan, sitting right beside her, shot back at me, his voice sharp. “Are you targeting her?” I was stunned into silence. “You’re just jealous,” he’d said, his voice dropping, “that she’s young, charming, and that people actually like her.” The room was silent. Then, one by one, the other partners chimed in. “What’s wrong with a little creativity? Maybe we’re just too old to get it.” In that moment, I understood. It didn’t matter if you were right. If you weren’t fragile and doe-eyed, if you didn’t know how to play the victim, no one would ever take your side. And she played it perfectly. That night, she went live on Instagram. The title of the stream was: 【I was bullied into silence at my dream internship today 】 She sat in what was clearly a staged, poorly-lit corner of her apartment, her clothes artfully damp, her eyes red and puffy. She cried as she spoke. “I suggested using a local boba brand for a reception, and my boss, the VP… she called me an idiot in front of everyone… I just don’t understand. Are young people not allowed to have ideas?” The comments exploded. 【Who treats an intern like that in 2025?】 【This is a textbook case of workplace abuse. That VP is toxic.】 【I’m reporting Audrey Collins. She has no right to be in a leadership position.】 【Sounds like she’s just threatened by someone younger and more creative.】 I had just gotten out of a late-night meeting. I opened Twitter to see my name trending for all the wrong reasons. It was my birthday. I opened my private social media, and a new post was at the top of my feed. It was from Ethan. 【Hoping every intern with a good idea gets to see it through without being maliciously shut down.】 The picture was a cup of boba tea, held next to Chloe’s tear-stained face. I texted him immediately. What the hell is this? His reply was instant. Figure it out yourself. It was followed by a voice memo, his tone cold and detached. “Audrey, I don’t think this is working anymore.” I drove to his office like a madwoman. I just wanted to ask him, “What did I do wrong?” He sat behind his desk, his expression unreadable. “The deal is done. Chloe’s concept was a hit with the secondary investors. Right now, the company needs a symbol, a fresh face. It doesn’t need your… emotional volatility.” “A symbol?” I gritted out. “After five years of building this company with you, I’m just a ‘symbol’?” “Can you please be rational?” He sounded annoyed. “Look at yourself right now. You’re hysterical.” I was fired the next day. A termination letter was slid unceremoniously across my desk. I became the poster child for toxic female leadership. The media invented stories about my “chaotic personal life,” my “abusive management style,” my “pathological need for control as an aging woman in tech.” Someone went to my parents’ small town and filmed a vlog outside the community clinic where my mother worked, narrating, “What kind of person could come from a family like this?” My father tried to stop them and the stress of it all sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. The day they threw the gasoline on me was two days after Christmas. They cornered me outside an old warehouse. A group of them, their faces twisted with self-righteous anger. They called me a “corporate monster,” a “parasite who kills the dreams of the young.” They shoved me to the ground and emptied a canister of fuel over me. “Did you drive Chloe to suicide?” one of them screamed. “How dare you still show your face?” I struggled, shouting back, my voice raw with terror. “You’re insane! She’s not dead! She’s lying to you!” No one listened. “Light it.” Someone struck a match. As the flames consumed me, my last coherent thought was of the new beige trench coat I was wearing. My mother had saved up for months to buy it for my birthday. In the final second before the fire melted my skin, my phone screen lit up. It was the last voice message my father ever sent me. “Pumpkin, Daddy’s on his way to bring you home.” But he never made it. On his way to me, he was killed instantly by a driver who ran a red light. And my mother, when she heard the news of my death, locked herself in the bathroom that night. She slit her wrists in the bathtub and never woke up. No one dared to claim my body from the morgue. It was three days before the county officially processed me as an unclaimed Jane Doe and sent me to the crematorium. “No name necessary for this one,” they’d said. Chloe’s livestream tears earned her millions of followers and the title of “the ultimate survivor.” Ethan took full control of the company, hailed as a hero for “purging the toxic elements from his leadership team.” The entire internet celebrated my death. They said I deserved it. I died worthless. And now, I am back. Back, listening to her say those same words one more time: “I propose we serve boba tea to the investors.” I look at her, and I smile. “I love it. Let’s do it.” 3 “Audrey, are you sure you want to sit this out? This presentation is critical.” My assistant, Maya, stopped me in the hallway, her arms full of binders. I pulled on my black trench coat, my expression serene. “Didn’t Chloe say she wanted the chance to lead a major client-facing event? Let’s give her the opportunity.” Maya gave me a complicated look, then lowered her voice. “Mr. Henderson is backing her so openly… people are whispering. They’re saying you’re being sidelined.” A small smile touched my lips. “Sidelined? He can try.” I pushed the door open and walked back into the conference room. Chloe was already standing at the front, dressed in a pale pink pantsuit. “This is our big chance to connect with the partners at Dalton Capital,” she said, her voice bright. “I’ve outlined the full hospitality plan for your review.” The first slide of her PowerPoint deck was a single, massive title: “A Gen-Z Inspired Hospitality Initiative” Below it was a high-resolution logo of a trendy boba chain, so bright it was almost blinding. “My plan is to set up a custom boba bar during the break. We’ll have flavors like Jasmine Green Tea, Peach Oolong with Cheese Foam, and Grapefruit Green Tea, with fully customizable sweetness levels. For food, we’ll have lava cakes and candied orange peels to really showcase our team’s energy.” As she spoke, she glanced back at me. It was part boast, part challenge. I sat in the back row, sipping a glass of warm water, calmly flipping through a prospectus. “One of the senior partners at Dalton has advanced Type 2 diabetes. Are you planning on displaying the exact sugar content for each drink?” I asked coolly, not bothering to look up. Chloe faltered for a second. “Well, they can order a zero-sugar option.” “A ‘zero-sugar’ boba that still uses a fructose-based powder and a sweet cream foam for the topping. Are you going to stand there and explain the glycemic index of every ingredient to them?” “I…” “The primary contact for this deal is their Singapore division. Culturally, they lean Western. Do you think they’ll appreciate fruit-flavored sugar water?” “I… I can make a special note of it in the briefing,” she said, her posture stiffening. “And besides, not every single investor will refuse boba. We can always offer a second option…” “Chloe has prepared a comprehensive plan,” Ethan interrupted, his tone a clear defense of her. “We shouldn’t be so quick to tear down a junior team member’s ideas.” I finally looked up at him and offered a small, knowing smile. “So, Audrey, what’s your final opinion?” Chloe asked, biting her lip, her eyes wide and pleading. I looked right at her, my smile slow and deliberate. “My opinion is,” I said, letting my gaze sweep across the room, my voice soft, “the plan is excellent. Very creative. If no one else has any objections, I say we proceed exactly as she’s outlined.” A palpable wave of relief washed over the room. Someone whispered, “Wow, Audrey’s really mellowed out.” “Yeah, she’s not as intense as she used to be.” “You have to give the kids a chance to shine…” What they didn’t understand is that I simply had no interest in cleaning up their mess this time. After the meeting, I walked to my office and locked the door. My phone buzzed with a text from Noah. 【Got the files. We’re running the framework by the board. We can greenlight as early as next week.】 I sent him the business plan I had been working on for months. The name on the cover wasn’t Audrey Collins. It was Nexus Strategy Group, a new boutique consulting firm I’d quietly registered. And just this morning, the firm’s ownership structure had been transferred to a blind trust. On paper, it was anonymous. In reality, I controlled everything. Down the hall, Chloe was still in the conference room with the events team, laughing and coordinating her “boba bar.” She looked like a blooming flower. That evening, a text came in from Ethan. 【Chloe is still a little naive. She gets nervous easily. As a senior leader, you should guide her a bit.】 I laughed out loud. He wanted me to mentor Chloe? Did he want her career to implode even faster? I texted back a simple, “Okay.” Then I opened my laptop, compiled her entire history of breaking company policy—her undeclared influencer side-gigs, the times she’d used company resources for personal projects—into a single, anonymous document, and sent it straight to the Ethics & Compliance department’s whistleblower email address.

