In the fifth year of being Adrian Thorne’s dog, he got married. His new wife, a woman who despised the very sight of me, his live-in bodyguard, decided to “introduce” me to her brother—a man with the mental capacity of a three-year-old. In front of all their friends, Adrian had said, “Honestly, you and my idiot brother-in-law are a perfect match. You’ve got that scar on your face; he won’t care that you’re ugly.” He’d leaned in, a conspiratorial smirk on his lips. “He does have a kid, though. You don’t mind being a stepmom, do you?” Why would I mind? It’s not like I wasn’t the one who gave birth to her. 1. The rumor mill of the city’s elite whispered that I was so pathetically in love with Adrian Thorne I’d willingly become his lapdog. But the truth was, before Adrian, there was someone else. That someone was his new brother-in-law, Sebastian Croft. Back then, I was young and wild. I had a string of admirers, including the boy Sebastian’s sister, Cecilia, was obsessed with. She couldn’t stand me, so she called her big brother to put the fear of God in me. At the time, Sebastian was far from a simpleton. He was a kingpin, a man who moved with ease through both the glittering upper world and the shadowy underbelly of the city. In the dim light of a private club room, his cold eyes swept over me as his men shoved me in front of him. I was all heavy makeup and dark lipstick, the picture of a teenage delinquent. He frowned in distaste, his arm draped casually over the back of the sofa, the long, elegant fingers of one hand tapping a restless rhythm. “You’re Stella Mathis?” he asked, his voice a low drawl. Before I could answer, he tossed a checkbook onto the table in front of me with a thud. “Your so-called boyfriend just ditched you and ran. How about you go out with me instead?” I stared at him with wide, innocent eyes. “If I go out with you, will you make sure I never go hungry again?” Sebastian’s men snickered. Sebastian did not. A glacial stare from him and their laughter died, their postures snapping to attention. He tapped the checkbook with a single finger. “You tell me. How much do you think it costs to keep you fed? Write whatever you want.” I picked up the pen, hesitated for a moment, and then scrawled a series of numbers. Sebastian took it, his eyes widening in disbelief. “Thirty… million?” I gave a proud, defiant nod. He leaned back against the plush sofa, lighting a cigarette with a flick of a silver lighter. He took a long drag and gestured to one of his men. A moment later, a line of them stood before me, each holding a silver briefcase. They snapped them open. They were filled to the brim with cash. Sebastian blew a perfect smoke ring. “There’s your thirty million. Now, come home with me.” He stood, took my wrist in his firm grip, and led me out of the club. I thought I’d hit the jackpot, that I’d somehow landed a man like Sebastian Croft. Until I found the paintings in his studio. In his spare time, Sebastian painted. His studio was on the third floor of his mansion, a place strictly off-limits to everyone. But my cat, startled by a sudden noise, had darted up the stairs, and I went after it. My sister and I were identical twins. The only difference was the small, red beauty mark at the corner of her right eye, like a permanent teardrop. The moment I pushed open the studio door, I understood. I was just her substitute. It all made sense now. Why, whenever he was drunk, he would pin me beneath him, his fingers tracing the lines of my face, my eyebrows, my eyes, whispering, “So beautiful… especially your eyes.” I backed out of the room, my heart a cold, heavy stone in my chest. Should I demand more money? Or should I just keep playing the part of his pretty, caged bird? I realized I didn’t want either. For once in my life, I was going to be strong. I was going to dump Sebastian Croft. I was going to show this prince that he was nothing more than a toy to me, to be discarded when I grew bored. 2. That night, I was uncharacteristically passionate. I straddled his hips, looking down at the taut lines of his muscles, the flush that colored his cheeks. I leaned down, cupped his face in my hands, and kissed his slick, swollen lips. When we were done, I got dressed and tossed a photograph onto the bed. “He’s back,” I said, my voice cool. “I won’t be coming here anymore. I don’t want him to get the wrong idea.” Sebastian, lounging against the pillows, snatched up the photo. His face was a mask of disbelief. The man in the picture was Adrian Thorne. The boy who had convinced his powerful grandfather to adopt me, to give me a chance at life. He’d been studying abroad, and in his absence, the Thorne family had cast me out. But now he was back, and my loyalty, my life, belonged to him. Sebastian’s voice was a roar as he lunged forward, grabbing my shoulders. “Stella, you fucking used me as a stand-in?” My gaze was steady. “So what if I did? What are you going to do, kill me?” “You think I wouldn’t dare?” But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Even with the cold metal of a gun pressed to my temple, I didn’t flinch. He saw the resolve in my eyes and finally, with a guttural snarl, he told me to get out. I slammed the door behind me without a backward glance. To force me to come crawling back, he froze the thirty-million-dollar account. I was young and naive; I didn’t understand the power of money yet. My defiance lasted a month. Then I found out I was pregnant. The doctor told me that due to a medical condition, this might be my only chance to have a child. I had to think carefully. And I wanted this baby, this person who would be a part of me, more than anything. But I knew I couldn’t support a child on my own. So I went back to Sebastian. I proposed a deal: I would carry the baby to term, and he would raise it. He agreed, but with one cold condition: he would never, ever tell the child who its mother was. I knew I had wounded his pride. He hated me. The day I went into labor, Sebastian was in a meeting overseas. I was on the delivery table, pain tearing through me, and I screamed into the phone at him. “You bastard! You promised you’d be here! Where the hell are you? Aaargh!” The contractions warped my voice. On the other end of the line, I could hear the panic in his. “But you’re not due for another week! Don’t be scared, I’m coming back! Right now!” He wasn’t lying. He was there in four hours, having chartered a private jet. He changed into scrubs and rushed into the delivery room just as the baby was crowning. I was delirious with pain. I grabbed his arm, squeezed with all my might, and with one final push, she was born. The sound of a baby’s cry cut through the sterile silence of the room. The nurse brought her to me. A girl. Sebastian had a name chosen for her: Nora. It meant honor, light. A vibrant, thriving life. When he brought her into my room to say goodbye, the news was on the TV. A breaking story about an assassination attempt on Adrian Thorne at the airport. I stared at the screen, my hand frozen on the remote. Sebastian snatched it from me and turned off the TV. “You’re supposed to be resting. No more screens.” I ignored him. He had unfrozen my account and handed me another check. “This is for your services. You are never to speak of the fact that you are my child’s mother to anyone.” I looked at the number. Fifty million dollars. He must have truly loved this child to be so generous. That, at least, brought me some peace. Nora would be better off with the Crofts than with me. I was free to go and pledge my life to Adrian Thorne. 3. Adrian Thorne, the eldest grandson of the powerful Thorne family patriarch. Orphaned at a young age, he had been raised by his grandfather. With a weak mother and a pack of greedy uncles and cousins circling like vultures, he was constantly under threat. When I was in the orphanage, on the verge of being assaulted by the predatory director, it was Adrian who had pointed me out, who had insisted his grandfather adopt me, saving me from a horrific fate. I was a weapon, forged by the old man for his grandson’s protection. After giving birth, I went back to Adrian’s side. On paper, I was his executive assistant. In reality, I was his human shield. For five years, I took bullets for him, thwarted assassination attempts, and lived on the edge. The worst time, I threw myself in front of a car meant for him. I was sent flying, and a shard of glass from the shattered windshield sliced across my face, leaving a permanent scar. But Adrian was generous. Every time I risked my life, he paid me handsomely. I had saved a small fortune over the years, enough to buy my own apartment in the heart of the city. I thought this was my life, that I would be bound to Adrian forever. But then, he got married. To my old nemesis. Sebastian’s sister, Cecilia Croft. At a company retreat, Cecilia, with all the employees as her audience, pointed a perfectly manicured finger at me. “Stella, you’re not married yet, are you? I have an idea. How about I set you up with my brother?” She paused for dramatic effect. “I know he only has the intelligence of a three-year-old, but that shouldn’t stop you from sleeping with him. And who knows, if you manage to produce a son for the Croft family, you might just secure your future!” The room erupted in laughter. It was common knowledge that Sebastian, the once-brilliant star of the Croft dynasty, had been reduced to a child after a tragic car accident a year ago. He couldn’t even feed himself, let alone father a child. Everyone knew what this was. The new Mrs. Thorne was publicly humiliating her husband’s loyal bodyguard. I looked at Adrian, who stood beside his wife, his arm around her waist. Only he could decide my fate. As if reading my mind, he finally spoke, a lazy smile playing on his lips. “Honestly, you and my idiot brother-in-law are a perfect match. You’ve got that scar on your face; he won’t care that you’re ugly.” He leaned in, a conspiratorial smirk on his lips. “He does have a kid, though. You don’t mind being a stepmom, do you?” The laughter grew louder, more cruel. A colleague, eager to suck up to the new boss’s wife, chimed in. “Go on, Stella, say yes! You’re almost thirty anyway. You’re probably barren by now.” “Yeah, and even if he is a simpleton, Mr. Croft is still gorgeous. More than a freak like you deserves!” I remained silent, my eyes fixed on Adrian. I was still waiting. A flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. “I know what you want,” he said, his voice low. “Don’t worry. I’ll arrange for your sister to be brought back to the country. As long as you succeed in getting pregnant with my brother-in-law’s child, I guarantee she’ll be safe.” “Fine,” I said. Then I turned to Cecilia. “Give me your brother’s number.” She stared at me, a calculating look in her eyes. After a moment, she rattled off a number. I dialed it. The phone was answered on the first ring. “Wifey!” A slightly slurred, childish voice came through the speaker, and a sudden hush fell over the room. Whispers broke out. “Oh my god, is Stella actually involved with him?” “He called her wifey! Maybe she’s really going to marry into the Croft family!” Cecilia snorted. “My brother’s an idiot. He calls everyone who dials that number wifey.” The tension broke. The laughter returned, mocking and cruel. I pressed the phone tighter to my ear. “Sebastian, where are you? I’m coming to find you.” 4. My colleagues whooped and hollered. Even Adrian sat up a little straighter, his eyes narrowed. Cecilia watched him, her expression hardening with resentment towards me. “I’m at home, wifey!” Sebastian’s voice chirped happily. “I bought your favorite chocolate!” “Okay. Wait for me.” I hung up, stood, and faced Adrian. “Don’t forget your promise. I’m leaving.” Then, under the stunned gazes of everyone in the room, I grabbed my bag and walked out. “Holy crap, she’s actually doing it. She’s going for the simpleton.” “Well, he’s still rich and handsome…” “Everyone, quiet down!” Adrian snapped, slamming his hand on the table. Cecilia tugged on his sleeve. “Honey, what’s wrong? This was our plan…” Adrian froze. She was right. This was their plan. Send his most loyal dog to get close to Sebastian, to have his child. A child they could then use as a pawn, a puppet king, to seize control of the vast Croft fortune. Sebastian didn’t live at the Croft family estate. He had his own private mansion. Even now, in his diminished state, he was surrounded by a team of servants. I had been a frequent visitor in the past, and the older staff recognized me. When I said I was there to see Sebastian, they let me in without question. But the moment I stepped inside, a young woman in a maid’s uniform blocked my path, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Who are you?” The butler who had let me in answered, his smile thin. “A friend of Mr. Croft’s. He gave standing orders that she is to be admitted at any time.” The maid’s face flushed with anger. “Get her out of here!” The butler didn’t move. “It’s not your place to give orders. You are a nanny, hired by Miss Croft to care for her brother. You are not the mistress of this house. Remember your station.” The nanny, whose name I would later learn was Amelia, bristled with indignation. Before she could retort, a little girl of about five came bounding down the grand staircase. She was wearing a pristine white princess dress, her long, dark hair gleaming. Her large, grape-like eyes were fixed on me. Following close behind her was a tall, lean man of about six-foot-three. He watched the girl with a gentle, vacant expression. He was dressed in a charcoal-gray vest over a matching striped shirt. As the little girl took the last leap from the stairs, he reached out and steadied her. The girl tilted her head, her gaze curious. She looked from me to Sebastian, then back again. Sebastian remained silent, his eyes also on me. Suddenly, the little girl let go of his hand and ran towards me. She threw her arms around my legs, looked up, and said in a sweet, clear voice, “Mommy!” A collective gasp went through the staff. Amelia’s jaw dropped. I saw her pull out her phone, and I knew she was recording. I knelt, stroking the little girl’s soft hair. “I’m not your mommy, sweetie. My name is Stella. I’m a friend of your aunt’s. She sent me.” Amelia’s face fell with disappointment. She put her phone away and beckoned to the child. “Nora, come here. She’s not your mother. Haven’t I told you not to talk to strangers?”

