On my way to a tutoring session, I ran into my brother’s fiancée. She was on the arm of a strange man, her smile as bright as a blooming flower. A wicked little thrill went through me as I snapped a picture and immediately sent it to my brother, Liam. “Congrats. Looks like she’s upgrading.” Five minutes later, a few terse words appeared on my screen. “That’s her brother.” “Dumbass.” 1 Staring at the word ‘dumbass’ on the screen, a familiar ache bloomed in my chest. I should have known better. Liam never spared my feelings, especially not when I made a fool of myself like this. Ever since a high fever I had as a kid, my processing speed has been… slow. The doctors said my intelligence was unaffected, but it was like my brain was running on a delay. A sentence someone else understood in a second, I’d have to turn over and over in my mind. In class, by the time an answer finally surfaced from the depths of my thoughts, the teacher had already moved on. After that, Liam barely spoke to me. He found me “clumsy,” “a step behind,” and his attitude was contagious. Soon, my parents started to manage me less and less. They never took me to family gatherings or social events, as if I were a secret to be kept locked away. I stared at the word on my phone, my eyes slowly turning red. Just then, a gentle hand tapped my shoulder. I whipped around to see Keith standing behind me, holding a freshly bought ice cream cone. His smile was as warm as the afternoon sun. “Luna? What are you doing standing here all by yourself? You look a million miles away.” He pressed the cone into my hand, his voice soft enough to melt the hurt inside me. “Did something happen?” Keith and I grew up together. He was a great student with a kind heart, always surrounded by friends. But with me, he had a special kind of patience. No matter how long it took me to find my words, he would always wait. I think I’ve been in love with him for a very long time. It just took me until last year to finally realize it. That tight, heavy feeling in my chest whenever I saw him talking to someone else? That was love. My fingers crumpled the cone’s paper wrapper as I quietly told him what had happened. As the story tumbled out, so did my tears. “Keith… does my brother really look down on me that much?” Keith reached out and gently wiped a tear from my cheek. “Don’t overthink it,” he soothed. “Liam’s bark is worse than his bite. He doesn’t mean to be cruel.” He paused, then offered a small smile. “Come on, let’s take a walk by the river. The fresh air will do you good.” I nodded, following him. The ice cream was starting to melt, dripping cool against the back of my hand. As we walked, Keith filled the silence with lighthearted stories from his college classes, telling me how he almost flubbed a question from a professor and how the corner store near campus had a new, amazing kind of loaded fries. He was trying so hard to be funny, and he kept slowing his pace to make sure I could keep up. Listening to him, the knot of misery in my stomach began to loosen. I snuck a glance at him. The sun caught the sharp line of his jaw, and when he smiled, his eyes curved into crescents. He was beautiful. I thought to myself that if I could just keep walking with him like this forever, everything might be okay. But then, a familiar, sugary voice called out from behind us. “Keith!” We both turned. Emma was hurrying toward us, her ponytail bouncing with every step. Emma was the girl my parents had taken in a year after my fever. She was smart, charming, and quickly won over my parents and Liam. Even Keith spent a lot of time with her. The fragile bubble of peace around me popped. My mood sank again. Emma wedged herself between us, her arrival announced by a cloud of gardenia perfume that instantly overpowered Keith’s clean, subtle scent of soap. I instinctively shuffled to the side, my fingers twisting the hem of my shirt. Keith’s smile for her was just as gentle. “Emma. I saw Luna was having a rough day, so I asked you to come. You two are the same age, you grew up together. I thought maybe you could cheer her up.” I stared at the ground, digging my nails into the denim of my jeans. A bitter taste filled my mouth. Emma and I were never close. As the sponsored student my parents eventually fostered, her intelligence and beauty made her the “perfect child” they always talked about. They praised her for being sharp and sensible, which only made me, the slow one, seem even more like a burden. When there were snacks, they’d ask what Emma wanted. When they bought new clothes, they’d take Emma to the mall to pick out whatever she liked, never once asking me my favorite color. Even Liam was more patient with her, sometimes spending hours helping her with homework while I sat in the same room, invisible. I knew it was petty to feel this way, but seeing the affection they showered on her compared to the neglect I received felt like a physical weight on my chest, making it hard to breathe. Emma turned to me, her smile cloyingly sweet. “Luna, what’s wrong? You looked like you were about to cry. Did something bad happen?” I met her wide, innocent eyes, but the words wouldn’t come. I couldn’t tell her I was upset because my own brother had called me a ‘dumbass.’ That would only make her see me as even more pathetic. I stammered for a moment before finally mumbling, “It’s… it’s nothing. I just had a fight with my brother.” Emma waved a dismissive hand. “Oh, that’s just Liam,” she said casually. “You know how he is. Don’t take it to heart. He acts tough, but deep down, he really cares about you.” Hearing the familiar way she spoke about him made my stomach clench. I was his real sister, yet he’d never shown me an ounce of kindness. Emma, on the other hand, received his patience so effortlessly. I pressed my lips together and said nothing more. An awkward silence fell over us. Keith, ever the peacemaker, jumped in. “Hey Emma, have you eaten yet? It’s getting late. Why don’t we grab a bite? I know a great BBQ joint just around the corner.” Emma’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I’ve been craving BBQ forever!” I hesitated. I needed to get home and start my homework. As a senior, the workload was already crushing, and it took me twice as long as anyone else to finish. If I stayed out, I’d be up all night. But then I thought about how busy Keith was with college. We barely saw each other anymore. I couldn’t bear to pass up this rare chance to be with him. I swallowed the words I was about to say and quietly followed them to the restaurant. The BBQ joint was a small, bustling place on the side of the street. We found a booth by the window, and Keith took the menu, naturally asking Emma and me what we wanted. The food came quickly, filling the air with the rich, smoky scent of grilling meat. Keith picked up the tongs and started cooking a few slices of pork belly for me, my favorite. Across the table, Emma was a whirlwind of motion, chattering about her life at school—the award her club had just won, a funny story about a classmate. She was a big deal at school, always the center of attention, and her face glowed with pride as she spoke. I just sat there, listening silently, unable to find a single opening to join the conversation. In a burst of excitement, Emma threw her hands up to emphasize a point. Her arm knocked against the water glass beside her. With a sharp crack, the glass toppled, hitting the edge of the hot grill. The metal plate lost its balance and tipped, sending a cascade of sizzling meat and scalding grease straight toward me. A searing pain shot up my arm, sharp and dizzying, like a thousand tiny needles. A scream tore from my throat, and tears instantly flooded my eyes. The hot grease sizzled on my skin, a vicious heat that felt like it was boring straight through to the bone. Keith jumped, the tongs clattering from his hand. He shot up from his seat and raced to the counter, returning a moment later with a cup of ice water. He gently took my wrist, his voice laced with panic as he poured the cold water over the burn. “Luna, are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” Emma, who had initially flinched back in shock, suddenly let out a small laugh. The sound was sharp, dripping with undisguised mockery. “Wow, Luna,” she said, a smirk playing on her lips. “For someone who’s usually so slow, you dodged that pretty fast. Who knows? Maybe a few more shocks like that will finally fix the ‘side effects’ from your childhood fever.” Side effects. The words struck me like a physical blow. My head snapped up, my eyes wide with disbelief. The burn, the shock—it all fueled a furious red haze. The fact that my fever had left me with a slower processing speed was a secret I never, ever talked about. I barely told anyone. How could she possibly know? Sensing my stare, Emma stuck out her tongue in a parody of innocence. “Oops. Did I say too much?” I clenched my good hand into a fist, my nails digging into my palm. I fought to keep my voice from shaking. “How… how did you know about my fever?” Her eyes flickered toward Keith for a fraction of a second before settling back on me. “Oh, you know,” she said with a lazy drawl. “Last month, when I went with Keith and your brother to that new resort your family opened? They brought it up.” She paused, adding a hollow apology. “Sorry, Luna. I just assumed it wasn’t a big deal. I didn’t realize you were so sensitive about it. I won’t mention it again.” My vision swam with angry tears. So that was it. My deepest, most painful secret had been served up as casual conversation fodder between my brother and the boy I loved. Keith saw the look on my face and became flustered. He patted my shoulder, trying to placate me. “Luna, don’t be upset. Liam and I were just talking, it didn’t mean anything. Emma probably didn’t think it was a big deal either. She wasn’t trying to make fun of you. Don’t take it personally.” “Just talking?” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “Keith, that’s my life! It’s the one thing I never wanted anyone to know! How could you just… just tell someone like that?” A wave of humiliation and fury washed over me, and the past came rushing back in a vivid, painful flood. I wasn’t always like this. I used to be bright, a good student. My parents used to be proud to show me off. That fever changed everything. I had assumed that no matter how much Liam disliked me, he would never use that against me. After all, what happened that day… it was his fault. The memory of the fever was a nightmare I kept buried deep inside, but now it clawed its way to the surface. It was a Saturday. Liam was going to the river with his friends and didn’t want me tagging along. He pulled a few crumpled bills from his pocket and pressed them into my hand. “Luna, go to the corner store and get me a soda. An ice-cold one. When you get back, I’ll let you play with us.” I was only eight. The promise of being included was all I needed. I clutched the money and ran. But when I returned with the cold bottle, the riverbank was empty. Liam was gone. I searched along the water’s edge until two strange men blocked my path. They said they knew where my brother was. I took a few steps with them before a cold dread washed over me. I turned to run, but they grabbed me. I fought with all my might, twisting and kicking until I lost my footing and tumbled into the river. The July water looked calm, but its chill was shocking, cutting straight to my bones. I swallowed mouthfuls of murky water, flailing desperately until my hands closed around a drifting branch. I managed to pull myself to the bank, shivering and gasping. The men, spooked by my fall, had already vanished. Soaked and freezing, I stumbled home. It was dark by the time I walked through the door. My parents were frantic. As they rushed toward me, demanding to know where I’d been, Liam hid behind them and muttered, “I don’t know. She said she wanted to go play by herself. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.” I opened my mouth to tell them the truth, but Liam shot me a look so full of venom and warning that the words died in my throat. That night, the fever hit. I burned for two weeks straight. The doctors told my parents to prepare for the worst. I survived, but a part of me didn’t. When the fever finally broke, I was slow. I was different. I was broken. For all these years, I never blamed Liam. He was just a kid, I told myself. He was scared. But now I knew the truth. He didn’t just feel no guilt; he had turned my deepest wound into a punchline for his friends. And Keith… Keith was the person I trusted most in the world. I thought he, of all people, would understand how much that secret hurt me, how much I needed it kept safe. But he had treated it just as carelessly as my brother. I looked at Keith’s desperate face, then at Emma’s smug one. The weight of it all, the years of hurt and betrayal, crashed down on me, and I couldn’t breathe. I yanked my arm from his grasp, scrambled to my feet, and ran. “Luna!” Keith called after me, but I didn’t look back. I just needed to get away from the suffocating air, from the people who broke my heart without a second thought. I leaned against a lamppost on the street corner, the city lights blurring through my tears. My heart felt raw and hollow. I couldn’t go home—not to Liam’s cold glare and my parents’ blatant favoritism. I just wanted to be alone. I wandered aimlessly through the streets. I don’t know how long I walked, but eventually, I came across a small stall where a boy was sketching portraits. He was bent over his easel, his focus absolute. When he saw me approaching, he waved me over with a friendly smile. I was in no mood. I didn’t even look up. “No, thanks,” I mumbled. “I’m not feeling it.” But he was persistent. “That’s the best time to look at something nice,” he said, his voice bright and cheerful. “Here, look what I just finished. Cute, right?” He turned his easel around. On it was a charming drawing of a little bunny clutching a carrot. The lines were soft, the colors warm. It was unexpectedly soothing. The sound of his voice stirred something in my memory. My head snapped up. When I saw his face, my eyes went wide. “It’s you?” I breathed.

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My sister introduced me to the boy she was hopelessly in love with. She pointed at me, her voice swelling with pride. “See? I told you my sister was drop-dead gorgeous and a total genius. I wasn’t lying, was I?” The boy stared at me, a flicker of pure astonishment in his eyes. I smiled. My sweet, naive little sister hadn’t noticed. The boy she loved had just fallen for me at first sight. 1 I hate Summer. It’s a hatred without reason, without origin. It just is. She’s my half-sister. My parents divorced when I was just over a year old. My father then quickly married the other woman and had Summer. For as long as I can remember, I have been the extra person in my own home. A biased father, a wicked stepmother, and a sister who stuck to me like something foul you couldn’t scrape off your shoe. Anything good in this world, anything Summer wanted, became hers. The piano, the dresses, the dolls, the trips to Disneyland… When I was little, I didn’t understand. I didn’t know I was the child my own mother had abandoned in this house. All I could do was watch, confused and hurt, wondering why the world treated Summer and me so differently. I remember one time, I was very young, just started kindergarten. The teacher had taught us not to touch sharp knives or open flames. That afternoon, desperate for attention, I climbed onto a stool in the kitchen to reach for a fruit knife on the counter. Of course, I knew it was dangerous. I was just starved for a single scrap of concern. Elaine—my stepmother—was standing five feet away. She watched me with cold eyes as I played with the sharp blade, and she said nothing. I deliberately pointed the tip at myself. Just then, Summer, still a toddler, came stumbling into the kitchen. She saw the knife and burst into tears, stammering, “Vivi… Vivi, knife… scary…” She tried to reach me, as if to protect me, to snatch the knife from my hands. Only then did Elaine move. She walked over, scooped Summer into her arms, and cooed, “Shh, sweetie, that’s dangerous. Let’s stay away.” Then she looked down at me, her gaze flat and empty. The smile on her lips was pure malice. “Vivian,” she said, her voice like honeyed poison, “be careful when you play with knives next time, okay?” I stared at her for a long time before finally putting the knife down. She didn’t know it, but the game was over. As I grew older, I became quiet, cold, and distant. I stopped craving fairness or affection. But my sister, Summer, still effortlessly commanded the family’s entire attention. She was innocent and kind, bright and lovely, a true believer in all the goodness the world had to offer. And most of all, she adored me, her older sister. She was always clinging to me. When she was little, my father brought her back a custom-made talking doll from Paris. She must have wondered why she had one and I didn’t, because she offered it to me, a hopeful look in her eyes. “Vivi, do you want it? You can have it.” I had just learned the truth about my family then—that my father had cheated with her mother, that if not for them, I might have had a happy, whole family of my own. I looked at her with disgust. “Who would want something your filthy hands have touched?” Tears welled in Summer’s eyes as she tried to explain. “My hands aren’t dirty, Vivi.” I sneered. “Your mother is a disgusting homewrecker, and you’re her child. It’s in your blood. You were born dirty.” Summer wailed, a storm of tears that brought my father