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Leo was cheating on me. A one-night stand. The girl got pregnant. Now she was here, in my husband’s high-rise office, demanding he take responsibility. Leo lit a cigarette, the smoke curling around his impassive face. Then he turned and handed the choice, the power, the entire mess, to me. “It was once,” he said, his voice flat. “If you can forgive me, we can move on from this. Make it work.” He paused, the ash on his cigarette growing long and fragile. “If you can’t, we get a divorce.” The blood drained from my face. I could hear it rushing in my ears. “It was your mistake, right?” I asked, my voice a tremor. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. You’ll take the blame, won’t you?” 1 My marriage to Leo was built on my sister’s leftovers. My younger sister, Chloe, is a whirlwind—vibrant and charming, with a stubborn streak a mile wide. The idea of being shackled to a man for the sake of a “strategic family alliance” was, to her, a life sentence. So she took the trust fund top-up—a cool twenty million—and vanished. My mother, heartbroken over her favorite’s departure but unwilling to lose a son-in-law like Leo, shoved me forward to take her place. She acted as if any daughter from our family, the House of Sterling, would be an acceptable substitute. As if Leo would simply take one, regardless of the model. But this was Leo Vance. In the world we lived in, a world of old money and new power, he was the apex predator. Chloe leaving him at the altar wasn’t just an inconvenience; it was a public humiliation. And now they wanted him to marry me? The quiet, overlooked older sister? It was delusional. Still, I went to see him. I walked into his office, laid out my case, and proposed myself as a solution. To my everlasting shock, he agreed. This year marks our fourth anniversary. To the outside world, we are a power couple. In private, we are like polite roommates who happen to share a bed. Even in our most intimate moments, there is a formal, almost respectful distance between us. My mother has been relentless, a constant drone in my ear. You need a child. You’re useless, Audrey. A baby is the only thing that will anchor a man like Leo. What will you do if he just leaves? I always wanted to say, Leo isn’t a dog to be leashed. And even if I had a leash, would he ever willingly wear it? But I never said that. I would just nod, my posture shrinking, my voice a murmur of agreement. It was the version of me she expected, the version she despised the most. She’d roll her eyes in disgust, turn on her heel, and leave me in her wake. Then, against all odds, the impossible happened. I got pregnant. 2 My period was late. First one week, then two, then four. Last night, I took a test. Two stark pink lines appeared against the white plastic. This morning, I went to the clinic for a blood test to be sure. The doctor held the report, her expression neutral. “You’re nine weeks along. Are you planning on keeping the baby?” “I think so,” I said, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. Leo didn’t know. This child was never part of our sterile, five-year plan. I needed to talk to him. Clutching the report in my purse, I drove to his office downtown. Leo was in a board meeting when I arrived. His assistant, Sarah, showed me into his expansive corner office, her smile professionally warm. She brought me a cup of coffee and a small plate of artisanal pastries. I lifted the porcelain cup, the rich aroma filling my senses. Then I paused. Can you drink coffee when you’re pregnant? I had no idea. A quick search on my phone. Yes, in moderation. Relief washed over me. I took a small, careful sip, letting out a sigh of pure satisfaction. The sigh was cut short by a commotion from the reception area. A woman’s voice, sharp and furious, sliced through the calm of the executive floor. I opened the office door a crack and found myself staring directly into the eyes of a woman being held back by security. Her face was flushed, her eyes blazing. “Get Leo Vance out here!” she screamed, her voice echoing off the marble floors. “Does he think he can knock someone up and just walk away?” The sound was deafening. The spectacle, mortifying. The crowd of onlookers, a blur of judgment. The shame was so intense I wanted the floor to swallow me whole. I wanted to scream, This has nothing to do with me! Just then, Leo appeared, his face a thundercloud. He cut through the crowd, his eyes finding me peeking through the doorway. In two long strides, he was there. A large, warm hand with perfectly sculpted knuckles covered my eyes, blocking the scene. I flinched back instinctively. With a soft click, he pushed the door closed, shutting me inside. I blinked in the sudden silence. Wait. My husband cheated, knocked up another woman, and the angry, pregnant mistress was at his door… and I wasn’t supposed to be involved at all? 3 It turned out I was involved. Just not in the way I expected. Leo dismissed the onlookers with a single, cutting glare. He murmured something to the woman, his voice too low for me to hear. Then he opened the door and ushered her into the office, right in front of me. He was so calm, so infuriatingly composed. I had the absurd urge to applaud. To cheat on your wife and handle the fallout with the detached air of a CEO managing a hostile takeover… it was a singular talent. The woman was cool. She wore simple, expensive athletic wear, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail under a baseball cap. She dropped into the leather armchair opposite me, crossed one leg over the other, and radiated an aura that screamed, Don’t mess with me. She was also, I noted with a clinical sort of bitterness, stunningly beautiful. Sharp, delicate features, eyes that were both cold and captivating. It was the kind of face you couldn’t bring yourself to hate. Too bad she had a mouth. “So, you’re the wife?” she said, her eyes flicking over me with casual dismissal. “Divorce him.” She placed a hand on her flat stomach. “I’m pregnant. He needs to take responsibility for me.” I bit the inside of my cheek. Well, I’m pregnant too. Who’s going to take responsibility for me? Logically, as the wife, I should have had the upper hand. But when marriage becomes a battlefield, the one with the least to lose often screams the loudest. “Hah,” I let out a short, empty breath and reached for a small biscotti from the plate on the table. It was nutty and perfectly crisp, not too sweet. Delicious. “Want one?” I offered, holding it out to her. Her face twisted in disgust. She pointed at me, turning to Leo. “Is she insane?” For the first time, a crack appeared in Leo’s composure. A frown line creased between his brows. He grabbed my hand and pulled me into the private lounge connected to his office. He smoked an entire cigarette in tense silence. “It was once,” he finally said, his voice rough. “I was at a conference. Someone spiked my drink. It was an accident.” “Audrey.” He met my gaze, his eyes sharp and serious. “It was my mistake. So you get to decide.” He took a step closer. “If you can forgive me, we’ll move past this. We’ll make this work, for real this time.” He took a breath. “If you can’t, we get a divorce.” The word—divorce—landed like a punch to my solar plexus. My heart skipped a beat, then began to hammer against my ribs. I dug my thumbnail into the fleshy part of my palm, the small pain a welcome anchor. “It was your fault, right?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. “If we get a divorce, you’ll admit it was your fault. That will be the story.” 4 Leo studied my face. He was a handsome man. More handsome than anyone I’d ever known. I liked looking at him. Especially in bed, from below, watching the way his eyes would glaze over with pleasure, listening to the raw, sexy sound of his breathing. In those moments, I could forget everything and lose myself in pure sensation. A divorce. It would be a shame. But not impossible. “So, your decision is a divorce?” he asked, his voice hardening. I nodded, gesturing vaguely toward the other room. “After a scene like that? I don’t see another way.” “It’s just… my mother,” I said, needing the reassurance. “You’ll tell her it was your fault, right?” I had to confirm it again. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by a cool, unfamiliar distance that made my stomach clench. But I was an expert at managing that feeling. I took a deep breath and pushed it down. Leo stood up, brushing a piece of non-existent lint from his suit. “Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’ll handle everything.” Phew. That was a relief. “Okay. In the divorce, you can have everything else. I just want Helios Pharmaceuticals.” “Fine.” “And, if it’s not too much trouble, a house. One of the villas in the Heights would be nice.” “Done.” “Could I also have three hundred million?” Leo turned back, his gaze pinning me to the spot. “You want everything and a divorce?” A bitter, humorless smile touched his lips. “If we don’t get a divorce, Audrey, it’s all yours anyway.” I looked away, suddenly fascinated by my own feet. Well, you’re the one who cheated, I thought. If you hadn’t cheated, we wouldn’t be getting a divorce. And if we weren’t getting a divorce, your wife and your child would both be yours. …Wait. Even with a divorce, he’d still have a wife and child. Just a different set. Damn it. He really was a businessman, wasn’t he? Always calculating, always making sure he came out ahead. 5 Leo sent the woman away. What they discussed, what he promised her, I have no idea. By the time I emerged from the lounge, she was gone. The delicious pastries were gone, too. Not a single crumb left. I stared at the empty plate. As I was leaving, I couldn’t stop myself. I grabbed his assistant, Sarah, by the arm. “Those little biscotti from earlier,” I whispered. “Could you… could you pack some for me?” Sarah’s expression was a painful mix of pity and confusion. From behind me, Leo’s voice cut through the air, cold and sharp with contempt. “Pack them for her.” The scandal exploded. By evening, my mother was calling. The first call, I ignored. The second, I ignored. On the third, I stared at the screen for a long moment before walking to the kitchen and dropping my phone into the sink full of water. Finally. Peace. In that quiet, a single thought crystallized in my mind with perfect clarity: I was going to have this baby. This child. I would provide half its chromosomes. It would be nourished by my own body, grow from my own flesh, and emerge as a new, independent life. It would be connected to me by blood and bone. My family. My ally. Why on earth would I not bring him into this world? Yes. I was going to have my baby. The decision filled me with a giddy, unfamiliar excitement. I went to the wine cellar and opened a forty-thousand-dollar bottle of red. Can you drink alcohol when you’re pregnant? No. Wait. In moderation. So, cheers! 