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1 My stepbrother Felix and I hated each other purely and utterly. The year our love story should have begun was when his father married my mother. Love soured instantly, while hate grew wild. He told the press I was promiscuous; I printed his nudes on flyers and scattered them across Silverport. He scalded me with boiling water; I pushed him down the stairs and broke his leg. He locked me in the cellar for three days; I got out and shredded the only photo of his late mother, burning the pieces before his eyes. This was our war—until I was diagnosed with metastasized cancer. One month left. I sat long on the rooftop in heavy silence, then drafted a timed text set to send in a month: “Felix, I’m tired. I’m checking out early. Have the last laugh: come sign the consent form for my body donation.” But that afternoon, a woman named Seraphina Hale came to my door. She wore a pristine white dress, untouched by dust. “Felix says you’re just like your mother. You both make him sick.” Looking at her angelic face, I laughed. Perfect. A distraction for my final days. … Seraphina lifted a hand, theatrically tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. The light glinting off the massive diamond on her ring finger was blinding. I recognized it. It was the rare pink diamond auctioned at Sotheby’s last month, sold to a mysterious buyer for a staggering thirty-six million dollars. The auctioneer had breathlessly announced it was an engagement gift for the buyer’s fiancée. So, it was Felix. I wasn’t surprised. He knew how to love, how to lavish affection on someone. When my stomach was weak, he’d learned over a hundred recipes just for me. The gifts were endless, each one more creative than the last. A familiar, acidic tang of memory rose in my throat, sharp and swift, threatening to breach the fortress of hate I’d built around my heart. Seraphina caught my flicker of weakness. A mocking smile played on her lips as she twisted the pink diamond, making it catch the light. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Felix bought it for me. It’s my engagement ring.” She leaned in, her voice a sweet poison. “He said only a girl as delicate and pure as me deserved a color so… pristine.” “As for you…” She paused, her eyes sweeping over me with contempt. “You’re just like your homewrecking mother. Old, washed up, and rotten to the core.” I remained unimpressed. Her sentence was punctuated by a sharp scream as my hand connected with her face, leaving a perfect set of red marks. “Didn’t Felix ever tell you I have a temper?” Before the words had even settled, the door burst open. Felix rushed in, sweeping the trembling Seraphina into his protective embrace. He looked up, his eyes filled with the cold fire I knew so well. “Cecilia Vance. Apologize to Sera.” I didn’t even bother to look at him. “Your little pet was barking. I don’t like the noise.” A cold snort from above me. “So, Sera mentioned your tramp of a mother, did she? Was she wrong? She was nothing but a whore who climbed into my father’s bed.” After ten years of tearing each other apart, Felix knew exactly where to twist the knife. He knew the only thing that could still get under my skin was my mother, who had thrown herself into the sea a year ago. I finally looked up, a slow smile spreading across my face as I crumpled a napkin on the table into a tight ball. The moment he bent to comfort Seraphina, I moved. I grabbed his jaw, pried his mouth open, and shoved the wad of paper inside. To make sure it went down, I grabbed the fresh, scalding coffee and poured it right after. “I told you,” I hissed, “my mother was not a homewrecker.” “Your father forced her. He forced her to marry him.” The dark brown liquid, mixed with a smear of blood from his bitten lip, trickled down his jaw, leaving a raw, red path. Seraphina gasped in horror. Felix, however, was unfazed. He pushed his tongue against his cheek, a defiant glint in his eye. “Cecilia, you always were a piss-poor liar.” He spat the soggy, disgusting paper onto the floor, his lips curled in a sneer. “My mother’s body wasn’t even cold. The incense in her memorial hall hadn’t even burned out, and your mother was already in her nightgown, sleeping in my father’s bed!” His voice rose, raw with an undisguised, venomous hatred. “I saw it with my own eyes!” “You’re telling me that was forced? That was against her will? She was a goddamn vulture, a parasite who saw her chance and took it!” “And you, Cecilia Vance,” he spat, “you have her blood. You’re just as cheap, just as filthy.” I’d explained what really happened a thousand times, but hate had long since blinded him. The truth meant nothing. Felix released Seraphina and advanced on me, his shadow swallowing me whole. “Apologize. This is your last chance.” I tilted my head back to meet his gaze, a smile stretched across my face. My voice was clear. “In your dreams.” Felix nodded slowly, his expression blank, but his eyes darkened. “Fine. Just fine.” He didn’t say another word. He just turned, put his arm around Seraphina, and walked out. Less than half an hour later, a group of men in black suits stormed in. They moved with a practiced wariness, their eyes constantly on me as they silently, methodically, destroyed everything in sight. I recognized them as Felix’s long-time security—they remembered how terrifying I could be when I lost control. But this time, I just sat on the floor, hugging my knees. Motionless. A cold observer. I watched as the only sanctuary my mother and I ever had was reduced to a pile of wreckage. The last man left, and a dead silence descended. Dust motes danced in the shafts of dying sunlight that pierced through the shattered window. Suddenly, an uncontrollable, coppery warmth surged up from deep in my throat. I doubled over. A mouthful of hot, bright red blood splattered onto the floorboards. The color was shocking. I stared at the pool for a moment before slowly, mechanically, wiping the stain from the corner of my mouth. Oh, right. One month. The countdown had already begun. I don’t know how long I sat there. Eventually, I bent down and rummaged through the debris, pulling a half-crushed pack of damp cigarettes from under an overturned coffee table. I shook one out and lit it. The red ember glowed, a tiny spark in the deepening twilight. The smoke burned my lungs, triggering another wracking, suppressed cough. My phone screen kept flashing with the latest celebrity gossip. [Thorne Industries Heir Spends Millions on New Flame, Rumored Final Split with Infamous Stepsister.] [Seraphina Hale Flaunts Priceless Pink Diamond, Is the Tragic Heroine Finally a Thing of the Past?] The article was accompanied by a photo of Felix assembling a team of the best doctors in Silverport to treat Seraphina. The consultation fees alone were in the millions. The comments were a sea of envy, praising the beautiful couple and congratulating the heir for finally finding true love and escaping a toxic, twisted relationship. I swiped the notification away and took one last drag from the cigarette, crushing the butt on the floor. How they celebrated their love story, how they speculated about our ending—none of it mattered to me anymore. Hate takes energy. And all the energy I had left was barely enough to keep me breathing. The next day, I went to the hospital for a check-up. The doctor frowned, his brow deeply furrowed as he studied my latest scans. “Miss Vance, you need to be admitted immediately for treatment! You can’t put this off any longer!” I leaned back in the chair, feeling drained. “Just give me some painkillers.” “This is beyond what painkillers can manage! You need—” “The cheapest ones you have,” I cut him off, my eyes lifting to meet his. “I don’t have any money.” The doctor’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked into my dead, empty eyes and let out a heavy sigh, scribbling a prescription on his pad. I picked up the prescription from the pharmacy window. It was a small, flimsy plastic bag. Inside were a few blister packs of the most basic painkillers—cheap, white pills with minimal effect. But they might just be enough to dull the pain that felt like it was boring into my bones. Clutching the pathetically light bag, I walked slowly toward the exit. The sunlight was harsh, and I lifted a hand to shield my eyes. In that instant, a rough hand snatched the bag from my grasp. I stumbled, looking up to meet Felix’s mocking gaze. He dangled the bag of cheap medicine in front of him, his eyes raking over my pale face before letting out a cold sneer. “You look like death. Upset about the news? Seeing me and Sera so happy?” The searing pain in my gut left no room for a witty comeback. I just stared at the bag in his hand. “Give them back.” A provocative smile spread across his face. He opened his fingers, letting the bag drop to the dusty ground. Then, he raised his polished leather shoe and ground it under his heel. The white tablets popped from their foil casing, crushed into a fine powder mixed with grime. “Oops. Slipped,” he said, his voice dripping with false sincerity. He leaned in close, his breath hot against my ear. “But hey, if you crawl into my bed wearing one of Sera’s nightgowns, maybe I’ll call that team of doctors for you. What do you say?” He was so close, his words steeped in malice. But deep in his eyes, staring intently at me, was a flicker of something else—a longing he himself didn’t seem to recognize. I looked at him, and a very small, very quiet laugh escaped my lips. His expression shifted, thinking, perhaps, that I was about to yield. Instead, I bent down, snatched a sharp-edged rock from the ground, and hurled it with all my might at the shimmering black Maybach parked behind him. As the car alarm shrieked to life, my voice was calm, utterly devoid of emotion. “You stepped on my medicine. I smashed your car.” “We’re even.” The sudden movement was too much. The metallic taste of blood surged up my throat again. Not wanting Felix to see the pathetic sight of me spitting up blood, I staggered, trying to get away. He chased after me, his voice edged with a strange urgency. “Even? In your dreams, Cecilia! You and that mother of yours will never be able to repay what you owe mine!” I was so tired of his broken record. I spun around and slapped him, hard, three times across the face. He clutched his cheek, staring at me in disbelief. In that moment of shock, a taxi pulled up to the curb. I wrenched the door open and collapsed inside, the iron taste in my throat now impossible to suppress. “Drive!” I rasped at the driver, my voice a shattered wreck. Startled, the driver slammed his foot on the gas. Through the rear window, Felix’s dark, furious face shrank into the distance. Back home, the living room was still in ruins. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I found a clear patch on the floor and curled into a ball, wrapping my arms around myself. The agony came back in a torrential wave, more violent than ever before. Without the painkillers to buffer it, the pain was naked and sharp, like a thousand red-hot knives scraping between my bones. My vision blurred, the world doubling. In my delirium, the wreckage around me seemed to melt away. It was a sunny afternoon, many years ago. Before Felix was my stepbrother. He was just a boy who would sneak out of school, climbing the wall just to bring me a glass of ice-cold lemonade. “Cece, from now on, what’s mine is yours.” “And if anyone ever bullies you, they’ll have to go through me first!” The boy’s earnest vow still echoed in my ears, but a second later, the image shattered. It was replaced by the stark white of a memorial hall, by the black-and-white portrait of his mother. Replaced by the look in his eyes when he stared at me—a look poisoned with a hatred as deep as the sea. “You have her blood. You’re just as cheap, just as filthy!” The hate was an icicle plunged into my heart, shattering the last, fragile illusion of warmth. The agony crested again, yanking me back to reality. A violent cough tore through my chest, and I leaned forward, vomiting another spray of blood onto the floor. It was a terrifying sight. Pain. Endless, boundless pain. The double vision was getting worse; I could barely see. Curled in the cold corner, my nails scraped unconsciously against the floorboards, leaving faint white lines. Maybe I would just die here. No one would ever know. Not until the smell of my rotting body alerted the neighbors. And then Felix would find out. What would his expression be? Vindicated satisfaction? The joy of a wish finally granted? Or would he… My consciousness began to fade, the pain turning into a dull, distant throb. Just as I was about to slip into the darkness for good, my phone began to ring, a shrill, insistent sound that refused to stop. I fumbled for it, my blurry eyes barely making out the screen. An unknown number. But in some deep, forgotten corner of my heart, a tiny, pathetic spark of hope I didn’t want to acknowledge flickered to life. Could it be him? With a trembling finger, I swiped to answer, pressing the phone to my ear. My throat was thick with the taste of blood; I couldn’t make a sound. There was silence on the other end for two seconds. And then. A woman’s voice, one I would never forget, slurred but triumphant. “Cecilia Vance? It’s Seraphina.” “Felix asked me to call and let you know that the bill for the car repairs will be delivered to you tomorrow.” She let out a soft, saccharine laugh. “I heard you’re buying the cheapest painkillers these days, so you must be short on cash.” “If you can’t pay, you could always do what your mother did. Just spread your legs. I’m sure someone will be willing to foot the bill for you.” The line went dead, the dial tone a piercing shriek. Seraphina’s final words were a blunt knife, sawing back and forth on my last nerve. It seemed the last lesson hadn’t been harsh enough. She still had the audacity to provoke me. A fire of rage and hate ignited in my chest, momentarily burning away the all-consuming pain. I was dying anyway. Before I go, she deserves a real lesson. One that ensures that pretty mouth of hers can never insult my mother again. I knew which hospital Seraphina was in; Felix had booked an entire VIP floor for her. I changed into a nondescript cleaner’s uniform and blended in with the shift change, easily slipping past the heavy security. Pushing a cleaning cart, I kept my head down and moved steadily down the hall. “What are you doing here?” a guard stopped me. I pitched my voice low and raspy. “Changing the linens.” Maybe it was my deathly pale face or the scent of disinfectant clinging to me, but he just frowned and waved me through. Inside the room, Seraphina was propped up in bed, examining her still-bruised lip in a hand mirror. She looked up when she heard me enter. When she saw it was me, her pupils contracted. Her mouth opened to scream for help. Before a sound could escape, I lunged. I threw all my remaining strength into pinning her against the headboard, prying her mouth open. I emptied a bottle of industrial-grade superglue straight into it. “Mmph!” Seraphina’s eyes widened in sheer terror. She thrashed wildly, her nails digging bloody furrows into my arms. But it was too late. The adhesive reacted almost instantly. Her lips, her tongue, her teeth—all of it was sealed shut. She could no longer form a single word, only choked, desperate whimpers of agony. I let her go, watching coldly as her beautiful face twisted in a mask of fear. “Your mouth is so filthy,” I said. “Best not to use it anymore.” With that, I turned and walked away. The moment I pulled the door open, I collided with a hard chest. Felix was here. His eyes took in the scene, and his face instantly turned to stone. He shoved me aside and rushed into the room. “Sera!” I didn’t look back at the chaos. I ran. The moment the elevator doors closed, I coughed up another mouthful of blood. The last of my strength drained away with it. I knew Felix wouldn’t let this go, but I had nothing left to fight his retaliation. I used my last bit of cash to rent a single room in a rundown tenement in the city’s grimiest corner. Unable to find me, a furious Felix posted on his public social media feed: [Ten-million-dollar reward for the location of Cecilia Vance. She will pay for what she did to my fiancée.] The post included a picture of Seraphina’s horrifically sealed lips and a doctor’s official diagnosis. Silverport was in an uproar. The reward drove people mad. The ugly history of my war with Felix was dredged up all over again. My name became synonymous with “psychopath,” and my not-so-secret hiding place was quickly exposed. From then on, there was no peace. People were camped outside my door day and night, their phone cameras pointed at my window. At first, they just watched. Then, when they got no reaction, they started pounding on the door, screaming obscenities. During the brief lulls when the pain subsided, I would scream back through the thin wood. But those moments became rarer and rarer. Most of the time, I just lay on the moldy mattress, feeling my life force rapidly draining away. I don’t know how many days passed before my phone buzzed with a breaking news alert. The headline, “Thorne Industries Heir to Marry Tomorrow,” was followed by a bright red “BREAKING” tag. Tomorrow. I stared at the date, my fogged brain clearing for just a moment. That was the day my timed text was set to send. I wonder if he’ll like his wedding present. The next day, photos and videos of the wedding flooded the internet. I leaned against the cold wall, my blurry eyes fixed on the screen as he slid that priceless pink diamond onto Seraphina’s finger. The very second the ring settled on her knuckle, my own phone screen lit up. Message Sent.

