Two days before the wedding, my best friend told me to test my fiancé. She didn’t believe a notorious playboy like Asher Blackwood, the heir to a fortune, could ever truly change his ways. Her instincts were usually spot on, so that night, I created a fake social media account and, playing the part of a sweet, flirty girl, I slid into his DMs. Asher absolutely shredded me. He shut me down so hard I was left somewhere between laughing and crying at my own foolishness. But then, just as I was about to log off, his tone shifted. A new message appeared. [Alright, I’m done playing this little game with you.] [I don’t mess around with other women. Just you two.] [Clem, next time you want to sext me, just use your real account.] Clem. That’s my best friend’s nickname. 1 After my brain processed those three short messages, the blood in my veins turned to ice. I squeezed my eyes shut, pinching myself hard, trying to wake up. But the frantic, hammering beat of my own heart confirmed it: this was no nightmare. Asher was cheating on me with Cici. But… how? I thought they couldn’t stand each other. Cici always said Asher was nothing but a rich brat who wasn’t good enough for me. And Asher always called Cici a pest, complaining that she’d tell me to dump him every time we had a fight. The shrill ring of a video call jolted me back to the present. It was him. Numbly, I declined the call. A text immediately followed. [Why aren’t you answering?] [Don’t tell me you’re crying.] [Come to The Crest. I’ll make you feel better.] [Don’t worry. Even after I’m married, I’ll still be good to you.] [Anything Lila has, you’ll have too.] [Including me.] 2 I stared at the phone screen, a roaring in my ears that felt like my soul being ripped from my body. Fat, hot tears began to fall, splattering onto the screen. Through the blur, my mind flashed back to the first time I brought Cici to this villa, to all the little details that had seemed so innocent then. Without me saying a word, she knew exactly where my bedroom was, where the walk-in closet was. When I’d playfully snatched her phone, I saw it was already connected to the Wi-Fi. She’d laughed it off, saying she’d guessed my password by chance. Asher’s Oriental Shorthair cat, a creature that was usually aloof even with me, had been inexplicably warm toward her. She’d said it was probably because she smelled like me. But that cat barely let me near it, no matter how many toys or treats I offered. Yet for Cici, a total stranger, it had rolled onto its back, exposing its belly in a sign of complete trust. And then there were all the things in Cici’s apartment—the clothes, the bags, the lipsticks, the makeup—all identical to mine. Some of it, Asher had given her through me, a “bribe” he said, to get on his “toughest critic’s” good side. The rest, Cici had claimed, were gifts from admirers. When I’d excitedly tried to get the gossip out of her, she’d been evasive. I thought she was just being shy. Turns out, she was hiding a guilty conscience. I even remembered the times we’d all gone shopping together, the way the two of them would bicker and snipe at each other, playfully competing for my attention. A few times, their mock-anger had broken, and they’d burst into laughter. And I, like an idiot, had been so happy that they were finally starting to get along. All this time, they’d been using me. Using our friendship as a cover for their affair, playing me for a complete and utter fool. 3 I cried until my eyes were swollen and my head throbbed. Then, I grabbed my car keys and floored it all the way to The Crest. It was another one of Asher’s properties, the place where he’d put up his groomsmen for the wedding. They were having a bachelor party tonight. Asher was there. And so, I saw with a fresh wave of sickness, was Cici. Through the wrought iron fence, I saw them by the pool. Asher looked drunk, his sharp, handsome face flushed from the alcohol. His eyes were hazy as he draped an arm around Cici’s neck, whispering something in her ear. Cici pouted, then gave him a playful, bratty shove, sending him tumbling into the pool. The groomsmen around them hooted and cheered. Asher’s head broke the surface. He slicked his wet hair back, a wicked grin spreading across his face. He grabbed Cici’s ankle and pulled her in with him. As she shrieked, he caught her, lifted her up, and pinned her against the wall of the pool in a bruising, possessive kiss. The crowd erupted. Someone popped a bottle of champagne. Someone else set off a party popper. And then, I heard my own name, dropped like a joke. “Whoa, Ash, you’re marrying Lila in two days. Making out with her best friend might be a bad look, man.” “Haha, what she doesn’t know won’t hurt her! Asher could sleep with Clem right here, right now, and Lila would never have a clue.” “There’s the Asher we know and love! I was starting to worry. All that time you spent chasing Lila, acting like you couldn’t live without her… was that all just an act? I really thought you’d gone soft, pulling that whole ‘reformed playboy’ crap from the movies!” Asher finally broke the kiss. His voice was a low, magnetic rasp, laced with his signature lazy arrogance. “I do love Lila. She’s the only woman I’ll ever marry. I’ll spoil her, I’ll cherish her, I’ll grow old with her. But… giving up all other women for her, at my age…” Asher laughed, then planted a loud, wet kiss on Cici’s neck as she gasped for air, clinging to his shoulders. “I just can’t do it.” He lifted Cici out of the pool and set her down on a lounge chair. Someone rushed over with a towel, but Asher took it and draped it over Cici instead. “Ash, you heading back to Lila’s tonight?” one of the guys asked. Cici looked up at him, her eyes glistening. Asher knelt, pinching her cheek affectionately. “Lila loves Clem more than anyone. I’m a distant second. And right now, Clem is upset. So obviously, I have to stay and comfort her.” He waved a hand at someone behind him. “Ethan, send your sister-in-law a text. Tell her I’m wasted and sleeping here tonight. I’ll pick her up for the rehearsal tomorrow.” Just as a fresh wave of tears blinded me, my phone buzzed. It was a text from Ethan: [Hey Lila, Asher’s had way too much to drink. He’s crashing here tonight. Get some sleep, he’ll come get you for the rehearsal tomorrow morning.] 4 I stood there for a long time, my mind a chaotic whirl of memories. My parents died when I was young, and I was sent to live with my uncle. My cousin bullied me constantly, and my aunt always turned a blind eye. The fights I was too scared to pick, Cici picked for me. The complaints I was too afraid to make, Cici made for me. In school, I was the academic one. I split every scholarship I ever won with her. She was an only child, and not much of a student. The last year of high school, I practically dragged her through it, breaking down every concept, feeding her the knowledge, promising her a future. We both got into the same university. In our second year, I found out my boyfriend was cheating on me. The second Cici heard, she stormed over to their hotel, beat the crap out of him, and tore into the other girl. After graduation, we shared a tiny studio apartment, lost and unsure about the future. We’d huddle under one blanket at night, making pacts that whoever got rich first would take care of the other. “If you make it big, you’re taking me with you.” “First we share a bed, then we share a mansion.” We had been inseparable since we were kids. I thought of her as my family. Maybe blood family wouldn’t love me unconditionally, but I believed, with all my heart, that she would. And now, faced with her betrayal, I didn’t even have the strength to confront her. The same person who once fought my battles for me was now the other woman. My complete, unwavering trust had been met with the most brutal betrayal imaginable. As I walked away from The Crest, the moon hung high and cold in the sky, chilling me to the bone. My thoughts drifted to Asher. At twenty-five, I had become the lead designer at the top wedding planning firm in the city. I met him while setting up the decor for Ethan’s wedding. I’d pulled an all-nighter, and my blood sugar crashed. I fainted and fell into a decorative fountain. Asher was the one who pulled me out. The image of him, holding me in his arms, water dripping from his brow as he looked down at me with those intense eyes, was seared into my memory. My heart had skipped a beat. I found out about his powerful family, his reputation as a womanizer, and I tried to keep my distance. But Asher cleaned up his act. For a whole year, he pursued me. His pursuit was respectful, patient, and deeply romantic. That New Year’s Eve, I went back to my hometown to visit my parents’ graves. My phone died. For three hours, I was unreachable. Terrified that I’d collapsed from low blood sugar somewhere in the countryside, he drove hundreds of miles to find me. I found him standing on a dirt path between fields, shivering in a thin jacket, his neck craned, tears streaming down his face as he screamed my name into the empty air. In that moment, I thought: Mom, Dad, this is him. He’s the one. For three years, his love never seemed to fade. He would get down on one knee in a crowded mall to help me try on shoes. He would find herbal remedies for my cramps and brew them himself, watching the pot for hours. Before introducing me to his parents, he prepped them for weeks to ensure I wouldn’t face a single doubt or ounce of disrespect. He took me into his world of galas and high society, proudly introducing me to everyone. “This is my fiancée, Lila Reed, the lead designer at ArtGrn. You can call her Ms. Reed.” “She’s brilliant. She’s won countless design awards. That royal wedding last year? That was her. She’s booked solid for years.” “Actually, her bookings start the year after next, because next year is for our wedding. It’s going to be massive. You’ll all get an invitation!” His love was so passionate, so perfect. Which made this one flaw so monstrous, so fatal. I checked into a hotel and cried my heart out. I told myself over and over, So you were betrayed. So you were cheated on. The wedding hasn’t happened. The license isn’t signed. There’s still time. I could just run away. Get as far away from this place, from these demons, as possible. But… I wasn’t the one who did something wrong. Why should I be the one to retreat in shame? I was going to get my revenge. The problem wasn’t my sincerity or my kindness. It was my blind trust. I had done nothing wrong. I was a good person. 5 The next day, for the rehearsal, I returned to the villa early. When Asher came to pick me up, I had already composed myself. But he still noticed my swollen eyes. “Were you crying last night?” he asked, his voice soft. He leaned down and gently kissed my eyelid. Bile rose in my throat. “I was just missing my parents,” I lied. He smiled and knelt to help me with my shoes. “They’re in a better place now, smiling down on us.” I stared at the crown of his head, a question burning on my tongue. If you couldn’t be faithful, why did you ask me to marry you? Don’t you know I can’t tolerate betrayal? When you were with Cici behind my back, did it never once occur to you how much it would destroy me if I ever found out? In the end, I clamped my jaw shut and swallowed the words. Asher had been boasting to the world that he was going to give me the grandest wedding imaginable. I was going to personally turn that grand wedding into a grotesque comedy. And Asher would be the clown, standing alone in the spotlight. The rehearsal finished in the afternoon. As we were leaving, I told Asher and Cici to wait for me in the car. I needed to speak with my assistant. As the designer of this multi-million-dollar event, she was also the lead coordinator. After our conversation, she looked troubled, opening her mouth to speak but then thinking better of it. I pretended not to notice. I knew my requests were outrageous. A last-minute change of this magnitude would throw everything into chaos. But I’d handled hundreds of weddings. I’d dealt with brides far more demanding and difficult than this. Now that it was my turn to be the bride, why couldn’t I be a little selfish?