6 At eight o’clock, my mother descended. The banging on my front door was loud enough to be reported for disturbing the peace. But I live in a gated community with no close neighbors. A small perk. I put on my noise-canceling headphones and turned the stereo up until the floor vibrated. Still, I could faintly hear her muffled screaming through the bass. I couldn’t make out the words, but I knew the script by heart. It would be a lecture on “The Uselessness of Audrey,” followed by the classic sermon, “What is Audrey’s Purpose for Existing?” No new material, nothing innovative, but still a performance I had no desire to hear. After a while, the noise stopped. A while after that, my front door opened. Leo stood over me, pulling the headphones from my ears. In one hand, he held my waterlogged phone. In the other, a brand-new one. His face was a mask of cold indifference. “Put your SIM card in this,” he said, his voice clipped. “The lab couldn’t reach you, so they called me. Call them back. Now.” I tilted my head back to look at him. “You see, Leo? You were wrong.” “What?” “You cheated, and that’s why we’re getting a divorce. But my mother still came here to blame me.” He stared down at me, his jaw tight. He took a deep breath. “I know. I’ll handle it.” Leo’s method of “handling it” was, to put it mildly, a complete failure. One star. Would not recommend. My mother stormed into his corporate headquarters and had to be physically restrained by security. I was just leaving my lab at the time, exhausted after an all-nighter. The sample reactions weren’t promising, and the whole research team was feeling dejected. Leo always said that in these moments, a leader should offer encouragement and inspire hope. “But they’re human,” I’d argued. “It’s normal to feel discouraged.” To me, the most inspiring thing about them was their courage to fail a thousand times and still be willing to start over. That was a resilience I understood. My train of thought was derailed by my assistant. “Dr. Sterling, your mother is here. She’s demanding to see you.” She could demand all she wanted. If I didn’t want to see her, she wouldn’t. I took the private elevator down to the garage, planning to slip away unnoticed. But as my car rounded the corner, she materialized in front of it like a vengeful ghost, her eyes burning with rage. There was no escape. I ended up buying her a coffee. As we sat in stony silence, I mentally calculated. It had been 372 days since we’d last seen each other. We were so close to a new record. A real shame. “You’re divorcing Leo?” she began, dispensing with pleasantries. “Yes.” “Are you sick in the head?” The attack came with zero warning, a verbal ambush. The onslaught continued without pause. “Do you have a brain in there? Do you think you’re better than everyone else? What man doesn’t cheat? Does any man have a perfectly clean slate? But no, not you. You have to make a federal case out of some tiny little thing and scream divorce. If you’re not ashamed, I’m ashamed for you.” “Whose fault is it when a man cheats? It’s yours. You couldn’t keep him, couldn’t control him.” “I told you, being book-smart is useless! You have no social graces, no common sense, you’re stubborn and blind. People always say I favor Chloe, but if you were half as considerate, half as loving as her…” “You’d still favor her,” I cut in, finishing her sentence. She choked, her mouth agape. Then she shrieked, “Audrey, must you always contradict me?” No. I was just tired. I wanted to sleep. I was pregnant, and the tiny cluster of cells in my belly needed to grow. I stood up to leave. But my movement was like flipping a switch in her. She grabbed my arm, her grip like a vise. Her face contorted with fury, and just like she had countless times when I was a child, she raised her hand to strike me. In that instant, sheer terror paralyzed me. I could have dodged. I could have blocked her arm. I could have even fought back. But my body betrayed me. My nerves felt severed, incapable of sending a single command. I just stood there, frozen. A wooden doll, not even breathing. 7 “Mom!” A bright, cheerful voice cut through the tension. My mother’s hand stopped mid-air. She turned, her angry expression melting into one of pure delight. Standing in the doorway of the cafe was Chloe, slightly out of breath but with a perfect, radiant smile plastered on her face. “Chloe, baby! When did you get back? Why didn’t you tell me you were coming?” Chloe practically skipped over, squeezing herself between my mother and me. She linked her arm through our mother’s, leaning her head on her shoulder affectionately. “I wanted to surprise you! Oh, Mom, I’ve missed you so much.” My mother beamed, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening with pleasure. I took a small, imperceptible step back, giving them space for their mother-daughter reunion. My back hit something solid and warm. A wall of muscle. “Chloe, how did you get here? Who picked you up from the airport?” my mother asked. “Leo did, of course!” Both of them turned their heads in unison to look at the man standing directly behind me. Leo. His hand was resting on my lower back, steadying me. “Are you okay?” he murmured, his voice low. I took a shaky breath. “So when,” I asked, my own voice just as low, “did you and your former fiancée get back in touch?” His jaw tightened. “For now, she is still my sister-in-law.” “Oh, right. So how did you get in touch with your sister-in-law?” He didn’t like that question. I could see the muscle in his jaw twitching. Someone else didn’t like it either. Chloe pouted, disengaging from our mother and inserting herself between Leo and me. “Leo, what are you guys talking about? I called your name and you totally ignored me.” She linked her arm through his as naturally as she had with our mother. Our mother’s eyes darted between them, a flicker of suspicion in her gaze. “Chloe, you two…” Chloe’s face flushed a delicate pink before she even spoke. She stomped her foot playfully. “Mom, don’t be silly.” She looked from Leo to our mother, her expression a perfect mix of coy denial and unspoken possibility. “Leo and I, we’re just… we’re just…” she trailed off. “Oh, forget it! You guys are so annoying!” That performance—the hesitation, the feigned embarrassment—was classic Chloe. A look of dawning comprehension spread across our mother’s face. Her lips curved into a triumphant smile. “Okay, okay! Wonderful! Today is a happy day. Leo, you come with Chloe. We’re all going home for dinner.” Everyone in that little circle was busy with their own drama. Only Leo spared me a final, fleeting glance. But in the end, he allowed Chloe to pull him away. And my sister, from the moment she arrived to the moment she left, never once looked at me.

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I was nine months pregnant when I cleared the memory on the dashcam. That’s when I found it: a saved location, a strange apartment complex in the West End, woven into the fabric of my husband’s daily commute home. The footage showed him getting out of the car with bags of groceries, his back disappearing into the building with an ease that spoke of routine. Once, I even heard a woman’s voice, a soft, melodic complaint drifting through the open car window. “What took you so long? You’re ten minutes late. I’m starving.” Five years of marriage. Four rounds of IVF to get this baby. I couldn’t bring myself to detonate our world. So I did nothing. I pretended I saw nothing. A week later, I was in the delivery room, the birth turning complicated, when Michael’s phone rang. A frantic voice crackled through the speaker. “Chloe’s on the roof. She says if you don’t come right now, she’s going to jump.” His hand pulled away from mine before his brain could even process the choice. “She’s the daughter of my late mentor…” He couldn’t meet my eyes. “I just have to talk her down.” “If you walk out that door today,” I screamed, my voice tearing from my throat, raw and desperate, “this baby will not have a father.” He paused at the door, his shoulders tight. He threw a look back at me, a flicker of something—pity, maybe, or regret. But then his resolve hardened, and he was gone, his footsteps echoing down the hall as he ran. 1 I knew the woman on the phone. Chloe. I’d seen her face countless times on Michael’s dashcam. I lay on the operating table, my gown soaked through with sweat, clinging to me like a second skin. My child wasn’t even born yet, and his father had already abandoned him. Through a haze of pain and fear, I could hear shouting in the hallway. My parents, his parents, their voices clashing in a storm of anger and disbelief. Another contraction ripped through me, a tidal wave of agony, but it was nothing compared to the shattering of my heart. My mother’s voice, choked with tears, was the loudest. “Who the hell is that woman? Is Michael insane? Leaving his wife while she’s in labor?” Michael’s parents were desperately making calls, their voices trembling. “Claire, honey, just hold on. We’ve sent someone to find that damn fool. If he doesn’t come back today, we don’t have a son!” In my struggle, my wedding band slipped from my finger, falling to the floor. A nurse’s shoe kicked it into the shadows under the bed. The contractions were coming faster now, a frantic, punishing rhythm. The alarms on the machines began to shriek, one after another. “Fetal heart rate is dropping!” A doctor’s shout cut through the chaos, and then, my world went black. When I woke up, the sterile scent of antiseptic filled my nose. A nurse was adjusting my IV drip. Seeing my eyes open, she spoke in a hushed, gentle tone. “You lost a lot of blood. You’re lucky we were able to save you. As for the baby… you can always have another.” A bomb went off inside my chest, leaving a gaping, silent crater where my heart used to be. My mother sat beside me, her eyes brimming with unshed tears as she gently wiped my own away. “Oh, my sweet girl. You’ve been through so much.” My father stood by the bed, his face a mask of pain. Michael’s parents hovered in the corner, their faces etched with guilt. I stared at the blank white ceiling, silent tears tracking a path back into my hair. The last five years of my life played out in my mind like a silent film. Michael’s proposal at our college graduation. The way he stayed up all night researching recipes for my morning sickness. The look of pure joy on his face as he meticulously recorded the baby’s heartbeat at every check-up. Every single one of those tender moments was now a bitter joke. Michael’s best friend, Leo, stood hesitating in the doorway, his guilt radiating off him in waves. “Claire… Chloe, she… she had a depressive episode. Said she’d jump if Michael didn’t go. He didn’t have a choice… you…” He trailed off, unable to finish, as if he finally heard how hollow the words sounded. “And what?” I asked, my voice flat, devoid of emotion. “I’m supposed to be understanding?” I wanted to ask him how many times he’d covered for Michael. How many of their “guys’ nights” were really something else entirely. But then, suddenly, I