Five years in the music industry and I was still a ghost. My only option was to go home and marry a man I’d never met. My fiancé, as it were, already hated me. He didn’t show up for the wedding ceremony our families had arranged, but he did call me afterward to lay down the law. His voice was a cold, distant baritone over the phone. “Let’s get a few things straight. I’m in love with someone else, so don’t waste your time on me.” A beat of silence. “You’re free to see whoever you want. I won’t interfere.” And the final blow: “This is a business arrangement. We’ll get a divorce in one year. Be prepared for that, and please don’t make a scene when it’s time to sign the papers.” He hung up without waiting for a response. I stood there, phone in hand, just outside the door to his study, lost in thought. Funny, because from where I was standing, I could see that his study was a shrine dedicated entirely to me. 1 My name is Maya, but for five years, I tried to make the world know me as Evie. I poured my soul into my music, my parents poured money into my career, but I never caught fire. My brand of indie pop was always described as “having a chilly reception.” The irony wasn’t lost on me. So, I had to swallow my pride and honor the deal I’d made with my parents: if I couldn’t make it on my own, I would come home and secure our family’s future through a strategic marriage. My designated husband was Caleb Vaughn, the eldest son of the Vaughn dynasty, known for his ruthless efficiency and ice-cold demeanor. My best friend, Chloe, had given me the rundown. “He has the kind of face that could charm a saint into sinning, Maya. Seriously, he could be the poster boy for ‘dangerously handsome.’ You look at him and think he’s this refined, gentle soul.” Her voice had dropped, laced with pity. “But it’s a mask. Underneath, he’s a shark. He only cares about the bottom line. No heart, no soul, just profit margins.” She sighed. “Everyone feels so bad for you. Being married to a man like that… it’s going to be a cold, lonely life.” I clutched my phone, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. There was nothing left to say. After hanging up, I opened my social media for the last time. I navigated to my drafts, where a farewell message had been sitting for weeks. With a deep breath, I hit ‘post.’ 2 I was never a superstar, but I had a small, fiercely loyal fanbase. The moment my retirement announcement went live, my DMs exploded. A few familiar usernames scrolled past, but one stood out, as it always did: a simple, bold ‘C’. I knew him well. For the past five years, he was the constant in my career. The first to like, the first to comment on every single post. He was my most devoted fan. His camera equipment was clearly top-of-the-line; the photos he took at my small gigs were always breathtakingly crisp and professional. He’d poured an insane amount of money into fan projects and charity drives in my name, earning the affectionate nickname “Captain C” from the other fans. His profile page was a testament to his dedication. Pinned at the top was a video montage of my performances he’d edited, followed by a clip of him—never showing his face—meticulously copying a piece of choreography from one of my music videos. You could see the intense focus in his movements, an earnestness that bordered on clumsy. But the thing I remembered most about him were his comments. He never wrote flowery compliments or over-the-top declarations of love. It was always the same simple, almost stubborn phrase: “I hope you’re happy today.” Today, however, he broke his own rule. His message was a wall of text, a torrent of words filled with typos, as if he’d typed it in a frantic rush. He wrote about stumbling upon one of my videos during the darkest period of his life. How a throwaway line in an old interview had helped him get through a sleepless night. How his fingers would tremble with excitement every time I posted something new. His final words felt like they were torn from his very soul, restrained yet profoundly sincere. “I’m sorry, I know this is forward. But I have to tell you. You were a light for me. A lifeline. You became my reason to keep going. Getting to know your music these past five years has brought me so much joy. Evie, you are more important to me than you can ever imagine. You’re like… life itself.” I stared at the screen, noticing the jumbled letters and repeated words. He must have been typing through tears, his hands shaking so badly he could barely hit the right keys. My own eyes burned as I finished reading his heartfelt essay. I took a moment to compose myself, then typed a careful, genuine reply. “Thank you for five years of incredible support and kindness. I hope you’ll be happy every day, too. Maybe we’ll cross paths again someday.” 3 After replying to every last message, I took a deep, shaky breath, steeling myself against the ache in my chest. It was time to delete the account, to close that chapter for good. But just as my finger hovered over the button, a notification banner flashed across my screen. A trending topic. And my new husband’s name was at the top of the list. #CalebVaughnCrying Curiosity got the better of me. I tapped the hashtag, and a ten-second video immediately started playing. The dim, golden light of a streetlamp illuminated Caleb Vaughn’s sharp profile as he sat in the driver’s seat of a car. His long eyelashes were cast downward, his shoulders trembling slightly. A tear track was clearly visible on his cheek. He radiated a sense of brokenness, a despair so profound it felt like it could shatter glass. The comment section was a wildfire. “Whoa, is that the Ice King himself, Caleb Vaughn, actually crying? Did hell freeze over?” “LMAO for a second I thought his car was haunted.” “Whatever cosmic entity is possessing Caleb Vaughn, please vacate the premises immediately. This is creeping me out.” “Okay, but for real… what on earth could make this man cry?” That last question sent everyone into a frenzy of speculation. Some guessed it was the stress of the forced marriage. Others thought it was a simple work-related breakdown. Whatever the reason, I found I didn’t much care. I gave the screen a cursory glance and put my phone away, turning my attention to the logistics of untangling my life from my career. 4 It was two in the morning when I finally dragged my exhausted body home. The moment I unlocked my phone, a friend request popped up. The man from the trending topic. The request was simple, no message, just a name: Caleb Vaughn. I hesitated for a second, then tapped on his profile. His avatar was a black void. His bio was blank. His username was a single letter: Z. Everything about it screamed stay away. Massaging my throbbing temples, I sighed and hit ‘accept.’ A voice message came through almost instantly. His tone was cold and detached, the kind you use for a problem you can’t get rid of but are forced to deal with politely. [Miss Miller, hello. This is Caleb Vaughn, your fiancé.] I hated voice messages, so I typed my reply: [Hello.] Caleb was clearly not in the mood for pleasantries. He got straight to the point. [I’m in love with someone else. I will only ever love her. So, after we are married, I don’t want you to waste any of your time or energy on me.] [This is a business arrangement, nothing more. I have no issue with an open marriage. You are free to pursue anyone you like, and I will not interfere. Likewise, you will not interfere in my life.] [Maya, your father mentioned you have an ex you were very much in love with, who is now living abroad. I travel internationally for work quite often. I would have no problem with you joining me on a trip to create an opportunity for you two to meet.] I froze, reading the message again. [Are you saying you’d give me cover to go see my ex?] His reply was immediate. [Yes. That is exactly what I’m saying.] [Frankly, I have no desire to be entangled with you. It would be a relief to me if you had someone else to occupy your attention.] […] I didn’t know what to say to that. [Okay. Is there anything else?] [Yes. I want you to remember that this marriage will last for one year. Exactly.] [After one year, we will file for divorce. I expect you to handle it professionally. No tears, no drama. That would be embarrassing for both of our families.] I typed back quickly: [Fine. You don’t have to worry about that.] I could almost hear the sigh of relief through the phone. [One more thing, Miss Miller.] [I see no need for a public ceremony, nor will there be any… marital obligations. We should also keep the marriage itself private. The fewer people who know, the better. It’s for the best for both of us.] I had no objections. It all sounded perfectly fine to me. He went silent for a long time after that. I imagined him running through a mental checklist, making sure he hadn’t missed anything. Fifteen full minutes passed before a final message came through. [That should cover everything for now.] [Forgive me, Miss Miller, but I am a businessman. I don’t trust verbal agreements.] [To prevent any potential change of heart on your part, I would like to draw up a contract for us to sign. Would that be acceptable?] [The contract will cover everything we’ve discussed, including asset division. One-year term, no marital obligations, my assistance in arranging a meeting with your ex, and so on.] [Is this agreeable to you?] Of course it was. [Yes, Mr. Vaughn. Draft the contract and send it over.] He seemed satisfied. [I’ll have it ready for you by morning.] I thought for a moment, then typed: [By the way, Mr. Vaughn, should we meet in person before we sign the papers?] His refusal was swift and absolute. [That’s not necessary. It would be a waste of time. There’s nothing for us to discuss. We’ll see each other at City Hall in three days.] That suited me just fine. [Perfect.] 5 Caleb was clearly terrified I would back out, because the contract arrived in my inbox with remarkable speed. By 4:00 AM, a digital copy was waiting for me. What I didn’t expect was for him to show up at my parents’ house at six o’clock that same morning with a hard copy, a thick stack of pages bound and ready. My mother yanked me out of bed and shoved me toward the bathroom while my father made polite conversation with Caleb in the living room downstairs. With a toothbrush hanging from my mouth, I crept to the landing on the second floor and peered down at him. He was just as Chloe had described. He sat on the leather sofa, one long leg crossed over the other, his impeccably tailored black suit accentuating his lean, powerful frame. It was a simple posture, but on him, with his striking features and aristocratic bone structure, it exuded a kind of forbidden, magnetic allure. I could see why my father had been so adamant that Caleb was the “perfect, top-tier match” for me. Then my eyes caught something. Peeking out from under the cuff of his expensive suit was a thin, rose gold bracelet. Rose gold was my color—the signature color my fans had adopted for me. I could spot it a mile away. Did this top-tier, alpha-male CEO have a secret penchant for delicate, pinkish accessories? How… unexpected. 6 As my dad chatted with Caleb, he kept shooting subtle glances in my direction. But Caleb was like a statue, his gaze fixed on my father, his expression unreadable. Not even an eyelash flickered. He was making it painfully, abundantly clear that he had zero interest in his unseen, unheard-of fiancée. My dad, bless his heart, finally decided to force the issue. “Caleb, why don’t you stay for breakfast? Maya’s home, it would be a good chance for you two to get acquainted.” “That won’t be necessary.” Caleb’s voice was deep and smooth, yet utterly devoid of warmth. “No need to rush it, Mr. Miller. We’ll be seeing plenty of each other soon enough. It will be difficult to avoid, won’t it?” Before my dad could argue, Caleb cut him off coolly. “I should be going, sir.” He stood and turned to leave. At that exact moment, I finished getting ready and stepped into the living room. Caleb was just stepping out, pulling the front door closed behind him. He never once looked in my direction. He might as well have had the words “NOT INTERESTED” tattooed on the back of his head. 7 The moment he was out the door, my phone buzzed with a message from him. [Miss Miller, I’ve left the sealed contract with your father. Please review and sign it. My assistant will be by to pick it up later.] I sat down and read through the entire document carefully. In addition to everything we’d discussed, the final section had a clause that made my eyes widen. All profits and assets gained as a result of our alliance would be split 60/40. Sixty percent to me, forty to him. Furthermore, upon the dissolution of our marriage, I would receive a substantial lump sum payment. The total amount was staggering. Enough to live comfortably for the rest of my life, never having to work again. I counted the zeros twice. Suddenly, my apprehension about this marriage morphed into a different kind of anxiety—the kind that comes with being handed a fortune. I typed out a message, my fingers fumbling. [Mr. Vaughn, I noticed there aren’t any clauses in the contract regarding you and the woman you’re in love with.] [Did you forget?] It was a genuine question, but his reply was sharp with suspicion and impatience. [Miss Miller, you don’t need to test me.] [I am aware that women are often at a disadvantage in marital arrangements. I have no intention of doing anything that would cause you public embarrassment during the term of our marriage.] I paused, picturing him on the other end, frowning at his phone. I could almost hear him muttering, “Damn it, why is she prying into my business?” before composing a more diplomatic response. [Furthermore, I would never ask her to be the other woman. Not even in name.] He paused, and when he continued, his tone had softened, a clear shift brought on by the thought of her. [I will wait until my marriage to you is officially and completely over. Then, and only then, will I pursue her properly. I’ll tell her how I feel, and I’ll ask her to be with me.] [Of course, that’s all contingent on her not despising me and not being in love with someone else by then.] I’ll be damned. The ruthless CEO was a hopeless romantic. After another moment, he added: [By the way, please send me your passport number.] I immediately tensed up. [What for?] [The day after we register the marriage, I have a business trip. To the same city where your ex lives. I assume you still want to see him?] [I’ll book your ticket along with mine. As per our agreement, I’ll provide you with cover. We’ll tell our families we’re on our honeymoon.] I hesitated, my thumb hovering over the keyboard. He must have sensed my reluctance, because his tone became persuasive, almost coaxing. [Miss Miller, this is a golden opportunity.] [It’s unlikely our schedules will align this perfectly again. You should think carefully.] [If you miss this chance, who knows when the next one will be.] I was still wavering. After our breakup, I had blocked him on everything. [Your father mentioned the breakup was… unpleasant,] Caleb typed. [I happen to have a friend who is an expert in relationships, he specializes in helping estranged couples reconcile.] [I can bring him along. I’m certain he can help you two patch things up.] His persistence was starting to win me over. At the very least, it would be a free trip. I finally sent him my passport number. [Alright… thank you. I appreciate it.] [You’re welcome.] His mood instantly brightened. Even his texting style felt lighter. He really, really didn’t want me getting attached to him. 8 The plan was for Caleb’s assistant to pick up the signed contract, but late that evening, he sent me another message. [Miss Miller, I’ve been pulled into a last-minute meeting. My assistant is tied up. I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to drop the contract off at my house.] [And I’d prefer if you brought it yourself. I don’t trust couriers. The sooner this is signed and settled, the better for both of us.] He wasn’t wrong. He was afraid I’d back out; I was afraid he’d secretly change the numbers. I glanced outside at the torrential downpour and sighed. Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself out of bed. Thankfully, he lived just a few blocks away, a short ten-minute walk. Standing outside his house, I felt a strange sense of déjà vu. The layout of the front porch, the specific type of planters… it all felt incredibly familiar. I punched in the code he’d given me and the door clicked open. The houses in this neighborhood all had similar floor plans, so I easily found what I assumed was his study. But I stopped dead in my tracks, staring at the door. It was a glaring, out-of-place bubblegum pink. The rest of his house was a symphony of cold, minimalist design—cool white walls, black furniture, even black curtains. This one door was a splash of defiant color in a monochrome world. With a furrowed brow, I pushed it open. The first thing I saw was a massive, life-sized poster. My breath caught in my throat. I couldn’t believe my eyes. The person on the poster was me. It was from a photoshoot I did in my second year as Evie. I’d completely forgotten it existed. But it wasn’t just the poster. The room was filled. Photo cards, keychains, magazine spreads, merchandise from every brand I’d ever endorsed. There was even a cup holder from a bubble tea chain I’d been the face of for a summer. Every single item was meticulously labeled with a date. There were at least a dozen boxes of this memorabilia, all arranged with the care of a museum curator. Each piece was preserved as if it were a priceless treasure. 9 I rubbed my eyes, hard, convinced I was hallucinating. I wasn’t. And the setup of his desk, the specific angle… it looked identical to the background in ‘C’s’ videos. I pulled out my phone, comparing a screenshot to the room around me. The conclusion was staggering, undeniable. Caleb Vaughn—the cold, ruthless, contract-obsessed CEO—was my hardcore, devoted, anonymous fan, ‘C.’ Before I could even process this earth-shattering revelation, my phone buzzed again. A new message from him. “Miss Miller, I forgot to specify. The study I need you to leave the contract in is on the second floor, not the first.” My face flushed. [Sorry. I already put it in the first-floor study.] His reply was instant, tinged with panic. [?] [In that case, please leave immediately after dropping it off. And do not touch anything in that room.] [Those items are extremely important to me. If anything is damaged, I will not be lenient.] [Uh, don’t worry. I just put the contract on the desk and left. Nothing is damaged.] I paused, my gaze sweeping over the collection again. Some of these items were so rare, even I didn’t have them anymore. Yet here they were, perfectly preserved by him. An audacious thought sparked in my mind. [Mr. Vaughn, that celebrity… the woman you’re in love with… is it the one whose posters are all over this room?] A long silence followed before he replied with a single, solemn word. […Yes.] Me: […] Caleb: [Why? Do you know her? Are you a fan too? …Wait, are we fans of the same person?] Me: […Ha.] Caleb: [?] I managed a weak laugh. [I don’t think I know her.] His reply was tinged with a strange sadness. [That’s not surprising.] [She never made it big. I was going to finally take over the company this year, and I had plans to secretly funnel resources to her, things a thousand times better than what she had before. But… she retired.] [What is she going to do now? Will she get married this year?] [I wonder what kind of lucky bastard gets to be with her.] [That bastard better treat her right. If he doesn’t, I’ll hunt him to the ends of the earth. I will physically castrate him, then dismember his body. I will not let him get away with it.] Me: […] 10 I wiped a bead of sweat from my forehead and decided to push my luck. [By the way, Mr. Vaughn, are you absolutely sure we don’t need to meet before we go to City Hall?] Caleb: [Yes. I’ve already said so. I am absolutely certain a meeting is unnecessary.] Me: […Alright. I hope you don’t regret this.] His tone turned to ice. [What do you mean by that, Miss Miller? Are you having second thoughts? Are you planning to violate our agreement?] [Don’t forget, we have a signed contract. You can’t back out now.] Me: […] I chuckled. [Relax. I have no intention of backing out.] He still didn’t seem convinced. [Miss Miller, I recall the contract states there are penalties for breaching the terms.] I smiled. [I know. Don’t worry. Whoever backs out is a fool.] He mulled that over for a second, then replied with the conviction of a man making a solemn vow. [It’s a deal, then. Whoever backs out… is the biggest fool!] Me: [Heh. Mr. Vaughn, I bet people compliment you on your intelligence all the time, don’t they?] Caleb: [Of course. I often pride myself on my superior intellect.] Me: […] 11 Three days passed in a blur. We didn’t speak. On the day we were scheduled to go to City Hall, I arrived half an hour early. I was leaning against a wall, half-asleep, when Caleb’s Maybach finally pulled up to the curb. The moment he saw my face, his hands clenched the steering wheel. He froze, as if he’d been turned to stone. I didn’t hesitate. I pushed off the wall and started walking toward his car. At the same time, my phone began vibrating nonstop in my purse. It was Caleb, spamming me with messages. All his cold, detached arrogance from the past few days had evaporated. His texts were frantic, giddy with excitement. [Miss Miller, can we possibly postpone City Hall for a bit? I just saw her.] [She’s walking toward me right now. I just want to say one word to her. Just one. Please.] [Oh god, my heart is beating so fast. Am I having a heart attack? I think today might be the day I…] I reached his car and tapped my fingers lightly on the driver’s side window.