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The last box was in. I’d just finished helping my sister, Hannah, move into her dorm when I collapsed onto her bed, scrolling through my phone. A trending post on the campus forum caught my eye: [Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.] The original poster was vowing to make a move on him. Wow, kids these days are bold, I thought with a smirk. Just as I was thinking that, I looked up. And there she was. Hannah’s beautiful roommate, Ava. She knelt, her voice a soft melody. “Thank you so much for all your hard work today.” “You look exhausted. I have some muscle relief patches. Should I get a couple for you?” 1 [Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.] [It’s move-in day. My roommate showed up with her boyfriend, and it turns out he’s the guy I had a massive crush on in high school. I was heartbroken when I heard he’d gone to study abroad. Now he’s my roommate’s boyfriend? She’s not as pretty or as thin as me. How did she land someone so handsome and kind? I just feel like she doesn’t deserve him at all.] I raised an eyebrow. Was this for real? I kept scrolling. The comments were flooding in—some flaming her, others fanning the flames. [“Not as pretty or as thin as me.” Classic. OP, your confidence is blinding.] [OP replied: Aesthetics are subjective. I just think I’d look better standing next to him.] I couldn’t help but let out a snort of laughter. Where did this girl get her nerve? Probably just another case of unwarranted self-confidence. [If you like him, go for it. All’s fair in love and war.] [OP replied: Mmm… I don’t want to ruin their relationship, but I really, truly believe I could treat him better.] My lips twitched. The sheer audacity was almost impressive. A masterclass in passive-aggressive maneuvering. [Go for it. Win him over, kick your roommate to the curb. You’d be a way better girlfriend, right?] [OP replied: You’re right. I’m going to talk to him right now. But just to be clear, he was my high school crush, not yours. You might want to watch your tone.] This poster was something else. I was completely hooked, utterly fascinated by the unfolding drama. The comment section was a goldmine of absurdity. As I was laughing, I looked up and froze. Someone was standing by the bed. It was my sister’s gorgeous roommate. Ava, I think her name was. I cleared my throat and sat up, smoothing my voice. “Hey, what’s up?” A small smile played on her lips, her beautiful eyes crinkling at the corners as she crouched down to my level. “Thank you so much for all your hard work today,” she said softly. “You look exhausted. I have some muscle relief patches. Should I get a couple for you?” Her voice was so sweet, so different from the way Hannah usually shrieked my name like a banshee. This girl was a breath of fresh air. I found myself acting a bit more reserved. “Oh, no, it’s fine. But thank you.” Ava’s expression faltered for a second, a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Then she smiled again, though it seemed a little forced. “Your hands are all red and scraped up. If you don’t treat them, they’ll hurt more tomorrow.” She placed the patches on the nightstand. “Well, I’ll leave them here. Just use them if you need to.” With that, she walked back to her own desk. I watched her go, a strange sense of melancholy hanging around her. Nah, I’m probably just imagining things, I thought, shaking my head. Time to get back to the post. I flopped back onto the bed and saw the OP had updated. [Update: I just went over and talked to him. He seemed a little cold and didn’t accept my offer of help. I guess he doesn’t remember me…] So, the first attempt was a failure. [Don’t give up, OP! To be the other woman, you gotta have thick skin. I support you!] [OP replied: You’re right, thank you. I shouldn’t let one little setback get me down. I’ll keep trying!] 2 When it was time for dinner, I offered to take Hannah and her roommates out. I was determined to be the best big brother ever and help her get along with her new friends. I picked a nice restaurant near campus and told them to order whatever they wanted. Hannah, never one for subtlety, proceeded to order half the menu. While we waited for the food, I pulled up the post again. Another update. My interest piqued, I started reading. [I’m so mad for him. My roommate is basically using his money for everything. I just don’t get what’s so great about her. If he wanted a gold digger, I’m way more qualified.] The comments exploded again. [Honey, if she can get him to pay for everything, that’s her skill.] [OP replied: I don’t think I’m any worse than she is. Anything she can do, I can do better.] A small laugh escaped me. Now this was the kind of drama I lived for. Let the games begin. [Am I the only one worried about the roommate?? What if they’re actually in love? This is a savage move, OP…] [OP replied: You sympathize with her weakness. I sympathize with his exhaustion. We are not on the same level. You clearly don’t understand true love, but I don’t have time to explain it to you.] [Disclaimer: This post is for sharing and discussion only. Anyone who tries to sabotage my future relationship with him is not welcome. I will delete your comment on sight.] Sure enough, a few seconds later, that critical comment vanished. I was so absorbed I was shaking with suppressed laughter, my throat suddenly parched. I reached for my glass of water, but my hand slipped, knocking it over. Water spilled across the table, rushing toward the edge. Just before it could drench my pants, a hand shot out, quickly sopping up the mess with a stack of napkins. I let out a breath of relief and turned to thank my savior. It was Ava again. “Thanks,” I said with a smile. The more I saw of this girl, the more I liked her. She nodded, her voice as smooth and pleasant as ever. “No problem. Watch your pants.” 3 The food arrived, and I put my phone away. I ate a few bites and then stopped, wanting to make sure the girls had enough. Hannah, however, was stuffing her face while simultaneously piling my plate with all the things I hated. “This is so good, you have to try it! Eat up!” “…” I bit back a retort, deciding to give her a pass. Getting into a brawl with my sister on her first day with new roommates probably wasn’t the best look. The girls were hitting it off, chatting away. I couldn’t really jump in, so I went back to my phone. And what do you know, the OP had updated again. [Major progress! He accidentally spilled his water during dinner, and it almost got on his pants. Luckily, I was quick enough to clean it all up with a napkin. He even smiled at me when he saw it was me!] I raised an eyebrow. What a coincidence. [He’s treating all of us to dinner… and my roommate is just burying her head in her food, not paying any attention to him at all. He does so much for her. I feel so bad for him.] The rest were just comments from other users. The OP hadn’t posted anything else. I sighed, a little disappointed. As I was about to close the app, my thumb slipped and I accidentally opened the OP’s profile page. Hmm? The background photo looked familiar. It was a picture of the tree-lined path in front of my old high school. So we were alumni. Interesting. I was about to look for more clues when a sharp pain shot through my wrist. Probably from hauling all those boxes this afternoon. I suddenly remembered the muscle patches Ava had given me, which I’d shoved into my pocket. I fished them out and stuck one on. Just then, my phone screen lit up. [New update on a post you’re following: ‘[HOT] Help! I’m falling for my roommate’s boyfriend.’] I tapped it open. [I’m so happy! He put on the muscle patch I gave him! So amazing… His girlfriend is the worst, making him do all that heavy lifting. If I had a boyfriend as amazing as him, I’d never let him lift a finger.] 4 I froze. This was too much of a coincidence. Holding my breath, I kept my eyes glued to the screen, but I snuck a glance at Ava across the table. She didn’t have a privacy screen on her phone. I could just make out what looked like a forum page. Could it be…? My suspicion growing, I glanced at her a few more times, then casually typed out a comment. At the same instant, Ava’s phone screen lit up. She looked down, a slight frown on her face, and then her fingers started flying across the screen. When she stopped, I refreshed the post. Sure enough, there was a new reply. [I don’t believe you. You’re just jealous of your roommate.] [OP replied: You can’t talk about the ocean with a frog in a well. You’ve probably never experienced real love, so you can only interpret it as jealousy. It’s okay, I don’t blame you.] A slow grin spread across my face. The spilled water, the muscle patch, the same high school, the synchronized timing. There was no doubt about it. The original poster was Ava. 5 So, Ava thought I was my sister’s boyfriend. Now that was hilarious. I put down my phone and propped my chin on my hand, studying her. She must have sensed my gaze because she looked up, her eyes meeting mine. A flash of panic crossed her face, and she instinctively flipped her phone screen-down on the table. A dead giveaway. I immediately looked away, pretending I hadn’t noticed anything, my fingers drumming a light rhythm on the table. A smile I couldn’t suppress tugged at my lips. If she really wanted to steal me away… Well, that could be interesting. 