running. That winter, he made me kneel on the sharp cobblestones in the garden, dressed only in my thin pajamas. He whipped my back with a thin cane, asking if I knew what I’d done wrong. I was only eight, but my back was ramrod straight. No matter how much it hurt, I wouldn’t cry. I bit my lip until it bled, staring at the man before me with cold, hard hatred. “Wrong about what?” I sneered. “Was I wrong that Elaine isn’t a homewrecker? Or that the bastard child you two created isn’t a bastard?” He beat me until my skin broke. The punishment only stopped when Summer, unable to sleep, came looking for him to tell her a story. She walked into the garden, clutching her teddy bear, and saw me being whipped. She screamed. The shock sent her into a fever that lasted all night. They all gathered around her bed, their faces etched with worry. In the dead of night, as I lay twisting in pain from the welts on my back, she snuck into my room. Her eyes were still glassy with fever as she whispered, “Vivi, does it hurt?” I just laughed at her, a cold, empty sound. In elementary school, she loved to brag to all her friends that Vivian Reed was her sister. When some of them, skeptical, came to ask me, I would look them dead in the eye and say, “I don’t know her.” And so, throughout her childhood, she was known as “the pathological liar.” She was bullied and isolated. To “protect” her, my father and Elaine made me repeat two years of school so I could be in the same grade as her. Summer stood timidly behind Elaine as she explained it to me. Elaine was a master of public performance; all the neighbors praised her for being such a wonderful stepmother. Only I knew the thousand little cruelties I suffered at her hands. She smiled gently in front of my father. “Vivian, your sister is scared to go to school alone. Would you mind being held back a couple of years to wait for her? Your grades are so good anyway, what’s two years?” I smiled back under the glittering crystal chandelier. By then, I had learned to appear weak, to hide my true feelings, to play the part of the obedient daughter and the loving sister. I was a guest in their house, and I knew this was an order, not a request. Everything in this family revolved around Summer. So I obediently wasted two years of my life to become the only student in the entire school who had ever been held back. 2 Growing up with Summer, I thought about revenge constantly. Why? Why did you get to be happy, to be cared for, to be loved by everyone? Why? Why were you, the daughter of the other woman, allowed to be so naive, so untouched by the darkness of the world? Why? I wanted to see the pure snow stained with mud. I wanted to see her hurt, to see her in pain. I wanted her to stop calling me “Vivi” with that cloying sweetness, as if she were some kind of angel sent to save me. But before I had a plan, I waited. I watched. And then Adrian Pierce entered our world. Adrian—the biggest player in the entire school. He was Summer’s classmate, her deskmate, her best friend, and the boy she secretly, desperately loved. After we started high school, I tested into the advanced honors program, placing first in the entrance exams. Summer was in the general track, so we were finally separated. But every day at lunch, she would fill my ears with his name. “Vivi, I sit next to Adrian, and all the girls already hate me.” “He gets so many love letters every day, and I’m right there. It’s so annoying.” “But they all bring him homemade cakes and cookies, so I get to eat them all, hehe.” Or she’d blush and say, “Oh my god, Vivi, it was so embarrassing today. I got my period in gym class, and Adrian gave me his jacket to tie around my waist.” Or, “Today was the worst. I copied your homework and got all the answers on the wrong lines. Then Adrian copied my homework. The teacher asked if we shared a brain—all the answers were right, just not for the right questions. I could have died.” “Vivi, Adrian said I’m so dumb. He can’t believe I have a sister like you, who’s practically a school legend.” “He asked me if you were one of those nerdy types with bottle-cap glasses and a bowl cut who just studies all day. I was so mad!” “Vivi, Vivi, can we bring Adrian to eat with us after school today? He’s never eaten in the cafeteria. He wants to see the amazing sister I’m always talking about. You don’t mind, right?” I didn’t answer. I was used to Summer using me to show off. “Vivian Reed is my sister”—it was the only interesting thing about her, the one shiny fact she could use to dazzle people. She basked in the gasps of surprise, the envy, the attention. It was as if by being my sister, my accomplishments somehow became hers. But I never refused any of her requests. It was a “good” habit Elaine and my father had drilled into me since childhood. Never say no to your sister. So that day, thanks to Summer, I met Adrian for the first time. I was late to the cafeteria, delayed by a discussion with my math teacher about an olympiad problem. As I reached the second floor, I saw them from a distance—Summer and a boy who looked thoroughly bored. That was Adrian. He was undeniably handsome, lounging in a blue cafeteria chair with the lazy, restless energy of a panther. Summer was chattering away beside him, gesturing wildly. As I watched, his boredom melted into a kind of teasing, half-amused smile. I walked toward them, my expression carefully neutral. When I was about five steps away, I let a small smile touch my lips and called out softly, “Summer—” Adrian, who had been slouching, looked up at the sound of my voice. His casual glance sharpened, and for a split second, he froze. I saw the look—the flicker of shock, of pure, unadulterated captivation. I’d seen that look on boys’ faces before. I knew I was beautiful. Delicate features, a cool demeanor, an aloof air. I was standing against the light, and I knew the sun pouring through the windows behind me was framing me in a way that made me look ethereal, stunning. My gaze swept past him to Summer. “Sorry,” I said with a small, apologetic smile. “I got held up with a math problem.” My “innocent” little sister was completely oblivious to the currents swirling around us. She beamed at me, then nudged Adrian with her elbow. “See, Adrian? I told you. My sister is ridiculously beautiful.” She added, as an afterthought, “And a genius.” Adrian had already masked his surprise, tucking it away behind a smooth facade. Unlike other boys who would look away and then steal glances, he held my gaze directly. It was the look of a predator who had just spotted its prey, a look that said, You’re mine. He smiled, and under my own knowing gaze, he straightened up in his chair, subtly putting a bit of distance between himself and the oblivious girl beside him. “Yeah,” he said to Summer, his eyes still locked on me. “You weren’t lying.” The words were for her, but the message was for me. It was so blatant. Summer looked from me to Adrian, and the motion of her spoon slowed. A confused frown creased her forehead. I just smiled and began to eat my food. Adrian returned to his own meal, casually remarking, “This cafeteria food is actually pretty good.” Summer visibly relaxed, her bright smile returning. “A rich boy like you can actually stand our food?” she teased. “You should come eat with me more often, then.” 3 And so he did. Our daily lunch for two became a lunch for three. The honors classes often ran late, so Adrian would wait with Summer outside my classroom every day. At first, Summer was thrilled. She would walk between us, chattering nonstop. Adrian would chime in occasionally, while I mostly listened in silence. That changed one day when Summer’s shoelace came undone. She bent down to tie it. By the time she caught up, Adrian had smoothly, naturally, moved to walk beside me. The space between us was just enough for two, with no room for a third. She hesitated for a moment, then fell into step on my other side. After that, she never walked between us again. About a week later, on our way to school, she stammered, “Vivi… could you… could you maybe eat by yourself at lunch today?” I raised an eyebrow. She looked down, kicking at a loose stone on the sidewalk, too embarrassed to explain why. But I knew instantly. It was almost funny. “Sure,” I said. Her head shot up, her eyes wide with surprise. “And… and if Adrian asks…” “I’ll tell him I’m busy studying.” She threw her arms around me, nuzzling my shoulder like a happy kitten. “Vivi, you’re the best!” She didn’t see the cold, mocking smile on my face. It was time for Summer’s first lesson. I didn’t go to the cafeteria. But as I sat in the classroom eating a sandwich and reading a history text, Adrian showed up. He and Summer had gotten takeout. He sat across from me and placed a beautifully packaged bento box on my desk. “Summer said you were studying,” he said thoughtfully. “But you still have to eat. This is all I could grab today, but tomorrow I’ll have my family’s cook make you something.” My gaze shifted from the bento box to his face, then to Summer, standing behind him, her face pale with a dawning, horrified realization. I looked at her, my expression impassive, studying every flicker of disappointment and pain she tried to hide. A silent, bitter laugh rose in my chest. Oh, Summer. My sweet, stupid sister. Did you really think he was eating cafeteria food every day for you? Look. The moment I’m not there, you lose your chance to even be alone with him. Are you still so happy now? Of course, I let none of this show. I simply opened the bento box and politely thanked Adrian. After that, his pursuit became public and relentless. Fresh red roses on my desk every morning. Desserts from exclusive bakeries that required hours of waiting in line. Exquisite jewelry, first-edition books I’d been saving up for… he presented them to me without a second thought. He went to the school radio station and sang for me, his voice a low, gentle melody over the guitar. “How much further until I can reach your heart? How much longer until I can be close to you?” He would look at me with raw frustration. “Vivian, what do I have to do to make you like me?” Summer, swallowing her own despair, would force a smile and warn me, “Vivi, Adrian’s a total player. He goes through girlfriends like sneakers. Please don’t fall for him.” I’d watch her with an amused smile. I wanted to ask her: in that moment, was she more afraid of me getting my heart broken by a player, or of him actually being serious about me, meaning she would lose him for good? But I didn’t ask. To be honest, I was a little curious myself. Just how deep did this “love at first sight” run? He was handsome and came from a wealthy family. He was the undisputed king of the school, the alpha wolf. His romantic history was legendary. Purely out of that curiosity, I began to test him. It was a game many men play with the women who adore them. You could call it an obedience test. They push the boundaries, little by little, to see how much she will tolerate, to find her breaking point. With me, Adrian seemed to have no breaking point. This golden boy, so used to being worshipped, became a puppet in my hands. He spent two months building me an intricate black pearl model ship from thousands of tiny pieces. When he handed it to me, I let my hand “slip,” and it shattered on the floor. He didn’t even flinch. He just looked at the scattered fragments and said quietly, “It’s okay. If you like it, I’ll build it again.” He asked me what kind of guy I liked. I tossed out a random answer. “Someone who can cook?” For the next few weeks, he learned from his family’s chef, preparing my favorite dishes. He would watch me with hopeful eyes as I took a single, indifferent bite, and then I would smile and say, “This is terrible.” I agreed to go hiking with him one weekend and then stood him up. A torrential downpour started that day. Worried that I might have shown up and not been able to find him, he waited for me at the trailhead for two hours in the pouring rain. All this time, Summer trailed after him like a shadow, watching the boy she cherished be played and humiliated by me. It was as if his pain was her own, magnified. I found it all very, very interesting. The day she finally burst in to defend him, she was filled with a righteous fury, like the pure, good-hearted heroine of a novel. “Vivian, you’ve gone too far!” she yelled at me. “How can you treat him like that? Do you have any idea he waited two hours in the rain for you? He has a fever of 104 now!” I looked up from my book, a lazy smile playing on my lips. “And? What does that have to do with me?” She stared at me in disbelief. “He likes you, Vivian! Why are you playing with his feelings?” I raised an eyebrow, my voice light. “What does him liking me have to do with me? Summer, you need to understand something. He likes me. Not the other way around. He’s the one who fell, who made the first move. Any pain he suffers is his own to deal with. He can always just… stop liking me.” My smile sharpened. “He had the guts to fall for me, but not the skill to make me fall for him. That’s his failure, not my crime.” Summer stared at me, and for the first time, I saw real anger on her face. “Vivi,” she said, her voice trembling, “I love Adrian. I’m begging you. Stay away from him.” And you know me. I never refuse her requests. So I smiled, casually turning a page in my book. “Alright.” 4 Summer was the first one to break her own rule. Not long after, she came to me, nervously holding an invitation. “Vivi… Adrian’s birthday is next Saturday. Will you come with me?” My gaze lifted from the invitation to her face. I looked at her, a slow, knowing smile spreading across my lips. “Weren’t you the one who told me to stay away from him?” She bit her lip, a mess of hesitation and guilt. She looked down, avoiding my eyes. “But… Adrian would be really happy if you came.” I studied her blankly. You see, that was my dear sister. All her life, she’s loved using me to curry favor. When we were kids, it was: “My sister is first in her class, she can help you with your homework.” Now, it was: “Adrian would be really happy if you came.” She was always trading on my name to make others like her. I looked at the invitation and laughed. For the first time, I refused her. “You know I don’t go to things like that.” A flicker of disappointment crossed her face, but I didn’t miss the wave of relief that followed it. Her feelings were so easy to read. She wanted me to go to make Adrian happy, but she also wanted me to stay away so she might, one day, have a chance with him. I watched her, a thought idly crossing my mind. Taking a break from my studies to amuse myself with this little drama was proving to be more entertaining than I’d expected. On the day of Adrian’s party, Summer looked beautiful. She’d had her hair professionally styled in soft curls and was wearing a frothy designer dress Elaine had brought back from France. She carried an expensive, carefully chosen gift. Before she left, Elaine fussed over her skirt, murmuring, “Adrian is the only son of the Pierce family. Summer, if you can get close to him, I’ll be so proud.” I sat reading by the large living room window. As Summer climbed excitedly into the car, I glanced out, my eyes cold. I arrived when the party was already winding down. A magnificent cake lay in ruins. Champagne bottles littered the floor. Most of the guests were passed out on sofas and carpets. Summer was sitting in a corner, watching Adrian, who was at a grand piano. I followed her gaze. Adrian sat there, his head bowed, looking completely lost in thought despite it being his own birthday. His long fingers rested on the keys, pressing them aimlessly, producing a string of disconnected notes. I stood in the doorway and smiled. “Summer,” I called out. “I’m here to take you home.” The moment the words left my mouth, Adrian’s head snapped up. His impassive expression transformed. A slow, subtle smile spread across his handsome, cold face. He looked right at me. “Vivian,” he said. “You came after all.” My expression didn’t change. My gaze flickered over Summer’s pale, shocked face. You see, the world is just that unfair. She had spent a week preparing for this night. I showed up in a plain white t-shirt and jeans, empty-handed, and did nothing. And still, he was mine for the taking. I did it on purpose. I wanted to strike when she was at her happiest. All her life, she got whatever she wanted, while I could only watch. But now, the one thing she wanted most in the world was something I could have with a snap of my fingers. I gave Adrian a slight nod. “Sorry, I’m just here to pick up Summer. I didn’t bring a gift.” I smiled at him, and as Summer watched with wide, nervous eyes, I walked over to the piano. I pressed a few random keys. “Let me play you a little bit of Für Elise,” I said casually. “Consider it your birthday present.” I hadn’t touched a piano in years. The feel of the smooth keys under my fingers always brought a wave of nausea. So I only played a short, careless fragment. But Adrian smiled, a real, genuine smile. “Vivian,” he said, “that’s the best gift I’ve ever received.” I said nothing, just smiled back. As I led a shell-shocked Summer out of the room, I glanced back. Adrian was standing where I had been, his head bowed, gently tracing the keys my fingers had just touched, as if trying to feel the warmth I’d left behind. A new curiosity sparked within me. Just how far would the infamous player Adrian Pierce go for me? How deep could his devotion run? I glanced at my dear sister. She was still looking at Adrian, the raw hurt on her face impossible to hide. She was in pain, I thought idly. But she needed to be in more pain. Much more.