didn’t want to know. I waited for my husband to come back. I waited as the sun set and the moon rose, as the darkness of night gave way to the pale light of dawn, and then as night fell once more. At eight p.m., after twenty full hours of silence, Michael finally appeared. His suit was rumpled, and his gaze skittered away from mine. “Claire, I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice raspy. “Chloe was in a really bad place. Her father made me promise I’d look after her before he passed. I had to…” I cut him off. My voice was a shredded whisper. “Do you know that our baby is gone?” My words hung in the air, heavy and sharp. “You knew I was having a C-section yesterday. You knew, and you still chose to go to her.” I could feel the last threads of my control starting to fray. “Michael, that was our child.” Silence stretched across the sterile room. He reached for my hand; his palm was cold as ice. “Claire, in five years, I’ve never asked you for anything. Not really. But this one time, I am begging you not to make a scene.” My blood ran cold. “Chloe just lost her father,” he continued, his voice low and urgent. “If she gets accused of breaking up a marriage on top of that, her depression will get so much worse.” I looked at the desperate plea in his eyes, and my heart felt like it was being ripped into confetti. He shouldn’t be begging me for this. He should be on his knees outside the NICU, sobbing his heart out. A person’s first instinct doesn’t lie. He hadn’t asked the doctors why I’d hemorrhaged. He hadn’t asked how scared I was during the surgery. His first words, his only concern, were for another woman. Tears streamed from my eyes, soaking the pillowcase. It took every ounce of strength I had left to force a single word from my throat. “Fine.” He let out a breath he was clearly holding. “Chloe can’t be alone right now,” he said, as if discussing a business arrangement. “I’m going to move in with her for a little while. Just until she’s more stable. Maybe five months or so. Then I’ll come back, and we can start trying for another baby. Okay?” His tone was so casual, like he was rescheduling a meeting. My eyes snapped wide open. It was like having a bucket of ice water dumped over my head. The child we had waited five years for was gone, and my husband was already making five-month plans for another woman. In that instant, my world didn’t just crack. It imploded. 2 My hand instinctively went to my flat stomach. Just days ago, it had held a new life, the living proof of the love we once shared. Now, it was just an empty, mocking space. I slowly pulled my hand from his grasp. My voice was terrifyingly calm. “Michael.” He looked at me, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “The first time you tried to make soup for my morning sickness, you filled the entire kitchen with smoke. You secretly recorded the baby’s heartbeat and made it your ringtone, showing it off to anyone who would listen. You stood outside the ultrasound room and shouted, ‘Don’t be scared, honey!’ until a nurse chased you away three times.” My voice started to break. “For five years, you spoiled me so completely I barely knew how to function. You insisted on tying my shoes for me… I really, truly believed we would be happy forever.” I lifted my tear-streaked face to his. “But now… when I look at you, I can’t see a single trace of that man. There’s no concern for me in your eyes at all.” The weight of five years of memories washed over us. Michael’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “But Claire,” he finally choked out, “Chloe really needs me right now.” She needs me. Those three words pulverized the last glittering shard of hope I had left. I stared at him, at this man who had suddenly become a stranger. My voice trembled as I bit out the words. “Get. Out.” He flinched, took a half-step toward me as if to embrace me, but then he turned. Without another word, he walked away, his figure disappearing down the long, empty hallway. On the day that would have been our baby’s three-month memorial, I knelt at the tiny grave. Michael wasn’t there. “Hi, sweetie. Mommy’s here to see you.” My voice was a soft whisper, but I couldn’t stop it from shaking. My mother wrapped an arm around my shoulders, her own tears falling freely. “I’m here, Claire. Mom’s right here.” I leaned into her, my voice thick with grief. “It’s okay. At least I had him with me for a little while. And… maybe, with things being the way they are… maybe it’s better that he didn’t have to come into this family.” Just as the words left my lips, Michael arrived. He knelt beside me. “My sweet boy, Daddy’s…” “I told you that day,” I cut him off, my voice cold as stone. “If you walked out, this child wouldn’t have a father.” He frowned, a look of pained exasperation on his face, as if I were a petulant child throwing a tantrum and he was the magnanimous adult, tolerating my outburst. “Claire, I know you’re hurting, but don’t say things like that. I’m his father, and I’m hurting too. You…” My mother’s hand shot out, the sharp crack of her palm against his cheek echoing in the quiet cemetery. “Hurting?” she spat. “Is your idea of hurting abandoning your wife during a high-risk delivery to go take care of some tramp?” Michael’s face darkened instantly. But before he could speak, Chloe herself came rushing toward us from the cemetery gates, her eyes red and swollen. She looked only at Michael, her voice catching on a sob. “Michael? Are you done? Are we… are we finally going home now?” My father surged forward. “Michael! What day is it? Do you have any idea what you’re doing, bringing her here?” Michael seemed to realize how terrible this looked. He stammered, “Dad, I didn’t have a choice. Chloe’s not been well. I couldn’t leave her at home alone.” “Not well? And it’s your job, a married man’s job, to take care of her? Do you know what today is for your son? Do you have any idea what your wife has been going through?” Chloe immediately bowed her head, her voice as faint as a mosquito’s buzz. “I’m so sorry, sir… I didn’t mean to. It’s just, Michael said he was coming out here today, and I got scared being alone, so I followed him.” It was a masterful performance of fragile victimhood. And, of course, it worked. Michael immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her. “Dad, if you’re angry, take it out on me. Don’t blame her.” My father, incandescent with rage, turned to Michael’s parents. “This is the fine son you two raised!” My mother helped me to my feet, her whole body trembling with fury. “Michael, are you even human?” His parents were frantic now. “Michael, this really isn’t the place,” his mother pleaded. “Please, just have someone take Chloe home.” But Michael acted as if he hadn’t heard a word. Instead, he took Chloe’s hand, his grip tightening. “Her mental state is finally stabilizing. She can’t handle any more stress.” I stared at him, my voice cracking. “So… in your world, she can’t be stressed, but I can? I’m just supposed to handle the death of our child on my own, is that it?” Before he could answer, Chloe spoke up, her voice laced with wounded nobility. “It’s okay, Michael. Claire’s right. It was thoughtless of me. You… you should go back to her. Take care of your wife.” She sniffled. “I’ll… I’ll go home right now and pack your things.” She turned, stumbled, her high heel catching on the edge of a headstone, and she went down hard. Michael’s hand, which was still holding mine, clenched so tightly I thought my bones would snap. He almost let go, almost lunged for her. But he stopped himself, watching as Leo rushed over to help her up. A long moment passed. Then he spoke, his voice low and heavy. “I’ll stay with you a little while longer.” He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Chloe. “But you need to remember something, Chloe. Claire is my wife. The one I married. The day she needs me to come home, I have to leave. No tears, no scenes. I’ve done more than enough for you over the years.” Chloe bit her lip, and then, as if she could no longer hold it in, she burst into tears and ran from the cemetery. Michael didn’t move. He didn’t chase her. He just stood there, his expression unreadable. But the hand holding mine was trembling. You can’t hide what you truly care about. Years ago, I was hospitalized with acute gastritis, and he drove all night from a business trip to be with me. His eyes were red with worry, but he put on a stern face and lectured me about eating street food. He was just like this then, too. Saying harsh words with his mouth, while his thumb gently, unconsciously, stroked the back of my hand. 3 That evening, in the private dining room of a restaurant, the air was thick with tension. Our parents sat around the large circular table, the silence broken only by the clinking of silverware. Leo leaned over and whispered in Michael’s ear. “Chloe’s still in the parking lot. The valet said she’s just sitting in her car, crying.” Michael didn’t even look up. He was spooning soup into a bowl for me, his movements steady and deliberate. “Let her,” he said, his voice flat. The tension in the room ratcheted up another notch. The meal was tasteless. It felt no different from all the meals I had eaten alone lately. Chloe was the daughter of Michael and Leo’s beloved professor, a man who had been a mentor to them both. They had all grown up together. Leo never said it outright, but he always looked out for her more than he ever did for me, his supposed sister-in-law. When the main courses arrived, the final dish, a steamed snapper, was placed in front of me. Leo suddenly spoke up. “We should save some of that for Chloe. Fish is her favorite. If you want more, Claire, we can just order another one.” Michael let out a short, cold laugh. He reached out and pulled the entire platter of fish directly in front of my plate. His voice was hard as ice. “What my wife likes to eat is not for outsiders to share.” He said the words. But after he put down his chopsticks, his eyes kept darting toward the door of the private room. A waiter came in to clear the empty dishes. As he was about to take the scraps to the kitchen, Michael, who had been silent for a long time, suddenly stood up. “I’ll do it.” The waiter stared, baffled, but handed over the trash bag. After Michael left, Leo quickly moved to the farthest seat at the table and pretended to be engrossed in an email on his phone. Our parents lapsed back into an awkward, mechanical silence. The tightness in my chest was becoming unbearable. I stood up and walked into the hallway, needing fresh air. Without thinking, I found myself walking down to the underground parking garage. That’s when I heard it: Chloe’s soft, aggrieved sobs, mingled with Michael’s low, comforting murmurs. I ducked behind a concrete pillar. Outside, a light snow had begun to fall. Michael and Chloe were sitting side-by-side on the hood of his car, sharing a takeout container. He reached up and gently wiped a tear from her cheek. Chloe, her eyes red, balled