6 I went back to scrolling through the post. [OP, if your credentials are as good as you say, just go for it! Shower him with attention, find every little opening. There’s no way he won’t fall for you.] [OP replied: Mmm, I think so too. But the problem is, I don’t have his number yet…] His number? That was easy. Using the excuse that it would be easier to get in touch with Hannah in the future, I had them all scan a QR code to create a group chat. A few moments later, a friend request from Ava popped up. I didn’t accept it right away. I waited until after dinner, after I was back in my own apartment. Then, I leisurely accepted her request. A message from her came through almost instantly. [Hi, it’s Ava.] [Hey.] I typed back. I thought for a moment, then decided to add a little fuel to the fire. [It was fun tonight. And thanks in advance for looking after Hannah in the dorm~] No immediate reply this time. The “Ava is typing…” indicator at the top of the screen blinked on and off, on and off. I crossed my legs, relaxed, and poured myself a glass of red wine. A full minute passed before her reply came. [I will. It’s what I should do.] Her tone was perfectly sweet and obedient. Not a single thing to fault. Such a master of the sweet-girl act. I checked her post. Another update. [I got his number! So happy! But he seems to really love his girlfriend… he was even asking me to take care of her. Do I even have a chance?] The comments were a mix of people telling her to give up and others cheering her on. I was getting into it when my phone buzzed with an incoming voice call. It was Ava. That bold? A smirk played on my lips as I answered. “Hello?” I pressed the phone to my ear, waiting for her to speak first. All I heard was her slightly ragged breathing against a faint whisper of wind, as if she were on a balcony or outside. After a moment of silence, her voice came through, softer than it was in person, laced with a delicate, almost imperceptible caution. “Stuart?” “I’m so sorry… I-I think I hit the call button by accident.” “You’re not asleep, are you? I didn’t wake you, did I?” An idea, a wicked little idea, sparked in my mind. “No,” I said coolly. “But if that’s all… I’m going to hang up.” “Wait!” 7 I arched an eyebrow. “Is there something else?” “I heard… I heard you go to Stanford. I was hoping to apply there, and I was wondering… if you could give me some advice?” I smiled to myself and agreed. Then I dangled the bait. “Sure. Just hit me up whenever.” “What about tomorrow afternoon? Would that work?” Her voice on the other end was tight with a nervous energy. I paused for effect before answering. “Tomorrow at two. I’ll text you the address.” “Thank you, thank you so much!” Ava’s voice was practically bubbling with excitement. Her joy was so infectious I felt my own lips curve into a smile. “So… should I bring Hannah along?” she asked, her voice dropping a little, testing the waters. “Do you want to bring her?” I countered. “Well, I…” I cut her off before she could finish. “She doesn’t know much about this stuff anyway. It’ll just be the two of us.” “Ah. Oh.” She sounded taken aback, managing only a stunned little reply. “Okay. If there’s nothing else, I’m hanging up.” “…Okay. Goodnight, Stuart.” I hummed in response and ended the call. A moment later, I got the notification. A new update on the post. [So excited!! I have a private meeting with him tomorrow! PRIVATE! Without my annoying roommate. He’s such a good person—smart, handsome, and kind. I really don’t know what he sees in her…] The comments poured in. [How good can he be? It’s probably just love goggles.] [OP replied: He is amazing. He’s brilliant, handsome, and incredibly smart. If you met him, you’d be stunned too. He was the light of my gloomy high school years. But thank you for implying we’re lovers.] [Seize the opportunity! Use your feminine charms!] [OP replied: Isn’t that a bit much? But… I’ll consider it. Thanks for the tip.] 8 I had the admissions materials ready and was waiting for Ava to arrive. The doorbell rang at two o’clock sharp, not a second early or late. I opened the door and smiled at her. “Come on in.” “Sorry to bother you,” Ava murmured as she slipped past me. A faint, fruity-floral scent wafted into the air. Taking a closer look, I realized she’d made an effort. She was wearing light makeup, and her hair had been carefully curled. I chuckled inwardly and pulled a pair of slippers from the shoe cabinet. “These are Hannah’s. Hope you don’t mind.” Ava’s expression froze for a split second before she recovered, her face resuming its sweet, well-behaved look. “Not at all. Thank you.” Once inside, she sat primly on the sofa and asked a few very proper questions about the application process, which I answered one by one. “Wow, you know so much,” she said, her gaze fixed on me, the admiration in her eyes so blatant it was almost searing. I felt a flicker of heat and looked away. “Any other questions?” She turned her laptop screen toward me, then stood up, walked around the coffee table, and sat on the sofa right next to me. “I don’t quite get this part. Could you take a look?” Her tone was sincere, as if she were genuinely confused. But her body leaned in slightly, her warm breath ghosting against my neck. So that was her game. I explained the section to her, subtly closing the distance between us even more. “Got it now?” I asked, deliberately turning my head. My lips almost brushed her cheek. Ava froze, her gaze dropping from my eyes down to my lips. I saw a flash of delight in her eyes. I smirked, then stood up. “Want some water? Or something else to drink?” She snapped back to reality, the tips of her ears turning a bright red. “Water… water is fine. Thank you.” 9 The sky darkened outside. The afternoon had slipped away without us noticing. “Have I taken up too much of your time?” Ava asked, looking apologetic. I glanced at her. Her words said one thing, but her body language screamed that she had no intention of leaving. I suddenly remembered what she’d said on the phone last night. “How did you know I went to Stanford?” I had assumed she’d heard it from Hannah. “You probably don’t remember me,” Ava said with a small, pretty smile, “but I was your junior in high school.” She admitted it that easily? I gave her a surprised look. “I was a freshman when you were a senior,” she continued, pausing for a moment. “I was the one they sent to give you flowers after your speech.” I frowned, trying to recall. The memory was vague. “When was this?” “At the graduation ceremony, for the valedictorian speech.” I wracked my brain and a faint image surfaced. “And at your English speech competition your senior year,” she added, looking at me. “I was in the front row.” Her voice was soft. “You were shining so brightly back then… like a star, totally out of reach.” I was momentarily stunned, caught in her gaze. Her bright, clear eyes seemed to hold a galaxy of starlight. I opened my mouth, then closed it again, at a loss for words. The calm, still lake of my heart suddenly felt a ripple spreading across its surface. 10 That night, the post was updated again. [I went to his apartment today! And I told him I was his junior from high school. He didn’t seem to remember, but that’s okay. We’re one step closer. Defeating my roommate is just a matter of time!] I laughed out loud. Ava really was a master of deception. In front of me, she was the sweet, innocent girl. Behind my back, she was the conniving home-wrecker. After that day, Ava messaged me almost every day. Sometimes it was to ask a question. Other times, it was just to check in. [The forecast says it might rain today. Don’t forget to bring an umbrella when you go out!] [I noticed you were drinking a matcha latte the other day. I know a really great matcha place. We should go try it sometime!] [Hannah just asked me to play video games with her. Too bad I’m not very good at them, I guess all my brainpower went into studying…] Tsk. Now she was the sweet girl who subtly put others down. That afternoon, Hannah sent a message in the group chat asking if I wanted to come to their badminton match the next day. I was about to type “no” when Ava’s message popped up. [It’s our school against the one next door. Hannah and I are both playing. You should come watch!] I deleted my message and typed a new one. [Okay.] 11 The sun was blinding. I arrived at the gym carrying a bag full of drinks and snacks Hannah had demanded I bring. The place was already packed. I overheard a couple of guys talking nearby. “I wonder when Ava’s playing. Can’t wait to see her!” “Dude, she looks amazing in normal clothes. I can’t even imagine how good she’ll look in a jersey…” “Hey, does she have a boyfriend?” Another guy shrugged. “Heard a guy from the athletics department asked her out—he’s even kind of an influencer—but she turned him down. Said she already likes someone.” … After a short wait, Hannah and Ava finally came over. Ava rushed ahead and took the heavy bag from my hands. I heard one of the guys next to me gasp. She frowned at Hannah. “Why didn’t you help him carry some of this?” Hannah just looked bewildered. “What’s the big deal?” I held back a sigh. “Where am I sitting?” Hannah pointed me to a seat with a perfect view of the court. When I got there, I found a paper bag waiting for me. Inside was an iced matcha latte. My phone buzzed. A text from Ava. [That’s from the shop I told you about. Hope you like it.] I smiled and popped the straw in. The rich, earthy flavor of matcha blended perfectly with the creamy milk. The match started soon after I sat down. To be honest, I couldn’t care less about badminton. My eyes were glued to Ava. On the court, she was a whirlwind of youthful energy, her movements swift and fluid. She leaped into the air, her right arm swinging down in a powerful smash. The crowd erupted in cheers. Ava broke into a wide, triumphant grin, her eyes flicking almost imperceptibly in my direction. During the halftime break, I grabbed a bottle of water and a towel from the bag and headed toward the players’ rest area.