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For three years, I was Damon’s girlfriend, and in his circle, I was famous for it. I was the perfect, ride-or-die girlfriend. I never checked his phone. I never cared how many other women he flirted with. I never started a fight, no matter how late he came home. Damon was proud of it. He’d brag to his friends about how much I loved him. Until one day, he stumbled upon the old social media account I shared with my first love. The me in those posts was possessive and jealous, a universe away from the emotionally stable woman I was now. In one video, my ex was laughing, a helpless look on his face. “Why are you always so angry?” he teased. My voice, full of righteous indignation, shot back, “I only get angry because I love you! If I didn’t, I wouldn’t give a damn.” Damon froze. 1 When I ran into Damon at the bar, a beautiful girl in a crop top and shorts was perched on his lap. Her slender arms were wrapped around his neck, her glossy lips parted in a dazzling smile as she leaned in close. A few of his married friends were already getting up to leave, making their apologies. “Sorry, Damon, man. The wife’s got me on lockdown. She’s already called three times. If I’m not home soon, I’m sleeping on the couch.” Damon let the girl on his lap pluck the cigarette from his mouth and place it between her own lips. He scoffed. “You’re all pathetic. Getting whipped by a woman.” His single friends hooted. “That’s our Damon! No matter what time he gets home, Callie never says a word. You gotta teach us your ways, man!” The girl in his arms giggled, pressing herself against him. “Yeah, Damon. Aren’t you afraid your girlfriend will see you with me and get mad?” A flicker of pride crossed his face. “She’s crazy about me. She’d do anything I say. We’ve been together three years, and she’s never once started a fight.” “Damn! That’s our guy!” The men around him laughed, their faces full of envy. “All these years, Damon’s been playing the field, and she’s never dared to say a thing. That’s a real man—” His words died in his throat. He’d spotted me standing a few feet away, my expression blank. Damon saw me too. There was no panic in his eyes, just a casual arrogance. He pushed the girl off his lap and beckoned me over with a lazy flick of his wrist. “What are you doing here?” I hesitated for a beat before walking over. “I’m here with friends.” The girl who’d been pushed away shot me a dirty look, then forced a tight smile. “Callie.” Up close, I recognized her. The new secretary at Damon’s company. Mia, I think her name was. She’d gone to some no-name state school, but Damon had seen her resume photo and hired her on the spot. I guess it didn’t take him long to seal the deal. I ignored her. Damon was clearly drunk. His handsome eyes were watery, devastatingly beautiful under the hazy club lights. He grabbed my wrist and pulled me toward him. “Didn’t even tell me you were coming out. Give me a kiss.” He leaned in. I flinched away instinctively. I had no idea if he’d already kissed Mia. The thought of it was disgusting. Damon’s expression soured, the smile vanishing from his lips. He was the one sitting, but his gaze was somehow condescending. “Callie, what the hell is that supposed to mean?” I turned my head slightly. “You’re drunk.” “Are you saying you’re too good for me?” My rejection, especially in front of his friends, was a direct blow to his ego. His eyes went cold. He yanked Mia back onto his lap, his hand gripping the back of her head. A triumphant look flashed across her face as she surrendered to his kiss. Right there, in front of me, they shared a deep, messy kiss. When they finally broke apart, Mia was breathless, a thin, silvery thread of saliva connecting their lips for a moment. She shot me a smug, victorious smile. Damon looked at me, his eyes full of challenge. The rest of his friends went silent, their gazes fixed on me. They were all waiting for the explosion. No woman would tolerate her boyfriend doing that. Surely, this was my breaking point. I just met his gaze and said calmly, “You’re drunk. I’m leaving.” As I walked away, I heard one of his friends whisper in awe. “Holy shit, her composure is insane. She’s not even mad!” “That’s Damon for you. He’s got her trained. She’s too scared to piss him off and get dumped.” “She’s just that in love. I heard she chased him for a whole year. Does whatever he says. She’s completely hooked.” Damon let out a short, contemptuous laugh. “She’d never leave me. She doesn’t have the guts to get angry.” The late winter air was sharp as a knife. It had started snowing at some point, fat flakes swirling in the air, turning red in the taillights of cars, then yellow under the streetlamps. I tightened my scarf and leaned against a brick wall, lighting a cigarette. The menthol flavor mixed with the cold air, a sharp sting in my lungs. It was my first love’s favorite brand. I used to beg him for a puff, and he would always scold me. “Callie, are you crazy? If I ever catch you smoking, I’ll kill you!” The day we broke up, I bought my first pack. I smoked it between fits of coughing. After that, there was no one left to stop me. I don’t smoke much anymore. But sometimes, when the feelings bubble up, I can’t help it. Watching Damon kiss someone else didn’t make me angry. Because I didn’t love him at all. 2 I was the one who pursued Damon. I first saw him at the opening of a new bar he’d invested in. The table in front of him was crowded with bottles, and he was surrounded by beautiful women laughing at his jokes. His face captured the attention of every girl in the room. I remember a lot of them asked for his number that night. So did I. Many women wanted Damon, but I was the most persistent. For a year, I was at his beck and call. One word from him, and I would drop everything and appear, no matter how far. Damon’s reputation as a player was well-known. He was never without a woman on his arm. Even if he’d just spent the night with someone else, if he called, I’d go pick him up. I never asked questions. I never said a word. I’d just go home and make him a pot of tea to sober him up. Everyone thought I was desperately in love with him. They said my family was a disgrace—first bankruptcy, and now their only daughter was acting like a doormat for the young master of the Harrison family. We finally got together after a night we both drank too much and ended up in the same bed. I only remember that he was rough, and that I cried a lot, clinging to him the whole time. The next morning, Damon looked at the marks on my body and my swollen eyes, and for a rare moment, he seemed to soften. He lit a cigarette and asked casually, “Do you want to be with me?” “But let’s get one thing straight,” he added, the cigarette dangling from his lips. “Don’t try to control me. I hate that.” I stared at the comforter for a long moment. “Okay,” I said. Damon always thought those were tears of joy. He never knew that day was my first love’s birthday. His profile looked so much like my ex’s. I’d noticed it the first time I saw him, across a crowded room. That night, in the dim light, for just a fleeting second, it felt like he was back with me. … I was with Valet Conn from the time I was seventeen until I was twenty-five. We were together for eight years. He was the only scholarship student at our elite private high school. I heard his family used to be wealthy, but his father was betrayed by a business partner, went bankrupt, and couldn’t handle the blow. He took his own life. Valet’s mother, who was already in poor health, died soon after. Overnight, he went from being a golden boy to an orphan with nothing. But Valet bounced back quickly. He was never arrogant or self-pitying. He held the top rank in a school full of rich kids and was even elected student body president. Who wouldn’t fall for a guy like that? I asked him out many times, and he always turned me down. But I never gave up. Plenty of girls liked him, but they all eventually moved on after being rejected. I was the only one who persisted. Finally, just before graduation, on my sixth attempt, he asked me with a weary sigh, “What is it you even like about me?” My face was flushed, my eyes welling up with tears of frustration. I just knew that I loved him. Sometimes, there’s no reason for it. “I just like you! I like everything about you!” His expression was complicated. After a long pause, he said softly, “But I have nothing. I can’t give you anything. Do you still like me, even like this?” “Yes!” I shouted. “Valet, I have my limits too! If you say no this time, I swear I’ll never ask you again!” He looked at me for a long time, then let out a deep breath, a sound of resignation and surrender. He gently pulled me into a hug. “You’re an idiot.” My eyes went wide. My heart, which had stopped for a beat, began to pound furiously. It was the first time I ever truly understood what it felt like to be ecstatic. It was true—when you’re that happy, it really does feel like fireworks are going off in your chest. We were together after that. He was a brilliant student; I wasn’t. To be with me, he intentionally missed a couple of big questions on his college entrance exams so we could get into the same university. When I found out, I cried my eyes out. He just held me and laughed. “Silly girl, what are you crying for? It doesn’t matter where I go to school. Don’t worry. I won’t let you suffer.” It wasn’t an empty promise. By his sophomore year, he’d started his own company with some friends and made his first real money. The year we graduated, he bought a huge penthouse apartment in the city center and had it decorated exactly to my taste. It was going to be our home. Everything was perfect. Our future plans only included each other. Neither of us ever doubted we would end up together. Until the day I took him home to meet my parents. I saw the color drain from my father’s face. Valet swayed on his feet, his own face turning ghost-white. That was when I learned that my father was the business partner who had betrayed Valet’s father, the man who had destroyed his family. Life can be so cruel. Because my father was always away on business, Valet had never met him. We never could have imagined it. That day, my father told my mother and me to leave the room. He wanted to talk to Valet alone. Not long after, Valet left the country. He didn’t leave a note. He didn’t say a word. The man who would cross half the country just because I said I missed him, the man who promised to love me forever, who got down on one knee with tears in his eyes and asked me to marry him, saying that with me, he finally had a home… he just abandoned me. And I couldn’t even hate him for it. It was my father who had ruined his life. Who wouldn’t feel that hatred? If I were in his shoes, I would have hated me too. Maybe it was karma. Not long after, my father’s investments failed, and he took his own life. My family went bankrupt. Meanwhile, Valet thrived abroad. He had a brilliant eye for investment, and in just a few years, his company went public on the Nasdaq. He became a famous tech mogul. Our situations had completely reversed. We had no reason to ever cross paths again. It was impossible. So when I saw Damon, for the first time in years, my dead heart seemed to flicker back to life. For me, who I was with didn’t matter anymore. Damon looked so much like Valet. That alone felt like a gift from heaven. For the sake of that face, I was at his beck and call for years. Whenever he needed me, I was there. No matter how late he was out, no matter which woman he was with, one call and I would get out of bed to bring him home. My birthday, our anniversaries—he remembered none of them. On my actual birthday, he was out with some new girl he’d met. Damon had always been a playboy. Being with me didn’t change him. A few times, other women even came to confront me directly. I could tell he wanted to break up, that he was trying to provoke a fight. But I never got jealous. I never made a scene. Over time, he got used to me. He and his friends all thought I was pathetically, hopelessly in love with him. The truth was, I just didn’t care. All I wanted was to see that face in the middle of the night, to pretend, just for a moment, that Valet was still with me. That fantasy was the only thing that kept me going. 3 It was one of Damon’s friends’ birthdays. Everyone brought their partners. Damon brought me. I wasn’t surprised to see Mia there. She sat down next to Damon as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Callie,” she said with a saccharine smile. “You don’t mind if I sit here, do you?” Damon glanced at me. I said nothing. The smile on his face faded, replaced by a cold sneer. He wrapped his arm around Mia’s shoulders. She was clearly infatuated with him. Throughout the dinner, she was constantly toasting him, leaning in to whisper in his ear, laughing and draping herself over him. I wasn’t angry. I just ate my food quietly. One of Damon’s friends clicked his tongue in admiration. He turned to his own girlfriend. “Look at her. So classy. Not like you, getting jealous over every little thing. You should learn from her.” His girlfriend, who was a little drunk, scoffed. “I care because I love you! If I didn’t love you, I wouldn’t care!” Maybe it was a coincidence, but the table went silent. Damon had obviously heard her. The smile was still plastered on his face, but the veins on the hand holding his glass bulged. His friend paled and immediately started backtracking. “My girlfriend’s had too much to drink. Sorry, Damon. She didn’t mean anything by it.” His girlfriend started apologizing too. Damon didn’t say anything. His eyes were on me. I looked away. “Aren’t you even a little bit angry?” he asked suddenly. “What is there to be angry about?” I said, genuinely confused. “Isn’t this the freedom you always wanted?” I got to see his face. He got his freedom. We were both getting what we wanted. What was the problem? After all, from the very beginning, he had warned me not to control him. He’d never stopped seeing other women. I thought this was how he liked it. But he seemed displeased. He pulled Mia even closer, until she was practically sitting in his lap. They started making out right in front of me, a wet, open-mouthed kiss. It was as if I wasn’t even there. No one else seemed surprised, though a few people shot me sympathetic looks. I scrolled through my phone, waiting for the night to be over. As the evening wore on, Mia got bolder. She was clearly making a play to replace me. She looked me up and down and said loudly, “An iPhone 12? That’s so retro. Are you trying to be ironic?” I ignored her, which only seemed to fuel her. “I’d almost forgotten what they look like. It’s practically an antique. I’m actually curious. Let me see it, Callie.” “No,” I said, my grip tightening on my phone. “Damon, make her show me! It’s just a phone, what’s the big deal?” When I didn’t respond, Damon frowned. “She wants to see it. Just let her.” “No.” “Damon~” Mia whined, tugging on his arm. Annoyed that I had defied him, his face went cold. He held out his hand. “Give me the phone.” I stayed silent. “What’s on there, anyway?” Mia added, fanning the flames. “Something you don’t want people to see?” A dark look entered Damon’s eyes. He lunged for my phone. “What are you doing?!” I gasped. We struggled, and the phone flew out of my hand. I instinctively shoved him away to catch it. He stumbled back, hitting his hip on the corner of the table. He swore under his breath. “What is wrong with you, Callie? It’s just a stupid phone! If it breaks, I’ll buy you a new one—” His words cut off. He was staring at the screen, which had lit up as it fell. The video I had been watching earlier had started playing again. It was from when I was still with Valet. I was on his back, not realizing he was recording, complaining petulantly. “Why did you talk to that girl for so long today?!” Valet’s voice was full of fond exasperation. “She’s the vice president of the student council. We were talking about official business. You’re unbelievable. Are you an industrial-sized vat of jealousy?” That only made me angrier. “I’m only jealous because I love you! If I didn’t love you, you could go drop dead for all I care!” Valet just laughed, hoisting me higher on his back. “Alright, alright, you love me. I get it. I guess I should be happy, then?” I poked him. “From now on, no talking to other girls. No adding other girls on social media. No liking anyone else!” “Okay, okay, whatever you say. Where did you get this temper…?” The video kept playing. I snatched the phone and turned it off. Damon was frozen, his posture unchanged. The table was dead silent. No one had expected this. In the next second, Damon grabbed the phone from my hand and smashed it on the floor. On pure instinct, I slapped him across the face. Then I dropped to my knees, scrambling to pick up the pieces. It was the last thing I had of Valet. The phone was shattered beyond repair, the screen completely black. I clutched it to my chest, then slowly turned to look at Damon. It hadn’t been a hard slap. But he was stunned. He didn’t even touch his face. He just stared at me, a look of utter confusion in his eyes, as if he were seeing me for the first time. Everyone else was in shock. You could have heard a pin drop. A part of me regretted it, but another part felt a strange sense of relief. I hadn’t meant to hit him. It was just a reflex. But now, it was done. I knew this was the end. I stood up, grabbed my purse, and walked out. As I left, I sent him one last text. “We’re done.” 4 I was wandering aimlessly down the street when I saw a familiar back in the crowd. In that instant, the world went silent. The sound of traffic, the city noise—it all disappeared. All I could hear was my own heart, which had stopped for a beat before starting to hammer against my ribs. It looked so much like Valet. I ran, pushing through the crowd, but by the time I got to the corner, he was gone, swallowed by the sea of people. I stood there for a long time, lost, until a car horn blared behind me, and I moved on, my mind a complete blank. It seemed to be snowing a lot that winter. I sat on a park bench, and it was only when I felt the cold tickle of snowflakes on my eyelashes that I realized the world around me had turned white. I curled into myself, not wanting to move. I had nowhere to go. After my father died, my mother quickly remarried and moved abroad. I didn’t have a home anymore. Valet had given me a home once, and then he’d left me alone in it. My life with Damon? That was never a home. I had places to stay, but no home to return to. A tear traced a path down my cold cheek. I wiped it away and was about to stand up when a shadow fell over me. I thought it was Damon, coming to find me. I looked up, and my breath caught in my throat. The face that had haunted my dreams for years was standing right in front of me, blurring the line between fantasy and reality. I couldn’t tell which was which. My hand trembled, but I didn’t dare to reach out. The snow seemed to melt in Valet’s eyes. For a split second, I thought the man who had loved me was back. “I’m back,” he said softly. … I don’t remember how I got to Valet’s apartment. I just remember clinging to him, crying, refusing to let go, until he finally gave up and just held me on the bed, patting my back. “Stop crying,” he murmured. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re going to give yourself a headache.” I couldn’t form a coherent sentence, just choked out, “When… when did you get back?” “A few months ago.” That only made me cry harder. “Then why did it take you so long to find me?!” He looked down, his eyes filled with a complicated emotion I couldn’t read. “I heard you were with someone. I didn’t know if I should interfere.” “Then why are you here now?” “I couldn’t stay away.” He sounded like he was admitting defeat. “I can’t forget you, Callie. I can’t let you go. I missed you so much it was killing me. I give up. I just… can’t.” I stopped crying and sat up. Valet leaned in. In the cold winter night, with snow falling outside, his kiss was searing hot. Neither of us spoke. We had been together for so long, we didn’t need words. There was no awkwardness, no strangeness. We knew each other’s bodies too well. It wasn’t about lust; it was about longing, about possession, about reclaiming what was lost. I clung to him, terrified that this was all a dream. I could feel him holding me just as tightly. In a trembling embrace that bordered on pain, we finally, truly found each other again. When I woke up, it was light out. It was still snowing, the sky a heavy, oppressive gray. The space beside me in the bed was empty. Panic seized me. I scrambled out of bed, my heart pounding, and almost collided with Valet as he came back into the room. The light was dim, casting shadows across his sharp features. His lips were still swollen and red. He was devastatingly handsome. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding and grabbed his arm. “I thought…” I thought you were a dream. In the years we’d been apart, I’d had so many dreams about him. The joy of seeing him was always followed by the crushing disappointment of waking up. I buried my face in his chest, and after a long moment, I gathered the courage to ask. “You’re back now… are you going to leave again? Because of my father…” He rested his chin on the top of my head. After a long silence, he finally spoke. “At the time, I just… couldn’t accept it. I didn’t know what to do. I truly hated him, and because of that, I couldn’t help but hate you too. All these years, I’ve been torn between hating you and loving you. I thought I was going crazy. I saw a therapist, but it didn’t help.” “I kept dreaming about you,” he said, his voice soft, his hand finding mine. “I’d dream you were crying, asking me why I left you. It broke my heart. I’d wake up and just… smoke all night. I didn’t know what to do, Callie. What was I supposed to do?” “It took me a long time to figure it out. Your father was your father. You are you. What he did has nothing to do with you. And now… he’s gone. I’m willing to let it go. We can start over.” He pulled me tighter. “I’m not leaving again. Never again. That apartment wasn’t right for us. I bought a new place. We can decorate it together. Okay?” My eyes stung with tears. I hugged him back. “Okay.” The sun broke through the clouds. The snow had stopped. My world was finally bright again.