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1 The company announced massive layoffs. As a senior executive, my wife, Kathy, was given one protected slot to save someone. Everyone assumed she would give it to me. But when the final list was posted, my name was at the very top. Meanwhile, Kathy’s bumbling little assistant, the one who couldn’t file a report without a dozen errors, wasn’t just safe—he was promoted three levels, straight into my old position. Later, Kathy held me and tried to explain. “Asher comes from nothing, Stewart. His entire family is counting on this salary. He needs this job more than you do.” She smiled, as if she’d solved everything. “Besides, Asher already found you a new position, right here in this building. The pay isn’t quite as good, but we can still commute together. It’s not like we need your salary anyway, so there’s no pressure.” I let out a cold laugh. She thought she had it all figured out, but she had no idea. The job Asher had “arranged” for me was as a security guard in the lobby. My colleagues were furious on my behalf, urging me to file a complaint. But I only came to this company for Kathy in the first place. With the love gone, there was no point in fighting. … The moment my resume went live, my inbox exploded with messages from headhunters. “Oh my god, I’ve been waiting for you to become available for years. I thought you were ride-or-die for your wife and would never leave. Can’t believe my lucky day has finally come.” “I’m drawing up a contract right now. Name your price. Wait for me, you HAVE to wait for me.” “Is this a prank? The grand champion of the Global Robotics Competition is looking for a job? This isn’t some kind of elaborate scam, is it?” I chose a company on the opposite coast, as far from Bayview as I could get. Soon after, my new employer called. “Mr. Hayes, we’re thrilled to have you join us. We’ll be sending a private jet to pick you up in one week.” “Great. See you in a week.” “Where are you going in a week?” Kathy’s voice came from right behind me. “Nowhere special,” I said smoothly. “Just a trip with some friends. Finally have some time off.” She bought it, simply reminding me that the celebration dinner was about to start and I needed to get ready. When we arrived at the banquet hall, a massive banner was stretched across the entrance: “CONGRATULATIONS TO ASHER REID, GRAND CHAMPION ENGINEER OF THE GLOBAL ROBOTICS COMPETITION.” I turned to Kathy, bewildered. She nervously touched her nose. “Asher’s new to the role. He needed a major award to establish his credibility.” “You were leaving anyway,” she added, “so that title was useless to you. I was just putting it to good use.” I took a deep breath, fighting down the rage building in my chest. “Putting it to good use? Kathy, have you forgotten the last three years? How much of ourselves we poured into that robot?” “You said it was like our child. Is this how you treat our child? Just give it away?” Her face hardened with impatience. “Don’t be so dramatic. It’s a product. Asher needed it more, so I gave it to him. It’s that simple.” “Stewart, why do you have to be so cruel to a poor kid who’s had a hard life? I’ve explained this. I hired him, so of course I’m going to look out for him.” “Right,” I sneered. “A high school graduate landing a job at a Fortune 500 tech giant. Perfectly normal.” Kathy was about to retort when a soft, melodic voice interrupted. “Stewart? Kathy? Are you two fighting?” I turned. It was Asher, wearing the very designer suit jacket Kathy had bought me for my birthday this year. It was even a matching set with the dress she was wearing tonight. The moment she saw him, the tension melted from her face. “Why are you waiting out here? You should be inside,” she said, her voice softening to a caress. “I wanted to wait for you,” the boy said, his eyes sparkling as he gazed at her. A smile bloomed on her lips. I ignored them and started to walk into the hall. Asher’s voice, now laced with mock surprise, stopped me. “Stewart, why aren’t you in a suit for the celebration? We have major clients here tonight. It’s not a good look for the company.” My eyes shot to him, cold as ice. “You’re wearing my suit. What else am I supposed to wear?” Asher froze. He’d clearly expected me to swallow my pride for the sake of appearances. He never imagined I’d stopped caring. He quickly started shrugging off the jacket, his voice thick with tears. “I’m so sorry, Stewart. Back home, my brothers and I all had to share one set of nice clothes. I didn’t know you city people were so… particular. I’ve just never worn anything this beautiful before.” As he spoke, he looked at Kathy, his eyes welling up with perfectly crafted hurt. Kathy’s brow furrowed. She placed a hand on his arm to stop him. “Asher didn’t have anything to wear tonight, so I lent him your jacket. There’s no need to be like this.” She sighed and turned to take my hand. “Come on, don’t be angry. My husband looks handsome in anything. He doesn’t need a stuffy suit.” It was her classic move. A slap, followed by a sweet. Problem solved. I was about to speak when Asher’s choked voice cut in. “Kathy, I’m so sorry. I think I made Stewart angry. I really didn’t know he cared so much. I should just… I’ll buy him a new one to replace it.” Kathy immediately dropped my hand and ran a comforting hand through his hair. “Oh, stop it. You’re going to cry over something so small? Your brother isn’t that petty. Now get inside, this is your big night.” And just like that, as if I no longer existed, she took his arm and led him inside to find a table. As he followed, Asher shot me a look over his shoulder, his eyes gleaming with triumph. At the table, Kathy sat next to me, but her attention was glued to Asher. Every time a new dish was brought out, she’d have the waiter place it in front of him first, urging him to try it. If he liked it, he’d puff out his cheeks and shake his head in a display of pure bliss, and she would giggle, telling the kitchen to make him another portion. Later, on my way back from the restroom, I overheard someone ask her, “Director, aren’t you worried Stewart will just walk out after you put him on the layoff list? He seems pretty down tonight.” Kathy was ladling soup into Asher’s bowl, her voice casual. “Let me put it this way. Even if I slept with Asher tonight, Stewart wouldn’t leave me. You believe that, don’t you?” Asher’s face flushed crimson from his neck to his ears. Kathy pushed the soup toward him and continued with a soft laugh. “He’s just sulking. Give him a few days. He’ll get over it.” The group around her immediately praised her for having me so well-trained. When it came time for toasts, Kathy completely abandoned me, her actual husband. She took Asher from table to table, introducing him to major clients, drinking on his behalf toast after toast. She had a terrible stomach. The slightest bit of alcohol could leave her doubled over in pain for hours. Yet for Asher, she could do this. A bitter, familiar ache tightened in my chest. In the past, I would have rushed to her side, taking the glasses from her hand. Tonight, I didn’t move an inch. Halfway through the dinner, a young female employee approached Asher’s table, holding a beautifully wrapped box of chocolates and a handwritten letter. Her cheeks were flushed as she tremblingly offered them to him as a congratulatory gift. Kathy, who was normally the picture of calm professionalism, stood up and snatched the gifts from the girl’s hands. She threw them into a nearby trash can, her voice sharp with fury. “Instead of doing your job, you’re playing these little games? You don’t have enough work to do? Fine. I’ll tell your manager to give you more. For the next month, you’re not to leave before 11 PM.” No one had ever seen Kathy lose control like that. The entire hall fell silent. The young woman ran out, sobbing. Kathy had lost control for me once, a long time ago. We met as rivals. In high school, she was the undisputed queen, number one in our year for two years straight. Then I transferred in, and on my very first exam, I took her top spot. From that day on, I became her sworn enemy. Finally, after another exam, we tied for first place. She brandished her test paper at me. “Not bad. You can almost keep up.” I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. Next time, it’s a one-man show.” We became each other’s only competition. “Stewart, what’d you get for the last question?” “Like I’d tell you.” “Jerk.” … “Kathy, how did you translate that sentence in the English essay?” “Call me ‘big sister’ and I’ll think about it.” “Get lost.” … “Stewart, are you applying to Stanford or MIT?” “What about you?” “MIT.” “Then I’m going to MIT too.” In college, we both majored in artificial intelligence. We were inseparable, still bickering every single day. Until one day, a senior confessed her feelings for me. When Kathy heard the news, she came running, still in her pajamas, one slipper missing. She stormed up to us, snatched the love letter from the girl’s hand, and threw it on the ground. Her eyes were red as she turned to me. “Stewart Hayes, will you be my boyfriend?” From that day on, we were the power couple, a perfect match. But now, all these years later, seeing her lose control like that again—but for another boy—it was like all the fight, all the energy, had been siphoned out of me. The whole thing just felt so… pointless. I stood up and walked out of the banquet hall. Kathy followed me. “Why are you angry again?” “Am I? Why would I be angry?” “It’s because I helped Asher, isn’t it?” she said. “He’s too soft. He doesn’t know how to turn girls down. I was just helping him out. You don’t have to be so petty.” “Were you helping him, or helping yourself? You know the truth. If your conscience was clear, you wouldn’t have chased me out here to explain.” I stared at her. “Kathy, even you can’t say you have no feelings for Asher without feeling like a liar.” She opened her mouth to argue, but Asher rushed out, bowing repeatedly in a frantic apology. “Stewart, this is all my fault! Please don’t fight with Kathy because of me!” “Someone like me shouldn’t have come to a place like this. Here’s your jacket. I’m leaving.” He tore off the jacket, shoved it into my hands, and then wrapped his arms around himself, his body trembling as he turned to leave. His thin shirt clung to his frail frame, making him look utterly pitiful in the cold night wind. Kathy immediately ran to his side, taking off her own coat and draping it over his shoulders. She looked back at me. “Asher lives far out. I’m going to drive him home. I’ll be back to pick you up.” She had stood me up for Asher more times than I could count. I had no expectations left. I took a cab home myself. At three in the morning, her call finally came. “Stewart? Are you still at the hotel? I’m so sorry, I had too much to drink, I forgot to…” “Kathy? Who are you calling?” Asher’s sleepy voice mumbled from the other end. “You’re restless even in your sleep. Stop it and go back to bed.” The line went dead. I laughed, a hollow, bitter sound, and hung up, refusing to let my mind wander. The next day, I went to the office to finalize my resignation. I was in Kathy’s office, waiting for her final signature, when Asher burst in. He was a complete mess, and he fell to his knees in front of me. “Stewart, if you think I stole your job, you can have it back! Just please, please tell everyone to stop isolating me!” “I was bullied my whole life,” he sobbed. “I can’t take it anymore.” He cried so pathetically. If it weren’t for the fact that there wasn’t a single bruise or scratch on him—only a strategically ripped, soaking wet shirt that clung to his abs—I might have actually believed him. But as ridiculous as the lie was, Kathy bought it. “Stewart. Apologize,” she said, her face cold. “I didn’t do anything. Why should I apologize?” Asher flinched as if I’d struck him and scurried behind Kathy. “If you didn’t do anything,” he whimpered, “then why was I disqualified from the International Robotics Competition?” “Everyone knows how you got first place anyway. It’s because you know the judges.” “But just because you have connections, does that give you the right to destroy the only chance a poor kid like me has to make it?” Kathy’s brow tightened. She turned on me. “Did you have Asher’s qualification revoked?” We had been married for over a decade, and this is what she thought of me. I met her gaze, my own eyes like chips of ice. “Before the competition, you altered the program code without authorization, causing our company’s robot to malfunction and grope a judge on stage.” “The judge gave you a low score, so you threw a tantrum in the middle of the arena, disrupting the entire event. If I hadn’t had security drag you away and then salvaged our score in the later rounds, would our company have won first place at all? For someone who so blatantly disregards the rules, being disqualified is the bare minimum.” Asher was speechless. He could only bite his lip and twist the hem of his shirt, resorting to his usual tactic. “Stewart, not everyone is as sharp and brave as you,” he choked out. “I’m just a boy from the mountains. I’m not good with words, I’ve never been to a competition that big, and I don’t know how to talk to those important people. But I do know that everyone is equal. Even if you have privilege and can take shortcuts, you can’t just block my path.” “I know you look down on me, but you can’t keep using my weaknesses to mock and humiliate me!” Kathy was furious. She signed the resignation form and threw it on the floor. Her voice rose. “Get out. Our company has no need for someone who wins through dirty tricks and maliciously suppresses new talent.” I thought I no longer cared. But hearing those words from her was like a physical blow, a heavy weight slamming into my chest. A dull ache spread through my veins, making it hard to breathe. The same woman who used to stay up all night with me, developing our projects, looking at me with awe and calling me the next star of the AI world, was now accusing me of cheating. I didn’t bother arguing. I picked up the papers from the floor, turned, and slammed the door behind me. That night, I met up with a good friend for a farewell drink. As I was looking for our private room, I heard a familiar voice. “Mom, Dad, I promise I’ll take good care of Asher.” I followed the sound and saw Kathy, locked in a deep kiss with Asher. She was dressed elegantly, clearly making a good impression on her future in-laws. So this was a family dinner for them to meet. It wasn’t that I hadn’t imagined this moment. But seeing it happen for real… it didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would. Our eyes met. Kathy’s hand trembled, and the glass of wine she was raising for a toast slipped, spilling all over the floor. Seeing her so flustered, Asher’s relatives grew even more skeptical. “Does Asher really work at a Fortune 500 company? I just don’t believe it.” “Are their standards really that low now? A high school graduate can just walk in?” Asher’s face was beet red, but no matter how he tried to explain, they wouldn’t listen. I had no desire to get involved. I turned to leave, but Kathy called out to me. “Stewart, come over here. As the junior assistant who was fired to make way for Asher, you can help verify his position.” I stared at her in disbelief. It wasn’t enough that she broke company rules to fire me; now she wanted to humiliate me like this? Meeting my gaze, a flicker of guilt crossed her face. She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “Asher’s parents are pressuring him to get married. I’m just helping him put on a show. Please, just play along.” “If you do this, I promise… we can have a baby this year.” Her words froze me to the spot. My own parents had begged us for a grandchild for years. No matter how much they pleaded, she had always been adamant about being child-free. I wanted kids, but I respected her choice. I thought it was an ironclad rule for her. But for Asher, that rule could be so easily broken. It was then I understood. Rules only apply to the people you don’t love enough. Realizing this, I let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Kathy, do you dare tell them what our relationship really is?” “Do you dare tell them that Asher is nothing but a gigolo who sleeps his way to the top?” Before I could finish, her palm cracked across my face. She had never, ever shamed me like this in public. A defiant rage surged through me. I had to tell them the truth. “Asher is nothing but a little home—” SLAP. Another one. After three or four hard slaps, my mouth was swollen and numb. I couldn’t form words anymore. Blood filled my mouth, trickling from the corner of my lips. Kathy finally seemed to register the horrific state of my face and started to step toward me. But a single, heartbroken sob from Asher made her turn back to him. She began desperately explaining things to his family, completely oblivious to me by her side, gasping for air as a full-blown asthma attack took hold. It had been years since my last attack. The accumulated stress, exhaustion, and now the force of her blows had triggered it again. It felt like a band was tightening around my lungs, squeezing the air out. I desperately tried to breathe, but it was useless. Cold sweat soaked through my shirt. The sounds of the argument around me faded into a dull roar. I tried to reach for Kathy, to get her to take me to a hospital, but she didn’t even see me. In the end, it was my friend who found me, passed out in the hallway, after I’d been gone for too long. When I woke up in the hospital, Kathy was clutching my hand, her eyes filled with guilt. “Stewart, why didn’t you call for help? If something had happened to you, what would I do?” I looked at her, my voice cold. “You were the first person I tried to get help from. But you were too busy saving Asher to even notice me.” Kathy froze, the memory of the scene flooding back. Guilt washed over her face. “I’m sorry. I was careless. It’s my fault.” “If you had seen me,” I asked, “would you really have left Asher in his predicament to save me?” She hesitated for a fraction of a second before forcing a smile. “Of course.” I gave a bitter laugh. That single moment of hesitation was the real answer. Years ago, when my asthma was at its worst, she would panic at the slightest wheeze, forcing me to get full check-ups. She carried an inhaler for me, and I carried one. One for me, and one for backup. But now, whether or not to even save my life was a question she had to pause and consider. Her choice couldn’t have been clearer. Just then, her phone rang. Asher’s tearful voice came through the speaker. “Kathy… Kathy, my parents found out the truth. They’re forcing me to quit my job and go back home. What do I do?” Kathy shot to her feet, a panic in her eyes I had never seen before. She took a step toward the door, then her gaze fell on me, and she actually hesitated. I smiled. “Go ahead.” “But you…” “Didn’t you hire a nurse for me?” Hearing that, an unmistakable look of relief and joy spread across her face. She leaned down, pressed a firm kiss on my forehead, and smiled. “I’ll be back soon.” I watched her leave, wanting to say something more, but in the end, the words wouldn’t come. The easy conversations, the unbreakable intimacy we once shared… all that was left was silence. The next day, I went home to get the divorce papers we had signed years ago out of the safe. But when I opened it, they were gone. At the same time, I received a call from the new company. “Hello, Mr. Hayes. We just need to verify a few details on your file.” “Your employment form lists your marital status as ‘married,’ but our background check shows that you were recently divorced.” The voice on the other end was polite and clear.