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The doctors said I’d never really grow up — that my mind would stay like a child’s. But I knew my husband Joshua was the best person in the whole world. He’d ruffle my hair, call me his “silly girl,” and help me glue my crooked art projects. Then he said he had to be a doctor far, far away — in a war zone. He promised to video call on my birthday. I waited and waited. Then a man in uniform gave me Joshua’s wet phone. “There was fighting… He’s a star now.” After he became a star, everyone called me a hero’s wife. Every day I drew him a picture and “mailed” it with his favorite soda to the stars. Until one day I saw him. He was in the bakery across the street, feeding the biggest strawberry from my cake to my best friend. He didn’t see me watching through the glass. He didn’t know that in a simple world, the rules are simple too: A bad kid who steals strawberries… must be locked away. 1 I was standing in front of the community mail lockers, clutching the drawing I’d made for Joshua. It was a picture of a big, sparkling star, holding a bottle of his favorite orange soda. The mailman, Mr. Henderson, didn’t smile at me today. He just looked at me and sighed. “Tricia,” he said gently, “Dr. Cross was a hero. You need to take care of yourself, you hear?” I nodded and pushed the drawing and the soda into locker #27. Click. The little metal door shut. This was my special place for talking to my star. I came here every single day. Joshua said he went somewhere far, far away, to become a star in the sky and watch over me. I believed him. On my way home, I passed by the bakery. The most beautiful strawberry tarts were lined up in the window, the red berries gleaming like tiny, perfect hearts. Joshua used to buy these for me all the time. He’d always save the biggest, reddest one, spear it with a fork, and lift it to my lips. My silly girl deserves the sweetest things, he’d say. I decided to buy one, to mail to my star tomorrow. And then, a familiar shape reflected in the glass. I saw him. Joshua. He was back. He hadn’t become a star at all. He was sitting right there, at a table by the window. And across from him was my best friend, Vivian. Joshua was smiling. His smile was just as handsome as I remembered. He took the little silver fork and carefully lifted the biggest, reddest strawberry from the cake. I froze, watching through the glass. Time seemed to stop. He moved the fork slowly, gently… and fed the strawberry right into Vivian’s mouth. Vivian’s eyes crinkled into happy little crescents, just like the moon. I knew that gesture. That strawberry was supposed to be mine. The bottle of orange soda slipped from my fingers. Pop. It rolled a few times on the pavement and came to rest by my feet. Fizz bubbled out across the concrete, like the tears I couldn’t cry. But I wasn’t crying. My world had gone completely silent. Me, on the outside of the glass. Them, on the inside. A new world, and an old one. The only thing I could see was that stolen strawberry. It was so red. Red like blood. A thought started to grow in my mind, very, very slowly. Joshua wasn’t a star. He was a thief. He stole my strawberry. I turned away from the bakery. The little bell on the door didn’t jingle for me. I walked slowly, my feet stepping on my own long shadow. The sun was setting. The streetlights flickered on, stretching my shadow until it was long and thin. I looked down at it. It looked back at me. Neither of us said a word. The walk home felt so much longer today. I passed the house of the man in the uniform who told me Joshua was a star. The lights were on inside. I could hear laughter. Liars. You’re all liars. I got home and opened the door. The apartment was dark and quiet. I didn’t turn on the lights. I like the dark. The dark is simple. You can’t see lies in the dark. A photo of Joshua and me hung on the wall. He was holding me, smiling like the sun. I walked over to it and reached out, tracing the outline of his face. It was cold. I guess he’d always been cold. I went to my room. My bed was covered in stuffed animals. Joshua said they would keep me company while he was away. I picked up the biggest one, a floppy-eared rabbit with black, glassy eyes. I whispered to the rabbit, “Joshua is a thief.” The rabbit said nothing. “He stole my strawberry.” The rabbit still said nothing. “He and Vivian… they’re bad kids.” I set the rabbit aside and opened my sketchbook. The last page was the star I drew today. I stared at it for a long, long time. Then, I took a red crayon and drew a cross over it. A big, angry, red X. The old rules weren’t fun anymore. Stars could fall from the sky. Heroes could be thieves. This game needed a new way to play. I flipped to a fresh page. With a black marker, I wrote the first new rule. 1. A bad kid who steals something has to give it back. I looked at the words, but it didn’t feel like enough. I thought for a moment, then added a second line beneath it. 1. If they don’t, they have to be locked away. I closed the book and tucked it under my pillow. My world needed new rules. And I was going to be the one to make them. 2 The next morning, I woke up early. Sunlight streamed through the window, but it carried no warmth. I pulled my rulebook out from under my pillow and read the two lines again. 1. A bad kid who steals something has to give it back. 2. If they don’t, they have to be locked away. I nodded to myself. That was right. I got out of bed and poured myself a glass of water. I used to drink only soda, because Joshua said sweet things were for kids like me. I didn’t feel like having anything sweet today. The water tasted like nothing, which was perfect. Sitting at my little table, I started to draw. Not a star this time, but a cake with one perfect strawberry missing. Across from it stood a little girl, crying. And opposite her, a man and a woman smiled, with tell-tale red stains on their lips. When I was finished, I tore the page out, folded it neatly, and put it in my pocket. The phone rang. It was Vivian. I stared at her name on the screen for a long time. She used to call me every day to see if I was okay. She said she would take care of me for Joshua. I answered. “Tricia, where were you yesterday? I called and you didn’t pick up,” her voice was as smooth and warm as ever. I didn’t say anything. “Tricia? What’s wrong? Are you feeling sick?” “The strawberry,” I said. The line went quiet for a second. “What strawberry? Oh, Chlo, do you want some strawberry tart? I can bring some over later, okay?” “It was red,” I stated. She laughed a little. “Of course, it was red, silly. Strawberries are always red.” Her gentle laugh scraped against my ears. “You ate it,” I said, each word a separate, hard little stone. The silence on the other end of the line stretched on, much longer this time. “Tricia… did you see something?” Her voice had changed. It was sharp now, anxious. I didn’t answer. I just hung up and blocked her number. I don’t need to talk to bad kids. I grabbed my little teddy bear backpack and put the drawing inside it. There was one more thing I needed. I opened Joshua’s closet. It was filled with his clothes, all smelling of him—a clean, sunny smell of soap. Now it just smelled like lies. From the inner pocket of his suit jacket, I found a business card. It was for the hospital where he worked, with the director’s name and number on it. I put that in my backpack, too. I was ready. The game had begun. I went to Joshua’s hospital. Everyone here knew me. They called me “Mrs. Cross.” Their eyes were always full of pity and respect. A kind nurse knelt down to my level. “Tricia, what are you doing here? Are you feeling alright?” I shook my head and pulled the drawing from my backpack. “I need to see the director.” The nurse looked surprised for a moment, then smiled. “Of course. I’ll take you.” The director’s office was huge, with a big wooden desk. The walls were covered in photos, and one of them was of Joshua. He was in his white coat, smiling handsomely. Underneath it, a plaque read: Our Hero. The director, a kind-faced man with white hair, sat me down and gave me a glass of warm milk. “So, Tricia, what can I do for you?” I handed him my drawing. He unfolded it. The smile on his face slowly faded as he studied the man, the woman, and the cake with its missing strawberry. “Tricia, this is…” “A thief,” I said. “He stole my strawberry.” The director looked at me, his eyes filled with a complicated expression. He seemed like he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. He placed the drawing on his desk. “Tricia, Joshua was a good doctor, he…” “He’s not a star.” I cut him off, pulling the business card from my backpack and placing it next to the drawing. “He’s a bad kid.” The director stared at the card, then back at me, and let out a long, heavy sigh. He picked up his desk phone and dialed a number. “Yes, Bill, it’s me… Regarding Dr. Cross’s death benefits and the commendation… I think we need to put a hold on that and have a discussion… Yes, his wife was just here.” I listened silently. I didn’t know what “death benefits” or “commendation” meant. I just knew I had made the right first move. A picture of a bad kid needs to hang where everyone can see it. That’s the only way they’ll all know what he really is. 3 The sun was blindingly bright when I left the hospital. I didn’t go home. I went to the park, the one where Joshua and I used to go all the time. Pigeons strutted across the pavement, cooing for breadcrumbs. Joshua once told me that pigeons carry messages to people who are far away. I sat on our favorite bench and pulled a small piece of bread from my pocket, crumbling it onto the ground. A fat pigeon waddled over and began to peck at the crumbs. I