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The world lost my mother when I was six. Or so I was told. Before she vanished, she held my face in her hands, her eyes burning with an intensity a child couldn’t possibly understand. “Listen to me,” she’d whispered, her voice tight. “You are a Rhodes. You are the heir to everything. Don’t you ever let them see you as weak. Don’t let anyone push you around.” Her last words to me were, “I can’t take you with me. Don’t hate me for it.” I think I misunderstood. To keep from being pushed around, I started doing the pushing. Fights in the schoolyard turned into brawls in back alleys. I learned to smoke, to dye my hair shocking colors, to cultivate a reputation that made people cross the street when they saw me coming. Then, on the night of my eighteenth birthday, a ghost from my past kicked open the door to a grimy back room of a bar, and my whole world tilted on its axis. 1 When she walked in, I was grinding the cherry of my cigarette into the back of some punk’s hand. He’d called me a motherless charity case. The words had sunk into me like needles. He was bullying me, so I had no intention of letting him go. My crew had his head pinned to the sticky table. My right-hand guy, Jax, was leaning in close, his voice a low growl. “You must be new in Bayview. Nobody talks shit about Sadie. You’re lucky if she lets you walk out of here tonight.” The cigarette hissed against his skin, the smell of burnt flesh mixing with stale beer and cheap perfume. The kid’s scream was just another layer of noise in the chaotic room. I was sick of it. I tossed the butt aside, my hand closing around the neck of an empty beer bottle. I was going to bring it down on his head. But before I could, a hand snatched it from my grasp. A strong, sure hand. The rage inside me flared white-hot. I whipped my head up, ready to fight, and froze. She was dressed in a simple, elegant tracksuit, her body lean and athletic. She was beautiful, stunningly so, but it was her face that made my breath catch. She stood over me, her brow furrowed, radiating an aura of pure, undiluted authority. “Sadie Rhodes,” she said, her voice dangerously calm. “Who taught you to be like this? Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” That voice… I stared at her face, a perfect, living replica of the only photograph I had of my mother. For a second, the world spun. But I’d worn my bravado like armor for too long to take it off now. “Who the hell are you to talk to me like that?” I sneered. “You got a death wish?” Jax stepped forward, ready to roll up his sleeves. What he got for his trouble was a slap that echoed through the room. A clean, crisp sound, delivered with a surprising force that sent him stumbling back. Before I could even react, the woman said four words that shattered my universe. “I’m your mother.” I just stared. My mother had disappeared twelve years ago. Not died, not left a note. She had simply… ceased to exist. My father had searched for her for years. The police had an open case that gathered dust in a file cabinet somewhere. Not a trace. And now, after twelve years, this woman shows up claiming to be her. It was laughable. Another one of his replacements. Another wanna-be trying to use me to get to my father’s fortune. They all thought that if they looked enough like her, they could win the jackpot. I let out a cold, dismissive laugh. “My mother’s been dead for over a decade. And even if she wasn’t, she wouldn’t look like you. You want to run a con, at least make it believable.” The woman’s expression was a complicated storm of emotions I couldn’t begin to decipher. “You were so young when I left. It’s normal that you don’t remember. But you’re coming with me. Now.” She reached for my wrist. I actually smiled. This one was really committed to the part. I wondered if my father had already cleared out his collection of look-alikes for her. Too bad for her, I wasn’t interested in a stand-in for motherly love. With a flick of my wrist, I signaled my crew. They moved in. It was over in seconds. A blur of motion and a series of sharp cracks as she slapped each one of them into submission. They collapsed like dominoes. The hand I’d been reaching for another beer bottle slowly retracted. Okay. I had to admit, I respected power. And this woman could clearly handle herself. Maybe I wouldn’t pick a fight with her… just yet. In the end, she hauled me out of there like a stray cat she’d found in the rain. 2 The autumn air was sharp and cold against my skin. She dragged me all the way to the curb under the flickering streetlights. “Call your father,” she commanded. “Tell him to send a car. And tell him to be there when we arrive.” Her seriousness was so absolute, I couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me. If you’re trying to get Carter Rhodes’s attention, you need to do your homework. Nobody’s coming to pick me up. And I don’t have a father.” I shifted my weight, jamming my hands in my pockets. “If you think using me is your ticket to the good life, you’re dead wrong. Save yourself the trouble and walk away now.” I pulled a key from my pocket and pressed the button. Across the street, the lights of a beat-up, second-hand scooter blinked twice with a pathetic chirp. I didn’t miss the flicker of confusion and shock in her eyes. She followed me as I crossed the street, her frown deepening. “You ride… this thing?” That little comment was the match on the gasoline of my temper. She was one of them. A materialistic leech. Her face was probably the result of a dozen plastic surgeries, all designed to mimic the woman whose memory she was desecrating. I swung my leg over the scooter’s cracked vinyl seat. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I snapped. “You got a problem with my ride? It may be a piece of junk, but it’s mine. I bought it. You have an opinion, you can keep it to yourself. And don’t think for a second I’m scared of you.” In my world, you never showed weakness. I braced myself for another slap. But instead, she just sighed. Then, with a fluid grace that seemed utterly out of place, she sat down on the seat behind me. The poor little scooter groaned under the added weight, its frame creaking in protest. My brain stalled. “What are you doing? Get off. I’m going home. I don’t have time for your games.” She didn’t say a word. She just wrapped her arms around my waist. Her hands were soft and warm. A jolt went through me, an alien feeling of… something. I stiffened, every muscle in my body screaming in protest. Her voice, when she spoke again, was softer. “Sadie. I’m your mother. I’m not lying to you. Please, just take me home.” I had never met anyone so shamelessly persistent in my life. We were at a standoff for a long time, but she wouldn’t budge. Finally, I gave up arguing. Fine. I revved the pathetic little engine and peeled out into the empty street. Let’s see how long she’d last on this ride. It was late, the city streets deserted and quiet except for the whine of my scooter’s struggling motor. Halfway there, I stopped at a 24-hour bodega and bought a pre-made sandwich and a bottle of water. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. When I came out, the woman was standing by the scooter, her arms crossed. Her expression was grave. “This isn’t the way to the Rhodes estate,” she said. “Where are you going?” I ignored her. If she wanted to follow, fine by me. Let’s see how committed she was to this charade. I turned down a series of side streets, finally entering a narrow alley where the only light came from a single, buzzing streetlamp that threatened to give out at any moment. I could feel her tension behind me, her body held stiffly. I parked the scooter in front of a crumbling brick tenement building and slid off, grabbing my meager meal. “This is where I live,” I announced, daring her. “You brave enough to follow me in?” Her face was a mask of conflicting emotions. She hesitated for only a second, then squared her shoulders and followed me through the graffitied front door. 3 The hallway smelled of damp and decay, the light from the bare bulbs a sickly yellow. Our apartment was on the third floor, the door plastered with eviction notices and takeout menus. I popped a piece of gum in my mouth and unlocked the door. To my surprise, she brushed past me and went inside first. “Are you crazy?” I exclaimed, shutting the door behind her. “You really came in.” She ignored my outburst, her eyes scanning the tiny, cramped apartment. I didn’t care what she thought. Once she realized I had nothing of value, no leverage to use against my father, she’d be gone. The apartment was old, but I kept it clean. To the left was the one small bedroom. On the single twin bed, a woman with graying hair lay sleeping. She stirred at the sound of our entry, her eyes slowly fluttering open. I placed the sandwich on the nightstand and gently helped her sit up. “Time for a late-night snack, Maria.” Maria seemed to have more energy tonight, but that just meant more questions. “Why are you dressed like that again, Sadie? It’s your birthday. Did you go see your father…?” “No.” I cut her off, fluffing her pillow. “Now eat. And stop meddling.” The smell of the cheap deli meat made my stomach rumble. It was all this woman’s fault. My crew had scraped together enough cash for a tiny cupcake for my birthday. I never even got a bite before she dragged me away. I pulled out my phone and checked my bank balance. A pathetic two-digit number stared back at me. Whatever. Skipping a meal would be good for me. Dieting, or whatever. Maria was mid-sentence when her eyes fixed on the doorway. She froze. “Ava?” she whispered, her voice trembling. “It’s you. Mrs. Rhodes!” I turned. Of course, the woman had followed me into the bedroom. They ignored me completely. The woman—Ava, apparently—rushed to the bedside, her face a picture of shock. “Maria?” Tears streamed down Maria’s face. She dropped the sandwich and reached for Ava’s hand, her grip desperate. “Mrs. Rhodes, you’re alive! Thank God you’re back! You have to talk to Sadie. Make her go back to her father. Make her go back to school! Please, don’t let her keep fighting. She’s going to ruin her life!” “What are you talking about?” I snapped, my patience gone. “She’s not my mother! And if I don’t run my crew and collect protection money, how am I supposed to pay for your medicine?” I was furious now. I grabbed Ava’s arm, trying to pull her out of the room. Maria was clearly losing her mind, calling this imposter ‘Mrs. Rhodes.’ But in a flash, Ava had pushed me out of the bedroom and slammed the door in my face. I heard the lock click. Damn it. This was a rental. I didn’t have a key for the bedroom door. I pressed my ear against the cheap wood, yelling at her not to lie to Maria. But the door was thin, and I could hear every word they said. “Mrs. Rhodes, the year after you left, that bitch dropped her act. She couldn’t stand Sadie. She framed her, set her up… then she had Carter legally sign Sadie over to my care…” The words hit me like a physical blow, and the memories came flooding back. 4 I was six. My father, Carter Rhodes, brought his high school sweetheart home. With her was a little boy. That night, I hid behind a door, listening to them argue. “Ava, Penelope just got back to the country. Her son needs a father. I can’t have people gossiping. He’s not mine, I know, but I’m going to adopt him. Mason.” “Don’t worry,” he’d pleaded. “Mason is a good kid. Just think of it as gaining a sister, and a son. You know you’ll always be the one I love.” My mother didn’t accept it. Her voice rose with each question, each accusation. Penelope, in contrast, just stood there silently, dabbing at her eyes with a handkerchief. Her vulnerability was her greatest weapon. In the end, she got what she wanted. My father insisted they stay. And that was the beginning of the end for our family. At first, he tried to be considerate of my mother’s feelings. But soon, he bought a house for Penelope and her son. He had a second family. On my mother’s birthday, Penelope slit her wrists. My father dropped everything and rushed to the hospital. That night, my mother was like a hollowed-out shell. She held me all night, her tears falling one by one onto my hand. “Sadie,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Mommy can’t be with you anymore. My mission failed. I can’t stay.” “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I’m not strong enough to take you with me.” “But you have to remember, you are a Rhodes. You’re the rightful heir. Don’t be weak. Don’t let anyone bully you. The Rhodes fortune… it’s yours.” “Sadie, I’m so sorry…” I was too young to understand what she meant by a “mission.” All I knew was that she was leaving. I cried and begged her not to go, but the next morning, she was gone. Just like that, I was the girl without a mother. My father called her cruel. He dared her to never come back. And then he moved Penelope and Mason into our home. Secretly, though, he started hiring women who looked like her, an endless parade of failed replacements. Penelope’s schemes were endless. She would arrange for my father to see me pushing Mason down the stairs. She would trick me into putting strawberries in her milk, knowing she was allergic. At six years old, I was no match for her. My father’s disappointment in me grew with each passing day. The breaking point came when Penelope and I argued on a street corner. She shoved me into traffic. Maria, our nanny, threw herself in front of me, taking the full impact of the car. Afterward, Penelope twisted the story, claiming I had pushed her. My father didn’t even bother to ask for my side. He believed her instantly. He said that since Maria loved protecting me so much, I could just be her daughter. And so, I was. Maria, the woman who had saved my life, was now paralyzed from the waist down. Her family was destroyed for my sake, and I had a debt to repay. At seven years old, I left the Rhodes estate with Maria. My so-called father never once came to see me. The memory was a sledgehammer to the chest. I thought I had buried it, thought I didn’t care anymore. But hearing Maria retell the story ripped the wound wide open. The bedroom door swung open. I looked up and met the woman’s red-rimmed eyes. She pulled me into a fierce hug, her body trembling like a leaf. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “Mommy’s so sorry she’s late.” For a split second, I caught her scent—a faint, familiar fragrance that unlocked a door deep in my memory. “Tomorrow,” she said, her voice hardening. “Tomorrow, I’m taking you to see Carter Rhodes. We’re going to get you justice.” My throat felt tight, like I’d swallowed a fishbone. I turned my face away, forcing a tough-guy swagger into my voice. “Who needs you to get justice for them? I’m just going for the show. It’ll be fun to watch you try.” 5 The car pulled up in front of the gleaming glass-and-steel skyscraper of Rhodes Industries. The gold letters of the company name glinted in the sun, blinding me for a moment. I’d only ever seen this place in business magazines, usually with a picture of Penelope and Mason at some company gala, their smiles brighter and more obnoxious than any cover model’s. Ava grabbed my wrist and pulled me through the revolving doors. Her heels clicked sharply on the marble floor, each sound a hammer blow against my heart. The employees in the vast lobby stared. “Who is that woman? She looks like she owns the place.” “And the girl with the dyed hair… looks like trouble. Are they here to protest something?” The whispers followed us. I popped a fresh piece of gum into my mouth and stared straight ahead, letting them look. “What floor is Carter Rhodes on?” Ava’s voice was ice. The receptionist clutched her tablet. “Do you have an appointment? Mr. Rhodes is in a board meeting…” “Get him down here.” Ava pushed me forward slightly, a silent presentation. “Tell him his daughter, Sadie Rhodes, and his wife, Ava Rhodes, are here to settle a score.” The words dropped like a bomb in the quiet lobby. The sounds of typing and printers suddenly ceased. Dozens of pairs of eyes locked onto us. I saw people discreetly pulling out their phones. Before the receptionist could make the call, the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding. Carter Rhodes emerged, his arm around Penelope’s waist. His tailored suit made him look every bit the powerful CEO, and Penelope’s designer dress and handbag screamed money. They were laughing together, looking like a perfect, happy couple from a magazine ad. The moment he saw us, his smile froze. The portfolio in his hand slipped from his grasp and hit the floor with a loud slap. Penelope shrieked and scrambled behind him, pointing a manicured finger at me. “Sadie! You little delinquent, what are you doing here? Security! Get her out of here!” A knot of pure hatred tightened in my chest. I opened my mouth to fire back, but Ava was already moving. She closed the distance in three long strides, grabbed a handful of Penelope’s perfectly coiffed hair, and slapped her across the face. The sound was shockingly loud in the cavernous lobby. A collective gasp went through the crowd of employees. Someone actually let out a little “whoa” before clapping a hand over their mouth. “Get who out?” Ava snarled, slamming Penelope’s head back against the wall. “You’re the parasite who took over my home. You don’t get to give orders here.” Carter finally snapped out of his shock, his eyes locked on Ava. His lips trembled. “Ava,” he breathed. “You’re… you’re back. I’ve been looking for you for twelve years…” He reached for her, but she shoved him away. He staggered backward, crashing into a glass display case. Trophies and awards shattered on the floor. Penelope’s face was blotchy with rage, her elegant updo completely undone. She looked like a madwoman. “You’re acting like a savage! You can’t just come in here and assault people! This is a place of business! Do you want to humiliate Carter in front of his entire company?” “That’s the whole point,” Ava said, dragging Penelope by the hair into the center of the lobby. “I want everyone to see. I want everyone to see how Carter Rhodes abandoned his own daughter to raise another woman’s bastard.” The lobby exploded with murmurs and the flash of phone cameras. “I heard a rumor his first wife died,” someone whispered. “That’s what they had to say to make room for the mistress, right?” “Is that really his daughter? A Rhodes heiress, dressed like that?” “What an embarrassment to the family.” Their words were like tiny daggers. I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Just as I was about to scream at them, Ava spoke, her voice ringing with clarity and fury. “What’s wrong with how she’s dressed? Carter Rhodes threw his own flesh and blood out of his house, left her in the care of a paralyzed housekeeper, and never looked back. Tell me, how is a seven-year-old child supposed to support herself and a disabled woman? Sadie just turned eighteen yesterday. If she hadn’t learned to be tough, to survive on the streets, she would have starved to death! She took the only path you left open for her!” She turned to me, her voice softening for just a moment. “My Sadie is a rose that grew through concrete. There is no shame in her.” Her words hit me, and suddenly, my throat was tight. The years of resentment and pain I had buried so deep began to surface. Ever since I’d started down this path, everyone had looked down on me. They sneered, they judged, they called me trash, a blight on society. No one ever asked why. And now, she had said it for me. My eyes burned. I tilted my head back, refusing to let the tears fall. The crowd went silent, all eyes turning to Carter. Ava’s words had stripped him bare in front of his entire company. His face went from white to red and back again. He had no defense. No one here could have imagined that the great Carter Rhodes would let his own daughter fend for herself in the gutter. The whispers died. The only sound was Penelope’s hysterical sobbing. “Carter! Are you just going to stand there and let her do this to me?” Carter finally moved, his expression a storm of confusion and pain. But he didn’t go to Penelope. He went to my mother. “Ava, let’s go home. We have so much to talk about…” My mother’s response was another slap, this one for him. It landed with a sickening crack. More gasps rippled through the lobby. No one had ever dared to lay a hand on Carter Rhodes. Just when everyone expected him to explode in fury, Ava spoke again, her voice dripping with contempt. “Carter Rhodes. Does it give you a sense of accomplishment, raising another man’s son?” “You must be the world’s greatest father. You absolute fool.” My father’s head was turned to the side from the force of the blow, a bright red handprint already forming on his cheek. Ava looked at him, and the hatred in her eyes was so pure, so cold, it could have frozen fire. “Carter Rhodes, I want you to look at your daughter and tell me,” she said, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. “Do you deserve to be a father? You don’t even deserve to be called a man.”