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Theodore Thorne doesn’t love me. He doesn’t hold our child. He pays no mind to my career. Whenever reporters mention my name in public, his lips press into a thin, hard line. He never responds. During our last fight, I asked him with a hollow laugh, “Theo, don’t I even deserve an introduction to your friends? Am I that embarrassing? Or am I just not good enough for you?” He would always counter with reddened eyes, his voice strained. “Evelyn, please don’t do this. Just… wait a little longer, okay?” I laughed until tears streamed down my face. “Then let’s get a divorce.” 1 The day our daughter was born, Theodore was nowhere to be seen. I glanced at the tiny infant nestled beside me, then shifted my gaze to his aunt, who was pacing by the window. Her brow was furrowed in frustration as she dialed his number again and again, each call going straight to voicemail. “Aunt Carol, please, just stop,” I said, a bitter sense of absurdity washing over me. “He’s not coming back.” Tonight was the opening night of the renowned violinist Seraphina Claudio’s European tour in London. Yesterday evening, after marathon sessions to close a major project, Theodore hadn’t even bothered to come home. He’d booked the first flight to London, all to witness the premiere of his old flame. My phone screen lit up silently, pushing a news alert. Violinist Seraphina Claudio’s Opening Night a Resounding Success. I put on my headphones and played the interview. On camera, Seraphina was the picture of grace in a champagne-colored gown, her makeup flawless, her smile gentle and warm. “Thank you all so much,” she said. “I’m deeply honored to begin my tour here and to receive such a wonderful reception.” A reporter pressed on with a smile. “Ms. Claudio, backstage we saw so many legends of the music world showing their support. Is there anyone in particular you’d like to thank tonight?” Seraphina offered a sweet, knowing smile to the camera. “I’m grateful to every mentor and friend who came.” She paused, as if choosing her words with care. “But tonight, the person I want to thank most is a friend I’ve known for many, many years.” She lifted her head, her gaze boring directly into the lens. “There’s so much I don’t know how to say to him in person, so I hope he’ll let me borrow this special moment.” Her voice trembled, just slightly. She seemed to choke back a wave of emotion. “Even though, all those years ago… we were separated by… circumstances beyond our control, in my heart, he will always, always be my dearest friend.” “I want him to know,” she continued, her voice soft but clear, “that I’ve always known he is a good, truly good man.” My heart stuttered to a stop. A chilling numbness spread through my fingertips. I opened the comments section, and my breath caught in my throat. 【OMG, she’s totally talking about Theodore Thorne! It’s so obvious!】 【100% him. They were the perfect couple back in the day—the tragic high-society romance, the beautiful artist and the brooding heir. It’s a classic story!】 【”Friends?” Who is she kidding? That look in her eyes is pure, undiluted love.】 【I’m crying. The one that got away will always be the one. No one else ever stands a chance!】 【Theo is so devoted. He flew across the ocean just for her opening night. Turns out even titans of industry have someone they can’t let go of.】 【I bet Mrs. Thorne is crying her eyes out in the maternity ward right now. Well, that’s what you get for marrying a man with an epic lost love in his past.】 【Losing to the old flame… how humiliating. But it’s not like Evelyn Reed has any right to be upset. Their marriage was just a business arrangement. You can’t compare that to true love.】 Every word was a barb, a fresh twist of the knife. I switched off my phone, a final, cold resignation settling over me. Theodore is my husband. Seraphina was the great, passionate love of his youth. And I… I am just a joke. 2 Later that night, the door to my room creaked open. I looked up. Theodore stood in the doorway. His suit was immaculate, but his hair was a mess, and dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes. For a fleeting moment, our gazes met before I quickly looked away. The maternity nurse, Mrs. Gable, was gently rocking our daughter in her arms. Seeing Theodore, she smiled warmly. “Congratulations, Mr. Thorne. You have a beautiful baby girl.” Theodore’s eyes flickered to the baby, but his expression remained flat, unreadable. “Is she healthy?” Mrs. Gable, assuming he’d want to hold his child, moved to pass the bundle to him. But Theodore made no move to take her, his arms remaining rigidly at his sides. An awkward silence hung in the air before Mrs. Gable drew back. “All her vitals are perfect,” she said, recovering smoothly. “She was a little early, but her weight is good. No need for the incubator.” Theodore nodded once. “Thank you for your hard work.” He then addressed her directly. “Could you take the baby out for a moment? I need to speak with Evelyn alone.” As she left, he turned to the assistant hovering by the door, his tone all business. “Contact PR. Prepare a press release announcing the birth of the Thorne Industries heiress. And execute the donation plan we discussed—five hundred million, split among the charitable foundations on my list. Also, that new foundation proposal I drafted? Start the paperwork tomorrow.” Theodore was always methodical, always detached. He approached every situation with a clinical precision, devoid of emotion. Even faced with the birth of his own child, there wasn’t a flicker of excitement or joy. Just a calm, orderly execution of a plan. I once thought I was different. I thought, perhaps, that with me, he allowed himself to feel. Just a little. After all, I loved him so much. But in the end, I had vastly overestimated my own importance. The assistant closed the door behind him, leaving us alone. The vast suite was silent, the scent of white roses on the table doing nothing to cut through the suffocating tension. “Evelyn,” Theodore said, stepping closer. His face was a mask of apology. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here. I was on the plane all day. I didn’t see the calls or texts until we landed.” “Theodore,” I said, my voice calmer than I could have imagined. “Let’s get a divorce.” “What?” He froze, genuine shock flickering in his eyes. “Evelyn, are you joking?” The hospital lights cast harsh shadows on his face, accentuating his exhaustion. “I know I let you down,” he said, his voice earnest, logical, like a negotiator trying to close a deal. “But I swear it wasn’t intentional. I had the timeline perfectly calculated. I was going to wrap up that project proposal and then clear my schedule completely to be here with you. I never imagined the baby would come early… I never thought you’d… that you almost died on the operating table. I’m sorry. It was my oversight.” If I were anyone else… If I hadn’t spent years waiting for him… If I hadn’t seen that interview… Maybe, just maybe, I would have believed him. But I was done lying to myself. I cut him off, taking a deep breath to steady my voice. “Theodore. That’s not the reason.” It was never just about that. 3 Theodore didn’t press his case. He didn’t leave, either. Instead, he sank into the armchair by the window, pulling his laptop from his briefcase. He started typing, perhaps dealing with work, perhaps scrolling through the gossip columns buzzing with his name. His presence was meant to be a silent, placating apology. A way to manage the situation. But that was never what I needed from him. The room was so quiet I could hear the sound of our breathing. Seraphina had called Theodore a good, truly good man. Perhaps he was. But all of his goodness, all of his warmth, was reserved for someone else. He loved Seraphina when they were young. After our marriage, he never mentioned her name, but a wall of polite distance always stood between us. He was never truly mine. He wouldn’t even hold our child. “Theodore,” I said, my voice raspy. “Please leave. I don’t want to see you.” I took a steadying breath. “And have your lawyer draft the divorce papers as soon as possible.” This time, I was setting him free. And in doing so, I was finally freeing myself. From outside the door, our daughter’s heartbroken cries tore through the silence. Mrs. Gable brought her to me, and I held her close, whispering soothing words as a wave of guilt threatened to drown me. I had dreamed that my daughter would be the happiest child in the world. I would give her everything: a loving home, endless affection, the very best of what life had to offer. I truly believed Theodore and I were healing, that our relationship was finally on solid ground. I thought her father would be as overjoyed by her arrival as I was. Reality had delivered a vicious slap to the face. I was wrong. So terribly, devastatingly wrong. 4 Sometime during the night, the rain had stopped. I took the bottle from Mrs. Gable and gently placed it at my daughter’s lips. Hope. That’s what I named her. Her father might not welcome her into this world, but it didn’t matter. Beyond my connection to Theodore, I came from a family of considerable means. For the rest of my life, as long as I was here, I would ensure my daughter wanted for nothing. I didn’t ask for much. I just wanted her to be happy and safe. The next morning, a knock came at the door. A young woman with a sharp, chic bob and a dimpled smile introduced herself as Lily, an employee from Theodore’s company. She was carrying a bouquet of pink roses so fresh they looked like they were still beaded with morning dew. “Good morning, Mrs. Thorne,” she chirped. “Mr. Thorne had these ordered for you especially. I just picked them up from the florist.” She worked with a cheerful efficiency, finding a vase, filling it with water, and arranging the stems with a practiced hand. Next, she produced a velvet jewelry box from her tote bag and placed it on the table beside me, opening it with a flourish. “And this, Mrs. Thorne. Mr. Thorne acquired it at an auction last month. He said emeralds are your favorite.” Lying on the black velvet was a breathtaking necklace. A massive, brilliant-green emerald served as the centerpiece, surrounded by a halo of dazzling diamonds that caught the light and scattered it in a fiery display. Anyone could see it was a collector’s piece, flawless and incredibly valuable. A year ago, I might have been thrilled. I might have seen it as a sign that Theodore was finally starting to care. But after yesterday, I would never again be so foolish as to flatter myself. That kind of humiliation was something you only needed to experience once. “Mr. Thorne was incredibly busy at the time, but he insisted on going to the Christie’s auction himself,” Lily chattered on. “He said he wanted to prepare the perfect surprise for you with his own hands.” “Thank you,” I said, my voice flat. I didn’t have the heart to refuse. Lily seemed bright and earnest, untouched by the weary cynicism of corporate life. She was probably new. My issues with Theodore were my own; there was no need to make this young woman’s job more difficult. Theodore didn’t have any female assistants. He’d always claimed he was awkward around women. Lily must have been called up from the front desk. If I sent her back with the necklace, she’d have to explain her failure to her boss, and I wouldn’t do that to her. “Mr. Thorne has a series of unavoidable meetings today, which is why he sent me,” she explained, though a flicker of uncertainty crossed her face. “But he said he’ll come see you and the baby as soon as he can tonight…” I simply nodded, indicating I understood. Staring at the priceless piece of jewelry—a treasure that would make any woman swoon—I just felt tired. It wasn’t a gift. It was compensation. Theodore was trying to smooth things over, to patch up the wound he’d inflicted. He always did this. Every conflict between us, every disappointment he caused, was eventually papered over with some extravagant purchase. He seemed to believe that money and material things could mend any emotional rift, fill any void. But if money was what I wanted, why would I have married him when he was at his lowest, when his company was on the brink of collapse? What I wanted, what I had always wanted, was his heart. He had once promised me he could learn to return my affection. I had believed him. And all it had brought me was a landscape of disappointment. Hope stirred in her bassinet, her eyes blinking open. For once, she was quiet, not crying. Lily’s attention was immediately captivated. “Oh, she’s adorable!” she cooed. “How can a newborn be so fair, with such a perfect little nose?” She beamed at me. “You and Mr. Thorne are so lucky. Imagine coming home to a beautiful baby like this every day…” I managed a weak smile. “Thank you.” But behind the flicker of pride was a vast, hollow emptiness. Theodore didn’t like this child. Why would he ever be happy to come home to her? 5 After a while, Mrs. Gable took the baby for a walk down the hall. “Lily,” I said, meeting her gaze directly. I had to say it. “Thank you for coming all this way.” “When you get back to the office, could you pass along a message for me?” Lily’s cheerful demeanor vanished, replaced by a professional focus. “Of course, Mrs. Thorne. What should I tell him?” I held her gaze, my voice steady and clear. “Tell him that what I said last night… I meant every word.” “I want a divorce.” This wasn’t a threat. It wasn’t a cry for attention. When I loved someone, I gave them my entire being. But when I stopped loving them, I would tear myself away with the same ferocious intensity. Every word I spoke was the truth. “Mrs. Thorne?” Lily’s composure shattered, her voice trembling slightly. “Did you say… a divorce?” “Yes,” I confirmed. The word, once spoken aloud, felt like a heavy stone being lifted from my chest. The suffocating weight, the constant ache—it was finally gone. “Please, ask him to have the papers drawn up as soon as possible.” I was done loving Theodore Thorne. This long, arduous journey toward him, a journey I had walked alone, was now, officially, over. Perhaps it should have ended years ago. It should have ended when I walked toward him, my heart wide open, and he never once turned to welcome me in. All those years of waiting felt like a farcical play, and the only way to salvage what was left of myself was to erase his name from my life completely.

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For Thanksgiving, my mother-in-law Eleanor visited from the countryside. To celebrate, I took her to my husband Ethan’s upscale downtown restaurant, “Aria.” I ordered her favorite—Braised Sea Bass—but when she took a bite, her smile faded. The fish was ice-cold, with frost still on it. I called the manager, a sharp-looking woman who glanced at the plate indifferently. “We forgot to microwave it,” she said. “You serve pre-packaged meals?” I asked. Her face flushed. “What’s wrong with pre-packaged? You think we have time to cook from scratch?” I pointed to the sign: “Freshly Caught, Expertly Prepared.” “This is false advertising. Is this how your boss runs the business?” She smirked. “Honey, I’m the owner’s wife. You just want a free meal.” Leaning in, she hissed, “That opened package is non-refundable. With freezer costs and premium ingredients, you owe $500. You’re not leaving until you pay.” $500 for frozen fish? So this was why Ethan, a finance titan, suddenly opened a restaurant—not a passion project, but a scam to fund his mistress. I was about to call him, but she already had her phone out. 1 “Honey, you need to get down to the restaurant, fast! There are a couple of broke bitches here trying to dine and dash!” As if getting Ethan’s green light, her confidence swelled. She pointed a manicured finger at us, her voice ringing through the now-silent dining room. “Are all the men in your family dead? Is that why they sent a cheap tramp and an old crone to scam a free dinner?” she shrieked. “This is an upscale establishment! Do you really think low-life trash like you belong here? My husband is on his way. You are so, so screwed!” Her shrill tirade had captured the attention of every patron in the room. Several waiters drifted over, forming a human wall around us, their expressions just as smug. “You should probably just pay up,” one of them sneered. “Our boss’s wife isn’t someone you can afford to mess with.” “Yeah,” another chimed in. “Some influencer came in here last week, said one wrong word to her, and our boss broke his leg. Got his entire online presence wiped, too. You think you’re tougher than him?” Eleanor had lived a quiet, humble life. Never in her seventy years had she been publicly humiliated like this. Her face was pale as she clutched my sleeve, her voice a frightened whisper. “Evelyn, dear… are we in the wrong place? This can’t be my son’s restaurant, can it?” Even now, she’d rather believe we’d made a mistake than suspect Ethan of cheating. She couldn’t imagine him allowing his mistress to run a con. And why would she? To us, Ethan was the perfect man—honest, devoted to his mother, and utterly in love with his wife. A month ago, when he’d announced his plan to leave the cutthroat world of finance for the culinary arts, I had asked him why. He’d looked at me with that sincere gaze of his and spoken of the rampant food safety issues, of his dream to create a restaurant where people could eat without fear. He’d spoken of wanting to ensure no one had to eat two-year-old broccoli or beef that had been frozen for years. His passion and integrity had moved me. I never imagined that the massive investment I’d helped fund wasn’t for some noble cause. It was to build a den for his mistress. A gilded cage where she could fleece the unsuspecting. I pulled Eleanor behind me, my voice low and cold as I faced the woman. “Fine. I can’t wait to see how your husband plans to ‘teach us a lesson’ when he gets here.” 2 My words only seemed to fuel her rage. Her eyes narrowed. “You bitch,” she spat. “You’re that desperate to meet my husband?” A twisted kind of realization dawned on her face. She pointed at me, her voice rising to a triumphant shriek. “Oh, I get it now! Who complains about pre-packaged food these days? You knew this was a high-end place, so you came here to stir up trouble, didn’t you? All just to get my husband’s attention!” She laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. “Let me tell you something. My husband is a faithful man. He wouldn’t look twice at a washed-up slut like you who’s been passed around by a thousand men!” Her voice, deliberately loud, drew every eye in the room. She started recording me with her phone, her voice a narrator’s booming accusation for her unseen audience. “Everyone, get a look at this shameless woman! She brings an old lady to my restaurant, complains about the food, complains about the price, and when all else fails, she tries to pay with her body! She was hoping the owner would show up so she could make her move! Now I’m putting her pathetic face online for the world to see. Watch out for this one, ladies, or she’ll be after your husbands next!” Murmurs rippled through the crowd of onlookers. “If you can’t afford it, don’t go out. Why harass a business owner?” “Exactly, this is an expensive place. What was she expecting?” “Trying to trade sex for a meal? If you’re that broke, go sell it on a street corner. Don’t try to steal someone else’s husband!” “You… you people…” Eleanor was so incensed by the blatant lies that she could barely breathe, let alone speak. I rubbed her back, trying to soothe her, then pointed a steady hand at the plate on our table. “We ordered the Braised Sea Bass,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise. “What we received was a frozen block of fish, straight from the freezer. You can still see the ice on it. And for this, she wants to charge us five hundred dollars!” I locked eyes with the woman. “We are exercising our rights as consumers. If you’re incapable of handling a simple complaint, then by all means, let’s wait for your husband.” The fact that I dared to talk back sent her into a fury. She signaled her staff, and in an instant, they closed in around me. “Let me make this crystal clear for you,” she hissed, her face inches from mine. “My husband gave me this restaurant. My name is Jessica, and what I say goes. I say you owe me five hundred, you pay five hundred! I could serve you a plate of shit and you’d still have to pay for it, you understand? Now, if you don’t settle your bill and get on your knees and apologize to me right now, you’re not walking out of here in one piece.” 3 Jessica. The name struck me like a bolt of lightning. A few weeks ago, a package had arrived at our house. It was addressed to a Jessica, but with our home address. Curious, I opened it. Inside was a set of lingerie so scandalous it was barely there. When I showed Ethan, he didn’t even hesitate. He tossed it straight into the trash, his expression perfectly calm. “Must be a mistake,” he’d said. “Or some new kind of guerrilla marketing. Just ignore it.” The truth I hadn’t seen then was now blindingly clear. I stared at Jessica, my voice colder than the fish on our table. “I suggest you wait for Ethan. Let him be the one to tell you who, exactly, you’re talking to.” Her face contorted with rage. “You rotten bitch! So you did come here for my husband! You even know his name!” It was only then that the final, terrible piece of the puzzle clicked into place for Eleanor. This was Ethan’s restaurant. The husband this harpy was screaming about was her son. Still, she couldn’t believe it. “Young lady,” she said, her voice trembling but firm, “I am Ethan’s mother. You must be mistaken. My son would never get involved with someone like you. He is not your husband.” CRACK! The sound of the slap echoed through the restaurant. Jessica had struck Eleanor across the face with all her strength. “You old hag! A peasant who can’t even afford a frozen dinner dares to pretend she’s my husband’s mother? Who the hell do you think you are?” Eleanor was frail. The force of the blow sent her stumbling backward, and she collapsed onto the hard floor. “Mom!” I screamed, rushing to her side. I remembered the day I chose Ethan. My father had offered a fortune as a dowry for any man who would marry me and help run the family business. Suitors lined up, but only Ethan had knelt outside our gate for three days and three nights, tears in his eyes, swearing he wanted nothing but the money to save his dying mother. It was his filial piety, his profound love for his mother, that had won me over. After we married, I hired the best doctors in the country. They saved Eleanor’s life. But her heart was still weak. The doctors had warned us—no severe shocks. Now, after Jessica’s violent assault, Eleanor’s face was a deathly white. She clutched her chest, her body curling into a tight ball of agony. “Mom?” Fear seized me. “Mom, is it your heart?” My voice cracked. “Your medicine! Where is your medicine?” Her emergency pills. She never went anywhere without them. My hands flew, frantically patting down her pockets until my fingers closed around the small, brown vial. My hands shook as I twisted the cap, ready to tip the life-saving pills into her mouth. But Jessica was faster. She lunged forward and snatched the bottle from my grasp. “What’s this? The dine-and-dash failed, the ‘I’m his mother’ act didn’t work, so now you’re faking a heart attack? You really think that’s going to get you out of this?” “Give it back!” I scrambled to my feet, trying to get to her, but two of the male waiters—clearly Jessica’s friends or relatives—grabbed my arms and held me fast. My voice was a raw, desperate plea. “She is Ethan’s mother! She’s having a heart attack! She’ll die without that medicine!” 