whispered to it, “Tell Joshua they’re taking his picture down.” The pigeon cooed twice, then took flight, soaring into the sky. It would deliver the message. I was sure of it. I started going to the same park every day, sitting on the same bench. I stopped visiting the mail locker. That was a place for sending letters to stars, and Joshua wasn’t a star. He didn’t deserve my letters. I bought a new notebook, a hardcover one with a very serious-looking cat on the cover. I liked him. I named the notebook my “Bad Kid Record Book.” On the first page, I glued a promotional flyer from the hospital that I’d taken. It had Joshua’s picture on it. I used a red pen to draw a big question mark over the word “Hero.” Then, I started to draw. I drew the scene in the bakery. Joshua’s smile, Vivian’s mouth, and the missing strawberry. I drew it in great detail, right down to the wood grain on the table. Every day I came to the park, and every day I added something to my book. Sometimes pictures, sometimes words. Today, Vivian called again. I didn’t answer. Today, I saw her waiting by my front door. I used the back entrance. Today, Mrs. Gable from next door asked why the hospital took Joshua’s picture down. I told her it was because he steals things. Mrs. Gable gave me a very strange look. She didn’t believe me. That was okay. I would make them all believe me. There was an old man who also came to the park every day. He always sat on the bench across from me, reading his newspaper. Sometimes, he would watch me. I didn’t mind. In my world, there was only my rulebook and my mission. One afternoon, I was sketching a picture of Joshua and Vivian holding hands. I’d seen them the day before, hiding behind an aisle at the supermarket. They thought I didn’t know. Silly them. The old man walked over. “Young lady,” he asked, “what is it you’re drawing so intently every day?” I looked up at him. His eyes were kind, not full of pity like everyone else’s. I handed him my book. He turned the pages one by one, very, very slowly. His expression shifted from curiosity to seriousness. He pointed to my drawing of the bakery. “When did this happen?” “On my birthday,” I said. He then pointed to the picture of them holding hands. “And this?” “The day before yesterday. At the grocery store.” He closed the book and handed it back to me. “What’s your name?” “Tricia.” “My name is Peterson,” he said. “I’m a retired police officer.” A police officer. Police officers catch bad people. My eyes lit up. I looked at Mr. Peterson and asked, my voice full of hope, “Officer, are you going to help me lock up the thief?” He blinked, then a small smile touched his lips. “I’ll do my best.” 4 Mr. Peterson was true to his word. From that day on, he didn’t just read his newspaper. He brought a small notepad and would ask me questions. “Tricia, do you remember exactly when Joshua ‘became a star’?” I tilted my head, thinking. “When the balloons in the shop windows started to droop.” “And who gave you his phone that day?” “A man in a uniform. He said his name was Davis.” Mr. Peterson jotted it all down. He asked me about Vivian, too. “When did she start being ‘extra nice’ to you?” I thought hard. “Right after Joshua left.” “What kind of things would she do for you?” “She’d help me pay the bills, buy my groceries… She even took my bank card and said she’d help me manage my money.” Mr. Peterson’s brow furrowed. “Your bank card? Which one?” “The one Joshua gave me. He said it had lots and lots of money in it.” His pen flew across the page. “Tricia, you’re doing great,” he said. “These are very important clues.” I didn’t know what clues were. I just knew that I was playing a game of “Find the Bad Kids” with Mr. Peterson, and we were on the same team. Besides talking to him, I started a new task. I began to go through all of Joshua’s things. His closet, his desk, every box he’d left behind. I used to be afraid to touch them, scared I’d disturb the lingering scent of him. I wasn’t scared anymore. The smell of lies needed to be aired out. Tucked away in the lining of an old suitcase, I found something. It was a movie ticket stub, dated from last winter. On that day, Joshua had told me he was attending a very important medical conference and would be back in three days. I remembered it perfectly, because it was snowing heavily and I missed him so much. But next to the ticket stub was a small receipt. A receipt for two hot chocolates. I stared at that receipt, and a memory sparked. That same night, Vivian had posted a photo to her social media. It was a picture of a hand holding a cup of hot chocolate, with the caption: Snowy nights are better with a friend. I had even ‘liked’ the post at the time. I scrolled back through Vivian’s feed, back, back, back for what felt like forever. And there it was. The picture. I laid my phone, the movie ticket, and the receipt for two hot chocolates side by side on the table. Evidence. Mr. Peterson said that’s what this was called. Evidence. I carefully placed all of it inside my Bad Kid Record Book. The thief’s trail was getting clearer. 5 Joshua was getting nervous. He didn’t contact me directly. He sent Mr. Davis, the “man in the uniform,” to my door. He was waiting for me one afternoon, looking tired and unshaven. He wasn’t stern like before; his smile was weak and pleading. “Tricia, how have you been?” I just stared at him. He pulled a thick envelope from his pocket. “Joshua asked me to give this to you. He said it must be hard for you, living alone. This should help.” I looked at the envelope. It was fat with cash. Joshua used to tell me money could buy all the strawberry tarts in the world. But my strawberry wasn’t for sale. It was stolen. I didn’t take it. Mr. Davis’s smile faltered. He pushed the envelope into my hands. “Take it, Tricia. You deserve it.” The envelope felt dirty in my hands. “Joshua is a thief,” I said. Mr. Davis’s face stiffened. “Tricia, don’t say things like that. Joshua… he had his reasons.” “He stole my strawberry,” I repeated. “What does a strawberry have to do with anything!” he snapped, his patience wearing thin. “Tricia, just be a good girl, take the money, and stop spreading these stories. It’s better for you, and for Joshua.” I looked right at him and asked, “Did you eat my strawberry, too?” He froze, his mouth hanging open, speechless. I pushed the envelope back into his chest. “I don’t want a thief’s money.” I closed the door, shutting him out. I heard him sigh heavily, and then his footsteps faded down the stairs. The next day, I went to a big toy store. I used my own money to buy the most expensive, most beautiful dollhouse they had. It was three stories tall, with a balcony and a garden—everything I ever dreamed a house could be. I brought it home and set it up right in the middle of my living room. Then I found two of my old dolls, a boy and a girl. With a black marker, I drew a little thief’s mask on the boy doll’s face. On the girl doll’s lips, I dabbed a tiny speck of red, like strawberry juice. I placed them together in the master bedroom on the top floor. Every day, I would talk to the dollhouse. “Hello, thief. Are you happy today?” “Where did you hide the things you stole?” Vivian saw it all when she came to find me. She barged in and froze, her eyes fixed on the dollhouse and the two figures inside. Her face went pale. “Tricia… what is this? What are you doing?” I picked up the girl doll and held it out to her. “Look,” I said. “You ate the strawberry. Now your mouth is all dirty.” 6 I stopped going to the park. Mr. Peterson said the bad kids knew we were onto them now, and it was safer for me to stay home. He came to visit me every day instead, checking my locks and reminding me not to open the door for strangers. He became my new best friend. I told him all about my dollhouse. He listened intently. “Tricia,” he said, “you’re much smarter than they think.” I don’t know about smart. I just know my game has to be played by my rules. Vivian came by every day. She wouldn’t knock, she would just stand outside my door for a long time. Sometimes she’d slip things through the mail slot—a piece of cake, a new dress. I collected everything she left and threw it all in the dumpster outside. Gifts from bad kids are poison. Joshua didn’t show up again, but he was watching me in other ways. I noticed a black car was always parked down the street. There was someone inside. I drew the curtains and pretended not to see. I knew they were scared. Scared of my dollhouse, scared of my record book, scared of my new rules. I started a new project. I gathered all the gifts Joshua and Vivian had ever given me. A necklace from him with a tiny star pendant. A sweater from her with a cute bunny on it. A music box he’d made himself that played “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star.” I arranged them, one by one, around the dollhouse, like offerings at an altar. Mr. Peterson saw the display on his next visit. He was silent for a long time. Then he stroked my hair and said, “Tricia, if you’re sad, it’s okay to cry.” I shook my head. “I’m not sad.” It was the truth. My heart felt perfectly calm, like the sea just before a hurricane. I picked up the star necklace. Using a pair of small pliers, I snipped the little star pendant off the chain and dropped it in the trash. Then, I took the bunny sweater and a pair of scissors and carefully cut out every single bunny. Last was the music box. I opened it, and the delicate melody began to play. Twinkle, twinkle, little star… I found a small hammer. Just as the music reached its highest note, I lifted the hammer high and brought it down with all my strength. SMASH. The music stopped. The world went quiet. I looked at Mr. Peterson. “See? Broken things need to be fixed.” Or destroyed.