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The week before my thirtieth birthday, my fiancée, Chloe, transferred five million dollars from my primary investment account. I told myself she was planning some kind of extravagant surprise. For a full day, I let myself live in that warm, hopeful delusion. Then, on the morning of my actual birthday, she sent me a text. A measly happy birthday GIF and a $5.20 Venmo payment with the note: “Love you 5ever! <3” I stared at the notification, a cold knot forming in my gut. I didn't say a word. I just declined the payment. That evening, I was on the guest list for a major networking gala hosted at a private estate in the Hamptons. When the Uber pulled up to the address, my blood ran cold. It was my own estate, Hawthorne Manor. My late mother’s house. But it was wrong. Horribly wrong. The elegant, understated entrance was now a gaudy monstrosity of gold-leaf and spotlights, an ostentatious display that had the other guests murmuring in envious whispers. This kind of spectacle must have cost a fortune. I assumed, foolishly, that this was Chloe’s grand gesture, the reason for the five million dollars. Swallowing my unease, I pushed through the gilded doors. The first thing I saw was Carter Shaw, Chloe’s childhood friend, holding court in the center of the grand hall. He was wearing what looked suspiciously like my custom Tom Ford tuxedo, the one that cost fifty grand. 1 “An estate like this has to be worth north of twenty million,” a guest near me gushed. “The owner must be some kind of royalty. The extravagance is unreal!” “Isn’t that Carter Shaw?” another replied. “His family’s in finance, but I didn’t know they had this kind of money. No wonder he’s always saying cash is no object.” I stood frozen at the entrance, a bitter taste in my mouth. I looked at Carter, preening on the makeshift stage, and then at the unrecognizable rooms around me. This place was my inheritance, a sanctuary my mother had designed herself with a quiet, coastal elegance. Now, it was a grotesque caricature of new money. So this was it. This was the five-million-dollar surprise. She hadn’t just spent my money; she had desecrated my home. The hand-carved Hawthorne sign my mother had commissioned for the front gate was gone. The ancient maples she’d planted were uprooted, replaced by garish, imported palm trees. Carter spotted me. A smirk played on his lips as he sauntered over, champagne flute in hand. “Ethan,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “What are you doing here? I don’t remember putting you on the list.” He gestured vaguely around the room. “Chloe and I are hosting a rather exclusive event tonight. You wouldn’t want to embarrass yourself by overstaying your welcome.” The casual way he said ‘Chloe and I’ sent a spike of ice through my veins. “My house,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “You don’t get to make the guest list.” Carter blinked, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “What are you talking about? This estate was a gift. From Chloe. What right do you have to call it yours?” I was fighting a war on two fronts: one against the roaring inferno in my chest, the other to keep my voice steady. “This house is mine. Are you having trouble understanding English? You and Chloe vandalized my property, and I will see you both in prison for it.” He threw his head back and laughed, a loud, obnoxious sound. He looked me up and down with pure disdain. “Ethan, are you still dreaming? What a big shot. You really think you’re something, don’t you?” he sneered. “Chloe Lane is the heiress to Lane Industries. She’s out of your league. If you had any real power, you wouldn’t still be some glorified office drone, grinding away for a paycheck.” He gave a subtle nod, and two hulking security guards materialized at his side, boxing me in. Before I could react, they slammed me to the marble floor. A knee pressed into my back, pinning me. Carter’s polished Italian loafer came down on my cheek, grinding my face into the cold stone. “Since you’re still so sleepy, allow me to wake you up,” he hissed, his face a mask of triumphant rage. “This house is mine. Something a broke loser like you could never afford in a million lifetimes.” A sharp, burning pain flared across my face. “It’s my house!” I yelled, my voice muffled against the floor. “The sign at the gate… my mother had it carved… It said ‘Hawthorne’!” Carter chuckled. He grabbed a fistful of my hair and dragged me back towards the entrance, forcing my head up. He pointed at the new, hideous plaque bolted over the gate. “Open your damn eyes,” he spat. “It says ‘Shaw Manor.’” The beautiful, hand-carved letters my mother had so loved were gone. I trembled with a rage so profound it left me breathless. I pulled out my phone, my hands shaking, and called Chloe. 2 It rang. And rang. Finally, she picked up. “Ethan, I’m in the middle of something important,” Chloe’s voice was sharp, impatient. “Unless you’re dying, don’t call me.” She hung up. The dial tone blared in my ear. I could feel the blood drain from my face, then rush back in a hot, shameful tide. Carter heard the click. He burst into another round of laughter. “Go on! Call again! Oh, that’s right, she doesn’t want to hear from you unless you’re dead. Tough break.” He leaned in closer, his breath smelling of expensive champagne. “She’s out getting me a birthday present. You should just give up.” I stared at him, the pieces clicking together with sickening clarity. “Your birthday? You’re celebrating your birthday in my house?” I struggled against the guard’s grip. “I can prove it. The deed to this house is in my name.” Carter’s response was a sharp slap across my face. The sound echoed in the foyer. “Don’t you dare try to pull that crap with me,” he hissed, his eyes glinting. “Chloe is a Lane. She wouldn’t give me someone else’s property, especially not some pathetic loser’s. Now take a good look in the mirror and realize what a charity case you are.” Just as I was about to retort, the roar of a sports car engine cut through the night. A moment later, Chloe swept in, poured into a tight red dress that clung to every curve. She moved with a practiced sway, walking straight past me and into Carter’s arms. “Happy birthday, Carter,” she cooed, her voice honey-sweet. “I poured my heart and soul into this place for you. Do you like your gift?” I watched, paralyzed, as the woman I was supposed to marry, the woman I had loved for years, wrapped her arms around another man. It felt like watching a movie of someone else’s life. This was the same woman who had gently massaged my stomach when my stress-induced ulcers flared up, the one who insisted on brewing bitter herbal remedies because she said they were good for me. This was my Chloe. But the woman here tonight wouldn’t even grant me a single glance. Carter saw me staring. He shot me a triumphant, cruel smirk before turning back to Chloe, his expression melting into one of a pouting child. “Chloe, darling,” he whined, pointing a finger at me. “This lunatic showed up out of nowhere. He keeps saying this house is his. I’m scared.” He clutched her arm theatrically. “Is he going to try and take my birthday present away? I don’t want that. I love the house you gave me.” Finally, Chloe’s gaze fell on me. It was flat, cold, and utterly devoid of recognition. “Let’s see who would dare try to take something from you,” she said, her voice like ice. She crouched down, her expensive perfume filling the air around me. She looked at my face, bloody and pressed to the floor, as if I were a piece of trash someone had tracked in. “Who are you?” she asked, her voice laced with disgust. “This estate is mine. It was a gift for Carter. Now get the hell out of here before I have you thrown out.” The sheer audacity of her lie stole my breath. “You’re lying,” I choked out, gesturing wildly toward the entrance. “This is Hawthorne Manor!” My words seemed to jog a memory in one of the nearby guests. “You know, I think he might be right,” the man murmured to his wife. “I remember this place being the old Hayes estate. What’s going on here?” Carter heard him. “Don’t listen to him!” he shouted, his voice ringing with panic. “Chloe doesn’t know him! He’s just some grifter trying to crash a high-society party for contacts and free champagne!” 3 A few of Carter’s friends quickly chimed in. “Exactly! Look at him. Does he look like he owns a place like this? He’s dressed like he sleeps on the street.” “Get out of here, you bum!” another one yelled. “Don’t dirty up Mr. Shaw’s beautiful home. We could sell you for parts and you still wouldn’t cover the cost of one of these rugs.” That was it. I would get the deed. I would shove the proof of ownership in their smug, ignorant faces. I struggled to my feet and made a break for the study. I didn’t make it two steps. Carter lunged, grabbing me by the hair and slamming my head against the heavy oak door. A starburst of pain exploded behind my eyes. “You piece of trash,” he snarled, his face inches from mine. “Did I say you could enter my house? Are you deaf? I told you to get out!” I felt something warm and wet trickle down my temple. My vision swam. Through the haze, I could see Carter’s triumphant sneer. “Carter,” I ground out between clenched teeth. “You’re going to regret this.” My defiance only seemed to fuel his rage. He kicked my legs out from under me and I crumpled to the floor. Then the fists started flying, hammering into my ribs, my stomach, my face. “Regret this? You think you’re in a position to threaten me?” he grunted with each blow. “Let me teach you the rules. When you’re on my property, you’re nothing but a dog. It’s time you learned how to crawl.” An excruciating pain radiated through my limbs until I didn't have the strength to even lift an arm to defend myself. I was a puppet, and he was pulling the strings. When he finally ran out of steam, he stood over me, breathing heavily. A cold smile spread across his face. “You know, Ethan, my new estate could use a guard dog. I’m feeling generous. I’ll let you have the job.” He snapped his fingers. One of the security guards produced a thick leather dog collar and fastened it around my neck. The metal buckle was cold against my skin. Carter circled me, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Wait,” he said, his eyes lighting up with a fresh wave of cruelty. “Dogs don’t wear clothes. Get them off him.” “You’re a monster, Carter!” I screamed, a raw, desperate sound. A moment later, I felt cold air on my skin as my clothes were torn away. The crowd that had gathered was watching me like a sideshow attraction. Phones were out, cameras flashing. Humiliation washed over me, a chilling tide. I was forced onto all fours like an animal, the shame a physical weight. I stared at Carter, my hatred a burning coal in my chest. I wanted to tear him apart. “Carter Shaw,” I rasped, my voice thick with blood and fury. “I will burn you to ashes for this.” He just laughed. He placed a foot on my back, pressing me down. “A dog’s bark is worse than its bite,” he announced to the crowd. “I want everyone to see what happens when a stray wanders onto my property. I want you all to see him beg.” The sound of our confrontation drew more people out from the main party. They saw me, bloody and bruised, a collar around my neck, and some of them had the decency to look shocked. “What’s happening here?” a woman whispered. “That’s a person. How can they treat him like that?” “You don’t get it,” someone next to her replied smugly. “He brought it on himself. Trying to claim a house that isn’t his. He’s getting what he deserves.” Carter, soaking in the attention, puffed out his chest. I saw my chance. With every last ounce of strength I had, I launched myself up and sank my teeth into his hand. I bit down with the force of years of suppressed frustration and a moment of pure, primal rage. I felt a sickening crunch of bone and cartilage. I tore away, spitting his severed pinky finger into the dirt of a nearby potted plant. The color drained from Carter's face. He clutched his maimed hand, a strangled scream escaping his lips as he stared at me with eyes full of murder. Just then, Chloe returned, her face a mask of concern. The sight of Carter’s mangled hand made her gasp. She looked around frantically. “Someone call an ambulance! Now!” 4 Carter, cradling his bleeding hand, pointed a trembling finger at me. “Chloe… it was him! I was just talking to him, and he… he attacked me! He just jumped up and bit me!” Chloe’s gaze snapped to me, her eyes filled with a loathing so intense it felt like a physical blow. “You bastard,” she spat. “You’re even more vicious than I thought. I underestimated you.” Her voice dropped to a venomous whisper. “If they can’t reattach Carter’s finger, I will have you chopped into pieces and fed to the dogs.” I looked up at the woman I was supposed to marry, this beautiful stranger who was defending another man while condemning me. The pain in my heart was a physical agony, a deep, shuddering tremor that threatened to stop my breathing altogether. Tears blurred my vision. “Chloe,” I choked out, the words tearing at my raw throat. “I’m your fiancé.” This was the girl who had held my hand and promised me forever. But somewhere along the way, the promise had been corrupted by money and power, turning us into strangers. I struggled to my feet, my body screaming in protest. “This estate is mine,” I said, my voice shaking. “A week ago, you transferred five million dollars from my account.” For the first time, a flicker of something—fear? guilt?—crossed her face. She looked away. “What are you talking about? This is my estate. I gave it to Carter. I never took your money.” Her denial was a fresh stab in the wound. I forced myself to speak, dredging up the past she was so desperate to bury. “Have you forgotten, Chloe? Have you forgotten that it was my money that saved your family’s company from bankruptcy? It was my investment that made you CEO of Lane Industries.” “Oh, shut up!” she snapped, cutting me off. “Are you ever going to let that go? It was a business deal, Ethan. A small one. I’d forgotten all about it.” I fell silent. She was right. The sweet, ambitious girl who had wanted to build a life with me was gone. In her place stood this cold, ruthless creature. I took a deep breath, steadied myself, and walked past her, into the study. I went directly to the antique safe hidden behind a bookshelf and pulled out the file containing the property deed. I walked back out and held it up. “Then why don’t you take a look at this,” I said, my voice flat. “See who the real owner of this estate is.” Chloe let out a short, mocking laugh. She snatched the folder from my hand and opened it, a triumphant smirk on her face. “Ethan, you really are pathetic. You just don’t know when to quit.” She turned the document around for me to see. “Why don’t you take a look and see who the owner is.” I looked. And my world tilted on its axis. There, on the line marked ‘Owner,’ was her name: Chloe Lane. How? When did she do this? When did she forge the documents and steal my mother’s house from me? The people around us craned their necks to see. A wave of murmurs rippled through the crowd, their expressions shifting from morbid curiosity to outright contempt for me. “Well, that settles it,” one man said, shaking his head. “I almost felt sorry for him, but it turns out he’s just crazy. Does he just go around picking out nice houses and claiming they belong to him?” “No!” I yelled, my voice cracking. “That’s not true! This is my house!” Chloe and Carter exchanged a look of pure, malicious glee. “You’re delusional, Ethan,” Chloe said sweetly. “You claim this house is yours. Do you have any proof?” “If you can’t prove it,” Carter added, his voice a low growl, “the only way you’re leaving this house tonight is in a body bag.” The circle of guards tightened around me, their knuckles cracking in the tense silence. They were ready. I closed my eyes, a wave of despair washing over me. This was it. I was trapped. Just as their hands were about to fall on me, a deep, authoritative voice boomed from the doorway. “Stand down! Since when did Ethan’s property become yours to claim?”