her fist and hit his chest playfully, a pout on her face. “You’re going back to her anyway, so why are you still acting like you care about me?” Michael let her hit him, his expression filled with an endless, patient indulgence. It was a look of pure, unguarded tenderness—completely different from the careful, deliberate kindness he always showed me. “Don’t be silly,” he said, his voice laced with resignation. “I promised your father I’d take care of you for the rest of my life. You know I’m not going to abandon you, don’t you?” Chloe’s sobs subsided as she leaned into his side. Michael picked up a piece of pork rib with his chopsticks and held it to her lips. “I had this sent over from that private kitchen you like,” he murmured. “It’s much better than the food at the restaurant.” She took a bite, and her crying finally stopped. Michael began to explain, his voice low. “Claire just lost the baby. She’s emotionally unstable. This is just one dinner to keep the peace. Once she’s satisfied, she won’t keep pushing me to come home all the time.” So that was it. That was his calculation. All those times, over five years, when he’d sided with me in small, insignificant arguments—it wasn’t about love. It was just a strategy to keep me quiet, to stop me from making trouble for Chloe. A few crumbs of affection were enough to make me feel grateful, to keep me docilely by his side. I looked at the two of them, huddled together against the falling snow. Michael had a sensitive stomach and a small appetite. He’d eaten a full meal upstairs in the dining room, yet he was now eating most of the food in the takeout container. Maybe it’s true what they say. You can only truly enjoy a meal with someone who shares your heart. Whether it was a childhood sweetheart or the great love of his life, one thing was clear. That person wasn’t me. 4 I turned and walked away silently. From my purse, I pulled out the divorce papers I’d had drawn up days ago. When I returned to the private room, divorce papers in hand, both sets of parents stood up. After the spectacle in the cemetery, even Michael’s parents didn’t know how to argue for their son anymore. My own parents just sighed and told me, “If you want a divorce, you have our support.” Michael’s mother hesitated, then gripped my hand, her eyes pleading. “Claire, can’t you just give him one more chance? He’s only like this because he feels so indebted to his mentor.” I said nothing. I just placed the papers on the table. Just as tears started to well in her eyes, the door swung open. Michael was back. And he had brought Chloe with him. She was wearing his suit jacket, and she surveyed the room with an air of entitlement, as if she were the incoming Mrs. Davies. The room fell dead silent. Every eye was on them. “Michael,” his mother’s voice trembled. “Why is she back here?” His father slammed his wine glass on the table. “Michael, have you lost your mind?!” Michael didn’t answer them. His gaze swept over the coat I was wearing and finally landed on my face. “Finished eating?” “Yes,” I replied calmly. “I’m going home.” He seemed to relax. “Okay. Text me when you get there.” He said it so casually, then turned and gently guided Chloe forward. “Mom, Dad, you know my mentor passed away. Before he died, he entrusted Chloe to me. I can’t go back on my word. For the next little while, I need to give her a job, so she’ll be starting at the company.” His brazen honesty made our earlier outrage seem petty and overwrought. Chloe smiled politely and reached for his mother’s arm. “It’s so nice to meet you, ma’am. Michael has taken such good care of me. He wanted me to meet all of you tonight. Since everyone is here, perhaps I could offer a toast?” Michael’s mother looked at me, her face a mess of conflicting emotions. “Claire, why don’t you… sit down and we can talk about this?” I was about to refuse, but Chloe cut in, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Yes, Claire. You should sit. You’re still his wife, after all. There are some things you should be aware of, don’t you think?” CRACK. The sound of the slap was sharp and clean in the silent room. I stared in shock as my mother lowered her hand from Chloe’s face. “Mom!” My mother turned to me, her eyes blazing, her voice shaking with a rage I had never seen before. “I carried you for ten months. Do you think I don’t know my own daughter? You married him when you were twenty-two. You’re twenty-seven now. Five years! You gave up a scholarship to study abroad for him. You managed his company socials for him. When he had stress-induced gastritis from drinking too much, you stayed by his hospital bed for three days without sleep. You loved him that much. You wouldn’t be letting go unless your heart was completely dead.” Her voice broke. “I don’t need you to be rich or famous. But I will not stand here and watch him humiliate you with his mistress. If you won’t do it, I’ll do it for you!” Her words were like a hammer blow, and the tears I had been holding back finally broke free. Chloe cradled her cheek, tears pooling in her eyes. Michael immediately pulled her behind him, his expression dark and terrifyingly angry. “Claire,” he seethed. “When did you learn to hide behind your parents to…” “Do you know what I find most disgusting about you?” I cut him off, stepping forward and slapping him across the face with all the strength I had. “Michael, you’re the one who deserves to be hit!” I snatched the divorce papers from the table and threw them at his chest. He caught them automatically. His eyes widened as he read the title. His pupils contracted. “Claire… you want a divorce?”

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Everyone in this city knows the two families that run the underbelly, the Hawthornes and the Sterlings, are bound by generations of arranged marriages. As the sole heiress of the Sterling family, I was engaged to Caleb Hawthorne before I could even form a complete sentence. An engagement that became a city-wide joke the moment photos of Caleb in bed with a college girl went viral. The story they spun was that the girl, drunk and heartbroken in some downtown dive bar, had mistaken Caleb for a male escort and bought him for the night with a wad of cash. Everyone expected her to be found in the river. But Caleb just laughed. “The way she cried,” he’d told the papers, a smirk playing on his lips, “it was interesting.” From that moment on, he was addicted to her. He paraded her around the city, a whirlwind of public trysts and whispered scandals. It all came to a head three months later, when the college girl showed up on my doorstep with a swelling belly. When I confronted Caleb, his voice was calm, dismissive. “Chloe is innocent, Ava. All she wants is my love, nothing more.” “Don’t worry,” he’d added, as if it were a comfort. “You can play games, but the position of Mrs. Hawthorne will always be yours.” I had to laugh. Caleb, you have it all wrong. It was never me who needed you to become the lady of the Hawthorne estate. It was always you who needed me to become the master of it. 1 Caleb found me in the study, where I was finalizing the guest list for the Memorial Gala. He placed a cup of steaming tea beside my hand. “Ava,” he began, his voice soft. “Add Chloe’s name to the list for next week’s gala.” The tip of my fountain pen dug into the polished mahogany of the desk, leaving a deep, black wound. The gala to honor the memory of my parents. And he wanted me to invite his mistress? I lifted my head, my eyes locking with his. “Caleb, do you really think I’m that much of a pushover?” “Of course not.” He looked at me, his dark eyes holding the same deep affection they always had. It was a look I used to treasure. Now, it just felt like a well-practiced lie. “Chloe is carrying a Hawthorne child, after all. We can’t keep her hidden away forever. The gala is the perfect opportunity for her to be introduced to the family.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “Ava, you’ve always been the reasonable one.” Reasonable. The word he used when he meant compliant. I picked up the teacup, its warmth a stark contrast to the ice in my veins, and poured the entire contents onto the Persian rug at his feet. “This is me being reasonable,” I said. “Are you satisfied?” He didn’t even flinch. Instead, he reached for my hand. “Did you burn yourself?” His warm fingers traced my skin, and a wave of nausea rolled through me. I snatched my hand away. “Stop this charade, Caleb. Cut the act!” He held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a patronizingly fond smile on his face. “Ava, getting angry isn’t good for you.” That look—the one you give a misbehaving child—made the fire in my chest roar to life. I grabbed the silver letter opener from the desk and brandished it at him, my voice a low growl. “I am not joking. And I said no.” The tenderness in Caleb’s expression finally evaporated. He stepped forward, reaching for the blade. “That’s dangerous. Give it to me.” “Get away from me!” In the struggle, the sharp edge of the opener sliced across my palm. A clean, deep line of red split the skin. We both froze. Blood welled up, dripping one by one onto the pristine invitation cards, staining his name and mine a brilliant crimson. Just then, his phone buzzed on the desk—a special ringtone I’d never heard before. Chloe’s ringtone. Caleb’s eyes darted from my bleeding hand to the glowing screen of his phone. He answered it. “Hey, Chloe.” His voice was a gentle murmur. “Don’t cry. I’m just taking care of a few things. I’ll be back with you soon.” I stood there, watching the blood flow freely from my palm, listening to him soothe another woman with a tenderness that cut deeper than any blade. Every word was a fresh twist of the knife. He waited a long time, so long the blood on my skin began to grow tacky. Finally, he hung up. Ignoring my wound, he let out a heavy sigh. “Ava, Chloe said she doesn’t want to make things difficult for you. She won’t come.” He paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “But,” he continued, “if you attend as the sole hostess, she’ll feel like an outsider. It will upset her.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “So?” He looked at me then, his gaze steady, and delivered the final blow, one word at a time. “So, the Memorial Gala is canceled.” He said it so simply. “That way, no one has to go.” I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Canceled? The Memorial Gala? It wasn’t just a party. It was the anniversary of my parents’ deaths. It was the Hawthorne family’s most sacred, blood-bound promise. Ten years ago, on September 9th, a brutal turf war had erupted, threatening to wipe the Hawthornes off the map. My father, seeing his oldest allies on the brink of collapse, sent every soldier, every asset, every gun the Sterling family possessed. He saved the Hawthornes, but in doing so, he signed our own death warrant. By sunrise, the great Sterling family was annihilated. The only one left was me, an eight-year-old girl in a blood-soaked dress. I remember Caleb’s grandfather, the Old Man, holding me, his body shaking with sobs. He led the entire Hawthorne clan to my parents’ graveside and knelt. He swore an oath before their tombstones to cherish me as his own granddaughter. He made a blood pact. The day I came of age, I would marry the Hawthorne heir. The family would never, ever forget the debt they owed. And now, this gala—a tradition bought with the lives of my family, this engagement forged from destiny and death—was being erased. All because Chloe didn’t like it. Caleb ignored the blood draining from my face. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from my forehead, placing a soft, familiar kiss there. “Ava, don’t worry,” he murmured, his voice laced with the same hollow reassurance. “She just wants the baby. It won’t affect your position as Mrs. Hawthorne. At all.” “Next month, when I officially take over as Head of the House, I promise, I will marry you.” 2 For years, the Old Man had been living abroad for his health. He was scheduled to return next month to officially pass on the Hawthorne Cane—the symbol of the family patriarch—to Caleb. In his mind, Caleb was already the king. After that night, I locked myself in my room. A cold war of silence descended on the house. For three days, I refused all food and drink. Meanwhile, a barrage of text messages from Chloe lit up my phone. You really think Caleb loves you? You’re just an arrangement, a business deal. Don’t get carried away. Can’t you just disappear? Die off like the dinosaur you are and let Caleb have a real life, a life where he can find true love? Then came the picture message. A close-up of a woman’s pale neck, covered in a galaxy of dark, angry bruises. Love bites. Even with me pregnant, he can’t get enough. We’re together every single night. And you? After all these years, has he ever even touched you? I deleted the message without a flicker of emotion and blocked the number. It was the night of the Hawthornes’ monthly family dinner. The long dining table was filled with aunts, uncles, and cousins, all of whom avoided my gaze, their faces etched with a mixture of pity and guilt over the canceled gala. I walked toward my seat at the head of the table, beside the patriarch’s empty chair, but my steps faltered. Chloe was sitting there. She wore a simple white dress, an innocent smile gracing her lips, as if she were born to sit in that very spot. Caleb was in the patriarch’s chair beside her, placing a piece of salmon on her plate as if they were the only two people in the room. A dead silence fell over the table. The air was thick with embarrassment. I walked to the head of the table and stood before her. “Get up.” Chloe flinched as if I had struck her. Her chopsticks clattered to the floor. Her eyes immediately welled with tears as she shrank against Caleb’s side. “Ava… I… I didn’t mean to.” I ignored her performance, my voice low and even. “I said, get up.” Caleb finally looked up, his brow furrowed in annoyance. “Ava, what is it now? It’s just a chair. Are you really going to make a scene over a chair? Chloe’s pregnant. I want her close so I can look after her. What’s the big deal?” I almost laughed. The absurdity of his words was breathtaking. “A chair?” I pointed to the carved, high-backed seat. “Caleb, you tell me. Is this just a chair?” My voice rose, echoing in the silent room. “This is the seat of the Hawthorne matriarch! What the hell is she, that she thinks she has the right to sit there?” Caleb slammed his hand on the table, the silverware jumping. He shot to his feet, shielding Chloe behind him. “She is carrying my child! My son! That means she is not an outsider!” he roared. “Ava Sterling, I respect you as my fiancée, but don’t you dare overestimate your importance! Anyone who tries to make her move from that seat answers to me!” He stood there, a barricade, defying me—defying his entire family—for her. A memory, sharp and painful, pierced through my anger. I was ten years old, new to the Hawthorne mansion, a timid, frightened little thing. Some of the older cousins were teasing me, pushing me. Caleb, barely a teenager himself, had beaten them all to a pulp. He had taken my hand, pulled me up the grand staircase, and announced to the entire household, “She’s with me. I protect her. One day, she will be the lady of this house. Anyone who makes her shed a single tear, I will make them wish they were never born.” The boy who had once shielded me from the world with his own body was now using that same body to shield another woman from me. He was pushing me away, violently and completely. The dinner ended in shambles. Late that night, Caleb came to my room, smelling of whiskey and regret. “Are you satisfied now?” he slurred. I said nothing. I simply unlocked my phone and showed him the text messages from Chloe. He stared at the screen for a moment, his drunken anger deflating. “She’s young,” he said, his voice regaining its composure. “A bit childish sometimes. I’ll apologize to you on her behalf.” He moved behind me, wrapping his arms around my waist in a placating embrace. “Ava, I promise you, no matter what, you will be the lady of this house. The day I become patriarch next month, we’ll get married.” He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his voice a desperate plea. “After we’re married, Chloe’s child can even call you ‘Mom.’ But you have to promise me you’ll be more generous. You have to be patient with her, okay?” “Disgusting.” The word escaped me like a venomous hiss. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Who ever said I was going to marry you?!” 3 Caleb didn’t come back after that night. Three days later, the frantic banging of our head butler on my bedroom door shattered the morning silence. “Miss Sterling! It’s terrible! Mr. Caleb… he’s taken Miss Chloe to the Sterling archives on the top floor! He forced the door!” The blood in my veins turned to ice. The archives. The room where every surviving belonging of my parents was kept. I sprinted up the stairs, my heart hammering against my ribs, and kicked open the partially ajar door. The room was a wasteland. My parents’ wedding portrait, shattered. My mother’s favorite porcelain vases, reduced to dust. My father’s calligraphy set, splintered and broken. Everything was destroyed. In the center of the devastation sat Chloe, crying dramatically over a small scratch on her leg. And kneeling beside her, like a devoted servant, was Caleb, dabbing at the tiny wound with a handkerchief. “Silly girl,” he murmured, his voice dripping with affection. “So reckless. I told you to take your time smashing things, didn’t I?” “CALEB!” The name tore from my throat. “What are you doing?!” He looked up, his expression utterly untroubled. “Ava. You’re here. Perfect. Could you grab the first aid kit? Chloe scraped her knee on some glass.” “I asked you,” I repeated, my voice shaking with a rage so profound it felt like it would split me in two, “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” “Chloe said the light in here was good,” he replied, a flicker of annoyance in his eyes. “She thought it would make a nice nursery.” He gestured impatiently. “Are you going to get the antiseptic or not? It’ll scar if we wait too long.” “You BASTARDS!” The scream was primal, ripping through me. The old wound on my hand, not yet fully healed, tore open again. Fresh blood dripped onto the floor. Seeing me, Chloe seized her moment. She pressed herself deeper into Caleb’s arms, her eyes meeting mine with a triumphant glint. With a flick of her hand, she swept a small glass figurine of my parents from a nearby table. It shattered on the floor. Caleb’s arms tightened around her protectively. “Ava, what is your problem?!” he yelled. “You’re scaring her!” “I’m scaring her?” My voice was raw with disbelief. “Caleb, did you ask my permission before you brought her up here?!” He let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “This is Hawthorne property, Ava. Why would I need anyone’s permission to show my fiancée around?” The words hit me like a physical blow. This room… this sacred space that the Old Man himself had promised would be mine, forever untouched. “Ava, this is the last thing I can do for your father,” he had told me, his voice thick with grief all those years ago. “This room, and everything in it, is the Hawthorne family’s eternal promise to the Sterlings. Anyone who dares to touch a single thing in here is striking at the very root of our family.” And now his own grandson, the heir he was so proud of, was digging up that root with his bare hands for a woman he’d met in a bar. “Hawthorne property?” I repeated, my voice dangerously low. I took a step toward them, my finger shaking as I pointed at Chloe. “This property was bought with Sterling blood! What is she that she even deserves to breathe the air in this room?” “Get out,” I snarled. “Get. Out. Now.” I lunged, my hands reaching for Chloe’s hair. Caleb moved faster than I thought possible. He twisted, shielding her completely with his body, taking the brunt of my attack on his back. “Ava, have you lost your mind?!” he roared. I froze, staring at him as he sheltered her. That posture. That broad, protective back. When we were children, another boy had thrown a rock at me. Caleb had shielded me just like this, wrapping his arms around me, letting his own back take the blow. That protection had once been mine alone. Now, he was using it to defend someone else. From me. My heart didn’t just break. It felt like it was being ripped from my chest by hand. “It’s just a bunch of junk belonging to dead people!” he spat, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. “You’d attack a pregnant woman over this trash? Ava, I am so disappointed in you.” Trash. He called my parents’ memories trash. The last thread of sanity inside me snapped. I turned and grabbed a heavy curtain rod from the floor. “Then let’s all die together!” 4 Caleb whirled around, keeping Chloe tucked securely behind him. But as he moved to grab the rod from me, Chloe stumbled out from his protection. With a small, theatrical cry, she fell sideways into a pile of shattered porcelain, dragging her arm across the sharpest shard. “Ahh—! Caleb! It hurts! She hurt me!” she shrieked, cradling her bleeding arm. Caleb’s head snapped towards her. His eyes, seeing the blood, turned a dangerous shade of red. “AVA!” I had never seen him so furious. It was an anger that went beyond rage; it was murderous. “You dare hurt her?” he hissed, his voice trembling. Before I could speak, he pulled a small, tactical knife from his belt. The one he always carried for protection. He advanced on me, and for the first time in my life, I was truly afraid of him. “You like getting physical, don’t you?” he said, his voice a low, terrifying growl. “Fine. Let me teach you what happens when you cross the line.” In a flash of movement, the world exploded in pain. The blade of his knife was through my hand, pinning it to the wooden floorboards.