4 I thought explaining the gravity of the situation would make her see reason. I was wrong. She just scoffed, a cruel twist to her lips. “Still lying? My husband is the CEO of Apex Corporation, a man everyone looks up to. This old woman looks like she crawled out of a dumpster. How could she possibly be his mother? You two are pathetic. Do you really think anyone would believe such a ridiculous story?” Ethan’s father had died young. Eleanor had raised him alone, working herself to the bone to give him the best of everything. She lived a simple, frugal life, pouring every penny she earned into her son. Even after Ethan and I bought her beautiful new clothes, she’d save them for special occasions, preferring her old, worn-in things. Now, her humility was being used as proof against her. Seeing Eleanor’s face shift from pale white to a terrifying shade of blue, I screamed, “I’m telling the truth! She is his mother, and I am his wife, Evelyn! If you don’t believe me, video call him right now and ask!” I fought against the waiters’ grip, but they held me firm. Jessica glared at me, her voice dripping with contempt. “You’re getting more delusional by the second. One claims to be his mother, the other claims to be his wife. Don’t you own a mirror? Even if you stripped naked and begged, my husband wouldn’t give you a second glance!” The other waiters chimed in with their own vicious chorus. “That’s right! Our Jessica is the real Mrs. Chazelle!” “You’re just some hick. How dare you try to compete with her?” “I’ve never seen such a shameless woman, trying to be a homewrecker right in front of the wife!” Jessica nodded thoughtfully, then her eyes landed on the table. She picked up the plate with the frozen sea bass and dumped its contents onto the floor. Then, she ground the fish into the tile with the heel of her designer shoe. She looked down at me, a predator enjoying her power. “You want the medicine? Is that it?” she purred. “Fine. Get on your knees. Lick this fish you complained so much about off the floor, and I’ll give it to you.” My eyes shot to Eleanor, curled on the floor. She met my gaze, her voice a pained, raspy whisper. “Don’t…” Even in her agony, she didn’t want me to be humiliated for her sake. Ethan may have betrayed me, but Eleanor had always treated me like the daughter she never had. She was constantly reminding Ethan to be good to me, threatening to disown him if he ever wronged me. She insisted on living back in her hometown, not wanting to be a burden, wanting us to have our own space. Every time she visited, she’d bring bags overflowing with produce from her garden, her way of showing love. Her breathing was becoming shallower, her face turning a darker, more frightening color. Without a second thought, I dropped to my knees. I bent down and, fighting back the bile rising in my throat, began to eat the pulped, dirt-caked fish from the floor. I abandoned my pride, my dignity, my everything, for the simple, desperate hope that she would live. Jessica’s triumphant laughter echoed around me. “Hahaha! Look, everyone! Doesn’t she look just like a dog? A minute ago, she was too good for our food. Now look at her gobbling it up!” The staff joined in her laughter. “Jessica’s a genius! She really knows how to put people in their place.” I ignored them, forcing down bite after gritty bite until the floor was clean. I looked up at her, my voice urgent. “I did what you asked. Now give me the medicine. Please.” Jessica let out a short, sharp laugh. “You’re even dumber than you look. You actually believed me?” “I was lying, you idiot.” And with that, she turned and hurled the medicine vial through the open window, where it disappeared with a soft splash into the decorative lake outside. “NO!” The word was torn from my throat, a raw scream of despair. Tears streamed down my face as I watched the ripples spread. On the floor, Eleanor’s body gave a final, violent shudder. Her eyes lost their focus. She weakly lifted a hand, her trembling fingers brushing away a tear from my cheek. “Evelyn,” she rasped. “I’m so sorry.” Was she apologizing for the humiliation I’d endured? Or for the son who had betrayed us both? With those last words, her hand fell limp to the floor. Her faint breathing stopped completely. “Mom? Mom, wake up! MOM!” I shook her, screamed her name, but there was no response. She was gone. My mother-in-law was dead. I couldn’t process it. We had just come for dinner at Ethan’s restaurant. A simple dinner. And now, because of this venomous monster, Eleanor was dead. A gut-wrenching sob tore through me. The shift leader knelt, checked for a pulse, and then scrambled back in terror. “Jessica! The old woman… I think she’s really dead! What do we do?” Jessica’s only reaction was a slight, annoyed frown. “She’s the one who came here to cause trouble. Her death has nothing to do with me. Besides,” she added with a dismissive wave, “my husband is the CEO of Apex. He’s got connections everywhere. With him protecting me, what is there to be afraid of?” Her words were like a magic spell, instantly calming her panicked staff. Her unrepentant arrogance ignited a firestorm of rage within me. A strength I didn’t know I possessed surged through my body. I shot to my feet and lunged, my hands closing around Jessica’s throat. “You animal! I’ll kill you!” In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to make her pay for Eleanor’s life with her own. “Son of a bitch, she’s attacking the boss!” one of the waiters yelled, and a swift, hard kick sent me sprawling. The others descended on me like a pack of wolves, their fists and feet raining down blows. The pain was excruciating, my body feeling like it was being torn apart. But Jessica wasn’t satisfied. Gasping for air, she rubbed her throat, her eyes burning with hatred. “You bitch. No one has ever laid a finger on me in my entire life. Today, you’re going to learn what happens when you cross me.” She snatched a steak knife and fork from a nearby table. And plunged the fork deep into my thigh. White-hot agony shot through me. I didn’t scream. I just locked my bloody eyes on hers and snarled, “Jessica, you are going to die for this. I swear to God, you will die.” “Still making threats, are you?” she shrieked, enraged. She began stabbing me again and again, treating my body like a pin cushion. As my consciousness began to fade, a voice from the crowd shouted out. “Mr. Chazelle is here!” 5 The words “Mr. Chazelle is here” acted like a kill switch. The chaotic scene froze. The blows stopped. Everyone turned towards the entrance. Jessica tossed the bloody utensils aside. The vicious fury on her face melted away, replaced in an instant by the tear-streaked mask of a victim. Cradling the red marks on her neck, she ran towards the door, crying his name. “Ethan! You’re finally here!” she wailed, collapsing into his arms. “Oh, God… I was so scared!” She buried her face in his chest, trembling like a frightened rabbit. Ethan wrapped his arms around her, his expression grim, but his voice was impossibly gentle. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared. I’m here now.” Hearing that voice, so full of love and concern, felt like another knife twisting in my heart. For years, that was my Ethan. He was the perfect husband, praised by all our friends and family for his gentle, attentive nature. After he took over my family’s corporation and transformed it, he became the revered Mr. Chazelle—a man known in public as an unapproachable iceberg of power and prestige. But at home, he was just Ethan. He cooked for me, took care of me when I was sick, and indulged my every whim. He spoiled me rotten. Whenever I needed him, no matter where he was or what he was doing, he would drop everything and come to me. He would hold me just like that, whispering those exact same words. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t be scared. I’m here now.” I once believed that the warmth beneath the iceberg was mine alone. I believed him when he said he would only ever be that way with me. Hearing those familiar words now, directed at another woman, was a bitter, cruel joke. So this is what it felt like. Love, it turned out, was just another performance. After calming Jessica, Ethan’s voice turned hard as steel. “What happened?” Jessica squeezed out a few more tears. “Ethan, it was those two broke women I told you about on the phone! They ordered the sea bass, claimed it was pre-packaged, and then refused to pay! They were making a huge scene, driving away all our customers!” She pointed a trembling finger towards us. “Then the old one, after screaming at me, faked a heart attack to get out of paying. But I think… I think she actually had one and died! Then the younger one went crazy and tried to kill me! Look what she did to my neck! If the staff hadn’t stepped in, you might not have a girlfriend to come home to!” She punctuated her story with a sob, a masterful performance of twisting the truth until it was unrecognizable. Her staff immediately backed her up. “It’s true, Mr. Chazelle! They came here looking for a fight, just to get a free meal!” “You have to stand up for Jessica, sir! If you don’t, every piece of trash in the city will think they can walk all over her!” The onlookers, realizing the restaurant owner was the famous Ethan Chazelle of Apex Corporation, quickly took Jessica’s side, their whispers condemning me and Eleanor. “Serves them right,” one said. “Died from her own stupid scam.” Ethan’s face was a thundercloud. “Where are they? Show me.” Jessica led him through the crowd, pointing dramatically. “There, Ethan! Those are the two bitches!”

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My aunt invited the entire family to an extravagant dinner, a $750 affair. Everyone but me. I didn’t argue. I didn’t make a scene. I just quietly removed her as an authorized user on my credit card, the one linked to her phone. When the waiter announced the total, the smile on my aunt’s face froze. She assumed, as always, that someone else would pick up the tab. But this time, how would she escape the humiliation? 01 The sudden glow of my phone screen shattered the room’s heavy silence. Messages were flooding the family group chat, one after another, like koi surfacing for food. My aunt, Lily, a woman who lived and breathed for the curated perfection of her social media feed, was once again playing her favorite role: the generous benefactor. “Hey family! I’ve booked a private room at The Summit Club this weekend to treat everyone to dinner! You all have to come!” The simple message was punctuated with a sparkling peace-sign emoji. The chat exploded. “Wow, Lily, you’re amazing! The Summit Club! I heard it’s hundreds of dollars per person!” “You’re so successful, unlike the rest of us stuck with our boring salaries.” “Thank you, Aunt Lily! I’ll definitely be there!” “My cousin is the best. Unlike some people who have all that education but no common sense.” The compliments and praises rolled in like a tidal wave, lifting Aunt Lily onto a pedestal. My face was a mask of indifference as I scrolled, my fingertips cold. I read through the messages, a sea of familiar yet distant profile pictures. These were my relatives, my blood, yet at this moment, they were like fawning courtiers flattering their queen with hollow words. I scanned the list of tagged names again and again. My uncle, my aunt, my cousins… she’d even tagged a distant great-uncle who lived hundreds of miles away. But not me, Vivian. She couldn’t even spare a perfunctory, “Vivian, are you coming?” A dry, humorless smile stretched my lips. It was uglier than a grimace. This wasn’t the first time. In this collective we called “family,” I was a permanent outsider, a ghost who could be “accidentally” overlooked at any moment. I remembered my cousin Amanda’s eighteenth birthday last year. Aunt Lily had thrown a lavish banquet at a five-star hotel. After the party, she posted a perfectly curated photo grid to the family chat. The caption read: “My baby girl is all grown up! Our family, happy forever!” In the photos, Aunt Lily was arm-in-arm with my uncle, Amanda was beaming, and relatives orbited them like planets around the sun. And me? I had been sitting right beside them, wearing an old jacket they’d shoved at me because my own clothes “weren’t fancy enough.” In the photos, I had been meticulously cropped out. All that remained was the blurry edge of a sleeve, an ignored shadow in the corner of the frame. That familiar feeling of suffocation returned, a block of ice pressing down on my chest, its chill spreading through my veins. Just then, my mother called. The phone vibrated in my palm like a dying cicada. “Hi, Vivian, honey.” Her voice was laced with her usual cautious appeasement, a tone shaped by years of indulging her younger sister. “So… you saw the invitation from your aunt, right?” She hemmed and hawed, her words a mix of probing and a faint, almost imperceptible guilt. “She… she was probably just busy and forgot. You know how she is, so scatterbrained. It wasn’t intentional, she probably just… accidentally missed you.” Accidentally. Such a convenient word. A perfect veil for deliberate exclusion, for calculated malice. “I saw it,” I said calmly into the phone. I added, “I have a project that weekend. I’ll be out of town, so I can’t make it.” On the other end of the line, my mother let out a tiny, weightless sigh of relief. That sigh, transmitted through the airwaves, became the sharpest needle, plunging straight into my heart. See? Even my own mother thought my absence was a good thing. It would save her the awkwardness of facing her sister. It would make their “happy family” feast that much more complete. My heart turned to stone. After hanging up, I opened the boisterous group chat again. Aunt Lily had posted photos of The Summit Club’s exquisite menu, showing off dishes with names I couldn’t even pronounce. In the corner of one photo, a familiar banking app’s payment screen flashed for a second. I knew that gold card. It was the supplementary card I had issued for her, linked to my main account, the one she used for nearly all of her “high-end” purchases. For years, for the sake of that ridiculous notion of “family harmony” my mother always preached, I had silently endured it. I was a donkey with blinders on, working myself to the bone only to funnel my hard-earned money to this parasite I called “family.” The mortgage on my aunt’s house, her designer handbags that cost thousands, Amanda’s expensive piano lessons—even a new internet router for their home was charged to my supplementary card. Meanwhile, I hesitated for days before buying myself a single item of clothing that cost more than fifty dollars. I stared at the image of that gold card on my screen, watching my aunt bask in the family’s adoration. A cold, audacious idea, like a seed in long-barren soil, began to sprout in my heart. Why? Why should my blood and sweat water the garden of her vanity? Why should I be trampled underfoot, only to pave the golden road for the one doing the trampling? I picked up my phone, my fingertips turning white from the pressure. I opened my banking app, entered my password, and navigated to the card management page. The words “Remove Authorized User” glowed with a strange, alluring light. My finger hovered over the option for a few seconds. I saw my mother’s pleading face, the judgmental sneers of my relatives, and my aunt’s perpetually triumphant smile. And then, without another moment’s hesitation, I pressed down. Hard. [Confirm Removal?] [Confirm.] A “Success” notification popped onto the screen. The world, for a moment, went perfectly silent. 02 The moment I unlinked the card, I felt an unprecedented lightness. It was as if I’d finally unburdened myself of a heavy yoke I’d been carrying for years. Even breathing felt easier. But it was followed by a secret, thrilling tension. I knew I had just lit a very long fuse, and at the other end was an explosion waiting to happen. I told no one, not even my parents. I knew them too well. They would have tried to placate me with the usual refrains: “Just let it go, we’re family,” “She’s your aunt,” “Don’t make things ugly.” In their eyes, my feelings and my dignity were never as important as my aunt’s public image and our so-called “family harmony.” I was done listening to their excuses. For the next few days, I was a silent spectator, watching Aunt Lily perform her one-woman show. She became even more ostentatious in the group chat. One day it was a screenshot from a high-end spa: “Just got a new membership, the experience is divine. This card is just a dream!” The next, it was a short video of her and Amanda shopping at a luxury boutique, the camera lingering on the price tags: “Just a few little gifts for my daughter. Love the feeling of swiping!” Every post felt like a performance directed at me. The phrases “this card is a dream” and “love the feeling of swiping” were a silent mockery of the fool who was paying for it all. I watched with cold detachment. After one of her posts, I even opened my banking app. The transaction history for that supplementary card had stopped on the day I unlinked it. All of her current splurges were coming out of her own pocket. I wondered if it still felt quite as “dreamy.” I watched her count down to the weekend dinner, even posting a video of The Summit Club’s opulent private room. Meanwhile, I was making meticulous preparations for the coming “accident.” Citing a work project, I booked a train ticket and a hotel in the neighboring city, ensuring I had a perfect alibi for the night of the dinner. No matter what happened, they wouldn’t be able to confront me immediately. I even called The Summit Club in advance. Feigning a naive curiosity, I asked the receptionist about their payment process. “Hello, do you accept mobile payments? Like through a phone app?” “Yes, ma’am, we support all major mobile payment methods.” “And… what if the bill is quite large, say, several hundred dollars? Would there be any issues with that?” “Not at all, as long as your account has sufficient funds. If a payment fails, our staff will be happy to assist you.” After getting the confirmation I needed, I politely hung up. Perfect. Everything was going according to plan. I had already replayed the scene in my mind a thousand times: Aunt Lily at the checkout, her perfectly painted smile twisting from confidence to confusion, and finally, to panic. The day of the dinner finally arrived. That afternoon, I boarded the train, suitcase in tow. The scenery blurred past the window, just like my youth and dignity had been blurred and crushed over the years. My phone rang. It was my father. “Vivian, are you really not coming? Your aunt, she…” His voice was laced with that familiar, helpless probing. He wanted to persuade me but didn’t know how. I pretended the signal was breaking up. “Dad, I’m boarding! Gotta go! It’s busy here!” Then, I decisively ended the call. I leaned back in my seat, watching the world fly by, my heart a calm, cold lake. They still cared more about my aunt’s pride than my feelings. Fine. Let them see with their own eyes what their proud, generous “good sister” and “dear aunt” looked like when she was cut off from her human ATM. I pictured the scene at The Summit Club. Aunt Lily, holding court at the head of the table, basking in the glow of flattery. She was surely bragging about her new purse, her latest hairstyle, and how her “successful” niece was so wonderfully obedient. She had no idea that a carefully planned “accident” was about to befall her. 03 At exactly seven o’clock in the evening, my phone lit up. It was a photo from my mother. A group picture, taken in the gilded private room of The Summit Club. Aunt Lily was firmly in the center, dressed in a new designer suit, her makeup flawless, her smile so bright it was almost blinding. Amanda snuggled up beside her, holding the latest model smartphone. My parents, uncle, and other relatives surrounded them, all beaming. The atmosphere in the photo was warm and harmonious. Everyone was there. Except me. The one they had deliberately forgotten. I didn’t reply. I just zoomed in on the photo, studying my aunt’s smug face, and silently counted down the final moments of her reign. At 8:30 PM, I figured they were finishing up. Just then, a message from Amanda popped up. “Hey, Viv! You busy? You won’t believe how generous Mom was tonight, she ordered a bunch of stuff she never usually gets! The Australian lobster was to die for!” Her excitement and vanity practically vibrated through the screen. A small, almost imperceptible smile touched my lips. “Oh really?” I typed back. After a pause, I added, “That’s nice.” About fifteen minutes later, my phone vibrated again. This time, it was the family group chat. Aunt Lily had sent a voice message. I played it, and her voice, strained and a little frantic, filled the air. “What is going on? Why won’t my phone payment go through? I’ve tried several times!” In the background, I could hear muffled voices and what sounded like a waiter speaking softly. My uncle—my father’s brother—replied next, his voice laced with confusion. “Lily, did you type the wrong password? Or maybe the connection is bad?” I could practically taste the atmosphere in that room. Aunt Lily’s smile must have been cracking. The relatives who had been fawning over her moments before were surely exchanging nervous glances. Calmly, I opened my aunt’s social media profile. As expected, she had just posted a minute ago. “Amazing dinner tonight, so grateful for my family. Love you all!” The picture was the same group photo, her smile still as bright and plastic as a flower. I refreshed the page. A minute later, the post had been deleted. Then my phone began to vibrate violently. It was my father, calling me directly. I answered. “Vivian! Your aunt’s mobile payment isn’t working! The… the card linked to her phone, isn’t that your supplementary card? Can you check if something’s wrong with it? Can she use it?” His voice was frantic, as if the world were ending. I could practically hear his own pride shattering along with my aunt’s. I took a deep breath and spoke, my tone so calm it was almost cruel. “Dad,” I said, enunciating every word. “I unlinked that card last week.” The other end of the line went dead silent. All I could hear was my father’s heavy, ragged breathing, like a broken bellows. In the background, I could faintly hear my aunt’s voice, rising to a shriek that pierced through the receiver. “What?! Unlinked?! What does she mean?! She did it on purpose! She did this to me on purpose!” I silently ended the call. Yes. I did it on purpose. And this was only the beginning.