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While tidying my husband’s suit, I felt a neatly folded paper in his pocket. It was a notice from a private academy—not our daughter’s. Unfolding it, I saw the student’s name: Leo Foster. The parent’s name: Mark Foster. My husband is Mark Foster. I drove straight to the school, entered the office, and introduced myself as Leo’s parent. The teacher said, “Leo’s parents just left. They can’t be far.” I followed her direction and soon saw him: my husband, holding a little boy’s hand with one arm, the other around a strange woman’s waist, laughing softly. I called him, my voice calm. “When will you be home?” He sounded startled. “This trip might take three or four days.” I hung up, lifted my phone, and took a clear, damning photo of the three. “Mark,” I whispered. “I’m keeping this little surprise.” 01 The next day, I attended the school’s parent-teacher mixer in my capacity as a major shareholder. It didn’t take long to spot her, Lisa, working the room in a simple white dress. Her makeup was understated, her demeanor gentle and elegant. I walked straight up to her and stopped at her side. “Ms. Vance, I presume? I’ve heard so much about you. That dress is quite striking.” She turned at the sound of my voice. The instant she saw me, the color drained from her face. I smiled inwardly. This delicate flower wasn’t as innocent as she looked. Her voice was tight as she took an unconscious half-step back. “Hello… it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Just a simple greeting and she was already a bundle of nerves. So much for poise. “My husband is one of the school’s investors,” I said smoothly. “I’m here on his behalf today. I hear you’re on the PTA committee.” Her voice returned to normal, but her eyes darted nervously. “I just do what I can.” “It’s good to find the time to do something meaningful for the children,” she added. “Otherwise, being a stay-at-home mom just means your whole world revolves around your husband and kids.” Perfect. A little jab at my current “unemployed” status while burnishing her own image. I noticed her unconsciously rubbing the ring on her fourth finger. The design was identical to the one in my jewelry box at home. My tone was casual, but my words were a scalpel. “That’s a beautiful ring. It looks expensive. Is it your wedding band?” She instinctively tried to hide her hand, her expression turning to one of sheer panic. She opened her mouth, but only a choked, trembling sound came out. I didn’t expect an answer. “Your son attends school here, I take it? What grade is he in?” She answered cautiously. “The… the second grade. He’ll be eight in August.” Eight in August. I did the math in my head. What a coincidence. Nine years ago, Mark had claimed he needed to “expand the company’s regional markets” and started taking frequent, lengthy business trips. For over six months, he was home for less than two weeks total. Suddenly, it all made sense. Back then, our daughter Sophie had just been born. He was either “at a business dinner” or “on his way to one.” The rare times we spoke on the phone, it was always rushed. “You’re working so hard, honey. I’m swamped over here, can’t get away… Just do your best… hire a good nanny…” I was so afraid of distracting him from work, I shouldered everything myself, no matter how exhausted or overwhelmed I was. I always just told him, “Everything’s fine.” It turned out his “business dinners” and being “swamped” were just code for being by Lisa’s side full-time while she was pregnant. I took a slow sip of my coffee, hiding the arctic chill in my eyes. When I looked up, my polite smile was perfectly in place. “What a coincidence. My daughter is about the same age.” She forced a weak smile and said nothing. As if suddenly remembering something, I pulled a brochure from my purse. “Last week, I found this school newsletter in my husband’s briefcase. That suggestion you wrote in the back? Such lovely handwriting.” I watched the last vestiges of color drain from her cheeks. Her voice was a dry rasp. “That… that wasn’t me.” A denial. Pathetic. Seeing her reaction, I suddenly lost interest. “Oh, I must be mistaken then. It was a pleasure to meet you. I do hope you manage to keep up appearances.” I turned and walked out of the event, pulling out my phone to call my best friend, a founding partner at a top-tier law firm. “Betty, I need a favor.” The sunlight was blinding as I opened my car door. The soft purr of the engine was like a sigh marking the start of a play. My voice was as calm as still water. “Drop the case you were working on for me. I need you to draw up divorce papers.” “Yes, Mark is cheating. And I’m about to give him a gift he’ll never forget.” 02 Betty was ruthlessly efficient. Less than half a day later, an encrypted file landed in my inbox. The attached note was brief: “Take a deep breath after you read this. Call me anytime.” I locked myself in the study to get reacquainted with the man I married. I opened the first video file. It was security footage from a beach resort. Three months ago, on Children’s Day, Mark had told me he was attending a “closed-door executive retreat.” In reality, he was on a beach vacation with Lisa and Leo. They were the picture of a happy family. An abandoned stuffed animal, stepped on in the sand, was the same one he brought home as a gift for our daughter. My face was a mask as I fast-forwarded and clicked on the next file. Bank statements. Massive sums of money moved between several accounts, the cumulative total so large it made my chest ache. The final destination was a private account ending in 8741. The account holder: Lisa Vance. He’d been quietly transferring assets under the guise of “consulting fees.” Did he really think I was so stupid I’d never find out? At the bottom of the file was a scanned copy of an insurance policy. The policyholder was Mark. The insured was the boy, Leo. The beneficiary was Lisa. The policy was taken out five years ago. The premium, paid in a lump sum, matched the exact amount we’d received from mortgaging one of our investment properties. He told me at the time he was investing in a project with “incredible potential.” A chill spread from my fingertips to my heart. In that moment, I finally understood. The sharpest blades are always wielded by those you trust the most. As I stared blankly at the screen, a knock came at the door, followed by Mark’s gentle voice. “Grace? Why is the door locked?” I quickly closed the windows, took a deep breath, and composed my face into an impeccable mask before opening the door. “Just having a private chat with Betty. I locked it out of habit.” He didn’t seem suspicious. “About Children’s Day in a couple of days, I might…” I laughed coldly to myself. “Another business trip, right? Sophie’s school doesn’t have an event this year. I was planning on taking her to my mom’s for a couple of days anyway.” A look of profound relief washed over his face. “Honey, you’re so understanding.” I looked at this face, so familiar yet so alien, and my stomach churned. Understanding? Oh, yes. Understanding enough to let you have your cake and eat it too. But you have no idea just how “understanding” I can be. As I watched my husband walk away, a line from one of Betty’s audio files echoed in my mind. “…I’ve cooked the books. When we leave the country and the debts come due, the creditors will go straight to Grace…” This wasn’t just an affair. This was a calculated plot to plunder and frame me. He was no longer the earnest young man I had built an empire with from scratch. He was a wolf, feeding his other family with my blood, sweat, and tears. A predator lying in wait beside me, patiently biding his time to devour me whole. I picked up my phone and called Betty. “Change of plans. Put the divorce on hold. I want you to compile every piece of criminal evidence you can find on him first. I want him to know what it feels like to fall from the heavens and lose everything.” There was a moment of silence on the other end, followed by the soft rustle of paper. “I was hoping you’d say that. What you have is just the tip of the iceberg. Besides the fraudulent loans, he’s embezzled company funds and there are major irregularities with the corporate foundation he set up. This gives us a lot to work with, but it will take some time… He’s going to be in a world of hurt.” “And don’t worry, we’ll find out who’s been helping him. We’re already working on the company’s accounting issues.” After hanging up, I opened the photo of his “perfect family” again. My finger touched the screen, the cold glass a barrier between our worlds. 03 On Children’s Day, I drove to the private academy once again. As soon as I parked, a message from Mark popped up: [Have you made it to Grandma’s yet?] Of course. He needed to confirm my whereabouts. I emotionlessly sent him a pre-recorded video. In it, Sophie was happily jumping around her grandmother’s yard, smiling sweetly at the camera. [Daddy, we’re here! Finish your work soon so you can come play with us!] His reply was almost instant: [Okay, sweetie. Have fun.] It was followed by a sickeningly fake heart emoji. I turned off my phone, a wave of nausea rolling through me. Once trust is broken, every subsequent gesture, no matter how well-intentioned, feels like a farce. As a shareholder, I had no trouble gaining access to the school’s celebration. It didn’t take long to find them in the crowd. Lisa was clearly dressed to impress today in a new season Chanel suit, a diamond necklace glittering at her throat. The design was nearly identical to one in my safe—a piece Mark had told me was a “one-of-a-kind custom design.” Even the heels she wore were the same brand I favored, just in a different color. She was on stage, giving a speech as a representative of the PTA, her posture elegant, her voice confident and clear. Below, Mark was patiently playing a game with the boy, Leo. He was crouched on the ground, his eyes filled with a focus and gentleness I had never seen him show our daughter, carefully helping the boy keep his balance. A few parents gathered around, offering sycophantic praise. “Mr. Foster really knows how to balance work and family.” “It’s true. Ms. Vance is so capable, and Mr. Foster is such a dedicated family man. Leo is a lucky boy.” “Mr. Foster is a major shareholder, you know. I heard he just made another large donation for the library renovation.” He smiled and nodded, accepting their flattery, the picture of success. Occasionally, he would glance up at Lisa on stage, their eyes meeting in a look of deep, shared affection. A perfect family, a successful career, the admiration of his peers. He was basking in it. My fingernails dug deep into my palms. Do you remember, Mark? The winter our heat went out, and we stayed up all night, wrapped in blankets, rewriting business proposals. The time you were hospitalized with a bleeding ulcer from schmoozing investors, and I ran between home and the hospital, learning how to prepare liquid meals. The time your reckless expansion broke the company’s capital chain, and I used the house my parents gave me as collateral to keep us afloat. When our first big check came in, you held me and said, “Grace, I will never let you down.” And now, you’re using the wealth we built together to pave the way for your other family, to put on a show for your illegitimate son, donating libraries to buy yourself a reputation. Just then, the principal smilingly invited Mark to the stage. On the large screen behind him, a stunning 3D rendering of the new library appeared. He took the microphone and began to eloquently describe the design philosophy and future plans for the library, soaking in the admiration from the audience. And in that precise moment, at the absolute peak of his self-satisfaction, his smile relaxed and genuine. The doors to the auditorium were suddenly thrown open. Several uniformed police officers walked in. The entire room fell silent, every parent and teacher frozen in place. The lead officer held up his badge and a warrant. “Mark Foster, you are under investigation for embezzlement, misappropriation of funds, and the illegal transfer of marital assets. You are now required to accompany us to the station for questioning.”

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I had a child with Liam North, the most powerful man in Capital City. Everyone assumed I would use the baby to blackmail him into marrying me. But ten days after giving birth, I left the city, alone. Liam chased me to the train station, clutching our child, his eyes red-rimmed and desperate. “Julia Rivers, you don’t want me. Fine. But now you’re abandoning your own child, too?” A single tear escaped my eye, but I didn’t turn back. I stared at the vast, empty freedom of the sky and said calmly, “That’s right. I’m done with you. And I’m done with our child.” 1 After I said those words, Liam, holding our wailing, swaddled infant, turned and walked away. A man of his stature, his pride. For him to chase me to a public train station was already a stunning concession. But this wasn’t the first time we had separated. We broke up once before, three years ago. The day before that breakup, we were in his opulent penthouse office. On the sprawling mahogany desk that was worth more than my childhood home. He undressed me, his movements slow and deliberate, piece by piece. I lay back on the cool wood, my eyes squeezed shut in a wave of shame and anticipation. Liam leaned over me, his lips brushing against mine. “Do you know, Julia,” he murmured. “Every time you walk in here to give me a report… I only have one thought.” “To take you, right here, on this desk.” 2 That afternoon, the lock on his office door was bolted. His private secretary and personal assistant stood guard outside. For three solid hours. When he finally lifted me from the desk, my body was spent. He carried me to the immense floor-to-ceiling windows. We were in a skyscraper at the very heart of Capital City’s glittering, exorbitant CBD. From this height, the world below was a scattering of ants. “Julia.” Liam held me from behind, his hot kisses trailing along my ear. “Your birthday’s coming up. What do you want?” My fingers left damp streaks on the cool glass. My reflection stared back—a face flushed with passion, eyes shimmering with unshed tears. The reflection trembled, vibrated with the relentless, quickening rhythm of his body against mine. Finally, the dam broke, and the tears spilled, rolling down my cheeks. I reached back, my hand finding his, our fingers lacing together in a desperate grip. “Liam, all I want is to be with you.” I thought I heard a low chuckle. He turned me in his arms, pulling me tight against his chest. “Silly girl. Aren’t we already together?” 3 I was a silly girl. It wasn’t until his engagement was about to be announced that I learned he’d been seeing his fiancée for a year. During that year, he flew to Paris constantly. They weren’t business trips. He was visiting his future wife. The day I handed in my resignation, the sky was a heavy, oppressive gray. I stood before that same mahogany desk, my eyes fixed on the tips of my shoes. Liam’s expression was dark. He refused to sign the papers. I didn’t rush him. Instead, I started talking about the past. “Do you remember that accident two years ago?” “The Calloway family went bankrupt, and their youngest son hired thugs to get revenge on you.” “I took a knife for you.” I managed a smile, looking up at him through my swollen eyes. “You said you’d grant me one wish, that you’d never go back on your word.” “I never knew what to ask for.” “But I know now, Liam.” “Let’s end this. Let’s break up for good.” His gaze was intense, unreadable. The expensive fountain pen in his long fingers bled a dark pool of ink onto the crisp white paper. Finally, he spoke. “Julia Rivers.” He said my name, and nothing else. Then he looked down and signed. He pushed the resignation letter across the desk toward me. I picked it up, glanced at his signature, and gave a small, formal bow. “Thank you, Mr. North.” 4 Resignation. Breakup. Packing my bags and moving back to my hometown. Once the dust had settled, I started working again. I went on dates. I thought I would never see Liam North again. But two years later, our paths crossed. It was summer again in Capital City. The heat was suffocating. I’d just indulged in a second ice cream cone to cool down. I turned around, and there he was, striding toward me, surrounded by an entourage. After a brief, dizzying moment of shock, I composed myself, lowered my head, and tried to melt into the crowd. The conference hall was massive, packed with people. I was just a junior employee. No one would notice me. But he walked straight toward me. His bodyguards and assistant intercepted the sycophants trying to get his attention. In the center of that vast hall, the man in the bespoke black suit stood, an aloof and unapproachable god. The room fell silent. I kept my head down. I didn’t speak. I didn’t look at him. After what felt like an eternity, Liam took a step forward. He reached out and took the half-melted ice cream cone I was hiding behind my back. “Aren’t you afraid of cramps anymore?” 5 A collective gasp rippled through the crowd, then silence fell again. Liam wiped his hands clean. His gaze was steady. “Go wait for me in my car.” If it weren’t for the engagement ring on my left hand, if I hadn’t just ended a video call with my fiancé twenty minutes earlier, I might have believed that the last two years had never happened. That Liam and I had never been apart. That I was still in this city, young and reckless, consumed by a love that demanded everything. But the illusion lasted only a second. I looked up, my smile polite and professional. “I’m sorry, Mr. North, but I have to get back to work.” He didn’t get angry, but his voice dropped several degrees. “Julia.” “Don’t push me.” I took a deep breath. “I apologize, Mr. North. I have work to do.” The silence was so absolute you could hear a pin drop. Even his secretary of ten years shot me a look of disbelief. My face was a calm mask, but my back was drenched in sweat. Having been by his side for so long, I knew the depths of his power. The scandal that had nearly destroyed my family years ago… he had made it disappear with a single phone call. To defy him so publicly was practically a death wish. But then, a low laugh escaped his lips. “Julia Rivers. I never knew you could hold such a grudge.” After that, he didn’t press me further. But it seemed I had soured his mood. He turned and left the conference hall, his entourage trailing behind him. 6 I spent the next three days in a state of anxiety. Nothing happened. I allowed myself to relax, just a little. But on the day I was scheduled to leave the city, I got a call from my fiancé, Leo. “Julia, who in God’s name did you piss off?” “Why are they doing this to me?” “My friends, my family… they invested everything they had in my company. Their life savings, Julia! It’s all gone…” “I’m begging you, go to him, whoever he is. Ask him to let me go. Please.” “If he won’t… Julia, I don’t see any other way out. I’ll have to jump…” Leo’s voice was a hysterical, broken thing, a mix of sobs and laughter. I clutched the phone, a deathly chill spreading through my veins. It took me a long moment to find my voice. “Leo,” I whispered, “who is this man?” “All I know is his last name is Saxon. He’s some kind of executive secretary.” A hot tear splashed onto my phone screen. Mr. Saxon. Liam North’s right-hand man. His shadow for the past decade. 7 It was a sweltering summer night in Capital City. The ten o’clock breeze was still warm. The black sedan was understated but screamed luxury. It moved silently through the decadent, glittering night. I felt like I was back in another time, years ago. It had been Mr. Saxon who picked me up then, too. I was only twenty-one. I walked into the suite and saw Liam wearing nothing but a towel. I was so scared I nearly burst into tears. He had found it amusing, and had even tried to comfort me. Now I was twenty-six. I had an engagement ring on my finger. I had a fiancé. I was about to start a new life. But I knew that after tonight, all of it would turn to ash. Liam was on the terrace, smoking, dressed in a navy silk robe. I walked into the suite without a word and went straight to the bathroom. When I emerged, I was wearing nothing at all. Liam extinguished his cigarette and leaned against the railing, his eyes traveling over me. He studied me for a long moment. Then he shook his head with a soft sigh. “You’ve lost weight.” I looked at him, my expression numb. “Liam, just do what you want.” “And when you’re done, please, just let my fiancé go.” “Julia, begging me for another man’s sake will only make me angrier.” His eyes were cold as they dropped to my hand. “Get rid of that thing.” I immediately pulled the ring off my finger and tossed it into the trash without a second glance. Liam’s expression softened slightly. “Come here.” I walked to him. He reached out, his hand tracing the line of my cheek before trailing slowly, deliberately, downwards. The moonlight spilled over the silver curves of my body, a soft, ethereal white. But that white was soon bruised and broken. I turned my face away, staring into the gentle night. Tears fell in silent streams. It wasn’t until he bit down, his teeth breaking the skin, that I cried out, a soft whimper of pain. Only then did he gather me into his arms, a flicker of something like tenderness in his eyes. “Don’t be so stubborn.” “If you’d just ask me nicely, like you used to, is there anything I wouldn’t give you?” He whispered this as he pressed me against the cold glass of the window. “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I saw you at the conference.” His grip on my hips was merciless. I struggled instinctively, but he held me fast, his voice a cold command. “If you don’t want him to die, you’ll behave.” I went still. A moment later, he seemed displeased again. He slapped me, not hard, but enough to sting. “You know how I like you.” 8 By the time Liam carried me back to the bed, I was boneless, completely drained. But he was far from finished, his body pressing down on mine, ready for more. I closed my eyes, my voice a raw whisper. “I’m so tired, Liam…” In the dim light, he loomed over me. He pinched my chin. “Alright. I’ll let you off for tonight.” He stood and started toward the bathroom. I forced myself to sit up. Liam lit a cigarette, watching as I struggled out of bed and retrieved my clothes from the sofa. The warmth in his eyes slowly turned to ice. “What are you doing?” “I’m leaving.” I kept my eyes down, pulling on my clothes piece by piece. “Leaving to where?” “Home.” A cold laugh. “Still so naive.” My hand trembled, but I didn’t stop. I zipped up my dress and bent to put on my shoes. Liam crushed the half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray, the red ember disintegrating into dust. “Julia Rivers.” I turned and walked toward the door, pretending not to hear him. He didn’t say another word. He didn’t try to stop me. Downstairs, a maid and a driver were waiting. They were perfectly polite. “Miss Rivers. Mr. North instructed us to drive you.” I numbly nodded. Liam’s driver took me to the airport and left. Even as I boarded the plane, I felt like I was in a dream. He had let me go. Just like that. I didn’t realize then, even after all our time together, just how little I understood the true depths of Liam North’s cruelty. 9 I thought that after that night, my engagement to Leo would be broken, and Liam would leave him alone. I never imagined it was only the beginning. Leo’s small company was plagued by one disaster after another. Liam’s people played with him like a cat with a mouse. Just when Leo was on the brink of collapse, they would offer a sliver of hope, pulling him back from the edge. Then, just as he was catching his breath, they would strike again, harder than before. After several rounds of this, Leo finally broke. He tried to end his life. He was lucky. Someone found him in time. He survived. I went to the hospital, but I didn’t go into his room. I just gave the fruit and gifts I’d brought to his parents. As I was leaving, I got a call from Mr. Saxon. “Miss Rivers. Mr. North asked me to inquire when you will be returning to Capital City.” I stood under the scorching summer sun, my clothes stuck to my skin with sweat, yet I felt as if I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. But even then, in my foolish pride, I refused to bow. “I’m not coming back.” Mr. Saxon said nothing and hung up. Maybe Liam realized that using Leo was no longer an effective way to control me. Or maybe he decided that tormenting a woman this way was beneath him. After that call, things were quiet for months, all the way through the fall. My parents were still sad about Leo, but with time, they started trying to set me up on dates again. That winter, Liam North got married. His bride was the French heiress. The day I heard the news, the weather was grim, just like the day I had broken up with him. Their wedding was a quiet affair, for reasons I didn’t know. Not a single photo was leaked to the press. On my way home from work, I bought a cup of hot soup from a street vendor and sat on a bench, eating it bite by bite. Toward the end, it started to taste unusually salty. I looked down and saw tiny ripples forming in the last of the broth. I touched my cheek, surprised to find it wet. I hadn’t even realized I was crying. 10 That night, I was sitting on the sofa with my parents after my shower when my phone buzzed with a call from an unknown number. I ignored it. A moment later, a text came through. [Julia. Are you coming down, or am I coming up?] A cold sweat broke out on my back. The phone buzzed again. I silenced it, excused myself to my room, and answered. It was Liam’s voice. “Liam, what the hell do you want?” I whispered, unable to keep the rage from my voice. “I missed you, Julia.” I was stunned. I started to hang up. “If you don’t come, I’ll have to pay your parents a visit.” I glanced toward the living room. I could hear the TV, the sound of my parents laughing. My heart felt like it was being squeezed by those sounds, a tight, aching pain. “I’ll be down.” “Good. I’ll wait.” I threw on a coat, made an excuse to my parents, and slipped out. Liam’s car was parked in the shadows of the trees down the street. I pulled my coat tight, glanced around like a thief, and hurried to it. The back window was lowered a few inches. Liam was lounging inside. His eyes found my face as I approached, and a slow smile spread across his lips. “Get in.” “If you have something to say, you can say it from here.” He didn’t argue. “Fine. Then I’ll come out.” The door opened. The next thing I knew, he had me pinned against the car, his hand cupping my jaw. His kiss was a torrent, hot and smelling of alcohol. I struggled, trying not to make a sound. In the chaos, my hand flew up and slapped him across the face. My nails, which I’d just started to grow out, left three thin, red scratches on his jaw. He released me abruptly, his expression hardening. I was terrified. I stumbled back. He touched the scratches on his face, his eyes narrowing. Just as I braced myself for him to hit me back, a slow, dangerous smile curved his lips. “Julia, you can either get in this car with me, or we can do this right here, right now.” “The choice is yours. And you know I’m a man of my word.”