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On our third anniversary, I put on a wedding dress and asked Liam to marry me. His face went cold. He told me to stop screwing around. I wiped away a tear and managed a smile. “It’s okay if you don’t want to, Liam.” “But… I’m dying. You might want to start looking for my replacement.” He told me I was sick in the head, then slammed the door on his way out. But I wasn’t kidding. I really am dying. 1 I’d been with Liam Carter for three years, and for three years, he spoiled me rotten. If it weren’t for the bubble of his affection, I don’t think I could have lasted this long. I remember the first time he took me to a party with his friends. He’d only been gone, off to the restroom, for a few minutes before the whispers started. They said Liam moved on too fast. That his wife, Annabelle, had barely been gone before he found a new plaything. They said I was from the wrong side of the tracks, that I couldn’t hold a candle to the woman he’d lost. Everyone in that room was dripping with old money and Ivy League degrees. I didn’t want to make trouble for Liam. So I just stared at my lap and said nothing. I let them talk. When Liam came back, he knew instantly that something was wrong. He found my hand under the table and gave it a tight squeeze. “What is it? Who upset you?” The wall I’d built around my feelings, the one I thought was so strong, crumbled at the gentle timber of his voice. I couldn’t hold it back anymore. I snatched my hand away, fighting to keep the tears from spilling over. “It’s nothing. The AC is just blasting in here. I’m freezing.” He watched me for a long moment, his gaze unreadable. Then he stood, took his jacket from the back of his chair, and draped it over my shoulders. He took my hand again, this time lacing his fingers through mine, a silent declaration on top of the polished mahogany table. Across from us, a younger guy with a smirk couldn’t help himself. He lifted his bourbon, swirled it, and took a theatrical sniff. “Wow,” he said loudly. “Smells like some serious drama in here.” A few others snickered. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, the shame so hot I just wanted to disappear. “Liam, I think I need to use the restroom…” But he held my hand tighter, refusing to let go. His eyes swept across the table, finally landing on the self-appointed comedian. “Caleb,” he said, his voice dangerously low. “Apologize to Stella.” 2 The mood in the room curdled. Caleb and Liam went way back. No one could believe he’d call out one of his oldest friends for a girl he’d just started seeing. After a stunned silence, Caleb scoffed. “You want me to apologize to her? Liam, what the hell is she?” Liam’s gaze never left Caleb, but his thumb began to gently stroke the back of my hand. “Stella is my girlfriend. If you still want to call me a friend, you’ll apologize.” I tugged on his arm, whispering, “It’s okay, really.” The last thing I wanted was for him to blow up a friendship over me. It would only make things worse. But Liam just patted my hand, a silent command to stay quiet. Caleb’s face flushed with anger. He shot to his feet, pointing a finger at Liam. “Then what about Annabelle? What was she? She’s been gone six months, and you’re already showing off some cheap replacement!” he spat. “Have you forgotten how she died?” Liam’s grip on my hand became a vise. The pressure was so intense I thought my bones would snap. I winced but didn’t dare make a sound. His face, however, remained a mask of calm. “Stella is Stella. Annabelle is Annabelle. Don’t compare them,” he said, his voice flat. “She’s gone. I have to move on.” His bluntness silenced the entire room. My own heart felt like it had been squeezed in a fist. Tears pricked my eyes again. Liam, however, simply wrapped his arm around my shoulders and pulled me to my feet. “Don’t invite me to things like this anymore,” he said to the silent table. “It upsets Stella.” From that day on, I had a reputation in his circle. They all said Liam Carter had found a girl who was a dead ringer for Annabelle. And that he was spoiling her beyond all reason. 3 I knew Liam had been married. I knew a car accident had cut it short. He’d told me all of it himself the night he asked me to be his girlfriend. He was single, and I was single. I hadn’t broken anything up. So I refused to be branded a homewrecker. After we left the party that night, I quietly tried to end things. “Liam, maybe we should just forget it. I don’t want people looking at me like that.” He stopped walking and turned to face me, tipping my chin up so he could look into my eyes. The streetlight cast long shadows across his face. “Are you angry?” It wasn’t anger, not really. But being called a replacement felt like a splinter under my skin. Every time I thought about it, the pain was sharp and fresh. Since we’d been together, I’d never once brought up his late wife. I figured some chapters were best left closed. But tonight, the way he’d crushed my hand under the table… it planted a seed of doubt. I had never seen a photo of Annabelle. There were no pictures of her in his apartment, not even on his phone. It was a complete blank slate. If Caleb hadn’t said anything, I never would have known. That I looked just like her. “You and Annabelle—” He cut me off, his tone suddenly sharp. “You are you. She is she.” The sudden chill in his voice startled me. I just stared at him, speechless. A moment later, the ice in his eyes thawed, and he let out a soft sigh. “Are you saying you’re breaking up with me? Found someone without a limp?” 4 The accident had left Liam with a permanent injury in his left leg. If you watched closely when he walked, you could see a slight, almost imperceptible limp. But he had been completely transparent about it from the beginning. How could I possibly hold it against him? He was twisting my words, and I fell right into his trap. “What are you talking about? I would never think that!” I said, rushing to defend myself. A ghost of a smile touched his lips. He pulled me into his arms, his mouth finding mine in the cool night air. “Good girl,” he murmured against my lips. “Don’t overthink things.” … Later, in the bedroom, he pinned me to the sheets, overwhelming my senses. When we made love, he had this habit of staring deep into my eyes, as if he were falling into them. It was unnerving, heartbreakingly intense. I couldn’t handle his heated gaze. I’d hide my face in the crook of his arm and gently bite his tense bicep. He would just laugh and ask me why I was so shy. In those moments, the sweetness was enough to wash away all the bitterness, all the doubt. Liam’s fierce, protective love became my armor. The next time someone said something, I echoed his words back at them: “You have to move on. You can’t expect him to be alone forever, can you?” The response was always laced with scorn. “Oh, that’s rich! You really think you’re something special, don’t you? You think Liam Carter is going to marry you? Keep dreaming,” one of them sneered. It was Brooke, Caleb’s girlfriend. “Everyone knows what Annabelle meant to him. She was with him through everything, from nothing to the top. And that car accident? If she hadn’t shielded him, Liam would be the one who’s dead!” “Exactly,” another girl chimed in. “She was the one that got away. And you can’t replace a ghost. The only reason he even looks at you is because you have her face.” It was Brooke who led the charge, cornering me with her little posse. It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last. As they left, she deliberately stepped on my foot. “You can put a designer dress on a piece of trash,” she said, looking me up and down. “But it’s still trash.” 5 I crouched down, frantically trying to wipe the smudge from my shoe. As I scrubbed, tears started to fall. Liam had picked these shoes for me. They were covered in tiny, glittering crystals, like something out of a fairytale. Before we left the apartment, he had knelt down and put them on my feet himself. He said they were beautiful. Liam never lied to me. The way he cared for me was something I’d never experienced before. But… every time they compared me to Annabelle, I was defenseless. She was gone. Anything I said would be seen as disrespecting the dead. I wiped my tears and hid in a quiet corner to make a call. They had their friends, but so did I. After thirty minutes on the phone with Maya, I felt a little better. I looked up and saw Liam across the room, effortlessly charming, laughing with a group of men in suits. The glittering lights of the chandelier separated us, casting us in two different worlds. As if he could feel my gaze, he turned his head and shot me a smile. It was warm and intimate, a secret just for me. I knew I would never truly fit into his world. But I also knew I couldn’t bear to be anyone’s ghost. … On the anniversary of Annabelle’s death, Liam prepared to visit her grave. I asked if I could go with him. He refused without a second thought. “This has nothing to do with you,” he said. “Just stay home and wait for me. Or go shopping, whatever you want.” I held onto his hand, trying to be playful. “I just want to see her, you know? Bring her some flowers—” Liam pulled his hand away, his tone hardening. “Stella, I know what you’re doing. Do you really care that much about what other people say? Can’t you just let it go with a dead woman?” Tears welled in my eyes and fell before I could stop them. Yes, I cared. I cared if he would ever marry me. I cared if he was only with me because I was a stand-in. I looked him in the eye, my voice trembling but stubborn. “Will you marry me then?” Liam went silent. As he turned to leave, he threw the words over his shoulder. “Stella, I don’t want to get married. If you can’t accept that, you can leave.” 6 It was the first real fight we ever had. I sat alone in our sprawling living room and listened to the rain fall all night long. He came back the next morning. The walk from the front door to the living room was only a dozen steps, but he took them with agonizing slowness. His limp was more pronounced than I had ever seen it. “Stella,” he said, his voice strained. “My leg is killing me. Can you… can you come hold me?” It was the old injury from the crash. A deep, chronic pain that never truly healed. It flared up on damp, rainy days like this, torturing him, keeping him awake all night. Sometimes it was so bad he had to rely on painkillers just to get through it. I couldn’t stand to see him suffer. I had even taken a course in therapeutic massage just for him. Whenever the weather turned, I would spend hours rubbing his leg, trying to ease the ache. He sank onto the sofa beside me. He took my hand, his own feeling cold and tired. “Stella, please don’t be angry anymore,” he sighed. “Can we just… not fight again? Ever?” He was surrendering. He knew I would soften, that I would forgive him. He knew I was powerless against his pain. You can’t win a fight against a ghost. And we had a lifetime ahead of us. What was the rush? After that day, I never said the name “Annabelle” again. And we never fought again. For three years, he gave me everything I could ever want. Our relationship felt unshakable. Today was our third anniversary. I put on a wedding dress, held a bouquet of white roses, and waited for him to come home. I’d been planning this surprise for a month. I couldn’t wait to see the look on his face. The door opened. Liam’s voice, laced with a bit of weariness from a long day, drifted in from the foyer. “Stella, guess what I got for you—” His words died in his throat the moment he saw me. I opened my arms wide, a brilliant smile on my face. “Liam! Surprise!” But I watched the light in his eyes extinguish, ember by ember, until only cold ash remained. “Stella, don’t do this. Take it off.” “I told you,” he said, his voice flat. “I don’t want to get married.” 7 We stood on opposite ends of the living room, staring at each other like strangers. The air was thick, heavy, almost impossible to breathe. Finally, he loosened his tie and tossed the bouquet and gift box he was holding onto the coffee table. He lit a cigarette, the flare of the lighter sharp in the dimming light. I was frozen in place, forcing my lips into a smile, desperate to salvage the evening. “Liam, this dress… I went to every bridal shop in the city to find it. Isn’t it beautiful?” His cheek hollowed as he took a long drag from the cigarette. He exhaled slowly, the smoke billowing out and obscuring his face. The fragile hope I’d been clinging to dissolved with the smoke. All he said was, “Change.” In that instant, the light, airy tulle of the dress felt like it weighed a thousand pounds, pulling me down, making it hard to stand. “Liam, we’ve been together for three years… Don’t you like the surprise?” He leaned back against the sofa, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Stella, the plan was a quiet dinner, maybe some candles. Tomorrow, we were supposed to be on a plane to Bali. Everything was perfect. Why… why did you have to do this?” He was right. A three-year anniversary trip to Bali. That was the plan. But plans change. I gathered the skirt in my hands and walked toward him. It was a form of self-torture, but I couldn’t stop myself. I smiled. “Liam, the reason you won’t marry me… it’s because of her, isn’t it? You can’t let her go. You’re still living in the past with Annabelle—” His head snapped up. “Stella,” he said, his voice a low warning. “I told you not to talk about her.” 8 Don’t talk about her. As if that would make him stop thinking about her. Then why did you make me grow my hair out? Why are the shoes you buy for me always a size too big? Why do you go to the house you shared with her on her birthday and on the anniversary of her death, and stay there all night, alone? Liam. Who are you trying to fool? Me, or yourself? My eyes burned, and his face blurred through a film of tears. I wiped them away furiously, pulling my lips into a tight, humorless smile. “You know, Liam, if you’re honest with yourself, you didn’t even love her that much.” “If you truly loved someone,” I said, my voice shaking, “you wouldn’t tolerate a replacement.” That hit a nerve. He shot up from the sofa and his hands were around my neck before I could even register he had moved. “You’ve crossed a line, Stella,” he hissed, his face inches from mine. “Your job is to stay by my side, to look like her, to make me happy. It’s so simple. Why can’t you do that? Why do you have to be so greedy and ask for marriage?” “I told you! You are you, and she is she! You can’t compare yourselves! Why can’t you get that through your head?” He was losing control, his eyes bloodshot, his grip tightening. For a terrifying second, I thought he was actually going to kill me. But then his eyes met mine—the eyes that looked so much like Annabelle’s—and his resolve faltered. He let go. I stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor in a heap of white tulle. I looked up at him and laughed, a ragged, broken sound. “Does it hurt? Having your little fantasy exposed after all this time? Tell me,” I gasped, “if I died, could you find another girl who looks this much like her?” “Enough,” he growled. “Stop this nonsense. Stay here and think about what you’ve done. This will not happen again.” He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. He even forgot to take his anniversary gift with him. I destroyed everything in the living room. Then I sank to the floor amidst the wreckage, laughing and crying until I had nothing left. He said I was being dramatic.