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The corporate retreat was a hike up Mount Sterling, and my new sneakers had rubbed my ankles raw before we even reached the halfway point. Limping and falling behind, I texted Liam: “Can you slow down? My feet are bleeding.” He replied instantly: “Hang in there. We’re almost at the top.” I watched his tall, straight back ahead and put my phone away. He never gave me special treatment in public. Our company had a strict no-dating policy. After five years together, no one knew. But when I finally reached the summit, I saw Liam kneeling in front of the new intern. She wore brand-new leather loafers, and he was gently holding her ankle while applying a bandage. “Who wears these for hiking? Does it hurt?” She wiggled her foot, blushing. “I don’t think I can walk. Mr. Song, could you… carry me down?” Amid the teasing from our colleagues, Liam—the man who kept a two-foot gap from me in the hallway—let her climb onto his back. The mountain wind howled, and my ankle burned like fire. That’s when I realized his “professional distance” was a rule only for me. On the first workday after the retreat, I left my resignation letter on my desk, next to the box of bandages he’d once left in my drawer. Then I bought a one-way ticket home. 1 The station announcer called for boarding. I stood in the waiting hall, taking one last, long look at the city I had called home for five years. Because Liam was still here. The thought of leaving had first taken root at the end of last year. During the year-end financial review, the company paid out bonuses based on project performance. There was a major project I had led from start to finish. But in the final stages, I had let the new intern, Tina, assist with some of the wrap-up tasks. When the final assessments came in, ninety percent of the bonus for that project was allocated to her. It was my work, the result of over two months of my life. Mr. Quinn, my department head, looked uncomfortable. “Anna, this was Mr. Song’s decision…” I was the one who had made an exception to bring Tina onto the project in the first place. I wanted to help a younger colleague, give her a chance to shine. I never imagined that my two months of hard work would end up making someone else look good. “Mr. Song emphasized the importance of rewarding promising new talent like Tina,” Mr. Quinn said, his voice trailing off helplessly. Tina. The intern. And Mr. Song—Liam Song—was my boyfriend of five years. 2 A bitter wind whipped across the platform. I stood at my designated boarding spot, systematically deleting the photos of us from my phone. Liam had always insisted that an office romance was a fireable offense, so our five-year relationship had remained a secret. I had to beg him just to keep these few photos, and I was forbidden from ever sharing them on social media. He was so careful about maintaining his distance that everyone in the office thought he hated me. Even when he arbitrarily reassigned my project bonus, our colleagues just saw it as business as usual. Deleting the photos brought back the memory of that day. Swallowing my rage, I had called him from the hallway. As expected, he declined the call. For five years, he almost never answered my calls during work hours. A text immediately followed: Busy. But this wasn’t personal. I marched straight to his top-floor office. Through the glass partition, I saw him leaning over Tina’s desk, explaining a proposal. As she leaned in closer, the fringe of her scarf brushed against his neck. He was brilliant, no doubt about it. He’d been put in charge of the Kingston branch at such a young age and had earned the admiration of the New York headquarters in just a few years. There was a time when I had longed for his guidance, too. But he had always brushed me off impatiently. “Figure out the basics yourself, Anna. I’m busy.” When I made a mistake and faced disciplinary action, he never intervened. “You’ll only learn if you feel the consequences.” Yet here he was, patiently explaining the fundamentals to Tina, who didn’t even know how to create a pivot table. On his desk sat the lunch I prepared for him every single day. To avoid suspicion, I always had one of the cafeteria staff deliver it for me. “Mr. Song, I skipped breakfast and I’m starving,” Tina whined, pointing at my lunchbox. “Can I have your lunch? I’ll treat you to a nice dinner later.” “Go ahead,” he said, not even looking up from his emails. Tina happily opened the container and started praising the beef brisket. Suddenly, arguing with Liam about the bonus seemed utterly pointless. As I turned to leave, the entire building plunged into darkness. A massive storm had knocked out the power, and the company sent out an emergency notice for everyone to work from home. Groping my way down the dark staircase, I saw two figures walking side-by-side in the rain. Liam was holding an umbrella, carefully shielding Tina as he guided her to his car. I arrived home looking like a drowned rat. A few minutes later, Liam called. “Anna,” he said, “I figured you had an umbrella. You made it home okay?” In the background, I could hear Tina asking if he wanted extra ginger in his ginger tea. “I made the tomato beef brisket today,” I said, my grip tightening on the phone. “How was it?” “Hm? Oh, it was fine,” he answered distractedly. After we hung up, I saw Tina’s new social media post: a picture of two mugs clinking together in a warmly lit room. The caption read: It feels so good to be someone’s favorite. 3 The train glided into the station. I dragged my suitcase aboard, vaguely hearing someone shout my name from behind. Maybe it was for me, maybe not. I didn’t want to turn around. This journey home from Southbridge had its first stop in Crestwood. And my story with Liam had begun in Crestwood. It was my first time managing a bid proposal on my own. The subway had shut down, and the line for a taxi was over four hundred people long. I was about to miss the deadline. In desperation, I called Mr. Quinn, who cursed me out before giving me Liam’s number and telling me to ask him for help. When I called, my voice trembling, Liam listened and then sighed softly. “Don’t worry. Stay put, I’m coming.” He sped through the storm, calming my panic while gently reminding me to always plan for delays. We submitted the proposal with seconds to spare. I was drenched in a cold sweat. He leaned against his car and handed me a steaming cup of coffee. That night, I made a post on my private story, visible only to him: Met a soft-hearted god in the middle of a storm. He quietly ‘liked’ it. Now, I found myself ‘liking’ Tina’s post. A minute later, it vanished. Liam called almost immediately, his tone probing. “I’m on my way home.” I kept my voice even, just telling him to drive safe. He seemed to relax. “You take care, too. Don’t catch a cold.” “Liam,” I said suddenly, “this year, for the holidays… can we tell my parents about us?” He had always refused, saying the time wasn’t right. “Let’s not,” he said, his voice low. “They’re already pushing you to get married. Let’s not add fuel to the fire.” “Okay,” I said with a small, hollow laugh, and hung up. The fever hit me hard after being soaked in the rain. For the first time ever, I took a taxi to work. As I stared out the window, Liam’s car sped past me. My apartment was actually very close to his. But the direct route, Maple Creek Drive, had always been a traffic nightmare, a guaranteed thirty-minute jam. So I never expected him to give me a ride, and he was happy to maintain the professional distance. It wasn’t until today that I realized the road had been repaired for over six months. The drive now took ten minutes. For half a year, he had driven past my front door every single day and never once offered me a ride. And today, he was coming from the direction of Tina’s apartment complex. It wasn’t on his way at all. It was a special trip. At the office, I stuck a cooling patch to my forehead and buried myself in preparing handover documents. A familiar figure appeared at my desk. Liam frowned. “You’re sick? Why didn’t you say anything?” I didn’t look up. “What’s the point? It’s not like you’d take care of me like a normal boyfriend.” Noticing colleagues arriving, I lowered my voice. “You should go. You hate being seen with me, remember?” He was silent for a moment before turning and walking away. 4 The second stop was Ashville. My connection with Liam had a chapter in Ashville, too. I had just been made a permanent employee. I went with Mr. Quinn and Liam to Ashville to finalize a contract. The night before the signing, after we’d reviewed the final proposal, we went out for a late dinner. Suddenly, a group of masked men rushed out of the darkness. Their target was clearly Liam, and they were vicious. Mr. Quinn started shouting and fumbling for his phone to call the police. If something happened to Liam, tomorrow’s contract was dead. Without thinking, I grabbed a loose brick from the pavement and charged. We both ended up taking a beating. When I saw a knife swinging toward Liam’s head, I threw myself in front of him, taking the blow on my arm. He pulled me down with him as we fell, and the last thing I heard before passing out was the wail of sirens. When I woke up, he was the only one in the hospital room. “Was it worth it?” he asked, staring at me. “Ready to die for me?” “I couldn’t just… watch them hurt you,” I whispered. “You helped me before. This time, I helped you.” I looked