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Barry Roosevelt and I both lived in a world of silence. His, the result of a car accident that shattered his world and drove him to the edge of suicide. We met on the hospital rooftop. We fell in love there. And together, we weathered five years of a world filled with malice. He signed to me once, his hands firm and deliberate: Barry Roosevelt will always be true to Rowan. Then came the second accident. By some miracle, the crash restored what the first one had taken. He could hear, he could speak. He became a rising star in the city’s elite circle. And still, he told me his promise was forever. But at his birthday party, thinking I was still locked in my silent world, he finally spoke his heart to a friend. “She saw me at my absolute worst. And she’s deaf… frankly, it’s embarrassing to take her out.” “I’d rather she just disappeared. That way, I could remember her fondly forever.” But he didn’t know the truth— To give him the will to live, I had been pretending to be deaf for five long years. 1 The night of his birthday party, Barry introduced me to all his old friends. Knowing I couldn’t hear, he took the time to teach them a few basic signs, just so they could look me in the eye and gesture, “Good to meet you.” I felt a blush creep up my neck, clutching my glass of juice and sitting obediently by his side. But my mind was racing, trying to find the perfect moment to finally tell him my secret. It would be my thirtieth birthday gift to him. Barry was in his element, throwing back drink after drink, a grin plastered on his face that he couldn’t have wiped off if he tried. He moved through the crowd, laughing with friends, getting dragged into a rowdy karaoke song. The party was alive, and I was genuinely happy for him. He was born to be a golden boy, a man without flaws. Now that he was whole again, a coveted new player in the city’s high society, the old looks of pity and scorn had transformed into awe and envy. My Barry was finally reborn. I watched him, timing the rhythm of the party. When he finally collapsed onto the sofa next to me, flushed and breathless from the celebration, I gently tugged on his sleeve. He turned, his smile soft and indulgent, and began to sign. “Rowan, are you tired?” I shook my head, signing back, “I have something to tell you. It’s important!” Barry nodded, about to take my hand and lead me out of the private room, but one of his friends threw an arm over his shoulder. “Hey, where do you think you’re going? The night’s still young!” The guy wasn’t letting go. Barry pointed to me, and then, remembering I supposedly couldn’t hear, he spoke and signed simultaneously. “Rowan has something to tell me. I’m just stepping out with her for a minute.” I glanced from him to the rest of the room. Everyone was still riding the high of the party. I thought for a moment, then shook my head at Barry. “It can wait. You’re all finally together. You should enjoy it.” Seeing my signs, a slow smile spread across Barry’s face. He reached out and ruffled my hair, murmuring aloud, “My Rowan is the sweetest.” He didn’t sign it. But it was a simple enough phrase that I could easily read his lips. His effortless compliments, his public displays of affection—they always made me blush, forcing me to duck my head to hide the heat in my cheeks. And whenever I did, his smile only grew wider. “Rowan is cutest when she’s shy,” he’d tease. He loved to do that. He knew his words turned my face crimson, yet he delighted in it, insisting it was when I was most adorable. His friend next to him seemed intrigued. “Man, are you really going all in on this pure love thing? Are you seriously planning to marry her?” Barry leaned back slightly at the question, turning his head so I could only see his profile. I couldn’t make out the shape of his lips anymore. For someone who can’t hear, if you can’t see their lips, the world goes completely silent. His movement was deliberate. He didn’t want me to understand this conversation. What was he about to say? More sweet nothings that would make me blush? My mind raced with possibilities. Barry paused, considering the question, then answered his friend in earnest. “Rowan’s a good person. Over the past five years, I fell apart more times than I can count, and she was always there. I’m grateful to her. I love her.” “But she was born deaf and mute. The kind that can’t be fixed.” “She also witnessed the absolute lowest point of my life. Every time I see her, every time I have to use sign language, it drags me right back to that hell. To be honest, it’s suffocating.” “But that’s not even the worst part. The thing is, I’m back on my feet now. The Roosevelt family is making a name for itself again. If word gets out that I married a deaf woman… can you imagine the whispers? The old sharks in the business world would laugh me out of the room.” “If I’m being honest, I wish she had just vanished after I recovered. If she had, I think I could have cherished her memory forever. The kind you never forget.” His friend looked stunned, as if he never expected those words to come out of Barry’s mouth. “So… you don’t want to marry her?” Barry shook his head. “I’ll marry her. She gave me five years of her life, after all.” As he said it, he reached over and squeezed my hand, his eyes still brimming with that familiar, all-consuming love. A love so convincing, it was impossible to tell if any of it was real. My face remained a calm mask, but my heart was hammering against my ribs. A sharp, indescribable pain bloomed in my chest. Because I had heard every single word. 2 I’ve been keeping a secret from Barry for five years. I was never deaf or mute. I first met him the day my parents went hiking and never came back. A freak accident. I spent a day and a night outside the operating room, then another half a month camped outside the ICU. But they never woke up. In the span of 24 hours, the only two people on earth who shared my blood were gone. The blow was catastrophic. I cried until I passed out, again and again. After one of those fainting spells, I woke up and found I couldn’t speak. The doctor told me it was a conversion disorder. My body, trying to protect itself from overwhelming trauma, had shut down my ability to speak. He said it was temporary. It would probably come back in a few months. Crushed by the dual tragedies, I was lost in a fog of grief. Needing to breathe, I made my way to the hospital rooftop. And that’s where I found Barry, standing on the ledge, ready to jump. I lunged, grabbing him and pulling him back from the brink. We both tumbled to the rough concrete. My arm scraped against the ground, a raw, bloody patch that stung so badly it made me gasp. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t scream at him, so I just pointed at him, then at myself. As he stared back, bewildered, I scrambled to my feet and drew a huge, angry ‘X’ in the air, gesturing toward the edge of the roof. He understood. Don’t do it. A bitter smile twisted his lips, his eyes utterly devoid of light. But he had lost his nerve. He slumped to the ground, the courage for a second attempt gone. He picked up a small piece of gravel and began to scratch words onto the rooftop floor. [You shouldn’t have saved me. It took everything I had to build up the courage to jump, and now it’s all gone.] I read his words, then smacked him lightly on the back of the head and snatched the stone from his hand. [The world is full of pain. You can’t just run from it. Unless you truly have nothing and no one left to live for, then go ahead, jump again.] I knew he couldn’t. I could see it in his eyes. He was trapped in his own private hell, flirting with the idea of escape through death, but a part of him was screaming for someone to pull him out of the abyss. I wanted to be that person. Saving a life felt like something I could do for my parents, a small offering in their memory. And so, we met. I learned that Barry had been a golden boy, a prince in his own world, until a car accident had stolen his hearing and his voice. The doctors said the chances of recovery were slim. The fall from grace was more than he could bear. And because I couldn’t speak, he saw me as one of his own. He pushed everyone else away, but he let me in, finding solace in a shared misery. To keep him alive, I told him a kind lie. I wrote it down for him: “I was born this way. I’ve never heard a sound or spoken a word. You have it better than me. So you have to live. You have to wait for your miracle.” A white lie can make a flower bloom in the desert. Back then, Barry desperately needed someone to share his pain, someone to walk beside him in the darkness. And there I was. We met on that rooftop. I saved him. We became friends. Day by day, our friendship deepened into something more. And on that same rooftop, he confessed his feelings for me. He signed, his hands trembling slightly, “I thought the world was a terrible place, but then I met you. Rowan, even if I stay like this forever, as long as I have you by my side, life won’t be so hard. Because I have you.” He also promised: Barry Roosevelt will always be true to Rowan. The sunset that day was breathtaking, its warm glow wrapping around him like a halo. He stood in the light, held out his hand, and promised me a lifetime. My heart surrendered. I fell completely and hopelessly in love with the boy in front of me. But our life together wasn’t easy. We were a deaf couple in a hearing world, and we endured more than our share of condescending stares and cruel jokes. The same people who had envied him before now took pleasure in mocking and tormenting him. Through five years of malice, we never let go of each other’s hand. I truly believed he was my destiny. We could face any hardship, even a lifetime of it, as long as we were together. Until the second car accident. He was no longer trapped in silence. His voice was beautiful, a rich, warm sound that made my heart flutter every time he spoke. I was ready to tell him everything, to finally share my secret. But I never imagined that the five years I spent by his side had become the heaviest burden he carried. It wasn’t disappointment I felt, or sadness. It was a profound sense of sorrow. I remembered an old saying—that many people can endure hardship together, but few can share success. It was the ugly, simple truth of human nature. And in that moment, for Barry and me, it became devastatingly real. A wave of nausea washed over me. When he reached out to pull me into an embrace, I shoved him away, hard. Without a second glance, I turned and fled from the room. If his love wasn’t pure, then I didn’t want it at all. 3 My silent departure was a public humiliation for him, and Barry was furious. He sent me a text: [Those were my best friends at the party tonight. You just running off like that, without a word… it made me look like an idiot. Forget it. Just take some time to cool off. I won’t be coming home for a few days.] I stared at the words, a bitter irony twisting in my gut. The old Barry, if he’d seen me leave like that, would have been consumed with worry. He would have been terrified that something was wrong, that I was in trouble. He would have stayed by my side until he saw me smile again. But now, his first instinct wasn’t concern. It was shame. My chest felt tight, constricted, like a massive stone was crushing my lungs, making it hard to breathe. I was drowning in my own sorrow. But the phone in my hand buzzed again, a notification. Barry and I both used social media to post snippets of our lives, a silent way of sharing our days, even if no one was watching. He had just posted an update. I couldn’t stop myself. Like a form of self-torture, I tapped the notification. The photos showed him and a group of friends at the beach. Everyone was beaming, their joy uninhibited. In one shot, Barry had his arm slung around the neck of a girl I didn’t recognize, a beer bottle in his other hand. He looked completely free, without a single worry in the world. Certainly no worry for me. He was happy. In that moment, our worlds were polar opposites. 4 Barry was desperate for release. For five long years, he had endured countless whispers and sneers. Now that he was whole again, he wanted to shout it from the rooftops, to make sure the entire world knew he was no longer broken. For the next two weeks, he was a whirlwind of social events. His feed was a constant stream of updates. Beach parties, exclusive clubs, lavish galas and charity balls—he was everywhere. I found myself in a masochistic routine: open the app, zoom in on the pictures, study every detail, then close it. I was trying to wear down the love still clinging to my heart, to collect enough disappointment to finally walk away for good. After five years together, I knew his circle of friends inside and out. Even the ones I’d never met felt familiar from the stories we’d shared. I could have picked them out of a crowd. So when I saw the same unfamiliar girl in picture after picture, always by his side, a girl he had never once mentioned to me, I knew. We were drifting apart, faster and further than I had realized. As I sat numbly on the sofa, a video call from my friend Chloe popped up on my screen. “Rowan! There’s this gala the day after tomorrow, and my dad is forcing me to go. I don’t want to find a date. Please, please come with me?” Chloe was my rock. She came from a wealthy family but had none of the arrogance. Her laugh was loud and infectious, a burst of sunshine that could light up any room. We had also met at the hospital. During that time when I couldn’t speak, even simple things were a struggle. Trying to get a nurse’s attention in a busy ward was impossible. I would just stand there, helpless and frustrated. Chloe had been passing by and saw my distress. She helped me, and we became fast, true friends. She even learned sign language for me. Watching her form the clumsy, hesitant signs on the screen now brought a warmth to my chest. I really didn’t want to go out, but the pleading in her eyes was too much to resist. I finally nodded. I never expected to see Barry at the gala. He was dressed in a sharp tuxedo, a stunningly beautiful woman in a designer gown holding his arm. The moment she saw me, her eyes narrowed with an undisguised hostility. It was her. The girl from all the photos. Barry’s face tightened. “Rowan, what are you doing here?” He had started to raise his hands to sign, but in the crowded, opulent ballroom, he seemed to think better of it. He dropped his hands, a forced, unnatural smile on his face as he spoke the words aloud. “Well, well, Mr. Roosevelt,” a voice boomed from nearby. It was the CEO of a rival company, a man who loved to get under Barry’s skin. “As I recall, your fiancée is… a mute, isn’t she? Oh, that’s right, deaf and mute, just like you were. If you don’t sign to her, how on earth will she know what you’re saying?” We had been through this before. But back then, while the taunts stung, we ignored them, treating them as the pathetic ramblings of a bitter man. Not this time. A dark flush of shame crept up Barry’s neck. He grabbed my arm, yanking me into a secluded corner, his hands flying in a series of sharp, angry signs. He signed, “You threw a tantrum the other week, and I gave you space to cool off. I thought you would be good, like you always are. I can’t believe you’d show up here without telling me. Do you have any idea how embarrassing this is for me?” Embarrassing for him? I struggled to process the word. I was just… here. I hadn’t come with him. I was dressed appropriately. I hadn’t caused a scene. And yet, my mere presence was enough to make him feel ashamed. The shock must have been written all over my face. Barry let out a long sigh, a flicker of regret in his eyes. He looked like he was about to say more, to soften the blow, but before he could raise his hands again, the woman in the red dress glided over. She beamed, waving a perfectly manicured hand at me. “Hello, Rowan! I’m Isabelle. I’m a friend of Barry’s. I’ve heard so much about you.” She then clapped a hand over her mouth in mock horror, looking at Barry with wide, concerned eyes. “Oh, I don’t know any sign language. Rowan probably didn’t understand a word of that, did she? It’s all my fault. I should have asked you to teach me a few things beforehand. It’s our first time meeting, I wanted to make a good impression.” Barry gave her a small, reassuring smile. “It’s fine. It doesn’t matter if she understood or not. You don’t need to worry about it.” They exchanged a look, a silent understanding passing between them. Then Isabelle gestured toward the dance floor. “The music is starting. You promised me the first dance, you know. Don’t you dare break your promise.” Her tone was playful, but her eyes held a warning. Barry’s gaze flickered back to me, a flicker of indecision crossing his face. Isabelle’s smile tightened. “When I came over just now,” she added casually, “I overheard quite a few people gossiping about Rowan.” That did it. The hesitation vanished from Barry’s eyes. He turned to me, his decision made, and signed curtly, “I have to go dance. I know you don’t like crowded places, so just wait here and don’t wander off.” With that, he and Isabelle turned and walked toward the center of the ballroom. I stood frozen, watching his back recede into the crowd. The initial anger and pain had faded, replaced by a cold, hollow numbness. I opened my mouth, wanting to scream. I wanted to tell him that I loved crowded places, that it was loneliness I couldn’t stand. I wanted to tell him that he was the one who hated crowds, because he couldn’t bear the pitying stares and whispers. He hated being laughed at, so he hated the noise. And now, maybe he was starting to hate me, too. Isabelle glanced back over her shoulder, and in the triumphant glint in her eyes, I understood everything.