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The girl who was supposed to be me showed up on a Tuesday, clinging to my mother’s legs and sobbing that she was the real daughter. My mother froze. My older brother, Mark, froze. I froze. Mark, ever the man of action, immediately declared he was taking us all for DNA tests. Mom, her legs threatening to give out, fumbled for her phone to call my dad. “David, you need to come home. I think we have the wrong daughter.” My father’s reply was unnervingly calm. “I know.” “What do you mean, you know?” “You’re the one who told me to change her,” he said, his voice matter-of-fact. “She was crying too much, you said she was giving you a headache. So I went and found one that didn’t cry.” A beat of stunned silence. Then, my mother’s shriek nearly shattered the windows. “I told you to change her diaper!” 1 I was halfway through a marketing proposal when my mother drifted into my home office, her expression weighed down with the gravity of a Shakespearean tragedy. “Chloe, I can’t hide this from you any longer.” I leaned back in my chair. Here we go. “The truth is,” she continued, her voice trembling, “you’re not our biological child. We’ve loved you as our own all these years, and the thought of sending you away… it’s unbearable.” She paused, waiting for my reaction. I just watched her, silent. “And now… my other daughter, the one I never got to meet… she’s here. Chloe, you have no idea, she looks exactly like me.” Mom buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. “Now that she’s back, I have no choice but to send you away. I just hope… I hope you won’t hate me.” I slowly closed my laptop and held out my hand. “Give me your phone.” She looked up, confused, but handed over her iPhone. I navigated to her Kindle app, went to her library, and long-pressed on her three most recent reads. The Secret Heiress Returns. Switched at Birth: The Rancher’s Daughter. My Cruel Billionaire, My Secret Baby. I deleted them from the device. “I thought you were still in the middle of The Alpha’s Reluctant Mate,” I said dryly. “What happened? Did you get tired of the pack politics?” Mom’s grief vanished, replaced by a flicker of guilt. “The updates were too slow,” she mumbled, her words rushing together. “I lost interest. Well, since you’re busy, I’ll just… go.” She scurried out of the room. “Close the door on your way out, please.” As the door clicked shut, I heard her muttering to herself. “So serious. So boring. Just like her father, not an ounce of imagination.” Who else has a mother who treats her Kindle Unlimited subscription like a sacred text and tries to act out the plot twists? With a sigh, I reopened my laptop, trying to find my train of thought. But the door burst open again. This time it was my four-year-old brother, Leo, his eyes wide with panic. “Chloe, it’s bad! They found out! My… my real sister is here!” Leo, my mother’s most devoted and impressionable student. He was the only one in the house who would willingly play a part in her melodramas. His utter lack of cynicism made him the perfect accomplice. I gave him a flat look. “You’re too late. I already called Mom’s bluff. Didn’t she tell you?” I leaned forward and pinched his soft, chubby cheek, summoning my most wicked smile. “Uh oh, Leo. Looks like you’re not Mom’s favorite little actor anymore. She found a new playmate.” His lower lip trembled. “No, Chloe, I’m for real! There’s a girl downstairs, and she says you’re not Mom and Dad’s real daughter. She is.” His voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “And Mom saw her and just… collapsed on the floor. You have to come see.” When I got downstairs, the girl was curled into my mother’s arms, delivering a heart-wrenching monologue. “Mom, I finally found you,” she wept. “You have no idea what my life has been like.” She gestured vaguely at her arms. “Beatings were normal. I’d get new bruises before the old ones could even fade.” Her voice cracked. “And they hated me because I was a girl. After my brother was born, it felt like even breathing was a crime.” My mother looked completely bewildered, her maternal instincts short-circuiting. She stared at the girl, then back at me, unable to get into character. “Congratulations, Mom,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Your dream came true.” I gestured at the girl. “And wow, she really is your spitting image. We can probably skip the DNA test.” “Chloe, honey, come help me up. My legs feel like jelly,” Mom pleaded, reaching a hand toward me. But the girl was faster. With a practiced swiftness, she was on her feet, supporting Mom’s arm. “I’ve got you, Mom.” “Call your father,” Mom instructed, her voice shaky. “Tell him to get home. Now.” “I will, I will!” the girl chirped eagerly. Then she paused, her face falling into a mask of tragic beauty as she looked at me. “Chloe… would it be okay if I had Dad’s phone number?” My little brother, Leo, who had been hiding behind my legs, muttered under his breath. “She’s so extra. Mom must love her.” 2 “It’s over for you,” Leo whispered, his little hand clutching the hem of my sweater. “Hey, if you have to leave, can you take me with you? I choose your side.” My dad, David, was summoned home from the office. My older brother, Mark, canceled a business trip and raced back. Compared to my mother’s flustered panic, my dad was an island of calm. “Alright, everyone, settle down,” he said, surveying the scene. “I know all about this.” Every head in the room swiveled toward him. “You know?” we all asked in unison. My dad gave my mom a cryptic look. “You know, too. In fact, this was your decision. Have you really forgotten?” Mom’s confusion deepened. “My decision?” “Yes. You remember,” he said calmly. “You complained our daughter was crying too much, keeping you up all night. You told me to change her. So I did. I picked one that was quiet.” Mark swallowed hard. “Mom… you really said that?” My mother’s face went blank as she searched her memory. A moment later, a horrifying realization dawned, and she let out a wail. “I told you to change her diaper!” Well. The mystery was solved. It was now abundantly clear that I wasn’t their biological child. And as for the girl—who introduced herself as Leah—there was an eighty percent chance she was. That face, a perfect replica of my mom’s college photos, was hard to argue with. Once this new reality settled in, Leah began her encore performance. She dropped to her knees on the Persian rug, tears streaming down her face like a tragic heroine in a movie. “Dad, Mom, please, don’t blame Chloe,” she pleaded. “She’s been living my life, enjoying everything that should have been mine for twenty years, but none of it was her fault. Please, don’t throw her out.” She looked up, her eyes wide and pleading. “I don’t have to be your daughter. I don’t even have to live here. Just let me stay as a housekeeper. I’ll cook and clean for you every day, just so I can be near you. That’s all I want.” My dad, who has always taken things with a crippling literalness, nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, we have a storage room in the basement. It’s small, but it’s easy to clean. You could stay there. As for the housekeeper duties, I’ll text you our family’s schedule and a list of responsibilities.” Leah’s face went pale. She shot a desperate, help-me look at my mother. Mom jabbed my dad in the ribs. “David, shut up. I’ll deal with you later.” I started to head upstairs to pack a bag, but Mom stopped me, her own eyes now filled with genuine tears. “Where are you going? It’s not like our house isn’t big enough. You can’t leave. You don’t even know where your biological parents are.” “She’s right, Chloe, you can’t go back to them!” Leah exclaimed, grabbing my arm with theatrical desperation. “I can’t let you suffer the way I did. My adoptive parents… they’re monsters. Just pretend you’re not their child. Promise me you’ll never, ever contact them.” But later, when no one else was around, the mask dropped. Leah cornered me in the hallway, her eyes burning with a hatred that was anything but theatrical. “Why are you still here? Don’t you get it? This isn’t your home anymore.” Her voice was a low hiss. “You’ve been a parasite for twenty years, living a life that wasn’t yours. Isn’t that enough?” “I’ll leave after the DNA test results come back,” I said, trying to push past her. I didn’t want to engage, but she was relentless, a constant, buzzing presence at my side. She shadowed me around the house, poking and prodding with passive-aggressive comments, trying to needle me into leaving on my own accord. It was exhausting. Her little acts were endless. When a package from Net-a-Porter arrived for me, she would sigh dramatically. “Wow, Chloe, you have such amazing taste. That coat must have cost a fortune. I wouldn’t even know how to spend that much money. I haven’t bought new clothes in years.” My mother, her heartstrings thoroughly plucked, immediately took Leah on a shopping spree. Leah returned everything the next day without even trying it on. She presented the refunded money to my mother with teary eyes. “Mom, Dad, you work too hard for your money. I don’t need anything. Just being with you is all the happiness I need.” 3 To demonstrate her frugality, she insisted on saving the leftover chicken carcass from dinner to make soup for us the next morning. Then came the staircase incident. She cornered me on the landing, her voice a low taunt. The moment she heard my mother’s footsteps, she grabbed my hand, placed it on her own shoulder, and theatrically threw herself down the last few steps. “Chloe, why did you push me?” she shrieked, clutching her ankle. “I know you hate me for coming back and stealing Mom and Dad’s attention, but I’m innocent in all of this! I just wanted my family. Is that so wrong?” I was too tired to even argue. I just turned to go back to my room. “Stop right there!” my mother’s voice was sharp. “You come back here and apologize to Leah this instant.” I turned. Her face was flushed with anger. “I feed you, I clothe you, I have raised you for twenty years. Even after finding out you’re not my daughter, I didn’t throw you out. Don’t you have a single shred of gratitude?” she raged. “I did not let you stay here so you could bully Leah! This is unacceptable. You will give her a sincere apology right now, or I don’t care what your father says, I will kick you out of this house myself!” Leah, propped up on the bottom step, shot me a triumphant smirk over Mom’s shoulder. Her eyes danced with excitement. I sighed. It was beyond ridiculous. “Mom,” I said, my voice flat. “Leah is new here, so she might not know. But you live here. Are you forgetting the entire house is wired with security cameras?” I raised an eyebrow. “Shall we go review the footage?” Mom slapped her forehead. “Oh, right. I forgot.” She turned to the now-pale Leah and patted her arm consolingly. “Don’t worry, sweetie, it’s okay. We’ll just try a different scene next time. And maybe a new character? This clumsy victim thing isn’t really working for me, to be honest.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “I much preferred that fragile, broken-flower persona you had when you first arrived. That was much more my style.” Her stage-director tone seemed to horrify Leah more than anything. “Mom, what are you saying?” Leah stammered. “Are you suggesting I was faking it? That I was trying to frame Chloe?” “No, no, that’s not what I meant at all,” Mom backpedaled quickly. “Then why didn’t you stop me? You knew there were cameras, but you let me make a fool of myself! What am I to you people? A clown in your private circus?” Her righteous, screeching questions left my mother utterly baffled. “So… should I have meant it? Or not?” Mom asked cautiously, trying to read Leah’s expression for the correct answer. That was the final straw. Leah completely broke down, sobbing hysterically as she ran to her room. Mom watched her go, then turned to me with a frown. “This is exhausting. She’s no fun at all. Clumsy, terrible at acting… David should just forge the DNA results and we can send her back.” My thoughts exactly. You and Dad really were made for each other. And speak of the devil, my father walked in. “Family meeting! Everyone in the living room, now!” Mark clattered down the stairs. “Are the results in?” Leo sighed with the weariness of a jaded old man. “Great. As if this family wasn’t weird enough already. Now we’re adding another one. I’m going to lose my mind.” Leah eventually emerged, her eyes puffy and red. She crossed her arms, ready for battle. “Now that the results are in, what are your terms?” she demanded. “From what I understand, Chloe has quite a few properties and a significant amount of money in her name—all gifts from you. I can tolerate her continuing to live here, for now. But she needs to return what is rightfully mine.” She looked from my mother to my father. “And her engagement to Ethan Rhodes is obviously off the table. Have you spoken to the Rhodes family yet? Are they canceling the engagement, or will they transfer it to me?” “Hold on,” my dad said, cutting through her rapid-fire demands. He held up a large manila envelope. “You should probably look at this first.” She snatched the envelope from him, her hands trembling as she pulled out the report. Her face went from defiant to ashen in an instant. “This… this is impossible.” Her voice was a choked whisper. “How can I not be your daughter?”

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The tenth time I felt his gaze on me—that intense, brooding stare from across the lecture hall—a line of text flickered into my vision, translucent as a ghost. 【The male lead time-traveled ten years into the past, only to find his wife is still someone else’s girlfriend. His world just ended.】 【All those years of pining, finally winning her over, and now he has to start from scratch.】 【Maeve, his baby, has a boyfriend right now. All he can do is watch. And wait.】 【Somehow, I don’t think this older, world-weary version of him is going to be as patient as his nineteen-year-old self was.】 As if on cue, my phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number. 【Hi. Can you break up with him?】 A moment later, another one. 【Or, would you consider having a second boyfriend?】 And then, the final blow. 【I promise I’ll stay hidden until you’re single again.】 1 The bell shrieked, signaling the end of the elective lecture. As I was packing my books, a guy from the back row—one of my classmates—gently tapped my shoulder with the end of his pen. I turned around. He looked down, a nervous flush creeping up his neck. “Uh, Maeve? Could you… could you help me with this problem?” I nodded, taking his advanced calculus workbook and sketching out the solution on a blank page. “Does that make sense?” I asked, looking up at him when I was done. He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance. The tips of his ears were bright red. “Yeah. Wow. You’re incredible, Maeve. Thanks.” I offered him a polite, practiced smile. “Don’t worry about it. If you have more questions, just ask.” The words had barely left my mouth when I felt it again. That unnerving, possessive stare. There it was. My head turned, my eyes landing on Caleb Chen in the row diagonally in front of me. He was the kind of handsome that was almost severe—a sharp jawline, a straight, noble nose, and pale skin that made his dark eyes look like pools of deep water. Right now, those eyes were fixed on the guy smiling at me, and they were filled with a profound, almost tragic sense of grievance. When he saw me looking, his expression shifted. The anger melted away, replaced by a flicker of sorrow, of deep, lonely ache. He looked like a loyal dog, abandoned by its owner in the rain. This was, by my count, the tenth time today. It had been happening since this morning. Any guy who spoke to me—whether it was a classmate trying to get my number on the quad or an upperclassman I was chatting with at a club fair—Caleb would materialize. He’d find a corner, a shadow, and just… watch. And every time I caught him, his eyelashes would flutter, his face settling into that same look of miserable, beautiful despair. It was beyond strange. We’d never even spoken. I knew of him, of course. Everyone at Northwood University did. Caleb Chen. The campus heartthrob, the cold genius who was at the top of the Computer Science department. But our paths had never crossed. I commuted to campus, I didn’t live in the dorms, and I kept to myself. I wracked my brain, trying to figure out what I could have possibly done to attract the attention of someone like him. Just as I was about to give up and actually go ask him, the ghost-like text scrolled across my vision again. 【A 29-year-old man would stare daggers at any man near his wife. A 19-year-old Caleb can only stand there, telling himself he has no right to be jealous.】 【LOL. The internal monologue of a desperate husband: Every single man approaching my wife is a goddamn predator!】 【He time-traveled from 29 back to 19. His wife is with someone else. His world already ended, and now these guys keep buzzing around her. He’s losing it.】 【Imagine pining for someone for years, finally having them, and then having to do it all over again. Who wouldn’t go insane?】 … 2 I blinked hard, confirming that I wasn’t, in fact, hallucinating. Caleb was in love with me? My future husband? So this wasn’t the nineteen-year-old Caleb I saw. This was my husband from the future, trapped in his younger body? My mind reeled, trying to process this impossible information. Another comment popped up. 【Tough luck. His baby Maeve is dating her childhood friend right now. All he can do is suffer.】 【Yeah, but I have a feeling this older version of him isn’t going to suffer in silence for long.】 … Dating? Right. I remembered now. Jackson, my childhood best friend, had been dating the most popular girl in his department and she’d dumped him. Then, to twist the knife, she’d invited him to her birthday party. He had offered me his entire month’s allowance to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night, just to save face. I didn’t need the money, but Jackson could be relentlessly annoying. He whined and pleaded for days until I couldn’t take it anymore and finally agreed. Could Caleb have seen us that night? Just as I was mentally cursing out my ridiculous best friend, a text from him lit up my phone. 【Maeve, CODE RED! I need a favor!!!】 Before I could type a reply, the back door of the lecture hall flew open. Jackson, his features sharp and frantic, stormed in. He grabbed my backpack with one hand and yanked me out of my seat with the other, pulling me toward the exit. “Jackson! What the—” CRASH! The chair I’d just been sitting in snapped back against the desk, the sound echoing through the emptying room. It cut me off, freezing both me and Jackson in our tracks. I looked back. Caleb was standing there, silhouetted against the light from the hallway. His jaw was clenched so tightly a muscle jumped in his cheek. His eyes were locked on the spot where Jackson’s hand gripped my arm, and his expression was a raw, unfiltered canvas of devastation, anguish, and a desperate, clawing hunger. His throat worked. When he spoke, his voice was a rough, strangled whisper. “Sorry. I stood up too fast. Hope I didn’t scare you.” Jackson, oblivious, just kept pulling me toward the door. “No worries, man,” he called back over his shoulder. “Eager to get out of class, I get it.” The silent commentary in my head went wild. 【Okay, he can’t take it anymore. Forget being the top student. Forget his moral compass. Forget a slow, patient plan. To hell with all of it. I. Want. My. Wife.】 【Don’t do it! Don’t provoke this desperate husband any further! He’s really going to lose his mind!】 【Maeve, don’t go! Maeve!】 I replayed the scene in my head—the shattered look on Caleb’s face. I had a sinking feeling I’d just made him feel like a man watching his wife abandon him for good. 3 “Maeve. My beautiful, kind, goddess-like Maeve. You don’t have any more classes today, right?” Outside, Jackson leaned against his flashy new sports car, pressing his palms together in a pleading gesture. “Mandy’s going to be at this party later. And she’s bringing her new boyfriend. Please, just come with me.” “Jackson, you’re certifiably insane. No. I’m done. This whole fake-girlfriend charade is ruining my actual romantic prospects.” The image of Caleb’s face flashed in my mind. I shot Jackson a cool glare and refused flatly. He froze, his eyes widening. “Prospects? You’ve never cared about that stuff. What gives? You actually have your eye on someone?” “What’s it to you? You’re allowed to date, but I’m not?” I shot back, arching an eyebrow. “Tch. Fine, don’t help. I’ll just find a new girlfriend tomorrow. It’s not like it’s hard for a guy who looks like me,” he scoffed. “But you, you better be careful. Don’t get played. You want me to vet the guy for you? Out of the kindness of my heart?” He paused, his expression turning sly and vaguely threatening. “And hey, when we graduate and move abroad, don’t come crying to me when you need someone to look after you in a foreign country.” Jackson’s features were sharp, his words laced with a petty, passive-aggressive sting. I kicked the tire of his precious car. “Maybe you should cure your abysmal sense of direction first,” I said with a smile that didn’t reach my eyes. “We’ll see who’s looking after who.” As we bickered, the comments flickered back to life. 【Wait, so she’s NOT his girlfriend? It’s fake? An act?】 【Hahaha, Caleb’s world is crashing down all over again. In the last timeline, he crushed on her through high school, then through college. He didn’t dare approach her until she came back from overseas and they met at a gala. He used a business partnership as an excuse just to get close.】 【This is what happens when you don’t use your words, kids. If only he’d had the courage to just ask her back then.】 【Well, come on. Nineteen-year-old Caleb had nothing. Maeve and Jackson were childhood friends, from the same world. It was a perfect match on paper.】 