down and realized he was holding my hand. The gesture felt strangely familiar. I froze. “Mr. Song…” “Call me by my name,” he said softly. On the day I was discharged, the company was supposed to send a car, but he came to pick me up himself. He took me to the lake in Crestwood, his gaze as gentle as the rippling water. “I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said. “The girl who took a knife for me… if she’s willing to walk toward me, I’ll cherish her forever.” The setting sun stained the lake red. I reached out and hugged him. He leaned down and kissed my forehead. Back then, he looked at my wounds with such heartache. Now, he just frowned at my fever patch. After I finished the handover documents, a colleague nudged me to check the work group chat. In the new project channel, Mr. Quinn had added Liam. He had posted only one message: The project is entering its final phase. Full responsibility will be transferred to Tina. My colleagues shot discreet glances at me, waiting for a reaction. Everyone knew Liam disliked me, but this was a deliberate humiliation. I simply typed, “Received.” It was for the best. It made the handover even easier. I transferred all the materials to Tina, then submitted a request for sick leave. It was approved instantly. I left my resignation letter on the desk, too. 5 The third stop: Haven Springs. Haven Springs was the last place Liam and I had traveled to together. His promotion was about to be announced, and I was thrilled for him. We went to a famous hot springs resort there. The owner said that if a couple posted a photo together on social media and got 30 ‘likes’, he’d give them VIP tickets for the Ferris wheel next door. No waiting in line, straight to the top. Legend had it that if a couple kissed at the very top of the Ferris wheel, they would be happy forever and never part. I wanted to post to a private group of friends, but Liam refused. “The company forbids office romance, Anna. You know that.” “I know, but I can set the post so colleagues won’t see it.” “Have you ever heard of the six degrees of separation theory? It’s too risky.” In the end, we bought regular tickets to the amusement park. But the line for the Ferris wheel was too long, and we never got on. Seeing my disappointment, he comforted me. “Anna, it’s because I love you that I want to protect you, to protect us.” “Will you help me guard our love?” he asked. I naively agreed. And so began five years of carrying the secret alone. Compared to the countless heartaches of those five years, that fever was nothing. After submitting my resignation, I went home, packed my bags, and waited for my late-night train. Suddenly, the door opened. It was Liam. He slipped on the house slippers and walked in. “Why is so much stuff missing?” he asked, a bag of soup and porridge in his hand as he surveyed the room. “Just doing some New Year’s cleaning,” I said, clearing my throat. He set the bag on the coffee table, and as he unpacked it, he froze. “Where are our photos?” I used to have our Polaroid pictures scattered everywhere—on the coffee table, the dining table, the bookshelf. I closed my eyes. “Some colleagues came over the other day. I put them away.” He helped me sit up and handed me chopsticks. I looked at the table full of food but had no appetite. “Not hungry?” He sat beside me, reaching to put an arm around me. “Want some hot water then?” I shifted away, and just then, his phone rang. It was Tina, her voice frantic. “Mr. Song, I can’t find the signed acceptance form for the Tech Park project! What do I do?!” He stood up. “Hold on, I’m on my way.” He looked back at me, his expression all business again. “Is this how you handle a handover?” He didn’t even wait for my explanation before grabbing his coat and rushing out the door. Just like the countless times he had left me for work. Only this time, it made me feel even more ridiculous. The folder and cabinet number for the acceptance form were clearly listed on the last page of the handover document. Tina had made the presentation for that project; she knew exactly where it was. Sure enough, a little while later, a text from Liam came through. Found it. Your notes were very clear. It was followed by a money transfer for the exact amount of my missing bonus. I declined it. He sent back a frustrated emoji. Get some rest. I have a meeting. Every Friday at this time, he had a video conference with the New York headquarters. He wouldn’t look at his phone for three or four hours. I sent him one last message. Let’s break up. I blocked his number and then called my landlord to terminate the lease. 6 The fourth stop was Silver Creek, my transfer station. Two more stops and I’d be home. But the train was delayed, by at least an hour. I wasn’t in a hurry. I found a little café to kill time. The company had a branch here, too. Liam and I used to come for meetings, always in separate cars with a team of people. No one ever suspected a thing. I had slowly started to make a name for myself under Mr. Quinn. Because Liam was so demanding, everyone advised me to learn how to suck up to him. So I did. I bought him a Yuanyang tea latte and handed it to him with a serious expression. “Is this the Yuanyang?” he asked, taking it. “Yes,” I smiled. “Doesn’t Mr. Song only drink coffee?” Mr. Quinn chuckled. “Changing tastes just for Silver Creek?” Liam didn’t say anything. He just traced the word “Yuanyang” on the cup with his finger and nodded at me. “Thanks.” I practically floated back to my seat, hiding my smile as I sipped my own. It was our secret, a hidden current of affection beneath a sea of professionalism. That’s probably why I froze when I saw him accept a Yuanyang tea latte from Tina’s hands. I had just sat down with my order when my phone exploded with notifications from Mr. Quinn. You’re quitting?! Is it because of the bonus? You’re a senior employee, you need to be more magnanimous… Mr. Song saw your letter. He ripped it up! He was furious! Annoyed, I blocked him, too. Then, my landlord called. “Honey, your boyfriend came by the apartment about three or four hours ago. My daughter-in-law was there, that’s how I knew. I just thought I should tell you.” Liam must have seen my message after his meeting and found out I was quitting. “He renewed the lease for you,” she continued. “Said you’d be back.” “My daughter-in-law said he tore the place apart looking for something, then grabbed his car keys and stormed out. Looked like he was on the warpath. Honey, it’s the holidays, you two shouldn’t be fighting.” I had to laugh. Fight? I didn’t have the energy for that anymore. My phone showed a notification: 99+ calls from blocked numbers. I didn’t check who it was. I drank my tea, watched a movie, and when I figured it was about time, I stood up to head back to the platform. Just then, the barista called out to a new customer. “Sir, what can I get for you?” “A Yuanyang tea latte.” The familiar voice cut through the café’s chatter. I looked up. Liam was standing there, his face ashen, shoulders dusted with snow. He practically spat the words out. 7 “What’s the matter, Mr. Song? Not too sweet for you?” I shrugged and grabbed my suitcase to leave. He snatched the suitcase with one hand and my arm with the other, dragging me out of the café. Unfortunately, the holiday travel rush meant the waiting hall was a sea of people. There was nowhere private for him to unleash his fury. He pulled me toward an exit. “Let’s talk outside!” It was an exit-only door. I dug my heels in. “We can talk right here!” He settled for a less crowded corner, slamming my suitcase down. A vein pulsed in his forehead. “Anna Yuan, what is the meaning of this?!” “I’m going home for the holidays!” I glanced at the “Delayed” sign on the departures screen. “I went straight from your apartment to the station,” he said, his eyes bloodshot. “I called your name. Didn’t you hear me?” Still using that same boss-like tone. “Nope,” I said, shaking my head. If the train hadn’t been delayed, he might have actually caught me. Fate was a funny thing. “I floored it the whole way here.” The snow on his shoulders had melted into a dark, damp patch. “If this train hadn’t been late, you were just going to disappear, weren’t you?!” Well, yeah. What else? I sighed. “I’m going home, Liam. I’m not dying.” “You’re angry because I misunderstood about the handover, right?” He grabbed my hand. Every single one of our fights, he always boiled it down to the one, single incident that set it off. He knew perfectly well it was just the tip of the iceberg, the last straw. I pulled my hand away. “Mr. Song, I’ve already resigned. I’ll call you that one last time out of respect for our professional relationship. Please show some decency.” “Resigned? Decency?” He let out a cold laugh. “I didn’t approve your resignation, and I didn’t agree to break up.” “Seems like both of those are things I can decide on my own,” I said, reaching for my suitcase. “Do you want to see me in arbitration? Do you want to fail your next background check?” he threatened from behind me. “Do what you want.” I shook my head, unfazed. “I’m not coming back to Kingston anyway.” He blocked my path again, his eyes filled with rage. “Are you serious?!” I held up my hands. “Perfectly serious. You like Tina. I’m setting you free. Shouldn’t you thank me?” He grabbed my arm again, pulling me closer. “I don’t like her!” A flicker of something else crossed his face. “Anna, are you jealous? Is this all because of the bonus? Is that