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1 It was Labor Day weekend. My boyfriend Harry and I were supposed to be on a romantic road trip—but of course his whole clique tagged along. That night, around a bonfire playing Truth or Dare, the bottle pointed at me. Jessica, Harry’s “best girl friend,” grinned slyly and asked, “So Clara, how many guys have you slept with?” I looked desperately at Harry, but he just shrugged as the others hooted. “Two,” I mumbled. The second time, Jessica asked, “When was your first time with Harry? A hotel or a car?” My patience was thinning. Again, Harry did nothing. Pressured by the crowd, I forced out, “Last summer. A hotel.” The third time she asked what position we used. I snapped. I shoved the folding table, sending beer cans flying. Three times in a row—this wasn’t a game, it was an interrogation. Walking away, I deliberately slowed, waiting. But Harry didn’t follow. Instead, I heard him comforting her: “Don’t worry, Jess. She’s just being weird tonight. It’s not about you.” I sighed. Harry, we were done. … “It’s getting chilly out here. You’ll catch a cold.” I don’t know how much time had passed, but I felt a sudden weight on my shoulders. Harry was draping his jacket over me, carefully tucking the collar around my neck. He was always like this—so attentive, noticing every little detail. In the five years we’d been together, he was the one who’d spot my untied shoelace and kneel to fix it, the one who remembered my cycle and would bring me hot tea and a heating pad without being asked. He leaned against the wooden railing beside me and lit a cigarette. “Clara, that’s just Jessica. She’s always been… a lot. We grew up together. You’re my girlfriend, so she sees you as one of us. She doesn’t have a filter.” He took a drag. “You’re usually so easygoing. What’s with the temper tantrum tonight?” The anger I’d managed to quell came roaring back, his words like a stone shattering the calm surface of a lake. I took a deep breath, fighting to keep my voice even. “Harry, do you honestly think those questions were a joke?” I asked. “And another thing, why does she know every single detail about our lives? Do we have any privacy at all?” He sensed the shift in my mood and backed off, switching to his usual charming self. He squeezed my shoulder, a playful grin on his face. “My bad, my bad. I swear, I’ll be more careful about what I say from now on.” “Come on, babe,” he coaxed. “Don’t forget the real reason we came on this trip. Let’s go back and get some rest. No more fighting, okay?” I glared at him but, considering our plans for the next day, I relented and walked back toward the campsite with him. As we approached, I could hear his friends talking. “She’s only been with Harry for five years and she acts like she owns him.” “Seriously. She needs to get over herself. We’ve known him our whole lives. If Jessica wasn’t such a good person, content with just being his best friend, do you think this girl would even have a chance?” “Poor Jessica. Harry’s so whipped. When he gets back, he better apologize to her.” “I say we use this trip as a test. See if she’s really good enough for Harry…” I stood frozen outside their tent, a hot, unfamiliar rage building inside me. I’d never been humiliated like this in my life. I was about to charge in there and give them a piece of my mind when Harry grabbed my arm, pressing a finger to his lips. “Shh.” “Clara, I’ll handle it. You go back to our tent and get some sleep.” Inside our tent, my eyes fell on the wine-red floral dress folded neatly on my sleeping bag. A lump formed in my throat. It had been my mother’s. I’m terrible at keeping things tidy, and since my mom passed away from a sudden illness six months ago, my life had been a chaotic mess. Harry had stepped up, moving in to help, taking care of the laundry, the cooking, the cleaning—everything. He’d held me through countless nights of sobbing, promising he would always be my rock. I stroked the soft fabric of the dress. Mom, I thought, am I just overreacting? The night was dark and heavy. I fell into a restless sleep, clutching the dress. In my dreams, I told my mother that I was going to the mountain chapel in two days to light a candle for her, to fulfill her last wish. She stroked my hair, her touch as gentle and peaceful as it had been in life. I was startled awake by the sound of splashing water and male and female voices. I blinked, my eyes adjusting to the pale light of dawn. Harry’s sleeping bag was still perfectly made, untouched. Confused, I walked down to the small mountain spring where everyone was washing up. Harry and his friends were already there. I noticed, oddly, that he was wearing a high-collared shirt. Before I could ask, Jessica sidled up next to me, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Morning, Clara. Sleep well?” I met her defiant gaze, not wanting to start my day with a fight. I gave her a noncommittal grunt. “Guess you slept great,” she continued, leaning closer. “Didn’t even notice someone was missing from your tent all night?” A thick, cloying mint smell wafted from her. I shot her a look of pure disgust and, as I did, I saw it: a dark, angry-red hickey, nestled deep in the curve of her neck. Jessica’s lips curved into a triumphant smirk. She tossed her long, wavy hair over her shoulder. “Who do you think you are? You think a few years with Harry gives you some kind of claim on him? I’ve known him since we were kids, and I’ve never seen him let a woman boss him around like this. He actually turned down drinks with us, multiple times, for you.” “This trip was to show you something,” she hissed, her face now inches from mine. “For Harry, girlfriends can come and go. But I am the most important person in his life. Period.” Her face was so close I could see the thick foundation caked in the lines of her distorted expression. This was pathetic. I took a step back, trying to create some distance. But she lunged, grabbing my arm. She pulled down the collar of her own shirt, her eyes wild with a crazed glee. “Take a good look. Harry gave me this last night. We slept very, very soundly.” “You’re insane!” I yelled, ripping my arm away. Her long, sharp nails scraped down my skin, leaving four raw, bleeding scratches. She raised an eyebrow, then deliberately stumbled backward, falling into the shallow spring with a loud splash. The sound drew everyone’s attention, including Harry’s. He was at her side in an instant, instinctively helping her up. “What is it now?” he asked, his voice edged with annoyance as he shot a frustrated look at me. Jessica, her clothes soaked, huddled in his arms, her eyes welling with tears. “Harry, don’t be mad,” she sobbed. “I was just talking to Clara. I wanted to apologize for last night, but I guess I just made her angry again. You know me, I never think before I speak…” Harry sighed heavily. When I remained silent, his expression softened. He walked towards me, gently brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “Clara, we’re all here to have a good time. I know you’ve been struggling since your mom… and I hoped this trip would help you relax. Can we please not fight over every little thing?” He looked at me, his eyes pleading. “These are my oldest friends, Clara. I really want the person I love to get along with the people I care about. I told you last night, Jessica has always been like this, but she has a good heart. Once you get to know her, you’ll see.” The ever-observant man who noticed a loose shoelace from across a room somehow failed to see the bright red gashes on my arm. All I could feel from him was a desperate need to smooth things over, to make the problem go away. A wave of revulsion washed over me. I pulled away from his touch, and as I did, my eyes caught a flash of pinkish-red peeking out from under the collar of his shirt. A mark that matched Jessica’s. The retort on the tip of my tongue died. All I felt was a cold, stunning sense of relief. My mother’s last wish… maybe it wasn’t just about lighting a candle. Maybe it was about this. About finally seeing Harry for who he really was. I was done fighting. “A-achoo!” Jessica sneezed twice, theatrically. Harry’s attention snapped back to her. “Are you cold?” he asked gently. “It’s nothing, Harry. As long as you and Clara make up, I’ll be fine. You know how tough I am. A little water won’t hurt me. Cough, cough.” I had to look away. Another second of her performance and I would have thrown up. Harry, meanwhile, was the picture of concern, pulling out a tissue and dabbing her face. “You’re coughing. Of course it’s not nothing.” He turned to me. “Clara, you’re the one who pushed her in. Their tents are already packed up. Let Jessica use our tent to change into some dry clothes.” Before I could even respond, he was holding the tent flap open for her. A moment later, Jessica’s voice floated out. “Wow, Harry, this dress of Clara’s looks so old-fashioned, but it’s actually kind of pretty on.” A cold dread washed over me. I burst into the tent. She was wearing my mother’s dress. She feigned surprise, then smiled. “Oh, hi, Clara. We’re about the same size, aren’t we? It fits me perfectly.” “Take it off,” I said, my voice dangerously low. Jessica just rolled her eyes and started fumbling with the zipper on the back. “Make me. What are you gonna do about it?” My head was pounding. “Jessica, I don’t care what you and Harry have going on. Take. That. Dress. Off. Now. Or I swear, you’ll regret it.” She ignored me, calling out, “Harry, sweetie, can you come help me with this zipper? I can’t reach.” I didn’t say another word. I slapped her. Twice. Hard. “Take it off! This is your last chance!” My hand was trembling from the force. Suddenly, I was shoved violently from behind. I stumbled and fell to the ground as the rest of the group crowded around the tent opening. Harry didn’t help me up. He just looked down at me, the same disgusted expression on his face as the others. “Harry, you need to control your girlfriend! We’ve been putting up with her all weekend, and now she’s physically attacking people!” “Yeah, look at Jessica’s face! It’s all red!” “Harry, we get it, you’re whipped, but there’s a limit! Jessica’s your best friend! How could you let this happen?” As if to prove a point, Harry hauled me roughly to my feet. “Clara, what the hell is wrong with you?” he shouted. “Ever since your mother died, I have bent over backwards for you. I’ve ignored my friends, I’ve let them be insulted, all to cater to your moods. I thought this trip would help, that you’d all finally connect, but I guess I was wrong.” Tears streamed down my face. “Harry, look what she’s wearing!” He sighed, exasperated. “So she’s wearing your mother’s dress! That doesn’t give you the right to hit her! She didn’t know. You could have just asked her to take it off. Why do you have to make such a big deal out of everything?” I was speechless. Before I could respond, Jessica shrieked. “What? This is a dead person’s dress? Oh my god, that’s so gross! Clara, are you a psycho? Who brings a dead person’s clothes on a camping trip?” She turned to Harry. “Harry, get this zipper undone! I thought it was something special, but who would want to wear this thing?” I lunged forward to stop her from ripping it. RRRRIP. The sound of tearing fabric echoed in the small tent. The back of the dress was shredded, exposing Jessica’s bare back. “Wow, what a piece of junk,” she sneered. “Barely touched it and it fell apart. Harry, don’t look! This is so embarrassing.” A white-hot rage, purer than anything I had ever felt, consumed me. The veins in my neck stood out. “Jessica! I am going to kill you!” Harry grabbed me, pinning my arms to my sides. He shot a look at Jessica, signaling for her to leave. She pouted. “Harry, can’t you even handle your own woman?” In the struggle, a sharp slap landed across my face. Harry looked at me, his eyes full of exhaustion. “Clara, just stop. Please. It’s just a dress. I’ll have Jessica pay for it, okay? Why do you have to be so aggressive?” “Maybe I’ve been too lenient with you,” he said, his voice weary. “People’s patience has limits, Clara. I’m just… I’m tired.” “You need to cool off. By yourself.” He took off the jacket he’d put on me the night before and wrapped it around Jessica’s shoulders. He put a protective arm around her and led her away. The noisy tent fell silent. The only thing I could feel was the burning sting on my cheek, a fiery reminder that this was real. I pulled out my phone and dialed a number. Harry, I was so blind. We are so over. Outside, Harry lit another cigarette. “There you go, Harry. Don’t look so down. This is a good chance to teach her a lesson. Otherwise, she’ll be completely out of control,” one of his friends said. Jessica plucked the cigarette from Harry’s lips and put it in her own. “Exactly. Look at what she’s done to our boy.” “Come on, I’ll help you find something else to wear, and then let’s go hit the sights.” Harry glanced back at my tent and sighed. Fine. Leaving me alone for a day wouldn’t kill me. We were in the middle of nowhere; it wasn’t like I could go far. Besides, we still had to go to the chapel tomorrow to fulfill my mom’s wish. He’d talk to me then, smooth things over. As for the dress, a good tailor could fix it. Reassured, he agreed, his mood lifting slightly. He turned to Jessica. “You okay? That must have been scary. Clara was really close to her mom. She hasn’t been the same since she died. That’s why she reacted so badly.” Jessica blew a smoke ring, draping her arm over his shoulder. “It’s whatever. I was just worried about you. Women are so emotional. I don’t know how you put up with it.” Harry poked her nose playfully. “You’re a woman, too.” “Yeah,” she said with a grin. “But I’m also your best bro.” That evening, Harry returned to the tent carrying a takeout container. “Clara? You must be starving. I brought you some food.” Silence. He raised his voice. “Are you still mad? Jessica’s not even mad at you anymore. Don’t be so petty.” Still no answer. A knot of unease tightened in his stomach. He ripped open the tent flap. It was empty. Jessica wiped a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Relax. It’s stuffy in there. She probably just went for a walk. She’ll be back.” Harry checked his phone. No messages from me. A jolt of real panic shot through him. I always told him where I was going. Always. Today, his phone was silent. Jessica saw his expression and teased, “See? It’s always the girlfriend. You’re the worst when it comes to choosing chicks over your friends.” “Come on, Harry,” another friend chimed in. “Since she’s gone, the four of us can play some poker.” Harry reluctantly agreed, but his mind wasn’t on the game. Where had I gone? After two hands, he couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his jacket and headed out. Jessica grabbed his arm, pouting. “Harry, if you leave us now, I’m never speaking to you again.” He shook her off and walked out into the moonlight. He dialed my number. A cold, automated voice answered. A wave of pure terror washed over him. He was afraid, guilty, filled with a sickening regret for leaving me alone out here. The more it went to voicemail, the more frantic he became, dialing the number he knew by heart over and over again. “Clara, where are you?”