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The toasts were underway at the reception when my husband, Reg, and I made our way to the head table, champagne flutes in hand. His parents smiled, sharing heartfelt words that warmed me to my core. A soft, happy murmur rippled through the guests. But when it was my mother’s turn, she set her glass down. Her eyes swept across our friends and family, and she sighed dramatically. “It’s a shame, really. If only this were Aria’s wedding today.” A sudden, sharp silence fell over the table. My father nudged her, a flicker of panic in his eyes. She seemed to snap back to reality, her gaze finally landing on me. “Oh, Claire is wonderful too, of course. Just a bit… dull. Always has been.” In that moment, every eye in the room was on me. All I could do was stand there, champagne flute held aloft, and force a smile that felt more painful than tears. 1 “That dress just doesn’t work.” Standing before the full-length mirror, I felt my mother’s critical gaze rake over me. The makeup artist, who was busy arranging the train of my gown, froze for a beat. She recovered quickly, trying to smooth things over. “It might just be her makeup, ma’am. We did it this morning to match her ceremony gown. Once I touch it up for the reception, the whole look will come together beautifully.” “No, that’s not it,” my mother said, shaking her head with an air of absolute authority. “I mean the dress looks bad on her.” She circled me like a predator, her hands gesturing wildly. “She’s too tall for a mermaid cut. It doesn’t flatter her at all.” Her voice grew brighter. “Now Aria, she has the perfect figure for it. A dress like this would look stunning on her.” The makeup artist had no idea who ‘Aria’ was. She shot me a confused, sympathetic glance, clearly baffled as to why a mother would tear down her own daughter on her wedding day. My fingers tightened on the delicate fabric of my skirt. Honestly, I didn’t understand it either. Why? Why on the most important day of my life, did she still have to tear me down just to build my sister up? I opened my mouth to protest, to beg her to stop, but then I remembered the room full of guests just outside, and my mother’s temper—a powder keg waiting for a spark. I swallowed the words and the bitterness that came with them. On a day this beautiful, the last thing I wanted was for Reg’s family and our friends, who had traveled so far, to witness a screaming match between my mother and me. Thankfully, after a few more minutes of pointed glaring, she grew bored and swept out of the dressing room. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The makeup artist did the same. “Claire,” she said softly, her voice full of warmth. “You look absolutely breathtaking in this dress. Our photographer was just telling me you’re a natural. He said every shot is perfect, you don’t even need to pose.” “Thank you,” I murmured, managing a small, real smile. I knew she was just trying to make me feel better, and I was grateful for it. The small incident was soon forgotten as the pivotal moment of the ceremony arrived. On the stage, under the warm lights, Reg and I faced each other to exchange our rings. A cheer went up from our guests as the cool metal slid onto my finger, a perfect, gleaming circle meant to seal our happiness. Just then, my mother stepped forward, her voice cutting through the joyful noise. “You know, you’re a rather ugly crier.” She didn’t stop there. “Not like your sister. Aria was always the pretty one, and today is no exception.” 2 A single tear escaped and traced a hot path down my cheek. I stood frozen, staring at my mother in disbelief. Reg was stunned, but he recovered in an instant. He grabbed my hand, raised it high, and shouted to the crowd, his voice ringing with love, “I love you, my wife!” The opening chords of our song swelled through the speakers, bathing the entire venue in a wave of romance that pushed back against the ugliness. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my mother shoot me a glare before sticking her tongue out, a childish, mocking gesture. I took a deep, shaky breath, fighting to shove the hurt down. I pulled my lips into the biggest, brightest smile I could manage. Nothing was going to ruin this day. I repeated it to myself like a mantra. Whatever it is, we’ll deal with it after the wedding. But I underestimated her. My mother wasn’t going to let me have even one perfect day. During the part of the reception for the parents’ speeches, Reg’s parents spoke with such sincerity that the room erupted in heartfelt applause. When it was my father’s turn, he’d barely managed two sentences before my mother snatched the microphone from his hand. She beamed at the audience. “Thank you all so much for coming today to celebrate my daughter’s wedding.” I felt a sliver of relief. She was being… normal. But after a few brief pleasantries, her tone shifted. She pivoted, making my younger sister the star of my wedding. “For those of you who don’t know, Aria is my youngest daughter. Claire’s little sister.” She puffed out her chest, her face glowing with pride. “And she just opened a wonderful art gallery, right near this very hotel! It’s filled with the most incredible pieces, something for every taste. You should all stop by and have a look.” Reg and I exchanged a nervous glance. I could see the same alarm in his eyes that I felt in my own chest. I quickly moved toward the stage, intending to take back the microphone. But as I got close, my mother shot out her hand and shoved me, hard. I stumbled back, nearly falling. “What do you think you’re doing, grabbing the mic like that? Have you no manners? I’m not finished!” My father waved me away, gesturing for me to just let her speak. Across the room, I could see Reg’s parents’ smiles had tightened, their faces hardening. Trapped, and desperate to maintain some semblance of order, I retreated, forced to listen. “Aria has always been such a lively, considerate child,” my mother gushed on. “She opened her gallery so close to home specifically to take care of her father and me. That girl’s heart is pure gold.” She rambled on, sharing one cutesy story after another from Aria’s childhood. The guests sat in polite, stony silence, but she didn’t seem to notice, giggling to herself as she continued her one-woman show. Finally, the wedding planner, her brow furrowed in frustration, approached the stage. “Ma’am,” she whispered, “this is Claire’s wedding. Perhaps you could say a few words about Claire?” My mother looked put out, but she reluctantly changed the subject. “Her? Oh, she was always so boring. Such a gloomy, withdrawn child. Honestly, if she hadn’t gotten into a good college, I doubt anyone would have ever paid her any mind.” The words landed, and the entire room fell dead silent. 3 Every single guest turned to look at me. In that instant, the dam of my composure broke. A tidal wave of humiliation and fury surged through me, so powerful I thought I might actually explode. Reg’s hand found mine, his fingers gently tapping against my palm. “I’ll talk to her,” he whispered. “Don’t worry.” I nodded, blinking back a fresh flood of tears. Reg signaled to the planner, who retrieved the microphone. He leaned in and spoke quietly into my mother’s ear. She pouted, seeming to finally grasp that her behavior was wildly inappropriate, and fell silent. The rest of the wedding passed in a blur, the planner expertly guiding us through the remaining schedule. After making the rounds and toasting with our guests, I was physically and emotionally drained. I hadn’t eaten a bite. I told Reg I needed to slip away to the dressing room for a moment. He offered to come with me, but many of his friends had flown in from across the country to celebrate with us. I didn’t want to drag him away from them. I insisted he stay. As I reached the dressing room door, I heard familiar voices from inside. I paused, my hand hovering over the doorknob. “Mom, this is Claire’s bridal jewelry set. I really shouldn’t…” “Oh, don’t be silly. What’s hers is yours. This bracelet was made for you. And look at this necklace! It’s perfect for you, with your elegant swan neck.” A pause. “Your sister’s neck is so thick and short. It would just look clumsy on her.” My whole body started to shake. I threw the door open. The scene that greeted me was my mother, a wide smile on her face, fastening my diamond necklace around my sister’s neck. My brand new wedding jewelry. “Claire!” Aria jumped, startled. Her smile vanished, replaced by a flush of guilt. “I—I just thought your necklace was pretty, so I was looking at it. Don’t get the wrong idea!” “What wrong idea could there be?” my mother snapped, physically stopping Aria from unclasping the necklace. Her voice dripped with disdain. “Getting married is one thing, but this whole five-piece jewelry set is just wasteful. A wedding band is plenty.” Her eyes narrowed. “This extra necklace and bracelet suit your sister perfectly. I think she should have them. They look much better on her anyway.” Without waiting for a response, she grabbed the velvet jewelry box and started shoving the remaining pieces into Aria’s handbag. The rage that had been simmering inside me finally boiled over. Words tumbled out of my mouth, fast and sharp. “Mom! In your world, is there a single good thing that doesn’t belong exclusively to Aria?” “You don’t care who anything belongs to, do you? My wedding dress, my bridal jewelry, even a stupid tube of lipstick I own—you’d rip it all away from me just to hand it to her, wouldn’t you?!” My outburst stunned them both into silence. But my mother recovered quickly. Her brows drew together, her eyes locking onto mine with pure venom. “Aria is your sister! Shouldn’t she be able to use your things?” she shrieked, advancing on me. Her voice echoed in the small room, a hysterical, wounded cry. “Do you have to be so selfish?” 4 Selfish? My nails dug so deep into my palms I was sure I’d drawn blood. If I was angry before, now I was drowning in a sea of utter despair. For as long as I can remember, the word ‘selfish’ has been my shadow. When we were kids, if Aria cried because she lost a toy to another child, and I couldn’t console her, my mother called me selfish for not protecting her. When I tried to teach her to write, and she threw a tantrum because she wanted to play outside, I was selfish for not controlling her. In middle school, I was always one of the top students. My good grades made Aria moody and sullen. It was her jealousy, plain and simple, but my mother still called me selfish for not considering my sister’s feelings, for stressing her out. Later, when Reg and I started dating, we were all having dinner. I cooked, but I forgot to make Aria’s favorite garlic shrimp. She pouted and refused to eat a single bite, no matter how my father coaxed her. And again, my mother accused me of being selfish, this time for neglecting my sister’s health. Year after year, I’ve been buried under the weight of these baseless accusations. It’s not that I never fought back. But every attempt to defend myself was dismissed as an excuse, a lie. No matter who was at fault, my mother always, always took Aria’s side. She saw the world only through Aria’s eyes. It was as if Aria was her real daughter, and I was just some stray she’d been forced to take in. Her voice was shrill now, her face contorted with rage as she pointed a trembling finger at me. “You’ve been this way since you were a child! Cold, secretive, hoarding every little thing for yourself. You never share. I should have known you’d never change. You’re just a bitter, selfish…”

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My parents’ love story was legendary in New York City. My father had three long scars on his back from saving my mother from her father’s rage. The Blackwood Spire, the city’s tallest skyscraper, was his wedding gift to her. The night I was born, fireworks lit up the sky—another gift for my mother. I was called the proof of their love. But when I turned three, a beautiful woman moved next door. She took my hand and placed it on her round belly. “I hear you’ve been sickly,” she said slyly. “Your father got tired of it. He’s giving you a brother—with me.” She added, “Your mother is useless. She can’t keep her man. You’ll have a new mom soon.” I didn’t understand everything, but I told my mother when she came home. That night, the villa next door was engulfed in fire. The woman screamed. My mother held me from behind and whispered softly in my ear: “Alan, my love… do you like Mommy’s gift?” 1 “Mommy, it’s Daddy! Daddy’s home!” I was pressed against the window, bouncing with excitement as I pointed at the man getting out of the car below. I had counted the days. It had been six months since he’d last come home. But he didn’t walk toward our door. The second he was out of the car, he sprinted straight into the blazing fire next door. Terrified, I called his phone over and over, wanting him to come back, but he never answered. After what felt like an eternity, he finally emerged from the flames, cradling the woman from that afternoon in his arms. I let out a long sigh of relief. But my mother’s face had turned to stone. At four in the morning, my father finally came home. I ran to greet him, expecting him to swing me up high like he always used to. Instead, he shoved me toward his bodyguards, ordering them to hold me. He strode past me, straight to my mother. In one swift movement, he seized her by the throat, lifting her off her feet. His voice was a blade of ice, colder than I had ever heard it. “You set that fire at Natalie’s, didn’t you?! The baby is gone! That was my child, Elena! You’re a mother yourself! How could you be so damn cruel?” “Do you know what the doctors said? If I’d been a minute later, Natalie might have… She was helpless!” My mother’s face was turning purple, but a defiant smile played on her lips. “You know I can’t stand being provoked, Robert. Especially by your little bitch. A pregnant one, at that.” “This was just an appetizer,” she rasped. “If you can’t keep your dog on a leash, I have no problem turning up the heat and cooking her alive.” His eyes were bloodshot with fury. He tightened his grip. “Do you really think I wouldn’t turn you over to the cops?” “You’d need proof for that, darling.” Before setting the fire, my mother had already had every security camera in the neighborhood wiped clean. Enraged and humiliated, my father slammed her onto the glass coffee table. The sound of shattering glass echoed through the room, but what really shattered was my family. He pulled out the thing everyone called a gun and pressed it to her temple. His voice was a low growl. “Elena, this is just how men are. We stray. Compared to guys who have a new girl every week, I’ve been good. And I promised you, the title of Mrs. Blackwood will always be yours.” “Natalie is no threat to you. Why do you have to push her into a corner?” I had seen what guns did on TV. I bit down hard on the hand of the bodyguard holding me, and when he yelped, I scrambled free and threw myself in front of my mother. “You’re wrong, Daddy! I’ll never cheat! I’ll never betray Mommy!” My father’s furious expression faltered when he saw me. He quickly pulled the gun away. My mother snatched me into her arms, and I could feel her whole body shaking violently. She must have been so scared. I hugged her tight, patting her back the way she always did for me. “It’s okay, Mommy. Don’t be scared. Alan’s here.” But her trembling only worsened. She looked up at my father, her eyes filled with a profound disappointment, and held out a set of divorce papers. “Robert Blackwood, let’s get a divorce. I get custody of Alan.” Without a second’s hesitation, he tore the papers to shreds and tossed them into the trash. “I told you when we got married. There’s no divorce for us. Only ’til death do us part.” “This time,” he said, his voice strained, “I admit it was my fault. I shouldn’t have moved Natalie in next door without telling you. I know it provoked you. So, you don’t have to apologize to her. I’ll find a way to make it up to her for you.” With that, he turned his back on us and walked out the door. Watching his resolute figure disappear, I felt a deep, cold certainty that something in our family had just broken forever. 2 I thought that after leaving like that, my father would be gone for a long time again. But the next day, when my mother picked me up from school, he was already sitting in our living room. The woman from yesterday, Natalie, stood beside him, directing movers as they carried our furniture out, piece by piece, replacing it with garish pink items my mother despised. Seeing us, my father stubbed out his cigarette and walked over, his voice heavy with exhaustion. “Elena, Natalie needs a place to recover from the… incident. She doesn’t like our furniture, so we’re replacing it. It’s old anyway. Time for a change.” He avoided her eyes. “I know you don’t like her, so I’ve booked a month-long trip for you and Alan. Go abroad, have a vacation.” But this was our home. Why was he kicking us out for a stranger? Natalie spotted us and sauntered over. She pinched my cheek, hard. “Well, well, if it isn’t the sickly little tattletale. I was going to wait until your little brother was born and make you his servant, but you just had to run your mouth to your mommy, didn’t you?” “I don’t like boys with big mouths,” she hissed. “When your daddy and I have our next baby, you won’t get a single penny of the Blackwood fortune.” The cloying scent of her perfume was so strong it made it hard to breathe. My mother saw my distress and pulled me into her arms. “Alan’s having an asthma attack! Get his medicine, now!” But as a bodyguard rushed down with my inhaler, Natalie blocked his path and dumped the entire contents of the medical kit into the trash. “I’m a doctor,” she declared smugly. “Alan doesn’t have asthma. It’s just a minor respiratory issue. He’ll be fine if he just toughs it out. No need for drugs.” My throat felt like it was being squeezed shut. It was getting harder and harder to draw a breath. Natalie looked down at me with an all-knowing smirk. “Alan, do you know why you’re so fragile, always getting sick? It’s because while your mother was pregnant with you, she was sleeping around with all sorts of men. She caught some filthy disease and passed it right on to you in her belly.” “Your mother is a whore,” she sneered. “And that makes you just as dirty. Not like me. I’m clean. I have self-respect.” But my mother only got sick because she was saving my father. It had nothing to do with other men. Had he forgotten? I looked over at him, but he just sat on the sofa, scrolling through his phone, acting as if he hadn’t heard a word. My mother finally snapped. She kicked Natalie aside with a furious shove, dug my inhaler out of the trash, and pressed it to my lips. Sweet, life-giving air flooded my lungs. Natalie’s head had hit the corner of the new coffee table, and blood was already trickling down her temple. My father, who had been ignoring everything just a second ago, was on his feet in a flash, rushing to her side. “Are you insane, Elena?” he roared at my mother. “Can’t you handle hearing a few home truths? If it weren’t for your issues, why would Alan be sick all the time? Why can’t he live like a normal kid?” “Elena, my patience with you is wearing thin. Apologize to Natalie. Now.” My mother just let out a cold, bitter laugh. She turned to me. “Alan, do you think Mommy did something wrong?” I gave her a big thumbs-up. “I’m always on your side, Mommy.” She smiled, but her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. My father’s face twisted in rage. “Look what you’ve taught him! You’re not fit to be a mother. From now on, Natalie will be in charge of raising Alan.” He grabbed me and tried to pull me over to Natalie’s side. But the suffocating cloud of her perfume was like a rope tightening around my neck. I struggled, but my father’s grip only grew stronger, more forceful. The asthma came back, worse than before. My neck felt like it was being devoured by a thousand fire ants. My legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor. Through the haze of pain, I heard my father’s annoyed voice. “Not this again. Alan, your Aunt Natalie already told you you’re fine. Stop faking it.” But I wasn’t faking it. I really, truly couldn’t breathe. Just before I blacked out, I saw my mother burst through them all, scoop me into her arms, and run for the door. I glanced back at the living room. My father was crouched over Natalie, his face a mask of gentle concern as he checked her injury. In that moment, a fierce, burning hatred for my father ignited within me. He had promised to love me and Mommy forever. But his forever was so short. 3 I was in the hospital for days, and my father never once came to see me. But one afternoon, when Mom was pushing my wheelchair through the halls for some fresh air, I saw him. He was in the room next to mine, tenderly caring for Natalie. I knew my mother saw him too. The corners of her eyes were wet. I reached up to wipe a tear away and buried my face in her lap. “Mommy, let’s divorce Daddy,” I whispered. “We don’t want him anymore.” She froze for a second, then gently squeezed my cheek. “Do you even know what a divorce is?” I shook my head, then nodded. “It means we don’t have to live with Daddy ever again. And then you won’t have to cry because of him anymore.” A sad smile touched her lips, and she pressed a kiss to my forehead. “Alright, Alan. Mommy will give your father one last chance. If he doesn’t change, we’ll get a divorce.” Three days later, I was discharged. It was also my birthday. My mother threw a huge party for me. Just as we were about to cut the cake, Natalie showed up. She wasn’t alone. She’d brought an entire funeral procession with her, all dressed in black. She burst into the room, wailing like a banshee. “Oh, my poor son! My poor baby! Burned alive at only four months in the womb! And the monster who did it gets to throw a birthday party for her own son without facing any punishment! Oh, the injustice of it all!” “My baby, it’s Mommy’s fault! I’m not powerful and ruthless like Mrs. Blackwood. I can’t just bend the law to get my revenge! Oh, my poor, poor child…” Her histrionics drowned out the cheerful party music. The guests, who had just been smiling and giving me presents, now stared at me and my mother with strange, unsettling looks. My mother’s face darkened. She signaled for the bodyguards to throw Natalie out. But Natalie just stroked her own belly and sneered, “Not so fast, Elena. I’m pregnant again. Robert let you off the hook for killing my last baby, but he’s already warned me about you this time. If you so much as lay a finger on me, he’ll destroy you.” “He doesn’t love you anymore, Elena,” she taunted. “Do you really think you can still throw your little tantrums and get away with it? Even if you don’t care about yourself, you should at least think about your precious son.” Her eyes flickered towards me. My mother hesitated, her hand tightening on mine. It was the little squeeze she always gave me for encouragement, so I squeezed back, hard. The storm clouds on my mother’s face suddenly cleared. She smiled, a calm, serene expression settling over her. “In that case,” she said to Natalie, “be my guest.” Seeing my mother back down, Natalie’s smirk widened. She grew bolder, marching through the room like a conquering queen. She swept all my birthday presents off the table and sent them crashing to the floor. Even my huge birthday cake was smashed in two. But just then, the grand chandelier in the center of the hall began to emit a low, ominous groaning sound. My mother’s eyes darted upwards. Natalie, however, was lost in her triumphant destruction, completely oblivious. The next second, the chandelier plummeted from the ceiling, crashing down with perfect, deadly accuracy right on top of her. A splash of crimson stained the pristine floor. My mother covered my eyes with her hand, but I could hear the smile in her voice as she spoke, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Oh, Natalie, I am so sorry. I forgot to tell you. That chandelier is rusted through. We just haven’t had time to get it repaired. It could have fallen at any moment.” In the end, Natalie was carried out on a stretcher. And I got a brand-new strawberry cake and a fresh pile of birthday presents. 