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On the set of the reality travel show Nature’s Embrace, I was the nobody they hired to cook. Seraphina Stone was the starlet who’d built a career on public meltdowns. The moment she tasted my food, she flipped the table and screamed that it was disgusting. Then, pointing at a dove in a cage across the room, she ordered me to stew it for her, to “replenish her energy.” The live comment feed scrolling across the giant monitor on set went wild with approval: 【YAS, QUEEN! SERAPHINA IS SO REAL!】 【This is the chaos we live for! Never compromise!】 【What’s the cook waiting for? Get that soup started for Seraphina!】 What they didn’t know, what none of them could possibly know, was that the dove was the beloved pet of Caleb Sterling. And if anyone touched that bird, every single person on this set would have their careers torched to the ground. 1 I’m Chloe Ross, a C-list actress so far down the Hollywood food chain I’m practically plankton. My one marketable skill, a flair for cooking, had landed me this gig as the on-air chef for Nature’s Embrace, a live-streamed wellness retreat show. Every other person here was a bigger name than me. So, naturally, by the time I brought the final dish—a pan-seared branzino—to the rustic farmhouse table, the other cast members had already devoured most of dinner. “You must be exhausted, Chloe. Come, sit and eat.” Seraphina Stone, sitting at the head of the table, beckoned me over with a saccharine smile, taking my hand in hers. The live feed erupted. 【She’s so sweet! She actually remembered the cook hadn’t eaten!】 【OMG I wish Seraphina would hold my hand.】 【Did Chloe even wash her hands before touching our queen?】 【Ugh, Seraphina doesn’t even care that the chef smells like kitchen grease. A true angel!】 The screen was a waterfall of praise for Seraphina’s kindness, as if conveniently forgetting I was the one who had cooked the very meal they were all digesting. Seraphina had skyrocketed to fame on a brand of weaponized “authenticity.” Throwing things and shrieking were just another Tuesday for her. Her fans adored her for “keeping it real,” hailing her as “Hollywood’s only authentic soul.” Here, she was the sun, and everyone else was a planet in her orbit. With millions watching live, Seraphina delicately lifted a piece of the branzino to her lips. She chewed twice, her brow slowly knitting together in a frown. “Pah—!” She spat the perfectly cooked fish onto the floor. In the next instant, she shot to her feet, her hands gripping the edge of the linen tablecloth. With a theatrical roar, she yanked it. “Is this supposed to be food for humans? It’s inedible!” The sound of shattering porcelain and glass exploded through the room. A tidal wave of gravy, wine, and leftover food flew straight at me. I jumped back, but a dark, greasy stain instantly soaked the cuff of my jeans. The comment stream lost its mind. 【OMG SERAPHINA IS A LEGEND!】 【This is the content I signed up for! Never let them serve you trash!】 【That cook took forever with the last dish. She probably burned it.】 【The realest woman in Hollywood! We need more of this honesty!】 【FLIP THAT TABLE! That food looked gross anyway!】 【#TeamSeraphina!】 As part of the show’s interactive gimmick, the live feed was projected onto a massive screen for the cast to see. Right now, everyone could read the dense scroll of cheers for Seraphina and accusations aimed at me. A few scattered comments murmuring 【kinda wasteful tho…】 were immediately buried under an avalanche of fan outrage and reported for removal. The set descended into chaos. The other guests swarmed Seraphina, cooing and consoling her. “Seraphina, are you okay? Watch your hands.” “Just let it go. She’s only the cook.” “‘Only the cook’? Her one job is to make decent food!” a guy in horn-rimmed glasses snapped at the actress who’d tried to de-escalate. “If Seraphina hadn’t tasted it first, we all could have eaten that garbage fish!” The speaker was Liam Ashford, heir to the Ashford hotel fortune and Seraphina’s self-appointed knight in shining armor. After every one of her public spectacles, it was his family’s money and influence that cleaned up the mess, insulating her from any real consequences. The actress who’d spoken up blanched, remembering the fates of others who had crossed Seraphina Stone. She fell silent. The live feed surged. 【Liam protecting his woman! A real man!】 【Stop shipping them, ugh. Our girl is single and thriving!】 【He’s right. Who knows what was in that nasty fish.】 【Seraphina has a sensitive stomach. This Chloe person probably did it on purpose.】 【Why hasn’t the cook apologized to Seraphina yet?】 “It’s okay, everyone. It was my fault, I was too impulsive,” Seraphina said, tugging on Liam’s sleeve, her voice suddenly fragile. “Chloe worked so hard on all this food. It’s normal to mess up one dish…” Liam smiled at her, a look of pure adoration on his face. “You’re just too good for this world, Sera.” 【See? She’s so kind. She always reflects on her actions after her episodes.】 【Don’t blame yourself, Seraphina! It’s the cook’s fault!】 【#CancelTheCook! We support Seraphina standing up for herself!】 Reading the supportive comments, a grateful smile touched Seraphina’s lips. “Thank you all for the comfort. But please, don’t be too hard on Chloe. I was also in the wrong… Hiss…” She trailed off, clutching her stomach. “Sera, what is it?” Liam immediately steadied her. Seraphina managed a pale, brave little smile. “It’s nothing. Just a stomach cramp. It’s an old problem, it has nothing to do with Chloe’s cooking.” Her words were gasoline on a bonfire. Liam whirled on me, his face burning with rage. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You served her rotten fish! Apologize to her right now, or I’ll make sure you never work in this town again.” 【APOLOGIZE TO SERAPHINA!】 【I’m so worried about her. Can we get this psycho cook fired and blacklisted already?】 【APOLOGIZE!】 【Get off the show! Get out of Hollywood!】 【CHLOE ROSS APOLOGIZE!】 【CHLOE ROSS APOLOGIZE!】 The screen was a solid block of text demanding my apology. All I could feel was a bitter, hollow laugh stuck in my throat. Was it for my carefully prepared dish, now spat on the floor and declared garbage? Or for my own dinner, which was now a pile of trash at my feet? My gaze drifted past Liam’s furious face to Seraphina. There wasn’t a trace of pain in her eyes. Only a poorly concealed glint of triumph. I couldn’t understand where this came from, why she was targeting me like this. We’d never met before this show. “It’s alright, Liam. If Chloe doesn’t want to apologize, let’s not force her,” Seraphina said, playing the magnanimous peacemaker. But Liam wasn’t letting go. “She’s still defending you when she’s doubled over in pain because of your rotten fish! Do you have any conscience at all?” Seraphina’s eyes drifted to the corner of the yard. “Tell you what,” she said, her voice soft but laced with steel. “I saw that plump-looking dove over there. Chloe, you’re such a good cook. Why don’t you stew it for me? To help me recover. We’ll call it even.” She was looking at a beautiful, all-white fantail dove, pacing elegantly inside a wicker cage. And seeing that dove, it all clicked. I finally understood the source of her bizarre, relentless hostility. The crew had found the bird wandering the property earlier and caged it. Before dinner preparations had even begun, Seraphina had ordered me to kill and cook it for her. But I had recognized it instantly. On its leg was a delicate, gleaming gold band with a distinctive pattern. It was the mark Caleb Sterling—the reclusive, all-powerful scion of the Sterling dynasty—put on his prized pets. I had no idea how the bird had ended up here, but I would never mistake that mark. I knew Caleb valued his privacy above all else, and the last thing he’d want was his pet becoming a plot point on a globally streamed reality show. At the time, I’d simply told Seraphina the bird was too sinewy to eat and deflected. I never imagined she would hold a grudge this long. I took a step forward, positioning myself between her and the cage. I kept my voice as level as I could. “Ms. Stone, that bird can’t be eaten. It has a leg band. It’s clearly someone’s pet.” Seraphina arched an eyebrow, her voice dripping with mock pity. “First you said it was tough, now you’re saying it’s a pet. If you don’t want to cook it for me, just say so. You don’t have to keep making up excuses.” Seeing Seraphina look so wounded, any flicker of doubt Liam might have had was extinguished. “Seraphina has bent over backwards for you, and you’re still arguing? You’re the chef! Cooking is your job!” The live feed chimed in. 【What is this cook’s problem? Is she obsessed with Seraphina?】 【It’s just a bird. If she wants to eat it, just make it for her!】 【I bet she’s doing this for screen time. So pathetic.】 【Wait, I think I do see a leg band. Maybe it is a pet?】 【Is that Chloe’s PR team in the comments? How much are they paying you?】 【So what if it’s a pet? She can just cook it. It’s an honor for the bird to be eaten by Seraphina.】 