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In the garden, trimming roses in the humid air, I saw my husband Paul order his men to release ten thousand hornets into our daughter’s playroom. He had the staff lock the door and seal the windows. Panic seized me—I dropped my shears and ran to him, voice trembling. “She’s in there! Open the door!” His face was cold, eyes cruel. “So it’s true. You only care when it’s your own child. When Joy was stung yesterday, you showed no concern.” “If you can’t love her as your own,” he growled, “I’ll teach you empathy.” I understood: this was revenge for his old flame’s daughter. Three days ago, Vivian—the woman he’d loved and lost—reappeared after seven years with six-year-old twins. She’d slapped a paternity test on the table and said, “I just want my children to know their father.” Yesterday, while I gardened, Joy was stung by a hornet. I hadn’t known until evening. Now Vivian stood beside Paul, smirking smugly. I said nothing more. After all, it wasn’t my daughter in that room. Let them vent their anger. 1 “I’ve arranged a press conference,” Paul commanded, his face grim and unyielding. “You will issue a formal, public apology to Joy. The draft must be no less than ten thousand words. Bring it to me for approval when you’re done.” In our six years of marriage, he had never once looked at me with such contempt. Before Vivian’s return, he had always been gentle, his voice a soft murmur, never raised in anger. Just three days ago, he had sworn to me, “I only want to fulfill my duties as a father, to give them the love they deserve. It means nothing else.” How quickly that promise had shattered. On the third day, for the sake of Vivian’s child, he was ready to torture our own daughter to death. Vivian feigned a conciliatory tone. “Paul, let it go. You can’t expect a stepmother to love a child like her own mother would.” She sighed dramatically, adding, “Your parents already dislike me. It’s fine if the children and I have to endure a little hardship.” As she spoke, she squeezed out a few crocodile tears, dabbing at her eyes with a delicate hand. Her poison worked. Paul’s expression softened into guilt and adoration as he comforted her. “I’m sorry, Vivian. You and the girls have suffered the moment you returned. Don’t worry. From now on, I am your rock. No one will ever hurt you again.” As he spoke, a desperate, heart-wrenching cry echoed from the playroom, barely audible over the hellish drone of the hornets. “Help me… please, let me out… help!” The buzz of a single hornet is small, but the sound of ten thousand was a deafening, terrifying roar. It distorted the child’s voice, making it sound strained and unfamiliar. A wave of dread washed over me, but I forced myself to speak. “I’ll write the speech. Just let the child out. That’s Felicity in there. Don’t let this go too far.” In my heart, I had already decided. That speech would not be an apology. It would be my declaration of divorce. “Felicity is watching TV with Joy inside the main house, Nina. I know you’re desperate to protect your daughter, but you don’t have to lie,” Vivian said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Besides, they’re just hornets. They can’t kill anyone. Joy was stung yesterday, and she was fine.” Her words snuffed out the flicker of doubt in Paul’s eyes. His face hardened, his anger flaring anew. “Nina! You still show no remorse. And now you’re lying to my face! No wonder Joy and Felicity said Elara doesn’t like them. It’s all your influence! She needs to be taught a lesson today, or she’ll never learn to respect her older sisters!” He spun around and barked at a staff member, “Throw a pen and notebook in there. She is to write a five-thousand-word apology. She’s not coming out until it’s finished!” The butler, looking horrified, dared to protest. “Sir, the young miss is only five. She’s just learning her letters… I don’t think she can…” Vivian shot the butler a look so venomous it could have killed, then turned back to Paul, her expression melting back into one of sweet reason. “She can sound it out, letter by letter. It’s actually good for her. Think of it as practice.” Her words were all the justification Paul needed. He repeated his command without hesitation. “Tell her she can sound it out, but she will produce five thousand words.” The butler, covering his ears against the horrifying sound from within, tossed the supplies through a small window slot and shouted through a megaphone, “Young Miss, Mr. Ashford says you are to write a five-thousand-word apology by sounding out the words. You cannot come out until you are done.” The door rattled violently as the child inside threw her small body against it. Her voice was raw, shredded with terror. “Let me out… I’m going to die in here… Please, let me out… HELP!” From our vantage point in the glass-walled tea pavilion, the sound was muffled but clear—the desperate cries of a little girl swallowed by the monstrous hum of insects. Even Vivian, the child’s own mother, didn’t recognize the voice of her daughter in that chorus of terror. Seeing me standing there silently, Vivian nudged Paul. “Since Elara is writing the apology, perhaps Nina doesn’t have to? I just hope she’ll stop taking her anger out on my daughters in the future.” She then launched into a piteous monologue. “I’ve been such an inadequate mother, letting my children suffer with me all these years. When they misbehaved, I used to make them write apology letters under the hot sun. That’s how they became so well-behaved. I’m just so grateful they can finally be part of the Ashford family.” Paul was clearly inspired. The more his heart ached for Vivian, the more his fury was directed at me. He turned, his voice like ice. “You. Go stand in the sun and write your ten-thousand-word confession.” The pavilion was a pleasant 75 degrees. Outside, the summer sun beat down with a punishing heat of 108 degrees. It was the hottest part of the day. A cold, bitter laugh escaped my lips. I felt something inside me shatter. My reaction clearly infuriated Vivian. “Nina, you know better than anyone why I had to leave all those years ago, why I let Paul misunderstand me for so long,” she spat, her voice rising. “I’ve been patient, but if you have a problem, direct it at me. The children are innocent. I’m begging you, please, don’t hurt my children!” I stared at her, utterly bewildered. Seven years ago, when the Ashford family business had collapsed, she was the one who fled overnight for greener pastures abroad. Paul himself had told me. What in God’s name was she talking about? Paul wrapped a protective arm around her, glaring at me. “For a woman like you, writing a confession in the sun is getting off easy! If Vivian hadn’t pleaded for you, I wouldn’t be letting this go so lightly!” My heart turned to stone. I met his gaze. “A woman like me?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Fine. If that’s how you feel, let’s get a divorce. Isn’t that what you’ve been pushing for this whole time?” Vivian jumped in. “Nina, neither of us wants that. You know Paul’s parents would never agree. You’re the one who made a mistake, so why do you always use his parents to pressure us?” My eyes narrowed. She had a real talent for twisting the narrative. “He’s not the one ending this. I am,” I said, my voice sharp and clear. “I want the divorce. And if his parents ask, I’ll tell them it was my decision.” Paul’s brow furrowed. “You’d rather get a divorce than write a simple apology?” “Yes.” His frown deepened, a look of disbelief on his face. Then, a slow, cruel smile spread across his lips, as if a great weight had been lifted. “You said it, not me! Don’t you dare blame me for this.” He nodded curtly. “I agree. But if you want me to sign the papers now, you’ll still write that ten-thousand-word apology. You owe that to Vivian and her daughters.” I ground my teeth, unable to believe this was the same man who once swore he’d love me until his dying breath. He was already calling his lawyer, ordering him to draw up the papers, while a staff member brought me a pen and a clipboard. I snatched them and hurled them straight at his face. “Paul, you’re the one who owes me! I don’t owe anyone a damn thing. Don’t push me, or you’ll be the one to regret it!” He flinched, his eyes squeezed shut as the clipboard struck his nose, leaving an angry red mark. His eyes snapped open, blazing with rage. Vivian gasped and pushed me. “How could you hit him!” she cried, then immediately turned to coo over Paul, gently blowing on his nose. “Does it hurt? Let me make it better. You always loved it when I did this.” Just then, the butler rushed over, his face pale with anxiety. “Mr. Ashford, something’s wrong with the young miss. She’s saying she’s been stung badly, that she’s dying. Should we… should we open the door?” Fearing Paul might soften, Vivian interjected immediately. “Oh, children that age love to play make-believe. One minute they’re playing house, the next they’re pretending to be dead. It’s just a phase.” She paused, then asked pointedly, “Does Elara lie often? I’ve read that some children pretend to be hurt to avoid punishment when they’ve done something wrong.” Paul frowned in thought. “Elara never used to lie. But since Joy and Felicity arrived, she’s lied several times.” “Then she’s definitely faking it,” Vivian declared with certainty. “You have to be strict with children from a young age, or they’ll be impossible to manage when they’re older!” Paul bought it completely. His resolve hardened. “Ignore her,” he told the butler. “Don’t let her out until she’s written five thousand words.” The butler gathered his courage. “Sir, the voice inside… it doesn’t sound like Miss Elara. I believe she had her tutoring session this afternoon. She isn’t home from it yet.” Vivian sneered at him. “My, what a loyal servant. Always ready with an excuse for his little mistress.” “Miss Vivian, I’m only speaking the truth,” the butler said, his voice pleading. “The truth?” she scoffed. She pulled out her phone, dialed a number, and put it on speaker. A moment later, a child’s voice answered. “Mommy?” “Joy, sweetie, where’s your sister?” “Felicity is sleeping. She just fell asleep.” “Okay, honey. You two be good. Daddy and I will be home soon.” Vivian hung up and shot a triumphant look at the butler, then at me. “So much for your excuses.” Paul turned his glare on me. “Elara learned this from you! This constant lying!” I just laughed. You can’t reason with the willingly blind. My laughter seemed to enrage Vivian even more. She turned to Paul, goading him. “Nina, your daughter is being tormented by hornets, and you’re laughing? Are you even a mother? You don’t even care about your own child, so how could you ever care for mine? I never knew you were so heartless.” Paul looked at me with profound disappointment. “Nina, you don’t deserve to be my daughter’s mother. You’ve let me down completely.” “Then divorce me!” I shot back. “That way, you won’t have to worry about me being cruel to Vivian’s precious daughters anymore!” The lawyer arrived. “Mr. Ashford,” he asked respectfully, “what are the terms of the settlement?” Paul didn’t even look at me. “Give her five hundred thousand. I get full custody. No visitation rights.” Five hundred thousand dollars? From the Ashford fortune? The earrings I was wearing were worth more than that. He was tossing me out like trash. “I don’t agree,” I said, my voice cold. “I get our daughter. As for the assets, you have no right to divide them.” When the Ashford empire had crumbled years ago, it was my family’s money and my work alongside him that had rebuilt it. He let out a bitter laugh. “You, a mother? Don’t you forget, my father is still the head of this family. He controls the assets, not you.” “If you want my signature, Elara comes with me!” Vivian, eager to take my place, whispered to him, “Just sign it, Paul. If Elara stays, I’m afraid her bad influence will corrupt Joy and Felicity. And don’t give her a cent. For years, she’s lived off you, worn your clothes, stayed in your house. She’s taken enough. Just have your men hold her down and force her to sign.” At this point, her word was his law. “Hold her,” he ordered two of his bodyguards. “Make her sign.” Two colossal men grabbed my arms, their grip like iron vices. I was a puppet, my hand forced to scrawl my name on the divorce papers. But I felt no panic. Only a cold, burning resolve. I had helped him rise from the ashes once. I could just as easily turn him back into dust. Vivian gave me a victorious smirk. She then turned to the staff, feigning concern. “Hasn’t Miss Elara finished her five thousand words yet?” “No, ma’am,” the butler replied grimly. “She hasn’t written anything. She’s lying on the floor. I think… I think she’s been stung quite badly.” “That child is so spoiled,” Vivian tut-tutted. “She’s probably just enjoying the air conditioning and playing games with the hornets.” Paul, led by the nose, commanded, “Turn off the air conditioning in that room!” “Sir.” In 108-degree heat, with no air conditioning, trapped with ten thousand hornets… that child wouldn’t last long. But Vivian wasn’t done. “Like mother, like daughter,” she muttered. “The mother refuses to write an apology, and so does the daughter. It’s uncanny.” That was the last straw for Paul. He strode towards me, his voice a low, vicious threat. “I’m giving you one last chance. Write the apology, or I will destroy your family. I’ll have your parents thrown in jail and your brother’s company bankrupted. You know I can do it.” I just snorted. “Go ahead. Do your worst, you ungrateful bastard.” His eyes narrowed. He pulled out his phone, his voice filled with venom as he spoke to someone on the other end. “Crush the Sterling family. I want them ruined.” I looked at him with pity. Did he really think he was so powerful? That he could touch my family? A few good years had clearly made him forget who he really was. Two hours later, right on schedule, I finally heard the sound I had been waiting for. From the long driveway, a sweet, cheerful voice called out, “Mommy! Daddy! I’m home from my lessons!”