【Looks like even after he became a tech mogul, he was still too scared to ask her about it.】 【Of course he was. When she proposed their marriage of convenience, she framed it as a ‘strategic alliance.’ He thought it was purely business the entire time. He quietly transferred most of his assets to her name later, just to be safe.】 … As I was engrossed in the scrolling text, my phone vibrated. A new message from the anonymous number. 【Hi. Can you break up with him?】 I blinked. Before I could process it, another came through. 【Or, would you consider having a second boyfriend?】 And a third. 【I promise I’ll stay hidden until you’re single again.】 My thumb hovered over the screen. I typed out a single name. 【Caleb?】 I hesitated, debating whether to hit send. Just then, Jackson leaned over my shoulder. “Who’s that? The new romantic prospect?” My hand flinched. The message sent. A muscle in my temple twitched. I locked my phone and turned to glare at Jackson. “What? So secretive now,” he sniffed, his face turning cold as he opened his car door. “Want a ride?” “No thanks. I’m meeting Sienna for some shopping. You go on ahead.” At the mention of Sienna’s name, Jackson got in his car without another word, peeling away with a roar of the engine. 4 “Where’s that idiot Jackson? I’ve been back in the country for a week and he hasn’t even come to pay his respects to her majesty?” Sienna tossed her thick, honey-blonde curls over her shoulder, her stunning face twisted in a look of annoyance. I lounged on a plush sofa in the designer boutique, half-watching a model strut down an in-store runway. “He said the last time you were back, you forced him to be your practice model for a photoshoot and spent the entire time yelling at him. He claims it left him with emotional scars.” I explained, referring to our other childhood friend. A cold smirk played on Sienna’s lips. “Don’t worry. I’m over him. I passed by this auto body shop a few days ago and saw an absolute specimen. Grade-A, top-tier material.” Her eyes lit up. “I’m taking you there later. I’m going to get him to be my next model.” A specimen? Caleb’s face materialized in my mind. I pulled out my phone, my thumb tapping the screen. No new messages. I arched an eyebrow. That evening, after Sienna had finally shopped to her heart’s content, she revved the engine of her new motorcycle and drove me to the auto shop she’d mentioned. The owner’s eyes lit up when he saw us. Before he could speak, Sienna pointed a manicured finger at a man working in the back. “I want him.” The man looked up, his expression bored and indifferent. But when his eyes landed on me, he froze for a fraction of a second. I watched him, a slow smile spreading across my face. It was Caleb, dressed in a black tank top that showcased his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The muscles in his arms were lean and powerful. “Well? A specimen, right?” Sienna whispered conspiratorially in my ear. “Perfect proportions. The golden ratio. He’d be magic on camera.” Her voice was filled with the feverish passion she reserved only for her art. “Yeah,” I murmured, my eyes fixed on Caleb as he started walking toward us. “A total specimen.” 5 Caleb’s hands, covered in work gloves, slid methodically over every inch of the motorcycle’s frame. He was meticulous. “Hey, handsome. What’s your name?” Sienna draped an arm around my shoulders, her approach as subtle as a pyramid scheme recruiter. “You work here? How much do they pay you? Ever thought about a side gig that pays better and is way easier?” Caleb didn’t even look up, but he answered politely, his words clipped. “Caleb.” “I help a friend out here sometimes.” “Not interested.” Sienna pouted. Her phone buzzed, and with a disinterested glance at the screen, she wandered off to take the call. My gaze settled on Caleb’s broad back, appraising him freely. He paused in his work, then straightened up, pulling off his gloves. “Your friend’s bike is fine. Nothing wrong with it.” I held his gaze. “Is that the only thing you wanted to say to me?” His eyes flickered, and his Adam’s apple bobbed. I waited, patient. Just as the gloves in his hand looked like they were about to be twisted into shreds, he finally spoke. “Just now…” He only got out two words before stopping. I followed his gaze and saw Sienna walking back towards us, her face a mask of annoyance. She tossed a set of keys into my lap. “Maeve, my mom’s doing a surprise inspection at my apartment. You take the bike back for me, I’ll pick it up from your place later.” Sienna’s mother had expressly forbidden her from riding motorcycles, even cutting off her credit cards once to prove her point. I saw Caleb’s eyes fix on the keys in my hand, his brow furrowing slightly. After Sienna left, I dangled the keys. “What’s wrong? Want a ride?” I was just teasing him, but he placed a long-fingered hand on the bike’s frame, his dark eyes looking down. “Can I drive? I’ll take you home.” I raised an eyebrow, thinking he was just trying to show off. But then, the ghostly text appeared again. 【The second Maeve is near a motorcycle, Caleb’s hair stands on end.】 【He’ll probably never forget the time she crashed with friends after high school graduation and ended up in the hospital.】 【He went to the hospital every single day back then, just to catch a glimpse of her from down the hall.】 I thought back. He was right. That did happen. So the comments were telling the truth. I tossed the other helmet to him. He caught it against his chest. I winked. “Alright.” As he stood in front of me, adjusting his helmet, I leaned forward and wrapped my arms around his waist. His hands froze. His entire body went rigid, every muscle pulled taut. It felt like a war was being waged inside him—a battle between extreme self-control and a secret, thrilling excitement. 6 Caleb drove smoothly, keeping the speed steady and safe. The ride wasn’t fast, so by the time we reached my apartment building, we were both a little damp from a sudden downpour. I stepped into the elevator and pressed the button for my floor. Caleb stood outside, his silhouette sharp and defined. Rain had plastered his hair to his forehead, giving his usually severe face a roguish, untamed look that didn’t quite belong to him. His damp tank top clung loosely to his torso, offering tantalizing hints of the defined abs beneath. As the elevator doors began to slide shut, our eyes met. “Caleb,” I said, my voice deliberately casual. “Want to come up and wait for the rain to stop?” Silence. No response. Suddenly— BANG! Just as the doors were about to close, a clean, strong hand shot out and stopped them, trembling slightly. Caleb’s dark eyes were burning with an overwhelming mix of emotions. But the tips of his ears were red. I smiled and stepped aside, making room for him. Once inside, I flicked on the lights. “Do you want to take a shower, or just use a towel?” I asked, glancing at the storm raging outside my window. It looked like it was settling in for a while. “A towel is fine,” he said. He remained in the entryway, refusing to step further into my space, as if he were restraining himself from crossing some invisible line. The perfect, polite gentleman. I looked at him and laughed. “Did you look this proper when you sent me those texts?” I teased. “Brave enough to come home with me, but too scared to take your clothes off?” His arm muscles tensed. The overhead light cast a shadow across his brow. I poured a glass of water and leaned against the kitchen counter, my eyes slowly trailing over him. “Caleb, you should know something about me. I’ve only ever been interested in the best of the best.” He looked up slightly, understanding my meaning. A clap of thunder shook the building. He walked toward me, each step deliberate. With a single, fluid motion, he pulled the clinging tank top over his head. A thin red cord was tied around his neck, disappearing below his collarbone. As he moved, I saw it held a small, smooth silver medallion. My eyes followed the line of that cord down, past his collarbone, over the hard planes of his abs, to the lean line of his waist. In a heartbeat, he was in front of me. He leaned in, planting his hands on the counter on either side of me, trapping me in his space. “Does this meet your standards, Miss Maeve?” he murmured, his breath hot against my ear, laced with a mix of anxiety and hope. I tilted my head, my gaze slowly, deliberately, dropping lower. And lower. Until— A hand clamped over my eyes, plunging me into darkness. I heard Caleb’s voice, rough and strained with effort. “I want to be your boyfriend. Not… not just for this.” Then, the sound of hurried, almost panicked footsteps retreating toward the bathroom.

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For five years, I belonged to Donovan Black. The pretty thing he kept in a gilded cage. In my first life, I made the mistake of listening to the whispers of other girls like me. I let myself believe that his affection was turning into love, and I did everything I could to make him propose. I became a nightmare when Camilla Rhodes, the one who always had a hold on him, came back to the States. I picked fights, I made scenes. In the end, I succeeded only in getting myself killed. Two bodies in one grave, me and our unborn child. Not long after I was gone, Donovan and Camilla had the wedding of the decade. I became a cautionary tale, a punchline about the girl who dreamed too big. When I woke up, I was back in the bed where I first asked Donovan if he loved me. The man beside me, his breathing still evening out from our lovemaking, turned his head on the pillow. “What did you say?” The first time around, I hadn’t noticed the frost in his tone. I’d just snuggled deeper into his arms and asked if he could spend more time with me. Hearing those words again, a flash of memory seared through my mind: Donovan’s face at my cremation, the look of a man relieved to finally be rid of a piece of trash. I slapped my own mouth twice, lightly, and manufactured a blush. “Oh my god, I’m so blissed out I’m not even making sense,” I murmured. “I meant to ask if you loved the soup I made tonight. If you did, I can make it again tomorrow.” 1. Shock flickered in Donovan’s eyes. He clearly wasn’t expecting a post-coital performance review from me, the woman who usually went shy and silent in these moments. But it was that very boldness, those unexpected words, that made a man as meticulous as Donovan overlook the question I had actually asked. In my first life, when I’d asked him to spend more time with me, he’d mistaken it for the sweet nothings of a woman high on passion. So, he’d casually replied, “Alright. From now on, I’ll take you wherever I go.” That one simple sentence was all it took to fertilize the ambition in my heart. It made me believe, with every fiber of my being, that Donovan Black loved me too; he just hadn’t realized it yet. “The soup was good,” Donovan’s voice pulled me from my thoughts. “It settled my stomach.” As his words registered, I instinctively grabbed a silk robe, covering myself. I told him I was heading to the kitchen to prep for the next day’s breakfast. The moment I was out of his line of sight, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. While I busied myself in the vast, stainless-steel kitchen, I started to sort through the chaotic fragments in my mind. I couldn’t remember why I’d been given a second chance, only that it was a precious, fragile thing. And one thought was branded onto my soul, a mantra I couldn’t escape: Don’t be a fool for love. Don’t you ever fall for a man again. Aside from making myself beautiful and making good food, I didn’t have many talents. I wasn’t particularly sharp; I believed whatever anyone told me. That was my fatal flaw. It was because of that flaw that, in my past life, I let the goading from other women in my position make me forget my place. I became more and more demanding, more and more of a problem. Only after my death did I learn the truth about Tiffany, the so-called friend whose real name I never even knew. She had approached me with an agenda from the very beginning. Her benefactor, a man named Mr. Sterling, did business with Donovan. We met at a gallery opening, a brief, forgettable encounter for me. But Mr. Sterling remembered me. He mentioned to Tiffany, more than once, how striking I was. And for that, she hated me. Then there was Camilla Rhodes. The woman who had gone abroad to study long before I ever met Donovan. She heard about me from her friends back home. The idea of Donovan keeping me around for so many years infuriated her, but she considered it beneath herself to deal with me directly. So, after doing a little digging into my personality—my naivete, my insecurities—she found Tiffany. She paid Tiffany to “teach” me how to win more of Donovan’s affection. Every piece of advice Tiffany gave me was perfectly designed to make Donovan slowly, but surely, grow tired of me. And so, that winter, just a few months later—on my way to tell Donovan that I was pregnant and demand he make me his wife—I was hit by a speeding truck. I died on impact. After my death, Tiffany, who had already been cast aside by Mr. Sterling, took the massive “thank you” payment I’d given her and went back to her hometown to get married. Camilla, who had orchestrated everything from a distance, finally won Donovan’s heart for good. They had a son and a daughter. And me? I was the one who got greedy because I just wanted to be loved. In the end, I went to my grave without ever hearing Donovan Black say he even liked me. Playing the whole tragedy back in my mind, I took a deep, painful breath and resolved to do my job, serve my time, and wait for the day Donovan finally let me go. Afraid I might forget, that I might still harbor some foolish hope for him, I found the old notebook I used for recipes. I flipped to the last page and started to write. August 27th: Never forget the pain of your soul burning. It’s not shameful to be starved for love, but don’t lose your life over scraps from someone else’s table. … Despite going to bed late, I was up at 5:30 the next morning. I worked without a break, preparing a full breakfast spread. Just as Donovan came downstairs, showered and dressed, I was placing a pot of slow-simmered herbal broth on the table. He stared at the array of dishes covering half the dining table, a dozen small plates filled with everything from omelets to fresh pastries. He was silent for a few seconds before he asked, “Alright, what do you want?” Cooking was my primary tool for pleasing him, but in five years, I’d almost exclusively made him dinner. Never before had I sacrificed my beauty sleep just to ensure he had a good meal before leaving for the office. 2. Worried the smell of cooking oil clung to me, I stood a careful distance away from him. “You mentioned before that I should find something to do, to keep me from embarrassing you when I’m out, right?” I watched his expression for any change. Seeing none, I continued, “Since you think my cooking is decent, what if I opened a restaurant? It’s really the only skill I have that’s worth anything.” I didn’t want to waste this second chance. I wanted to build something for myself, to prepare for a life after Donovan. He began to eat his breakfast, quietly, not saying a word. I took the hint and didn’t press him. Donovan was a better man than the ones my peers were with, but he had the same flaw most of them did: a severe case of male chauvinism. Once, I was at a spa with another girl and missed his text. He froze my credit cards and confined me to the penthouse for three days as punishment for ignoring him. Knowing him as I did, I knew he wouldn’t accept me doing anything that wasn’t under his control. I couldn’t just start a business without his permission. That’s why I’d woken up at dawn, why I’d cooked this feast. It was all a calculated plea for his approval to go out and make my own money. Donovan was generous, and in this new life, I hadn’t asked him for anything yet. If he agreed to the restaurant, his support would come with funding and connections. That was my real goal. Even though I knew my death in the last life was my own doing, Donovan was the catalyst. He was the one who had warped me into someone I wasn’t. His pockets were deep. Making him shoulder some of the responsibility for my early demise didn’t seem unreasonable, did it? Fleecing him for a little startup capital while I was still under his roof… surely that was understandable. Donovan left for work without giving any opinion on my “sudden” ambition. I wasn’t worried. Camilla wasn’t due back for another month. If once didn’t work, I’d just have to try again. After he left, I went out too. First, I went to the bank to check the balance of the “salary” I’d accumulated from him over the years. Then I split the money, seventy-thirty. The larger portion went into a new, separate account. The rest I designated as my operating capital. I hadn’t gotten any smarter. But my past life had taught me one thing: trust no one. I was eighty percent sure Donovan would help me, but you can never account for that last twenty percent. From the bank, I went to a restaurant I used to frequent. In the past, I’d always gone to try their new dishes. Today, I studied the prices on the menu, the decor, the thousand little details most customers overlook. The owner recognized me. Seeing me sitting alone for so long, he came over to say hello. Thinking of all the mistakes I might make without Donovan’s help, I summoned my courage and started asking him for advice, to “learn from the master.” He was surprisingly kind, not at all bothered that I was trying to steal his secrets. He shared story after story of the pitfalls he’d encountered since opening his own place. I went home with a phone that had died from taking so many notes. When I plugged it in, a message popped up on the screen, identical to the one from my last life: Nancy, how did it go? Did you ask Mr. Black if he loves you like I told you to? Nancy. That was the name he’d given me. I didn’t reply. I just deleted Tiffany’s contact and blocked her number. Truthfully, I didn’t hate her that much. She was instrumental in my early death, yes, but ultimately, it was my own stupidity that sealed my fate. If I had been just a little bit smarter, a little less easily swayed by others, my life wouldn’t have ended that way. Besides, I vaguely remembered a voice, just before I came back, whispering to me: Everything has a cause and effect. Don’t seek revenge. Those who harmed you will face their own consequences. Don’t waste the precious chance you’ve been given on a moment’s satisfaction. Because of that, my heart had remained peaceful. I kept reminding myself: I came back to live a long, full life for myself. No one was going to derail that plan. 3. When Donovan came home that evening, he handed me a folder. I froze when I saw the title on the first page: Restaurant Development Proposal. “I spoke to a few friends in the restaurant business at lunch. This is a plan based on their collective experience,” he said. “It’s rare for you to want something like this. Study it. If you have any questions, you can come to me anytime.” I clutched the folder and nodded dumbly. Mumbling an excuse about wanting to read it right away, I hurried back to the bedroom. I found my recipe notebook hidden under the bed, flipped to the back, and wrote under yesterday’s entry: August 28th: So he’s shown you kindness. That means the person you once loved had some good in him. But that’s all. There are a million other sights to see, a million other meals to taste. Learn to love yourself. Put yourself first. Closing the notebook, I felt the frantic beating of my heart finally begin to slow. The reason I’d fallen for Tiffany’s lies so easily in my last life was simple: I had already fallen in love with Donovan long before. Falling for your benefactor is the cardinal sin in our line of work. But I couldn’t control it. To keep him from finding out and getting rid of me, I had to suppress it, to act indifferent. But emotions are like that; the more you push them down, the more powerfully they spring back. So when someone told me that Donovan treated me differently than other women, that he might actually have feelings for me, I gambled everything. I dropped the mask and never put it back on. By the time I opened the proposal, my heart was completely calm. Combining the advice from the restaurant owner with the detailed contents of Donovan’s plan, a clear vision for my restaurant began to form in my mind. After noting down a few points I didn’t understand, I went to find Donovan in his study to have them clarified. Seeing that I had genuine questions, he raised an eyebrow. “So, you’re serious about this? I’m impressed by the effort.” I just smiled and didn’t say anything, diligently taking notes as he explained the complexities of payroll and supply chains. “Do you have any thoughts on the location and concept for the restaurant?” he asked as I was about to leave. After a moment’s thought, I decided to share what I’d learned from the restaurant owner. “There’s a coffee shop on Waverly Place that’s up for sale, only been open for three months. It’s right near a major shopping street and two universities. The foot traffic is incredible. I was planning to go look at it tomorrow. If it checks out, I want to open my restaurant there.” Donovan looked at me, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. “You seem to be in a hurry.” I was. The process from site selection to design and renovation was a long one. If I went through the entire process from scratch, my restaurant wouldn’t be open by the end of the year. I’d heard about this coffee shop. The decor was modern and appealed to a younger crowd, perfectly matching my target demographic. If the owner’s family hadn’t run into a sudden financial crisis, they wouldn’t be selling so quickly. If I could take over the lease, I would only need to change the layout, which would save an enormous amount of time. I needed to get as much done as possible before Camilla came back. That way, even if Donovan’s help disappeared, I’d be in a much better position. But obviously, I couldn’t tell him that. “It’s not easy to find a space that fits on every level,” I said. “When you find one, you have to act fast.” Hearing this, Donovan nodded in agreement. “I’ll have Arthur go with you tomorrow. If you like it, we’ll lock it down. Don’t worry about the price. It’s not often you ask for anything. Consider the shop a gift from me.” I certainly wasn’t going to refuse. Arthur was incredibly competent. With his help, everything from price negotiation to signing the contracts was done in half a day. From that moment on, I poured nearly every ounce of my energy into my restaurant. Though I was happy with the coffee shop’s existing design, some changes were necessary to meet the needs of a full-service restaurant. Arthur recommended a rising-star interior designer, and by the time she had the new blueprints ready, the construction crew Arthur had sourced was already on standby. I was leaving before dawn and coming home long after dark. For over two weeks, I barely exchanged more than a few words with Donovan. 