【What if the owner comes looking for it?】 【Who cares? Liam will just buy it for her!】 【Like Liam Ashford can’t afford one stupid pigeon?】 【I looked it up. It’s just a common dove. Nothing special.】 Buoyed by the comments, Liam puffed out his chest and addressed the cameras. “If the owner of this dove is watching, please contact the production team. I will buy it from you for ten times its market value.” Amidst a sea of 【Liam is so rich!】 and 【Baller move!】, a single comment popped up: 【Did the owner agree to sell? This sounds like a forced sale.】 It was immediately swallowed by a flood of 【Money talks, dude】 and 【Who wouldn’t sell for 10x the price?】. Another cast member chimed in. “Just do it, Chloe. It’s not like you got to eat anyway. We could all try some. It’s no big deal.” I gritted my teeth. “You don’t understand. This bird is different. Messing with it will cause serious trouble.” That was the last straw for Seraphina. She dropped the stomach-ache act entirely. She stormed over, snatched the cage, and unleashed her signature brand of chaos. “You say no? Who are you to say no? You’re protecting this stupid bird because you want to steal it for yourself, don’t you? Well, I won’t let you!” With a final shriek, she slammed the cage onto the stone patio. The wicker frame shattered. The terrified dove burst out, fluttering wildly before landing with pinpoint accuracy on my shoulder, letting out a mournful coo. “How did it fly right to her?” one of the guests gasped. Seraphina’s face twisted into a victorious sneer. “You all see that? She’s already tamed it. She was planning to take it for herself all along!” Liam was right behind her. “Chloe Ross. No wonder you kept making excuses. You’ve been plotting this from the start.” 【Seraphina called it! Chloe is so manipulative.】 【She says it has an owner when Seraphina wants to eat it, but suddenly the owner doesn’t matter when she wants to steal it?】 【Is it possible the dove is actually Chloe’s? I mean, it flew right to her.】 【Get real. It landed on her shoulder so now it’s hers? Please.】 【Yesss, another Seraphina meltdown! This is so satisfying!】 I looked at the trembling bird on my shoulder, at Seraphina’s gloating face, at the cold, amused eyes of everyone around me, and at the endless stream of insults on the screen. I sighed, a deep, weary breath, and finally told them the truth. “This dove isn’t mine. It’s Caleb Sterling’s.” For a single, beautiful moment, the entire set was silent. Even the live feed paused. The next second, Seraphina burst out laughing. “Chloe, if you’re going to lie, at least make it believable. Caleb is a friend of mine. He’s never owned a pet in his life.” A wave of understanding washed over the other guests. “I knew it. How would someone like Chloe Ross know anything about Caleb Sterling’s pets?” “She almost had me for a second.” “As if the Sterling heir’s pet would just show up here.” Liam scoffed. “Chloe, you clearly have no idea who you’re dealing with. Caleb Sterling despises people who use his name to get ahead. Looks like you’re finished in this town without me even having to lift a finger.” The live feed was a party. 【LMAO, she tried to bluff and got called. Epic fail.】 【Get her off my screen. I’m so sick of this clown.】 【Wait, Seraphina just called the Caleb Sterling by his first name? Is there something going on there?】 【I heard the Sterling heir had a famous ex he’s never gotten over. What if it’s SERAPHINA?】 【OMG IT MAKES SO MUCH SENSE!】 【No wonder Seraphina can be so authentic and never faces backlash. The Sterling family is protecting her!】 【I remember Liam saying he was friends with the Sterling heir.】 【Maybe Caleb asked Liam to look out for Seraphina since he can’t do it publicly?】 【Oh my god, is our girl Seraphina going to marry into the most powerful family in the country?】 【But why did they break up?】 Seraphina gave a shy smile at the comments. “Please don’t use his name so much. He doesn’t like the attention. Besides, I want to be recognized for my acting, on my own merit.” Her vague, suggestive words sent the feed into a frenzy. 【You can do it, Sera! We believe in you!】 【So she broke up with him to focus on her career and become his equal? That’s so romantic!】 【OMG. He protects her from the shadows while she works to become a star for him. It’s a real-life fairytale.】 【Chloe Ross needs to apologize already.】 【She is SO screwed. You don’t mess with the woman Caleb Sterling protects.】 【Just cook the damn dove as a peace offering. Maybe Seraphina will ask Caleb to go easy on her.】 Seraphina saw that last comment and smiled graciously at me. “Chloe, if you cook the dove now, I’ll forget this whole thing ever happened.” The other cast members were all nodding, and I could see the director off-camera frantically gesturing for me to agree. The name ‘Caleb Sterling’ was enough to make titans of industry tremble. If he was offended, everyone here would pay the price. I knew then that it was hopeless. These people were beyond reason. Ignoring all of them, I quietly pulled out my phone and dialed a number I knew by heart. The cameraman, sensing drama, immediately zoomed in. The call connected almost instantly. A deep, languid male voice came through. “Yeah?” I held the phone to my mouth, my voice clear and steady. “It’s me. Your precious dove is here on the set of Nature’s Embrace.” “Someone just smashed him out of his cage and is demanding I stew him for dinner.” “I thought you might want to handle it.” There were two seconds of dead silence on the other end. Then, a voice, devoid of any discernible emotion, said: “Five minutes. Stay put.” After I hung up, Seraphina applauded dramatically. “Great performance. But if you’re going to hire an actor, at least make it realistic. We’re in the middle of the mountains. How could Caleb possibly get here in five minutes?” I didn’t bother answering her. I gently checked the dove’s wing, finding a small scratch from a splintered piece of wicker. I found a first-aid kit and began to carefully clean the wound. A guest tried again. “Chloe, just stop this. Apologize and cook the bird.” “Yeah, we still have a show to film.” “Come on, everyone knows Seraphina is the one that got away for Caleb Sterling. Don’t be so stubborn.” At that, I finally looked up at the speaker. “Did Caleb Sterling tell you that himself?” Then I turned to Seraphina. “If he’s your ex, how did you not recognize his voice just now?” “Your phone’s volume was so low, how could I possibly hear it?” Seraphina snapped, taking an involuntary step back from the look in my eyes. “For all I know, you hired a voice actor who sounds like him months ago just for this moment.” Liam stepped in front of her, shielding her as if I were about to attack. “That’s enough. You’re just digging your own grave.” The live feed was still a cesspool. 【Can this be over already? I’m sick of looking at Chloe Ross’s face.】 【How dare she question if Seraphina is his great lost love? Is she implying that SHE is? LOL.】 【Five minutes? Why not five seconds? So fake.】 【The script is terrible. One star.】 【I can’t wait to see the look on her face when no one shows up.】 【But she seems so calm… what if it’s real?】 【Don’t be ridiculous. She’s a nobody. How would she even have his number?】 【I am living for the moment Chloe Ross has to get on her knees and beg for forgiveness.】 “It’s okay,” Seraphina said, slipping her benevolent mask back on. “Since Chloe called someone, the least we can do is wait.” The feed lit up with praise for her patience. 【Seraphina is so gracious, she’s willing to play along with this charade.】 【She preaches chaos but she’s the kindest one there.】 【I’ll bet you a thousand dollars the person who shows up is a paid actor.】 【I’m actually excited to see who it is lmao.】 The set fell into a strange, tense stalemate. Seraphina and Liam wore undisguised smirks, eagerly awaiting my public humiliation. The other guests were a mixture of detached amusement and pity for my pathetic last stand. The director was sweating bullets just off-camera, torn between the desire for a ratings explosion and the terrifying possibility of having angered someone truly powerful. The minutes ticked by. The mountain air grew cooler, the only light coming from the production crew’s massive lamps that turned our small clearing into a miniature sun. Five minutes passed. The only sounds were the chirping of crickets and the whisper of the wind. Seraphina’s smirk widened until it nearly split her face. She pretended to check a non-existent watch on her wrist. “Oh, dear. Time’s up, Chloe,” she cooed. “Where’s your Caleb? Did he get lost?” Liam snorted. “The cell service out here is terrible. Maybe the delivery guy she hired didn’t get his Venmo payment and bailed.” Just as the words left his mouth, a low, deep thrumming sound echoed from the distance, a sound completely alien to the natural rhythm of the forest. It was a penetrating hum that grew rapidly louder, more visceral, more deafening. It was the sound of helicopter rotors.

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