4 The news of Natalie’s “accident” was all over the papers the next day. But this time, my father didn’t storm home in a rage. In fact, he started coming home more often. He never mentioned Natalie’s name again. I didn’t understand what had changed, until one night I overheard my mother talking with our head of staff in the study. “Natalie’s baby is gone, and her face is permanently disfigured. Mr. Blackwood has likely decided she’s no longer of any value to him. It seems he’s planning to return to the family, to you and the young master.” My mother stared out the window at the inky black sky. Her voice was flat. “We’ll see.” In the weeks that followed, my father came home earlier and earlier. He brought me mountains of toys and my favorite snacks. My mother’s jewelry boxes overflowed with new pieces, and her closets were bursting with designer clothes. Even my mother seemed to be thawing. I saw her smile more. One day, my father announced he was taking us to visit my grandparents. They lived far away, a long drive from the city. As we were driving over a massive bridge, my father suddenly pulled the car over. I thought he wanted to stop and enjoy the view. The next second, the car doors were yanked open. My mother and I were dragged out onto the pavement. My father’s gentle facade had vanished. His eyes were filled with a cold, murderous intent. “I told you Natalie was no threat to you, Elena,” he snarled. “But you went after her again and again. Because of you, she can never have children. Because of you, her face is ruined, she can’t even bear to be seen in public. Do you have any idea how much that has destroyed her?” “All these weeks, coming home, being nice to you and the boy… it was all an act. Just to get you to lower your guard, to get you in a car with me today without your army of bodyguards.” At his signal, his men seized me and threw me over the railing into the churning river below. As I fell, my mother lunged for me, wrapping me in a desperate embrace. Her tears, hot against my cold skin, fell on my face. I heard my father’s voice drift down from above, chillingly calm. “Don’t blame me for this, Alan. Your mother just wouldn’t listen. She was turning you against me. I just have to teach you both a little lesson.” The moment the icy water swallowed us, I think I finally understood the look in my mother’s eyes when she would sit alone in her room, staring at old photos of them together. I remembered her quiet whisper: “Times change, and people change with them.” My father’s heart was as cold and merciless as the river now consuming us. When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. My mother, wrapped in bandages, sat beside me. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying. She hugged me so tightly it hurt, whispering apologies over and over. She said it was her fault, that she had let me suffer. But Mommy, you were the one who was suffering the most. And you never once complained. That night, my mother told me to go to sleep early. She said she had some business to take care of. An uneasy feeling settled in my stomach, so I snuck out and followed her. I watched her go to the new villa my father had bought for Natalie. She and her team of bodyguards smashed everything inside to pieces before tying Natalie to a chair. It wasn’t long before my father arrived, looking frantic. The moment he saw my mother, his face became a mask of pure fury. “Elena, are you trying to drive me to my grave?” My mother just laughed, a cold, sharp sound, as she toyed with a small, gleaming dagger. “I’m simply returning the favor. Why is it that when I do it, it’s considered a death threat?” She pressed the tip of the dagger to Natalie’s throat. A thin line of red appeared. My father fell to his knees without a moment’s hesitation. “Elena, I’m begging you. Don’t hurt Natalie. She’s innocent in all this. Let her go, and I’ll do anything you ask.” “You’re doing all this for a divorce, right? Fine! I agree! We’ll get a divorce.” He immediately had someone bring him divorce papers, signed his name, and held them out to her. My mother didn’t even glance at them. She tore them to pieces. “You said it yourself, Robert. No divorce. Only death. And tonight, I’m going to kill you both!”

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1 I once told Joey that if he ever fell in love with someone else, I would simply disappear. He had always been so faithful, so I believed our happiness was a fortress, unshakable. Until, at eight months pregnant, I walked in on him with another woman. “Stella is carrying our IVF baby,” he was cooing, his voice a gentle caress as he comforted the radiant woman beside him. “You don’t have to do a thing, my love, and we’ll have a child that’s ours.” He turned his attention back to her, doting on her. “Childbirth is so painful, and you’re so terrified of pain. Besides, getting pregnant would ruin your figure. How could you be a rising star then?” Then he was on the phone, speaking to a high-end postnatal wellness retreat. “When the baby is born, I want my wife’s body to be perfectly cared for. If there are any lasting complications, your facility will cease to exist.” I never, in my darkest nightmares, imagined that the man who loved me more than life itself would have me carry the child of his affair. It’s alright. I’ll disappear. I wish you two a lifetime of happiness. … I went to three different hospitals. The results of the DNA tests were all the same. The maternal DNA in the child I was carrying did not belong to me. Not a single test said otherwise. Eight months pregnant, I walked out of the hospital, the reports clutched in my hand. I had dreamed of having a child with Joey. We tried for a whole year, finally turning to IVF as our last hope. I thought this baby was the culmination of our love. Instead, I was incubating his and his mistress’s embryo. Six years of deep, unwavering love. I thought he was different. Was he no different from any other cheating husband after all? An unread message glowed on my phone. It was from a friend. A gushing sixty-second voice note spilled out: The whole city is buzzing about your due date! Joey has booked out every flower shop and billboard in New York, just to make you happy! I’m so jealous, Elara, you found the perfect man. I heard he basically dropped everything at the company the second you got pregnant, practically tripping over himself to be your butler, cooking for you, serving you tea… Yes. He loved me that much. And yet, he was trading loving glances with another woman. A bitter tide rose in my chest, so sharp it stole my breath. Everyone knew Joey couldn’t live without me. He was a man who loved money and power, a man who trusted no one. Yet, the moment we were married, he signed over his entire business empire to my name. When his parents disapproved of our marriage, he starved himself until he was hospitalized, leaving him with a chronic stomach condition. The day our IVF was confirmed a success, he wept on the spot. The entire hospital staff stared, stunned. This titan of industry, crying his eyes out because his wife was pregnant. The nurses whispered, “If a man ever loved me like that, I could die happy.” Remembering the scene I had witnessed at his office, those words were now like dull blades sawing at my heart. Why would a man who loved me so much force me to bear another woman’s child? By 10 PM, Joey had called me ninety-nine times. I answered on the one-hundredth. His voice was a choked sob. “Elara, where are you? Did something happen? Answer me! I’m going out of my mind—” His voice was so broken, so full of raw panic, it sounded utterly real. But I felt nothing. “I’m fine,” I said, my tone flat. “I’m almost home.” When I arrived, Joey was crouched by the front door, his head in his hands, a picture of agony. His assistant rushed to help me. “Ma’am, you have no idea. The boss has been searching for you for hours. He walked twenty miles, checking every mall in the vicinity. He’s sprained his ankle.” “Elara!” He scrambled to his feet, his face streaked with tears. “Why didn’t you answer? I was sick with worry. Don’t you ever do that again.” The tears streamed down his face, but they couldn’t find their way into my heart anymore. How could he say he loved me while trampling on me like this? The question was a bloody, gaping wound in my soul. I was helped to the sofa. He knelt before me, gently easing off my shoes and socks before beginning to wash my feet. His voice was thick with lingering fear, with no hint of deception. “Where did you go? You’re pregnant. If you had tripped, if anything had happened to you, what would I do?” The man who was a ruthless storm in the boardroom was now a tempest of fear and anxiety. “We worked so hard for this child. What if something had gone wrong?” A bitter, medicinal scent filled the room, making my stomach churn. Because I had a high-risk pregnancy, I had to drink a special herbal brew every day to prevent miscarriage. To protect this baby, I had always pinched my nose and forced it down. After washing my feet, he brought me the bowl of dark liquid, holding out a piece of candy. “I don’t want to drink it.” His expression changed in an instant, his face hardening. “I will grant you anything else in this world, Elara. But not this.” The image of him and that woman flashed in my mind. I gagged, a dry heave racking my body before I’d even taken a sip. He patted my back, his voice full of concern but unyielding. “The doctor said you’re high-risk. You have to drink it. If you miscarry, think of the damage to your body. Be good.” “We finally have this child,” he coaxed, his voice dropping to a seductive whisper. “If you don’t take your medicine, who will inherit the Blackwood empire?” He would say anything for the baby in my belly. Before, I would have seen this as the ultimate proof of his patience and love. Now, I saw myself for what I was: a laughable fool. The bitter liquid slid down my throat, its acrid taste a pale imitation of the acid in my heart. This was the first time I had met Joey’s mistress in person. She had a rosy, delicate beauty, a fragile air about her. It was no wonder Joey fell for her. She was introduced as Stella, a temporary replacement for our regular housekeeper. Wearing a maid’s uniform and a face mask, Stella placed a platter of fruit by my bed. “The other maid called in sick. I’ll be taking care of you tonight.” Joey sat beside me, gently feeding me slices of fruit with one hand while his other thumb flew across his phone screen. My own finger hovered over the icon on my phone that would log me into his iMessage account. Years ago, he had set it up and given me his password, a grand gesture of transparency. He must have long forgotten. I pressed it. He was texting Stella, his words sharp with anger: What are you doing here? I told you never to show your face in front of Elara. Stella: But I missed youuuu~ You never come to see me anymore~ Maybe I should just die~ Stella: Thinking of you, thinking of you, thinking of you~ Joey’s angry scowl softened, melting into a faint smile at her cloying words. He must have noticed me watching him. “Just got word a big deal at the office finally closed,” he explained smoothly. The loving man before me was cheating right under my nose. Before, I would have been touched that he made time for me despite being so busy. How many times had this happened, while I went on believing I was his one and only? The thought was so absurd it was almost funny. I glanced back at my phone. Another message from Stella to Joey popped up: Do you like this wedding dress? I can’t wait to be your wife tomorrow. [Image attached.] Joey looked down, a small, private smile playing on his lips as he typed back: You’ll be the most beautiful bride. My heart skipped a beat. The message was a lightning strike, shattering my world. I was eight months pregnant, and tomorrow, Joey was marrying someone else. While I was fighting to bring this child into the world, he was promising another woman a wedding gown and a lifetime of love. When Stella handed him a fairytale book, her eyes lingered on his, a secret, flirtatious glance passing between them. I was nothing more than an accessory to their twisted romance. Joey turned to me, his expression once again that of a doting husband, and began to read aloud, his voice a soothing balm. Since becoming pregnant, I’d had trouble sleeping. Every night, without fail, he would read to me until I drifted off. When he finished, he placed a soft kiss on my cheek. “I love you. Good night.” A sharp pain from the baby’s kick lanced through my abdomen, but he must have thought I was asleep. He slipped out of the room. The moment he was out the door, I heard Stella’s sultry whisper. “I’ve missed you so much~” Joey’s voice was sharp. “I told you. Not in front of Elara.” “Don’t you think this is more exciting? You don’t usually act this way~” I pulled the covers over my head, but their voices, their sounds, seeped through. “~You love it too, don’t you~~~~” So this was him, unleashed. This was the passion he saved for other women. I buried my face in my pillow, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. The low moans and frantic whispers were like slaps across my face, one after another. The pain in my heart mingled with the pain in my belly, and I tossed and turned, trapped in a waking nightmare. Eventually, the sounds outside stopped. Joey slipped back into the room and into our bed. He wrapped his arms around me from behind, his hand stroking my face. His voice was a low murmur, thick with adoration. “Elara, I love you so, so much. I can’t live without you.” His palm was still warm with the afterglow of his passion. The embrace that had been my sanctuary for six years now felt utterly vile. “Do you remember what I told you once?” I asked the next morning, as he was finishing up breakfast. “That if you fell in love with someone else, you should just tell me, and I would disappear.” He froze. “Sweetheart, what’s wrong? There’s only you. I only love you. Don’t let your mind play tricks on you.” He immediately pulled out his phone, offering it to me for inspection. But the chat history had been wiped clean. What was there to inspect? Seeing my unmoving expression, he raised his right hand. “I swear, if I, Joey Blackwood, have ever been unfaithful, may my parents both drop dead.” A sarcastic smile touched my lips. It was amazing how easily the lies rolled off his tongue. “Honey, you have to talk to me. Don’t keep things bottled up, okay?” “If I ever betray you, may I die a horrible death and my family line end with me. Please, don’t overthink this.” “If you disappeared,” he whispered, his eyes filled with a sudden, desperate sadness, “I couldn’t go on living.” He looked so distraught he was on the verge of kneeling. I forced a smile. “I was just saying.” I thought that might make him more cautious. Instead, after breakfast, he made an excuse about work and left. I knew the truth. Stella had called him to go try on wedding tuxedos. The moment he was gone, a text from Stella arrived. : You’re a heavy sleeper. [Video attached.] I clicked play. It was from last night, filmed right outside my bedroom door. Joey, lost in the moment, burying his face in her neck, kissing her with a feral hunger. : What do you want? Stella: I want to see just how stupid a woman can be, to not know her husband has been cheating for three years. Take my advice: have the baby, then divorce him. You’ll get a bigger settlement and child support that way. : Don’t you know all of Joey’s assets are in my name? It took a long time for her to reply. : Do you know why Joey is so obsessed with this baby? Because my acting career is taking off. I can’t afford to disappear for a year. And I have a low pain tolerance. Joey can’t even stand to see me get a paper cut. So, you were the only option to carry this child. Do you get it now? If you’re smart, you’ll divorce him. If you’re not, just wait until he transfers all your assets away. : While you were suffering from morning sickness, unable to eat or sleep, do you know what Joey was doing? He was working from my apartment, just so he could spend more time with me. The words burned on the screen. A sob caught in my throat, and then I was crying, really crying, for the first time. To have this child, I had endured so much. The IVF hormones made my ovaries swell, making it impossible to eat or sleep. The egg retrieval needle, as long as my forearm, extracted more than a dozen eggs, the pain so intense I fainted on the table. For eight months, I had given myself over two hundred shots of blood thinners to maintain the pregnancy. Every day, I choked down that bitter medicine, vomiting until I was empty. Every time I felt like I couldn’t go on, I told myself to just hold on a little longer. It would all be worth it when the baby was born. Joey and I had been married for three years. I wanted a child with him more than anything in the world. Whenever he was gone, I told myself to be strong. It turned out that when he was “at work,” he was with her. I buried my head in my hands, tears streaming through my fingers. So this is how cruel you’ve always been. Today was the day of Joey and Stella’s wedding. When I woke up, I saw the blood. A large, dark stain on the white sheets. I stared at it for a long time. When I first got pregnant, the doctor had warned me there was a high chance I would miscarry. I had fought so hard to keep this baby, with the medicine, with the shots. All just to bring this child into the world. Maybe this was fate. When Joey saw the blood, he went feral. He barked orders into his phone, “Shut down the streets! Now! My wife is hemorrhaging! Get a car here immediately, now!” He swept me into his arms, his usual composure shattered as he sprinted to the car. “Faster! Go faster!” he yelled at the driver, his forehead beaded with cold sweat. The pain was making me dizzy. He was supposed to be at his wedding right now, wasn’t he? His hand trembled as he stroked my face. “It’s going to be okay, Elara. It’s okay…” He was shaking from head to toe, as if his soul was about to fly from his body in sheer terror. At the hospital, they determined it was a placental abruption. After some treatment, the doctor assured us the situation was stable. Joey remained a coiled spring of tension, terrified I might take a turn for the worse. When the doctor confirmed the baby was safe, he collapsed into a chair, letting out a long, shuddering breath. He glanced at his phone, then stepped out into the hall to make a call. When he returned, he sat by my bed, but his eyes kept darting to his watch. I chose my moment. “Is there somewhere you need to be? You can go. The doctor said I’m fine.” My permission seemed to throw him into a state of conflict. He hesitated for a long time. Finally, he turned to the medical staff. “Take care of her. If anything, and I mean anything, happens to her, this hospital will be a crater.” He didn’t realize that his choice, in that moment, was my final defeat. This was the man who once stayed home for a week to nurse me when I got a small cut on my finger. When had he become someone who could so easily leave my side to attend another woman’s wedding? My last sliver of hope vanished into thin air. The television in the hospital room was playing an entertainment news segment. A mysterious billionaire had booked the historic Century Cathedral for a private wedding. The grounds were blanketed in flowers, a real-life fairytale castle. All details of the ceremony itself, however, were on strict lockdown. Floating above the grand altar in the broadcast footage were five massive, glowing words. STELLA, I LOVE YOU. A wave of nausea and grief washed over me. I turned my head away, and in the sterile, familiar quiet of the hospital, I made the arrangements to get rid of the child of my husband and his mistress. Joey rushed from the hospital to Stella’s wedding. Just before walking into the cathedral, he sent his Elara a text. [If you need anything, just call. I’m on standby for you, always.] Stella stood before him in her wedding gown, breathtakingly beautiful. But a deep unease settled in his heart. The image of the blood on the sheets this morning kept flashing in his mind. The priest stood at the altar. “Do you, Stella, take this man to be your lawfully wedded husband, to live together in matrimony? To love him, comfort him, honor and keep him, in sickness and in health, and forsaking all others, be faithful to him, so long as you both shall live?” The words, the ancient vow, made his heart clench. He suddenly remembered Elara, years ago, standing before him, whispering, “I do.” His mind was flooded with an image of red. Elara, bleeding, eight months pregnant, all for him. “I do,” Stella said, her eyes shining with happiness. But as she spoke, his love for Elara swelled in his chest, a tidal wave of guilt and adoration threatening to consume him. He had a sudden, desperate urge to tell Elara how much she meant to him. In the middle of his own wedding, he pulled out his phone. [Elara, I love you so much. I want to be with you forever and ever. Please, please don’t ever leave me. I’ll go insane.] A small measure of peace settled over him as he hit send. A moment later, a reply popped up on his screen: I’m gone. And I’m sorry I aborted your child with Stella. The world shattered around Joey. He stared at the DNA report he’d just received on his phone. How could the mother be Stella!?