4. One evening, I walked in to find Donovan, who usually sequestered himself in his study, sitting on the living room sofa watching television. He stood up, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, took my bag from my shoulder, and asked how the restaurant preparations were going. I was so exhausted I didn’t even register what he’d done. It wasn’t until I was in the shower that it hit me: the easy way he’d greeted me, the casual conversation… it was all eerily similar to how a normal husband and wife might interact. After my shower, while Donovan was on the phone on the terrace, I quickly found my recipe book. I’d been running on fumes for weeks, usually falling into bed the moment I got home. On the rare nights when a thought of Donovan stirred something in me, I’d immediately jot down a warning to myself in my phone’s notes app. I took a moment now to transcribe those frantic notes into the notebook. Then I added today’s entry: September 16th: Less than two weeks left until everything goes back to the way it was. Remember who you are. Stop dreaming. Work harder. Don’t let these small moments get to you. I shoved the notebook back into its hiding place and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the moon outside the window. I knew this was a foolish way to guard my heart. But it was the only way I could think of. A slow, painful desensitization until the day finally came. “Why aren’t you in bed? What’s on your mind?” Donovan’s voice startled me. I quickly pulled myself together. “Nothing. The renovations are moving fast. I was just thinking if there were any details I might have overlooked.” He nodded without comment. After he lay down, he spoke suddenly into the quiet room. “When I came home today, the housekeeper mentioned that Sterling’s girl has been coming by to see you. When did you two get so close?” Hearing his dismissive name for Tiffany, a sharp pain lanced through my chest. I subtly rubbed the spot over my heart. “We’re not close,” I said, feigning indifference. “She started saying all this weird stuff, so I blocked her. I have no idea why she keeps showing up.” Donovan made a soft “hmm” sound. “She’s probably trying to get close to you on Sterling’s orders. Ignoring her is the right move. Stay away from people like that.” He rolled over and went to sleep. But I lay awake for a long time, the words “people like that” echoing in my head. For the next week or so, I made a point to leave earlier than Donovan and come home later, minimizing our contact. During that time, I heard from Arthur that Donovan had unilaterally terminated his partnership with Mr. Sterling. A few days later, I saw chatter in a group chat with some of the other girls. Tiffany had been confronted by Mr. Sterling’s wife. She was beaten, stripped naked, and thrown into the park across from her apartment. They said she’d lost her mind by the time someone found her. Seeing her fate, so drastically different from the last time, made my chest feel tight. A chill ran down my spine. The day Camilla Rhodes flew back into the country, one of the girls tagged me in the group chat: Nancy, the real one’s back. You better watch your step. Don’t end up like Tiffany. I didn’t reply. I just left the group. On this day in my last life, Donovan went to the airport to pick Camilla up and didn’t come home all night. So I wasn’t in any hurry to get back. I ordered takeout, sat in my nearly finished restaurant, and drank until I was pleasantly drunk. It was just before midnight when I finally stood outside the penthouse door. The moment I stepped inside, the alcohol buzz vanished. There, on the sofa, was the man who was supposed to be with Camilla. He was leaning back with his eyes closed, and in his hand was my recipe notebook. After a long, heavy silence, Donovan opened his eyes. His gaze was dark and intense as he stared at me. He held up the notebook. “Come here,” he said, his face a mask of neutrality. “We need to talk.”

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I received Liam Cole’s divorce papers when I was twenty-eight. When I was eighteen, he’d proposed to me with a ring made from a chocolate wrapper. Ten years. That’s all it took. The day we were supposed to sign the papers, he got into a car accident. His memory reset to eighteen. Back to the year he loved me most. 1 I was at LAX, waiting to board a flight to Paris, when the email with Liam Cole’s divorce petition arrived. As I opened the file, a single thought surfaced, clean and sharp as glass: So, we’re finally here. At that point, Liam and I had already been separated for two full years. But his lawyer had been insistent. I had to return to New York to handle this in person. I canceled my flight. The Parisian dream dissolved and was replaced by a cross-country flight back to the life I’d left behind. On the plane, I twisted the wedding band on my finger. Ten years ago, he’d cried like a little boy when he asked me to marry him. He would love me forever, he’d said. And I, in all my eighteen-year-old innocence, had actually believed him. But people change, don’t they? I knew it was over two years ago. The last time he looked at me, I saw it in his eyes. The love was gone. There was no point in dwelling on it. I closed my eyes and let the darkness swallow my thoughts. It wasn’t until I was standing on the curb at JFK, the familiar New York air thick with exhaust and urgency, that I understood what it meant to feel like a stranger in your own home. Two years isn’t a lifetime, but it’s long enough for everything to feel foreign. “Nora! Over here!” A familiar voice sliced through the chaos. It was Sasha. My best friend since we were teenagers. She was the first person I’d told when I agreed to the divorce. She looked incredible—a sharp beige suit, a slash of red lipstick, and huge, audacious gold hoops that framed her face. A portrait of effortless command. “Nora, baby, give me a kiss!” She wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a fierce hug and planting a loud, smacking kiss on my cheek. I couldn’t help but laugh, a little breathlessly. As I turned to tease her, she cupped my face in her hands, gently but firmly turning my head away from the terminal. “Don’t look, baby. Visual pollution.” A small smile touched my lips, and I shook my head gently. How could I not see him? Liam Cole was everywhere. His face stared down from a dozen different ad campaigns, his eyes following me from billboards and digital screens. Yes. My husband. The superstar. 2 “Hmph. You just wait, Nora. I’m going to be your divorce lawyer. That dog Liam Cole has been hiding this marriage for years while messing around with that—that Vance woman. Just based on the paparazzi photos alone, I can take him to the cleaners.” Sasha was a partner at one of the top law firms in the city now. Watching her seethe on my behalf, I had the sudden, bittersweet thought that she had been Liam’s friend first. Even if I was losing him, at least I still had her. “My dear, powerful attorney,” I said softly. “Let’s not trouble you with this little thing.” I just wanted it to be over. Quick and clean. “You’re not planning on asking for nothing, are you?” My silence was her answer. “You… I’ve never met anyone so foolish. It’s just like when you were eighteen, giving up Paris for…” Eighteen. Such a distant past. A past I never wanted to remember. “Sasha, I don’t want to get dragged into a fight with him.” “The last ten years with him have already taken everything I have.” Sasha didn’t say another word. She just drove me to her apartment. “Get some rest. I have to go back to the office to handle a few things.” And then I was alone again in the sprawling, silent apartment. It was just like all those years in our house on the North Shore, where it was always, always just me. I turned on the TV, and it was immediately there: a segment on an entertainment news channel. “Big news from Hollywood! Is superstar actress Olivia Vance finally tying the knot? Rumors have swirled for years about her romance with Liam Cole, and now, with these new photos of the couple vacationing in Hawaii—allegedly scouting wedding venues—it looks like wedding bells are imminent. When questioned by reporters, Vance remained coy, but her radiant smile said it all. She’s currently preparing for the Cannes Film Festival, so we’ll have to wait for her return for official confirmation!” Listening to it, I felt… nothing. A complete, hollow calm. Two years ago, just seeing her name—Olivia Vance—on the screen would have made me want to scream, to hurl something at the television. I was impressed with my own self-control now. A text from an unknown number buzzed on my phone. 【Civil Affairs Bureau. 9 AM tomorrow.】 Efficient. So this was why he was in such a hurry to divorce me. To marry her. Perhaps I should thank her. The next day, at nine in the morning, I was standing outside the Bureau as promised. I waited for nearly two hours. No one came. Steeling myself, I was just about to dial the number when my phone rang. It was Sasha. “Nora, you need to get to Mount Sinai Hospital, now. Liam’s been in a car accident.” 3 “We’re… married?” After two years apart, the first thing Liam Cole said to me was that. Everyone in the hospital room turned to look at me. Some with suspicion, others with concern. He glanced at the ring on my hand and then scratched his head, a look of pure, boyish confusion on his face. What is going on? I shot a questioning look at Sasha. She pulled me into the hallway. “His memory has reverted to when he was eighteen.” “He suffered a severe blow to the head,” she explained. “The doctors say he has memory loss. He only remembers things from before he was eighteen.” “Eighteen?” I whispered the word. Why? Why that year? Because that was the year I gave up my spot at the Paris Opera Ballet School. Because that was the year I broke with my parents for Liam. Because that was the year that marked the beginning of my ten-year descent into hell. I didn’t want to remember it. I stormed back into the room. “I’ve already divorced you!” “I would never divorce her! My dream is to marry her!” Our voices collided in the sterile air. I froze. Liam froze. Only his agent, standing in the corner, had a smug, ‘I told you so’ look on his face that made me want to slap him. “You’re lying to me, aren’t you?” Liam’s voice was thin, incredulous. “There’s no amnesia. This is some kind of prank, right?” “This isn’t funny. I have to get to practice.” He tried to get out of bed, but his agent quickly stopped him. “No one is lying to you, Liam.” “You want proof? Here!” I pulled our marriage certificate from my bag and threw it onto the bed in front of him. I enunciated every word, my voice trembling with rage. “I don’t care if you have amnesia or not. Today was the day we were supposed to get divorced. And no matter what, I am divorcing you!” Liam looked at the certificate I’d thrown down. At first, a small, disbelieving smile played on his lips. But as my words sank in, his face went completely white. “Nora… you… I…” “Yeah, that’s right, Liam,” his agent chimed in eagerly. “Weren’t you just in Hawaii with Ms. Vance a few days ago, looking at wedding venues?” “Shut up!” Liam roared. A sudden, inexplicable fire surged through me. I rushed forward and grabbed his arm. “Let’s go. We’re going to the Bureau to get divorced, right now!” He resisted, but I pulled him forcefully, ignoring how his face was growing paler by the second. “My head… it hurts so much!” He suddenly clutched his head, his face contorted in agony, and then he collapsed. After the doctors finished their examination, they gathered us together and gave us a harsh lecture. “The patient has severe depression and has just been in a major accident. And you’re agitating him like this? Are you trying to trigger a complete mental breakdown?” Depression? Since when did Liam have depression? “Don’t mention the divorce to him again. At least not while his memory is like this.” “This is likely temporary amnesia. When his condition stabilizes, his memories should return. Until then, whatever you all are planning, please be patient and wait for the patient to recover.” The doctor’s final gaze landed on me. “Especially you, Mrs. Cole. The patient needs you right now.” The implication was clear. But that meant I had to stay by his side. I didn’t want to. I looked at Liam, lying unconscious in the bed, and a profound sadness washed over me. Why did you have to go back to being eighteen? Eighteen… that was when you loved me most.

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My boyfriend was the most devoted man in the world. He always said he wouldn’t marry anyone but me. Right before our wedding, I found an anonymous post he’d written online, answering a question: “What’s it like to be deeply in love with someone you can’t be with?” 1 I always believed Liam was the best boyfriend in the world. Until the Fourth of July. I’d gone to find him at his grandmother’s apartment, and from a distance, I saw him shielding another girl behind his back. Across from them, Liam’s grandmother was pointing a trembling finger at the girl, her body shaking with rage. “What are you doing here? Haven’t you people done enough to ruin our family? Get out! Get the hell out of here and don’t you ever come back!” The girl hid behind Liam, clutching the hem of his shirt. Her delicate, fragile frame looked utterly pitiful. “Grandma, it’s the holiday… I just wanted to bring you a little something…” On the ground, a box of artisanal pastries had been overturned, its contents scattered across the concrete. Liam’s grandmother was sputtering with fury. “Like I’d ever take anything from you!” She snatched one of the pastries from the ground and hurled it at the girl. The hard edge of the almond biscotti cut her skin, leaving a thin red line. “Grandma!” Liam threw himself in front of the girl, just as another pastry struck him square in the chest. “Liam…” the girl cried out. He let out a sharp grunt of pain, clenched his jaw, and shot a cold look over his shoulder at her. “What are you waiting for? Get lost.” Tears welled in her eyes. She sobbed, “Liam, I… I just wanted to see you.” In the dim evening light, I saw it clearly: Liam’s eyes were red. But his voice was still ice. “Sophia, I’m telling you to leave. No one here wants to see you.” Sophia turned, weeping. Her vision must have been blurred by tears, because after a few steps, her foot slipped on the edge of the staircase. She was about to tumble down the stairs when, in a flash, Liam lunged forward without a second thought. He caught her, wrapping his arms around her and using his own body to break her fall. 2 That night, Liam didn’t come home until after midnight, his torso wrapped in bandages. He told me there had been an accident on a construction site. A couple of workers got into a fight, and he’d been caught in the middle. I sat on the sofa, just looking at him as tears streamed down my face. Panic flashed in his eyes. He fumbled for the tissue box and came over, clumsily dabbing at my cheeks. “Hey, you’re worried about me? Don’t cry, don’t cry. It doesn’t even hurt, I promise.” He pulled faces, doing anything he could to make me laugh until a small smile finally broke through. Only then did he seem to relax. “Look at you,” he murmured, stroking my hair. “When I’m not here, you forget to eat. You’re going to give yourself another stomachache.” He rinsed a bowl of strawberries for me before heading into the kitchen to cook. I watched him, a six-foot-two man wearing my Cinnamoroll apron, moving around the kitchen with familiar ease. The spicy, smoky scent of Cajun chicken soon filled the air—Liam could never handle spicy food, but because I loved it, he’d taught himself how to cook it perfectly. Everyone said I had the best fiancé in the world. And in that moment, in the warmth of our apartment, I felt it too. But I couldn’t lie to myself. I had seen it. A few hours earlier, hidden behind a row of hedges near his grandmother’s building, I had seen her—Sophia—dabbing ointment on his cuts. She tended to his wounds, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. “Why can’t we be together?” she whispered, her voice choked with tears. Liam’s jaw was tight, his face a mask. She began to tremble uncontrollably. “What did I do wrong? Why is fate so cruel to us? “Liam, I just need to ask you one thing. I’ve loved you for eleven years. I’ve never stopped. “What about you? Do you still love me?” For a long, long time, there was only silence. Finally, he turned his face away from her. And for the first time, I saw the man everyone called cool and composed break down completely. He said, “I do.” 3 Liam and I had been together for a long time. I’m a doctor at Metro General. His grandmother was a patient on my floor after her surgery. She would always hold my hand and refuse to let go. “Such a good girl! You should be my granddaughter-in-law!” I’d glance over at Liam, who would blush and quickly look away. His grandma would complain to me in a stage whisper, “Honestly, that silly boy is crazy about you, but he’s too shy to say anything. If he doesn’t make a move soon, I’m done helping him!” From that day on, Liam started pursuing me. He’d show up with flowers and my favorite cheesecake. He, a six-foot-two man at the height of his career, would kneel on a busy sidewalk to tie my shoe, as earnest and devoted as a golden retriever. My hours were grueling, and sometimes he’d wait downstairs for three or four hours just to see me for a few minutes, never once complaining. Even then, Liam was a rising star in his field—young, handsome, and successful, with no shortage of women interested in him. No one could believe he pursued me with the bashful uncertainty of a teenager experiencing his first crush. My colleagues were envious. “Claire,” they’d say, “a man like that is one in a million.” That New Year’s Eve, he made it official. He took me to watch the fireworks over the city skyline. As the sky exploded in a riot of color, he turned to me, his eyes shining. “Claire, be my girlfriend. I’ll spend the rest of my life making you happy.” I closed my eyes, tears of joy slipping down my cheeks, and said yes. In that moment, I thought, I have the best boyfriend in the world. 4 And he was. His social media profile picture was a photo of me. A snapshot of us was clipped to his car’s visor. He’d video call me whenever he traveled for work and came straight home to me the second he was done for the day. I never once felt the need to check his phone. It seemed pointless. If I couldn’t trust Liam, who could I trust? … It was 1:30 a.m. Liam was fast asleep beside me. I took his phone and slipped into the bathroom. I needed to know who Sophia was. … As dawn broke, Liam stirred. I had already placed his phone back on the nightstand. He didn’t notice a thing. He just leaned over and kissed my cheek. “Morning, honey. I’m heading to work.” After he left, I opened my eyes. Silent tears soaked my pillow. 5 Liam and Sophia were childhood sweethearts. Liam’s father was a construction worker; Sophia’s was the boss. But the class difference never mattered to them. They were inseparable growing up. Until their junior year of high school, when Liam’s father died. Sophia’s father had embezzled company funds, cutting corners on a major project. A half-finished building collapsed, and Liam’s father was buried in the rubble. Liam’s mother had passed away years earlier, so he was raised by his dad and grandmother. With the family’s pillar gone, his grandmother suffered a heart attack and barely survived. Under a Reddit thread titled, “What’s it like to be deeply in love with someone you can’t be with?” I found Liam’s anonymous post. He had documented that dark time, date by date. [June 5th: She came to our door today, crying, trying to apologize. Grandma hit her with her cane and drove her away. It hurt to watch. I want to hate her. But the moment I see her, I can’t. She’s suffering too. June 21st: She came back. The stress made Grandma sick again, her condition got worse. I had to be cruel. I told her to never come back. She cried. Seeing her cry broke my heart. So this is what love feels like.] After that, there was a gap of many years. Then, a few winters later, I saw a new entry. [December 6th: It’s been years since I last saw her. Grandma and I have a normal life now. I’ve fallen for someone. A girl at the hospital. She’s so good, so gentle and kind. It’s the first time I understood what people meant by an angel in scrubs. I haven’t even won her over yet, but I can already picture our life together, and the thought of it fills me with a quiet happiness. It feels so good. I’m finally moving on.] For a long, long time, there was nothing else. Until a few days ago, when he edited the post one last time. He added two lines: [She’s back. And I realized I still love her.]