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My childhood friend, Terry, was a man of insatiable appetites. Every time we were together, it was an inferno, a storm of passion that left me breathless. He looked at me like he wanted to devour me whole. I once posted on an anonymous forum, asking, “Is this kind of intensity normal?” The comments flooded in. “Normal? Girl, you hit the jackpot!” and “Damn, talk about eating good!” Then my mother started breathing down my neck about marriage. So, one day, lying in the afterglow of our lovemaking, I casually suggested bringing him home to meet my parents. A slow, careless smile spread across Terry’s face. “Sylvie,” he said, his voice husky with satisfaction, “I have a girlfriend.” “She comes from a very old-money, traditional family. Her grandfather passed away, and their family has this… archaic three-year mourning period. I’m not allowed to touch her. That’s where you came in.” 1 It felt like I’d been plunged into an icy abyss. For a moment, I was sure I’d misheard him. But Terry wasn’t finished. His voice was a lazy, contented drawl. “So, why the sudden urge to meet the parents? You always said you’d never get married. That’s why I picked you to fill the gap. We’re childhood friends. We know everything about each other. It was a perfect arrangement for three years.” He sounded cheerful, almost relieved. “The good news is, her mourning period officially ends tomorrow. It’s like I’ve finally seen the sun after a long storm. I won’t be needing you to keep me company anymore.” Not a shred of guilt. Not a hint of remorse. A sharp, searing pain shot through my heart. My hands clenched into fists, my nails digging so deep into my palms that the skin turned white. I couldn’t feel a thing. I felt like a ghost, my voice hollow as I looked at him. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me you had a girlfriend?” “Because it wasn’t necessary,” he said with a shrug. “We were just convenient lovers, a three-year fling. Nothing more.” He reached out to ruffle my hair, his tone softening into something he probably thought was kind. “Don’t worry, Sylvie. I know how much you despise the ‘other woman.’ I would never, ever put you in that position.” He was right. The one thing I despise most in this world is the ‘other woman.’ A home-wrecker had destroyed my family. When I was ten, my father’s affair came to light, and our home was never peaceful again. My parents screamed at each other daily, hurling the most venomous insults they could conjure, treating each other like mortal enemies they wished they could tear to shreds. Every time, as I huddled in a corner, trembling and crying, it was Terry who came to my rescue. He knew my deepest wounds better than anyone. “I told my girlfriend about you from the day we first slept together,” he continued, as if that made everything okay. “I wouldn’t just sleep with a random woman without her permission, would I? I’m a loyal guy. She knows you exist.” He cupped my face in his hands, his dark, intoxicating eyes locking onto mine, reflecting only me. Everyone always said that a man with eyes like his could look at a stray dog with a soulful passion. And for three years, I had been completely mesmerized by them, foolishly believing he loved me. Now that the truth was out, our entire relationship felt like a sick, ugly joke. “So you see, Sylvie,” he whispered, trying to soothe me, “you’re really not the other woman.” His gaze began to smolder again. His fingers slid from my cheek down to my bare shoulder, tracing a dangerously familiar path. “How about one more time? For old times’ sake, Sylvie.” Something inside me snapped. I shoved him away with all my might. I scrambled off the bed, stumbling and falling, my forehead cracking against the sharp corner of the nightstand with a loud, sickening thud. “Sylvie! Are you okay?” Terry shot up, reaching for me. A throbbing pain exploded from my forehead, but the agony in my heart was a thousand times worse. Clutching my head, my voice choked with tears. “Don’t you dare come near me!” To my surprise, he stopped. He stood there, his lean, powerful torso bare, a look of confusion and irritation clouding his handsome features. I pulled myself up from the floor, threw on my clothes in a blind panic, and fled his apartment. 2 I arrived home in a daze. When I opened the door, my mother was sitting on the sofa like a perfect wax figure, her beautiful face a mask of indifference. Her eyes, when they landed on me, held no warmth at all. “Weren’t you supposed to be bringing a boyfriend home for me to meet? Where is he?” I said nothing. Lately, she’d been relentless about me getting married. For years, she and my father had been locked in a bitter war of attrition, a toxic dance of mutual destruction. The only thing that kept her going was her iron-willed determination that the company would never fall into the hands of his mistress and illegitimate children. Even though I had already proven myself and secured a strong position within the company, she wasn’t satisfied. She wanted the security of a strategic marriage alliance. I used to think I was so lucky that the man I loved was Terry. The Sterling and Blackwood families were social equals; our marriage would have been a perfect match, celebrated by all. That morning, backed into a corner by her incessant pressure, I had finally told her I had a boyfriend and would bring him home tonight. She had only given a cold, curt nod. And now, here I was, alone. The answer was obvious. “He’s not my boyfriend anymore,” I said, my voice unnervingly calm. She didn’t seem surprised, nor did she ask for details. Instead, she handed me a stack of glossy portfolios. “These are the most eligible bachelors in our circle. Family, character, looks—they have it all. Pick one you can stand to look at.” The day’s events had drained every last ounce of my strength. I had no energy to argue with her. I pulled a file at random from the stack and handed it back. “This one.” My mother glanced down at it. “Fine. I’ll make the arrangements.” My body felt like it was filled with lead as I dragged myself upstairs. A few minutes later, Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, knocked on my door with a jar of ointment. “Miss Sylvie, your mother asked me to help you with your forehead.” Her voice was gentle. “She also told me to tell you… that there’s no pain that time can’t heal. Cry if you need to, laugh when you can, but don’t torture yourself. In this world, only money and power are real. Love is just smoke.” I stared at my reflection in the mirror. My face was pale and drawn. A grotesque, swollen red lump pulsed on my forehead. I looked like a pathetic clown. The tears I had been holding back all night finally broke free, streaming down my face in hot, silent rivers. Cry, I told myself. This is the last time you’ll cry over him. Let everything that happened yesterday die with yesterday. Today is a new beginning. 3 In the weeks that followed, I blocked Terry on everything and threw myself into my work. It was surprisingly effective; I almost managed to forget he existed. Until I received a message from his girlfriend. She wanted to meet. My first instinct was to refuse. But a sliver of guilt, sharp and unwelcome, pricked at my conscience. You really shouldn’t do things that weigh on you. Even though I was the victim in this twisted drama, even though I had unknowingly been involved with her and Terry for three years, I still felt a sense of shame toward this woman I had never met. We met at The Serene Garden, a restaurant built into an exquisite, traditional estate. I pushed open the door to the private room and saw her. She wore a simple, elegant silk dress in a muted color, her long, straight black hair pinned up with a single jade pin. Her face was a little pale, but it couldn’t hide her delicate beauty. She was like a figure from an ancient painting, serene and timeless. She offered me a small smile. “Miss Sterling. I’m Clarissa. Please, have a seat.” I sat opposite her in silence. Growing up, I’d seen my mother confront my father’s mistresses countless times. Some encounters were simmering with restrained fury, others exploded into hysterical screaming matches. But none were ever like this. It was unnervingly calm. Clarissa rose and poured me a cup of tea, pushing it gently across the table. Her smile was warm. “This tea is exceptional. It leaves a wonderful fragrance. You should try it, Miss Sterling.” I drank it like an automaton, then set the cup down. “Miss Crawford, I’m sorry,” I said, my voice flat. “I never intended to come between you and Terry. When we were together, I believed he was single. I had no idea he had a girlfriend.” A faint smile touched her lips. “It’s alright. Terry told me everything from the start. I don’t mind.” So, Terry had been telling the truth. Their relationship had her blessing. The whole situation was so grotesque, so utterly absurd, it made my stomach turn. I felt like a monkey in a cage, toyed with by the two of them for their own amusement. “You may not mind, but I do!” I snapped, my composure finally cracking. “If you had just given me a heads-up three years ago, I would have kicked him to the curb instantly! I never would have wasted three years on him! What kind of sick mindset do you have, letting your boyfriend sleep with another woman? Do you have some kind of cuckold fetish?” Clarissa looked at me, her expression as placid as ever, her posture exuding the untouchable grace of a highborn lady from a forgotten era. “My family, the Crawfords, have been prominent since the Gilded Age. It was once common for a bride to bring her handmaidens into a marriage. You’ve simply been fulfilling a similar, modern-day role. Why should that be of any concern?” Her words struck me dumb. “Terry has… strong physical needs,” she continued, “and with my grandfather’s passing, I had to observe a period of abstinence. I couldn’t bear to see him suffer. You were there to help him. Wasn’t that mutually beneficial?” I stared at her, utterly shocked. I couldn’t believe that in the twenty-first century, someone with such a twisted, archaic worldview still existed. Clarissa lowered her eyes and took a sip of her tea, her voice a soft, unhurried murmur. “Sylvie, Terry has told me a lot about you. You grew up together. Your home was broken, but his was warm and happy, so you were always there. His parents adore you. You’ve been in love with him since you were a child, dreaming of marrying into the Blackwood family and finally belonging somewhere—” “Get to the point,” I cut in, my hands clenching under the table. “What do you want?” She smiled, dabbing her lips with a delicate handkerchief before letting out a soft cough. “Miss Sterling, let’s make a deal. I have a heart condition, and my health isn’t the best. I would like you to continue your physical relationship with Terry, to help him with his… needs. In exchange, the Crawford family will intervene on your behalf. We’ll help you sideline your father, deal with his illegitimate children, and place the entirety of Sterling Industries firmly in your hands. What do you say?” I shot to my feet, my chair scraping harshly against the floor. “You’re insane!” I turned and stormed out. But I didn’t get more than two steps before my knees buckled. A searing heat, a maddening itch, began to uncoil deep inside me, and my whole body felt like it was on fire. I whipped my head around to face her, my voice a venomous hiss. “You drugged the tea?”

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1 My four-month-old niece was choking, milk flooding her lungs. She was rushed to the ER. The first person my mother called… was me. Her voice was laced with guilt, each word careful, as if to avoid wounding me. “Honey… Rosie… she’s not going to make it. Do you want to come say goodbye?” It was three in the morning. Darkness draped the world, wind rattling the trees—a sound that chilled me. I didn’t understand my mother’s tone, but the urgency shook me awake. My husband Mark and I threw on clothes and raced to the hospital. Outside the ICU, the scene felt surreal. My sister-in-law Jenna touched up her lipstick casually, like she’d been out clubbing. My brother Kevin held a critical condition report with his daughter’s name, yet shrugged and decided to stop treatment. “She’s a burden,” he said. “Keeping her alive is wasting money. Let it go. I don’t want to save her.” Mark shot me a confused look. “Four months ago, she was everything to them. Now she’s a ‘burden’?” I sighed, bitterness washing over me. “It’s simple, Mark. They think that baby is ours.” Jenna finished applying a fresh coat of crimson to her lips and shot me a look of pure contempt. A smug smile played on her face, a silent declaration of some secret victory. When she spoke of Rosie, her voice dripped with a sick sort of pleasure. “Just a girl,” she sneered. “If she dies now, at least she’ll save the family some money. It’s not easy making a living these days, you know?” She added, “Born unlucky. What can you do?” My mother shot her a sharp, warning glare, then turned to Mark and me, her expression cautious. “You two… do you want to go in and see her? This might be the last time.” Mark’s hand tightened on my sleeve, a sheen of sweat breaking out on his forehead. “Mom, if anyone should see her, it should be her own parents, right? Why are you asking Pathy and me first?” In my last life, my mother had asked the exact same question. Back then, I was so overwhelmed by the sudden tragedy, so consumed with worry for the baby in the ICU, that I didn’t notice the strangeness in her words. Instead, I pleaded with my brother, Kevin, to keep fighting for her. “If it’s about the money, I can pay for it! Rosie was perfectly healthy yesterday, how could this have happened?” I’d cried. “Please, just try everything! There might still be a chance. This is a life we’re talking about!” A look of profound sadness crossed my mother’s face then. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she slapped herself, hard. “I’m so sorry, Pathy,” she sobbed. “It’s all my fault. I didn’t burp her properly after her feeding… she must have choked. I was so tired, I just fell asleep for a second, and when I woke up, her face was blue. I wish it were me in there! I’d trade my life for hers in a heartbeat!” In my past life, I couldn’t understand why she was apologizing to me. The baby in that room was Jenna’s daughter. Jenna and Kevin sat on a long, blue bench down the hall, completely unfazed by my mother’s dramatic display. They were scrolling through TikTok, the tinny music from a dance video loud enough to drown out her sobs. The atmosphere was bizarre, surreal. The sharp scent of antiseptic burned my nostrils. Nurses and doctors rushed back and forth, their faces grim. Through the glass window of the ICU, I could see Rosie’s tiny body, a fragile doll entangled in a web of tubes. My heart clenched. I couldn’t let them give up. I pulled my bank card from my wallet and handed it to Mark. “Go, deposit fifty thousand dollars into her hospital account. Now.” But the moment my mother saw the card, her expression changed. She threw up a hand to stop us. “No! That money is for your little Peanut! You save that for her future.” I was baffled. Just a moment ago, she was saying she’d die for Rosie. Now, her tears were gone, her face a mask. She wouldn’t even let us spend money to save the baby’s life. Was fifty thousand dollars really more valuable than Rosie’s life? At a moment of life and death, her sudden clarity about whose money was whose felt deeply, horribly wrong. But I couldn’t bring myself to question her in front of my brother. Our daughter, Peanut, and their daughter, Rosie, were born just minutes apart in the same hospital. After that, my mother was constantly at our house, always cooing over the babies. As a mother myself, I knew the gut-wrenching pain of seeing a child suffer. I had hoped that the sight of the money would convince Kevin and Jenna to change their minds. But their response was eerily identical to my mother’s. Kevin clicked his tongue. “That little brat isn’t worth my sister’s money. That cash is for Peanut.” Jenna’s face, when she saw my bank card, turned even paler than it had been when she first heard Rosie was dying. “Such a waste,” she murmured, her eyes fixed on the card. “All that money on her… what a complete waste.” I didn’t know it then, but the baby lying in that room, the one they were so willing to discard, was my own daughter. The daughter I had fought for through a grueling labor and an emergency C-section, a battle that had taken me to the edge of death and back. That child, dismissed and abandoned on the brink of death, was the one who should have been my precious Peanut. From the moment she was admitted to the moment she took her last breath and left this cruel world, Mark and I never got to hold her. We never got to call her our darling, never got to press her tiny forehead against our cheeks and feel the warmth of her skin. Her helpless little body was just a canvas for tubes and wires, lying silently on a sterile pediatric bed. That image replayed in my mind a million times. Until I was reborn, I could never let it go. In my past life, my mother, brother, and sister-in-law had planned it all from the beginning. They would swap their baby with mine and have me raise her. It was my mother’s idea. “Your sister married well, and she’s successful herself,” she’d told them. “If you give her your child to raise, the baby will have the best of everything—the best education, the best opportunities. And she’ll inherit everything. Think about it. Your retirement will be completely secure.” Jenna had grinned from ear to ear, her mind filled with images of my closet full of Louis Vuitton bags. She agreed instantly. Kevin, smug at the thought of someone else raising his child, didn’t even bother to learn the first thing about caring for a newborn. “I’m the only son,” he’d declared, picking up his phone to start a game. “It’s my sister’s duty to help raise my kid.” With everyone on board, my mother had kicked back, grabbing a handful of snacks from the table and turning on the TV. “Besides,” she’d said casually, “your sister will have nannies for her baby. Our little one… we’ll just have to make do.” It was that reckless indifference that led to my daughter choking on milk in their care. Not long after they gave up on the rescue effort that day, the baby died. A doctor, his face full of pity, wrapped her in a white receiving blanket and brought her out to the family. But my mother recoiled, calling a dead baby “bad luck.” She stood frozen, refusing to take her. Kevin and Jenna had already called a cab and left. Just like that, my daughter was abandoned, alone in that cold, empty hospital. Their heartlessness disgusted me, but I felt powerless. What could I do? They were their own family. In my past life, I told myself that even though I wasn’t her mother, we shared blood, a connection. So, with Mark’s encouragement, I stepped forward and took the poor, tiny bundle from the doctor’s arms. I didn’t know that it would be the first and the last time I would ever hold my own child. From the cremation to the burial, my brother’s family never showed up. They never contributed a dime. Mark, though confused, tried to comfort me. “It’s okay, we’ll handle it. Maybe… maybe they’re just so heartbroken they’re pretending it never happened.” He sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about her. Taking care of this myself… it gives me some peace.” I convinced myself he was right and arranged everything perfectly. But every time I saw that tiny, black casket, I felt a piece of me had been carved out, leaving a hollow, aching void. I didn’t know what it was, but something had been stolen from my very soul. I couldn’t bear to look. The thought of that poor baby brought on endless fits of weeping. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep. I grew thinner and thinner, a ghost haunting my own life. Mark worried I had postpartum depression and took me to a therapist, which helped, but the wound never truly healed. What I never expected was how doting Kevin and Jenna were to our daughter, Peanut. Over the years, they showered her with affection, spoiling her even more than I did. They bought her anything she wanted, things they would never dream of buying for themselves. And as Peanut grew, she started to look more and more like Jenna. Especially her eyes. Mark and I both have double eyelids, but Jenna has monolids. So did Peanut. And they had the exact same upward tilt. The ugly thought circled in my mind, a vulture I couldn’t shoo away. “Mark,” I asked one day, “don’t you think… Peanut and Jenna look a little too much alike?” He froze. As he replayed the years in his mind, a chill ran down his spine. “Why have they never had another child?” he murmured. “And they’re always so… intense with Peanut. And their behavior at Rosie’s funeral… it was so cold. Thinking back, none of it makes sense.” He paled. “Just the other day, your brother asked me to sign the deed to the Lakeside Villa over to Peanut. They’re obsessed with making sure she inherits our wealth.” Before we could investigate, it was all over. The day Peanut returned from studying abroad, my brother and sister-in-law held a press conference. On camera, my mother cried hysterically while Jenna dabbed at her eyes. “It’s all my fault,” my mother wailed. “I was changing their diapers when they were babies, and I must have mixed them up! Our Peanut… she’s my son’s biological daughter!” She produced a DNA test—prepared long in advance—and ambushed us with it. Peanut, the daughter we had raised with all our love, clearly knew about it already. She went live on social media, tearfully reuniting with her “real” parents and changing her last name without missing a beat. The story went viral. The headlines praised her as a good girl who hadn’t been corrupted by her adoptive parents’ wealth, a paragon of filial piety. She gained millions of followers overnight. Mark and I were left to weep at a small, lonely grave in a forgotten corner of the cemetery. The truth was, the babies were never even in the same room for my mother to “mix up.” Unless she had done it on purpose. But years had passed. The evidence was gone, buried with the truth. Overnight, Mark’s hair turned gray. I aged a decade, the life force drained out of me. We had raised Peanut for years; we loved her. After the truth came out, we cut off all contact with my family, but we knew the girl herself was innocent in the swap. We didn’t blame her, but she was no longer our daughter. The closeness was gone. But then, at her birth parents’ urging, she came to us, feigning a desire to “reconnect.” She invited us to go hiking. And on a scenic overlook, she shoved us off a cliff with a vicious grin. After our deaths, Peanut inherited our entire fortune and lived happily ever after with her doting, “real” family. A wave of pure hatred jolted me back to the present. I linked my arm through my husband’s, giving him a reassuring squeeze. A soft smile touched my lips as I echoed his earlier question. “You’re right, Mom,” I said sweetly. “If Rosie doesn’t make it, shouldn’t Kevin and Jenna be the ones to say goodbye? They are her parents, after all.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air. “Anyone who didn’t know better might think we were her parents.” I turned to my brother and his wife. “And are you two really sure you don’t want to keep trying to save her?” Jenna’s lip curled in a sneer. “That cursed thing was lucky to live in our house for a few months. No good fortune at all. Choking on milk, of all things.” She laughed, a short, ugly sound. “She either had it coming or was paying for sins from a past life.” Kevin didn’t even look up from his phone. “Yeah, sis, mind your own business. Peanut is safe and sound at home. Just focus on your own kid.” I looked toward the ICU, at the tiny form hooked up to all those machines, and a cold smile spread across my face. It was time to give them a little hint. A slow cut is always the most painful. Why should they get to wait eighteen years for the truth when I could give it to them now? “You know,” I said conversationally, “Rosie is only four months old, but she already looks so much like Jenna. Those monolids are identical. Not like our Peanut. She has double eyelids, just like her dad.” Kevin’s expression froze. A flicker of confusion crossed his face. “That’s not right,” he muttered to himself. “Weren’t both kids already…”

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