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1 The new accountant was a clumsy airhead. On payday, she transferred only one cent to me, causing my mother’s medication payment to fail. My mother died. Before I could confront her, she was already sobbing. “I’m sorry! I sent your salary to that janitor you fired!” Her husband, the CFO, shielded her. “Not her fault. You should’ve had emergency funds.” Overcome with grief, I nearly fainted. At the funeral, Scarlett hired a loud lion dance troupe. I screamed at her to leave. She cried, “I just wanted it to be lively!” I had an asthma attack and reached for my inhaler. She slapped it away, yelling, “That’s illegal!” As I collapsed, I heard her whimper, “I didn’t know it was medicine…” My husband covered for her. “Alana Vance died of grief.” That night, I was cremated unnoticed. When I opened my eyes, I was back on payday. … There was only one minute left before the online sale for my mom’s medication ended. No time to think. I frantically switched the payment card linked to my account. Ding. Payment successful. My mother was safe. Tears welled in my eyes. I looked around, my heart pounding. It was real. I was back. I took a deep breath, a storm of fury and sorrow crashing over me. Scarlett and Michael, that wretched pair who had cost me my life. I would make them pay. Just then, a figure stumbled into my office. Scarlett stood before me, bowing timidly. “Ms. Vance, I’m so sorry! I’m so clumsy, I sent your salary to Mrs. Gable!” “She’s a single mom. Life must be so hard for her after you fired her. Please, can’t we just let her keep it?” she pleaded, her eyes wide and innocent as she tugged on my sleeve. I let out a sharp, humorless laugh and shoved her hand away. “Let’s get one thing straight. Mrs. Gable and I are both victims here.” “The person responsible for this mess is you. You’d better fix it, and fix it fast. Otherwise, I’m reporting this to upper management.” I had just closed a huge deal last month. My commission was at least a hundred thousand dollars. Scarlett’s face went white. She saw me pull out my phone and lunged for it. “Ms. Vance, you earn so much! Can’t you just consider it charity?” My salary was the money I worked myself to the bone for, money to save my mother’s life. The thought made my teeth ache with hatred for this woman. I pushed her away without hesitation. I didn’t use much force, but she let out a piercing scream. “Scarlett? What’s wrong?” Michael, my husband, burst into the room. “Mr. Hayes, I’m so sorry! I’m so stupid, I made Ms. Vance angry!” Scarlett sobbed into his chest. His eyes, when they turned to me, were chips of ice. “Alana! Does bullying a young girl make you feel powerful?” “Are you that desperate for money? It’s just a hundred grand. I’ll transfer it to you, alright?” A notification chimed, confirming the transfer, but my heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. When my mother had been rushed to the ER, I had begged him for help with the medical bills. He’d lectured me about keeping our finances separate before marriage. Now, to clean up Scarlett’s mess, he didn’t even blink. “There’s your money. But you scared Scarlett. Apologize to her.” My head snapped up. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “What did you say?” Michael’s tone grew colder. “You pushed her. You should apologize.” Scarlett tugged at his sleeve. “Michael, it’s fine. I’m just a clumsy person. I don’t hold grudges, even when I’m bullied.” But Michael took a step forward, his hand clamping onto the back of my neck, forcing my head down. The humiliation ignited a firestorm of rage, burning away all reason. I don’t know where the strength came from, but I broke free and slapped him, hard, across the face. “Michael Hayes, are you trying to get fired from your position as CFO?” Before he could answer, Scarlett shrieked, clutching at him. “She hit him! Help! Ms. Vance is assaulting someone!” I gave a cold smile. “That’s right, I hit him. Go on, call the police.” “You two treat company funds like a joke. Let’s have the police sort this out.” Scarlett’s wailing stopped abruptly. She avoided my gaze, looking guilty. Perhaps my expression was truly terrifying, because Michael’s voice softened. “Alana, you know Scarlett has always been a bit… slow. Mistakes happen.” “Let’s not make a scene in front of the other employees. We can discuss this at home.” That wasn’t the tune he was singing when he was trying to force me to apologize. I looked at Scarlett cowering behind him and forced a smile. “Really? But this company doesn’t employ idiots. Nor does it employ traitors who sell us out.” At my words, Michael’s face flushed a deep, angry red. “What are you talking about!” He looked flustered for a moment, then puffed out his chest, putting on his executive air. “Alana, if I recall, you have a meeting with Orion Group next week to discuss the next quarter’s partnership.” “You should give newcomers like Scarlett more opportunities to learn. Then maybe these mistakes wouldn’t happen.” I raised an eyebrow. “Fine by me. But just so we’re clear, whatever happens is on you.” He looked pleased that I’d agreed so readily. Scarlett practically jumped into his arms with excitement. “Thank you for trusting me, Mr. Hayes! It’s a good thing I’m not on Ms. Vance’s team, otherwise, how would I ever grow?” “Don’t mind her,” Michael soothed. “Scarlett, I can see you have great potential. Go for it.” Scarlett’s pathetic attempt at a veiled insult was utterly worthless to me. I just smirked and showed them the door. Orion Group was our biggest client. Losing them would cripple our core business. Since Michael had so much faith in Scarlett’s abilities, I was happy to let him have his way. This time, without me to clean up her mess, let’s see who had the skills to salvage the disaster she was sure to create. But I had clearly underestimated the depths of human stupidity. Scarlett had chosen a remote, rustic farmhouse for the meeting. The place was so high up in the mountains that not even a golf cart could make the final ascent. The Orion executives, all middle-aged men, nearly had heart attacks climbing the trail in the hundred-degree heat. Scarlett, meanwhile, skipped along with a portable fan clipped to her shirt. Utterly oblivious, she turned and pointed at the lead executive, chirping, “Mister, you’ve got three spare tires around your belly! You should exercise more!” “But don’t thank me, thank Ms. Vance! If she hadn’t invited me, I never would have picked such a wonderful place!” The executive’s face was a thundercloud. He didn’t say another word for the rest of the climb. At dinner, I was treated to another masterclass in incompetence. For a business meeting, Scarlett hadn’t ordered a single bottle of wine. Orange juice, coconut milk, Coke… There wasn’t even a single impressive main course. The table sat in stunned silence. Even Michael couldn’t take it anymore. He hissed at her, “Scarlett, what the hell is this? This is a business negotiation, not a tea party!” Her eyes immediately filled with tears. She looked at me, her voice thick with blame. “This was Ms. Vance’s account. She didn’t teach me what to do. How was I supposed to know?” And there it was. There was no real idiot here. Scarlett had seen my huge commission last month and wanted to sabotage me, then pin the blame on me. I just kept my head down and ate, offering no help whatsoever. A moment later, the lead executive from Orion slammed his chopsticks down. His face was livid as he met my gaze. “Ms. Vance, if it weren’t for our long-standing relationship, Orion would be taking its business elsewhere this quarter.” Before I could respond, Michael was on his feet, sweating profusely. “Mr. Sterling, please don’t be angry! This is all just a…” “A what? Ms. Vance and I have been working together for years! Your company has never been this absurd!” With that, Mr. Sterling and his team turned and stormed back down the mountain, leaving Michael standing there, frozen. Scarlett was still sniffling. “Ms. Vance, now you won’t get your deal. Are you going to be mad at me?” “Shut up!” Michael finally roared at her. Scarlett’s tears started flowing in earnest. The second we got back to the office, we were all summoned to the CEO’s office. The boss looked furious. Michael was the first to speak, twisting the narrative. “You knew Scarlett was inexperienced, yet you just sat there and watched her mess everything up? Alana, did you do this on purpose?” I spoke calmly. “I said I would not be responsible for the consequences. Mr. Hayes, you were the one who said we should give young people a chance to grow. I gave her the chance. Are you not satisfied with the results of her growth?” My words left him sputtering with rage. “You’re just twisting my words!” The CEO’s gaze flickered between me and Michael. In the end, the hammer fell on me. “Alana, you’re the head of the sales department! To just watch a client walk away like that… I’m very disappointed in you.” “Your entire quarterly bonus is revoked. I want you to take some time and reflect on this.” It was always like this. No matter what the truth was, I was always the one who had to bear the consequences. Scarlett’s stupidity was forgivable. Michael’s poor judgment was a minor misstep. But me? The better my performance, the lower my pay seemed to get. My heart sank. The last flicker of hope I had for this place was extinguished. I said nothing, just nodded. “Understood, sir.” I walked out of the office, took a deep breath, and made a phone call. “Hello, this is Alana Vance. I’m available to talk whenever you are.” I stopped paying attention to the office drama. I heard Scarlett’s “clumsy beauty” reputation was now company-wide, thanks to a string of blunders. I went about my work as usual, until I noticed last month’s expense reimbursements hadn’t been processed. The money I had prepaid at the hospital for my mom’s care was running low. I went to find Scarlett. In front of the entire office, she blinked her big, innocent eyes at me. “Ms. Vance, are you sure you gave me your receipts? Or are you just trying to use ‘reimbursement’ as an excuse to get more money?” “That’s not allowed, you know. Even for a manager, Scarlett can’t bend the rules~” My face hardened. I kicked her chair out from under her. Did she really think I’d fall for the same trick twice? She screamed as she tumbled to the floor. The fall revealed the shredder bin under her desk, overflowing with chopped-up receipts. I picked up a handful and read them aloud. “Mr. Peterson, Ms. Liu, Mr. Chen… so this is where your receipts went! No wonder no one got their money back last month!” A shocked murmur went through the office. When it came to money, no one was going to let it slide. Ms. Liu’s face darkened. “What’s the point of having an accountant who doesn’t know the first thing about accounting?!” Scarlett fell silent, just sat on the floor and cried. In the end, Michael had to pay everyone out of his own pocket to smooth things over. Next, Scarlett “accidentally” sent the company’s confidential financial statements to every single one of my suppliers. With our bottom line exposed, they all immediately demanded a price hike. The entire company was thrown into chaos. “Michael! If Scarlett screws up one more time, you can both pack your bags and get out!” The CEO’s enraged roar was audible even through the closed door. Michael emerged, looking defeated. He automatically turned to me to fix his problem. “Alana, find new suppliers. And the prices have to be lower than what we were paying before.” I looked at his entitled expression and found the situation utterly absurd. I had gotten us those prices by drinking until I had a bleeding ulcer. Scarlett’s jealousy had ruined the company’s supply chain, and I was expected to clean up the mess? I gave a cold laugh and pulled out the divorce papers. “You want me to clean up your mess? Fine. Sign this.” Michael stared at the papers, stunned. A flicker of conflict crossed his face, but then he gritted his teeth, snatched the pen, and signed his name. The scratch of the nib on the paper was unnaturally loud in the quiet office. I thought I would feel a pang of sadness. But my love for Michael had died in my last life. For once, I left work early to celebrate with friends. Scarlett, who usually bolted out the door the second the clock hit five, knocked on my office door. “What is it?” “Ms. Vance, what’s your number? We should exchange contact info, to make it easier to communicate about work.” She was smiling, but I saw a cold glint in her eyes. I pretended not to notice. “For work matters, just use the internal messaging system.” “Ms. Vance, you said it yourself!” she chirped, looking oddly excited. I just nodded and left. That night, I stumbled home, pleasantly buzzed. The wail of sirens filled the air outside my building. Before I knew what was happening, I was surrounded by police officers, telling me I needed to come with them to the office. It was only when I arrived that I found out what had happened. Late at night, Scarlett had initiated an unauthorized wire transfer of several million dollars to an unknown account. The CEO had nearly had a heart attack when he found out and had immediately called the police. When Scarlett saw me being escorted in, she pointed a shaking finger at me and screamed, “Ms. Vance! You were the one who told me that was the new supplier’s account! You told me to process it as soon as possible! You sent me an internal message!” “I may be a little stupid, but I would never dare to transfer such a huge amount of money on my own!” The lead officer’s face was grim. “Ms. Vance, the internal logs show that you authenticated the account information for Ms. Scarlett and urged her to make the payment.” My expression changed. I met the smug, triumphant looks on Michael and Scarlett’s faces and suddenly, I started to laugh. My voice was calm, clear, and steady. “The message was sent at 11 PM last night. However…” I paused, my eyes sweeping over Michael’s face. “As of yesterday afternoon, I had already officially submitted my resignation and had been removed from all internal company groups and platforms.” “So, my question is, who exactly sent that message?”

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