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After I Woke Up in a Novel, I Discovered I Had the Same Name as the Heroine It was a safe assumption, I thought, that I was the heroine. So, leaning on the impenetrable shield of plot armor, I found the male lead back when he was still broke and living in a shithole apartment, and I completely forced myself on him. Even when he looked at me with red-rimmed eyes and told me he hated me, I thought it was just part of the game. It wasn’t until the real heroine showed up that I realized he wasn’t playing. He really, truly hated me. Heartbroken, I packed my bags to run for my life. The next second, he had me pinned against the wall. “Running so soon?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. “Tired of playing with me already, baby?” 1 The bed in the cramped studio apartment was never meant for two people. It forced me to sleep pressed right up against Caleb, which, secretly, I loved. It was the perfect excuse to feel the hard lines of his muscles under my hands, to tuck myself into the curve of his body. There was, however, one drawback. The cheap wooden frame was old, and any significant movement would make it groan and squeak in protest. Like right now. My vision was blurred with tears as he held me tight against him, the sound of the squeaking bed and his ragged breaths filling my ears. Sweat plastered the dark hair to his forehead, and his black, fathomless eyes were locked on mine. With the slightest shift, a drop of sweat would fall from his temple to my neck, and he would follow it with his lips, kissing it away. It should have been a tender gesture. But right now, I was so exhausted I just wanted to curse him out. Wasn’t the male lead in the book supposed to be gentle?! Where the hell did Caleb get this kind of raw, relentless strength? It’s been two years since I woke up in this romance novel, a story about a beloved small-town girl and the man who builds an empire for her. The good news was, my name was the same as the heroine’s. According to the unwritten laws of transmigrating into novels, that had to mean I was her. In the book, the male lead starts from nothing, creates a business empire, and falls for the heroine at first sight. When I arrived, they weren’t supposed to have met yet. This version of Caleb was still just a broke kid working construction. But I didn’t want to wait. It was supposed to be love at first sight anyway, right? So I found Caleb’s rundown apartment and launched a full-blown, relentless campaign of seduction. Bolstered by my supposed status as the cherished female lead, I was demanding and difficult, making him cater to my every whim. I even convinced myself that when I’d first pushed him down onto this very bed and he’d looked at me, eyes red with something I couldn’t decipher, and told me he hated me… it was just foreplay. And now, two years later, I had successfully worn him down. We were living together. My mind was drifting when a sharp sting on my lip pulled me back. Caleb was watching me, his expression laced with displeasure. “What are you thinking about?” Before I could answer, a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face, followed by a cold sneer. “Oh, right. The milk. That explains why you’re burning up. You put something in it again, didn’t you?” “Ava,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s been two years. Is this still the only trick you know?” I couldn’t argue. He was right. Back when he didn’t fall for me at first sight—when he was, in fact, cold to the point of cruelty—I had resorted to desperation. I’d slipped something into his drink. It was the only way I finally got him into my bed. But arguing about it now was pointless. I gave his calf a weak kick. “How much longer? I’m so tired.” I don’t know how much time passed, but through a drowsy haze, I felt myself being lifted, carried to the tiny bathroom, washed gently, and then placed softly back in bed. Yawning, I mumbled an explanation. “I didn’t put anything in the milk.” Caleb’s movements stilled. He raised an eyebrow. “Then why do I feel so hot?” I thought about it for a second. “Well… it was hot milk.” Caleb just stared at me. I wrapped my arms around his neck, calling his bluff without a shred of mercy. “Just admit you like me in this silk slip.” “But you ripped it the very first time I wore it,” I pouted. “That was real silk, you know. It’s totally in style right now.” He turned his head away, avoiding my gaze, but not before I saw the tips of his ears turn a suspicious shade of red. “Who… who said I liked you in a slip?” Too tired to argue, I closed my eyes and let sleep pull me under. After a long moment, I felt him shift, adjusting his body so I could rest more comfortably in his arms. “Fine,” he whispered into the darkness. “I’ll buy you a new one.” 2 Caleb worked construction during the day, which left me with nothing to do. I eventually found a boring bookkeeping job in a warehouse office to kill time. The pay was terrible, but it wasn’t demanding, and I could chat with the other girls. During a lull, one of them, Sarah, leaned over her desk. “Ava, you’re still with your boyfriend?” I nodded. “Yep.” Her face scrunched up in pity. “A girl as pretty as you… why are you wasting your time on a construction worker? You could find someone with so much more money.” I just shook my head. “He’s a good person. We’re happy.” Aside from Caleb’s infuriating habit of saying the opposite of what he meant, everything really was good. The day dragged on until evening. I was buried in a mountain of ledgers, pretending to work while waiting for the clock to hit five, when our manager walked in with a new girl. “Everyone,” he announced with a wide grin, “I’d like you to meet our new colleague, Eva. She’ll be starting with us tomorrow.” For a second, I thought I’d misheard. “…What’s her name?” “Eva,” the girl said, her voice bright. “E-V-A.” Her eyes sparkled, and she had this magnetic warmth that made you want to be near her. She instantly charmed everyone, blending in with the group as if she’d always been there. The rest of the office staff crowded around her, welcoming her enthusiastically. Watching my usually grumpy manager and my cynical colleagues suddenly turn so warm and friendly, a cold, dawning horror crept over me. This was the “beloved” female lead. Eva looked over at me, her smile genuine and kind. “Hi there! What’s your name?” I forced a laugh that sounded like a strangled cough. “Ha, Ava. A-V-A.” Her eyes widened in surprise. “Wow, our names sound so much alike! What a coincidence.” Yeah. A real coincidence. Especially since, up until thirty seconds ago, I thought I was you. 3 I was screwed. It was all over. I stumbled home from work in a daze, my mind a chaotic mess. Once inside the apartment, I started pacing, waiting anxiously for Caleb to get back. I’d listened to the book on audio, so I never knew how the heroine’s name was spelled. I’d just heard the sound and assumed. Who could have imagined my name was just a homophone of the real heroine’s? I thought I’d finally gotten to be the main character, only to find out I was just some random, insignificant side character. And what had I done for the past two years? Wielding my nonexistent plot armor, I’d made the male lead serve me hand and foot. I’d created a list of ridiculous rules for him: a good morning kiss was required upon waking, a goodbye kiss before he left for work. I’d forced him to call me all sorts of embarrassing pet names—baby, darling, sweetheart. I wasn’t just a side character. I had actively written myself into the role of the villain. So when Caleb had looked at me with those red-rimmed eyes and told me he hated me… …it was because he really, truly hated me. And what happens to the villain in these stories? I didn’t dare to think about it. All I knew was that when the male lead finally rose to power, the first person he would crush would be me. 4 Click. The lock on the door turned. Caleb walked in, shrugging off his dusty work jacket. He was wearing a plain black tank top underneath. Broad shoulders, a narrow waist, a strong, solid back. The muscles in his arms were lean and powerful. He caught me staring, and his dark eyes met mine. I looked at the coiled strength in his body and had a terrifying thought: I probably didn’t have to wait for him to get rich to get his revenge. With his physique, he could probably take out ten of me with a single punch. The next second, the fresh scent of soap mixed with something purely masculine washed over me. Caleb stopped right in front of me, his hand cupping the back of my neck as he leaned down to kiss me. It was too deep, too hard. I was too stunned to react. His other hand tightened on my waist, pulling me closer, and just as he tried to deepen the kiss, my brain finally rebooted. I shoved him away, scrambling back to put some distance between us. The charged atmosphere evaporated instantly. Caleb slowly lifted his head, his voice still rough with desire. “What are you hiding for? You’re the one who told me we have to kiss the second I get home.” His tone shifted, becoming a low, coaxing murmur. “Come here. We’re not finished.” A cold sweat broke out on my skin. “Let’s… let’s not kiss today,” I stammered. He noticed my resistance, and his voice went cold. “Not kiss?” He let out a harsh laugh. “So you get to kiss me whenever you want, and push me away when you don’t? Am I a dog you’re training, Ava?” I scrambled for an excuse. “I have a canker sore, so we shouldn’t—” Before I could finish, he closed the distance between us, his fingers gripping my chin. His thumb pressed against my lips, forcing my mouth open. “Where? Let me see.” I never expected him to call my bluff like that. I jerked my head away. His hand froze in mid-air. The warmth in his expression vanished, replaced by an icy fury. He spoke through gritted teeth. “Fine. You’ve learned how to lie to me now, too. Good for you, Ava. That’s just great.” The book described him as a gentle, devoted husband. But looking into his eyes, simmering with rage, I finally understood. His gentleness was always reserved for the real heroine. And I was just an imposter who had stolen her place. 5 I’ve always been two things: selfish and a coward. From the moment I was inexplicably dropped into this book, my only goal has been survival. So, when I realized the male lead would probably want to destroy me, my first instinct was to run. If I could run fast enough, hide somewhere he could never find me, maybe he’d forget all about revenge once he finally met the real heroine. I immediately started planning my escape. “What are you spacing out for? Come and eat.” Caleb’s anger hadn’t subsided. His face was a thundercloud as he served a simple dinner of three dishes and a soup. Say what you will about him, but the man could cook. My stomach rumbled traitorously. I swallowed and crept over to the table. Normally, I would have directed him to pick out the best pieces of food for me, to blow on my rice until it was cool enough to eat. But tonight, I didn’t dare act up. I just meekly picked up my chopsticks and started eating, silently cursing my past self for being such a brat. As we ate, I could feel the atmospheric pressure in the room dropping even lower. Huh? Why did he seem even angrier now? I thought about it for a frantic second and decided to try and leave a good impression before I disappeared forever. I sidled up next to him and poked his arm. Poke, poke. “Dinner was delicious! Thank you for making it.” He ignored me. I kept poking. “I shouldn’t have lied to you earlier. Please don’t be mad, okay?” God, how the tables have turned. He used to be the one coaxing me. I’d never been this subservient in my life. The icy tension in the room finally thawed a little. The hard line of his jaw relaxed, and he glanced down at me. “Why are you being so obedient all of a sudden?” he asked, his voice suspicious. “Alright, what is it you want to buy this time?” What?! Was that really how he saw me? As some materialistic leech? I thought, defeated: Forget trying to redeem myself. Just run. 6 Caleb eventually calmed down. His good mood made him much more agreeable. He even consented when I told him I just wanted to sleep, no funny business. The next morning, he gave me my mandatory good morning kiss and made breakfast, just like always. The second the door closed behind him, I leaped out of bed and started putting my escape plan into action. Even though I’d been in this world for two years, I had never really left Caleb’s side. I didn’t know anywhere else. I had to call a friend I trusted for advice. The cell phone from this era was clunky, with limited functions, and incredibly expensive. Caleb had saved for a long time to buy it for me. With my friend’s suggestions, I quickly picked a destination and started packing. There wasn’t much to take—just a few changes of clothes and enough cash for a bus ticket. The most valuable thing I owned was the phone. I could probably get a good amount of money if I sold it. I thought about it, then placed it on the most conspicuous spot on the table, with a short goodbye note tucked underneath. And just like that, I said farewell to the apartment I’d lived in for two years. It all happened so fast; it wasn’t even noon yet. Our building opened onto a dilapidated back alley. To avoid being seen, I decided to leave through the rear exit instead of the main street. The alley twisted and turned. I walked faster and faster, trying to catch the earliest bus out of the city. The doors of the houses were all shut tight. The lane was silent and desolate. The thought of my successful escape, of saving my own skin, put a spring in my step. I rounded another corner. And then I looked up, my cheerful mood evaporating. Leaning casually against the wall was Caleb, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. He was tall and imposing, even when he was just standing there. He looked up calmly, smoke blurring the sharp lines of his face, and his cold gaze landed on me. I had no idea how long he’d been waiting. 7 Before I could even process what was happening, a figure darted out from behind Caleb. “See, Caleb? I told you! She was just going to take your money and run!” I looked closer. It was the “friend” I had called for advice just this morning. My vision went black for a second. “That’s not true! I didn’t!” I tried to defend myself. She wasn’t listening, just piling on the accusations. “I warned you, Caleb! Ava just uses her pretty face. Did you really think she would settle down and build a life with you?” “She’s the type to just take your money and leave!” she spat, reaching out to grab my bag. Even though I was running away, I hadn’t stolen any money! My guilt warred with my indignation as I clutched the bag to my chest. “I didn’t take any money! You have no proof, you’re just slandering me!” “Then open your bag and let us check!” “Shut up,” Caleb said, his voice dangerously low. My heart sank. He wasn’t even going to let me explain. My friend looked at me triumphantly. “You heard him. Open the bag.” “I was talking to you,” Caleb clarified, his voice dropping another ten degrees. “Caleb?” His eyes narrowed, and his gaze, sharp and dismissive, fell on my so-called friend. “You can go now.” She was furious. “Caleb, I’m trying to help you! Don’t be an ungrateful idiot!” She wanted to say more, but one look at the thunderous expression on Caleb’s face sent her scurrying away. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the alley. My mind was still reeling from the accusation. I had to clear my name. “Caleb, I swear I didn’t steal your money. You know me better than that, right? You can check if you don’t believe me—” “Why were you running?” he cut me off, his voice like ice. “…What?” He didn’t even glance at my bag. He just backed me up against the grimy brick wall, his presence overwhelming, and asked again. “Why were you running?” His voice dropped to a husky whisper, laced with something I couldn’t identify. “Tired of playing with me already, baby?”

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