why you’re so angry?” I struggled against his grip and gestured toward a nearby patrol officer. “If you don’t let go, I’m going to scream!” Instead, he pulled me into a fierce hug. “I’m holding my own girlfriend! What law am I breaking?” He held me tight, just like he used to, his shoulder cradling my chin. “It was my fault. I should have stood up for you.” I tried to push him away but was hopelessly outmatched. Just as I opened my mouth to shout, the boarding announcement crackled over the speakers. “Passengers for train G946, boarding has now begun…” The crowd, which had given up hope, surged with renewed energy, pushing and shoving toward the gate. Someone carrying a huge gift box bumped into Liam, loosening his grip for a second. I seized the opportunity, slipping away and melting into the crowd heading for the gate. He tried to follow, but I ducked into the most chaotic line. People immediately started yelling at him for cutting. I breathed a sigh of relief as I finally reached the ticket scanner. I reached into my pocket. My ID and phone were gone. I turned around. Liam was standing at a distance, outside the line, a small, triumphant smile on his face. I took a deep breath and marched back to him. “What are you, eight years old?! Give them back!” He strode toward the main exit. “Come and get them.” Okay, maybe seven. I ran after him. He headed straight for the parking garage, his long legs covering the ground quickly. I had to jog to keep up. “Give them back!” I was frantic, hearing the final boarding call in the distance. “You changed your lock screen. And your passcode.” He stood by his car, looking at my phone. My old lock screen had been a picture of our silhouettes at an amusement park. It looked generic enough that he had “graciously” allowed me to use it. Now, it was a picture of my family’s dog. The passcode was no longer his birthday, but the dog’s. “Get in.” He opened the passenger door. “I’ll drive you home.” I held out my hand, my patience worn to a thread. “Liam, are you seriously going to steal my property?!” He pushed me into the passenger seat, leaning over me with one hand on the seatback while the other pulled the seatbelt across and clicked it into place. He looked down at my furious face. “Go ahead. Call the police. Sue me. We can spend the entire holiday season tangled up in this.”

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After my death, my husband didn’t avenge me. He fell in love with my killer. He spoiled her rotten. They spent their nights lost in passion. Once, when she casually mentioned my name, Sebastian’s voice turned to ice. “Why bring up a dead woman? It’s morbid.” Ally smiled, pleased. She thought Sebastian had truly forgotten me. She didn’t know that the man who came to her bed each night, the man who let her believe she was driving him wild, was a stranger—a madman, a fool paid to play a part. And Sebastian watched from the shadows, filming everything. Then, at her son’s christening, he played the tape for the world to see. 1 “Congratulations, Mrs. Croft. You’re pregnant.” The doctor’s words sent a wave of pure ecstasy through me. Sebastian and I had been married for ten years, and the childless ache in my heart had been my greatest sorrow. Now, the dream was real. I reached for my phone, desperate to share the news with him, but before I could even dial, Ally burst into our home with her men. She shattered my phone on the floor. Her bodyguards dragged me from the bed and forced me to my knees. I instinctively curled my body, trying to shield the tiny life in my womb. Ally saw the movement. Her face twisted in a mask of rage, and she struck me across the face, her voice a venomous hiss. “You’re pregnant?” “How could a washed-up old hag like you deserve Sebastian? How dare you be his wife! How dare you carry his child!” “You should just die! If you were dead, Sebastian would finally see me. He would marry me!” “Everything would be perfect if you just died.” Her eyes were wide with a hysterical madness. I stared at her, thinking she was completely insane. I knew she was obsessed with Sebastian, and I knew she hated me. But I never imagined she would kill me. I fought, but her men were too strong. They dragged me up to the roof terrace. And then, with a light push, she sent me over the edge. There was a sickening thud. I hit the ground. Agony unlike anything I had ever known consumed me. Blood blurred my vision. I managed to turn my head, my eyes falling on the rose garden below. The buds were just beginning to open. Roses were my favorite. Sebastian had planted the entire garden himself, tending to each bush with a devotion that bordered on worship. Before he left on his business trip, he had promised me, “Elara, my love, when I get back, we’ll sit in the garden and drink tea among the roses.” Sebastian… I don’t think I can keep that promise. I tried to keep my eyes open, tried to cling to life, but the fall was too far. The pain was too much. I just wanted to sleep for a little while. Just until the hurting stopped. 2 Perhaps my death was too unjust, because my soul didn’t scatter. It drifted away from our home, through the crowds and the buildings, until I found myself at Sebastian’s side. He was in his office. His assistant stood before him, suit immaculate, but with a faint flush of alcohol on his cheeks. They must have just come from a business dinner. “Mr. Croft,” the assistant said, beaming. “With this new contract, our company’s cash flow is secure. I’d like to see that old bastard, Ally’s father, try to threaten you with pulling his investment now.” The Shen family. Ally’s family. One of the city’s most powerful dynasties, with money, connections, and influence that ran deep. Sebastian’s first venture fund had come from them. He had always been grateful for their trust, even giving Ally’s father a stake in the company when it took off. Only later did he realize the investment was just a tool. Ally’s father had backed him because Ally wanted him. “It’s disgusting,” the assistant continued, his voice laced with contempt. “You’re a married man, but they keep forcing you into these dinners with her. No shame at all. And when you refuse, her father conspires with other firms to cut off our supply chain. If she were such a prize, why hasn’t anyone else married her? She’s a spoiled, arrogant brat. She can’t hold a candle to your wife.” My heart, or what was left of it, clenched. Sebastian’s brow furrowed. He shot his assistant a cold look. The assistant blinked, confused, then asked, “Sir, your wife wasn’t too upset about this business trip, was she…?” Sebastian froze for a second. When he spoke, his voice was stiff. “She has a gentle nature. She doesn’t get angry with me.” The assistant’s smile was knowing. He saw right through the lie. First, my fiery temper was legendary. Second, it was no secret that we bickered constantly. Third, the assistant knew for a fact that I had kicked Sebastian out of the house after a massive fight right before he left. And the fight had been about Ally. 3 Ally had always targeted me. Last month, at my birthday party, she’d “accidentally” stumbled into me, spilling red wine all over my dress in an attempt to humiliate me. I slapped her, hard. It felt good. The next day, Sebastian hired her as the company’s chief designer. The gossip columns had a field day. That night, Sebastian and I had the worst fight of our lives. I screamed at him, accusing him of having feelings for her. I called him heartless, a coward for not defending me. I cursed myself for ever falling in love with him. He stood there and took it, not saying a word. Furious, I threw him out. He didn’t come home after that, though he still came by the house every morning to water the roses. The day before he left for his trip, he told me he’d be gone for two weeks. I turned my back on him. He sighed, then leaned in and kissed me gently. “Elara,” he whispered. “Wait for me to come back.” I had thought he was genuinely softening toward Ally. I thought he had brought her into the company because he was giving in to her. I never knew he was being blackmailed, that our company’s survival was on the line. This whole business trip was a desperate bid to find a stronger partner, to finally break free from her family’s control. I had been so wrong. “You can go now,” Sebastian said to his assistant. The man nodded and left. Sebastian pulled out his phone, his thumb hovering over my name in his contacts. He hesitated for a long, long time. Finally, he began to type. Elara, is everything okay at home? He paused, listening to the rain drumming against the window. He sighed and continued. I was wrong the other day. When Ally went after you, I should have defended you, not hired her. I wasn’t thinking about your feelings. I’m sorry. There were reasons, I swear. When I get back, I’ll explain everything. I’ll fire her in front of everyone. I’ll make it up to you. I miss you so much. Only two more weeks. When I get back… can I have a kiss? 4 Reading the words over his shoulder, I felt a thousand phantom knives pierce my chest. A sharp, searing pain. I watched the small, hopeful smile play on his lips as he typed—a smile full of longing, apology, and anticipation. He was already dreaming of the moment he’d be home with me. My heart twisted violently. If I had known that would be our last goodbye, I would never have wasted it on anger. I reached out, wanting to rest my head on his shoulder. He used to hold me all the time, his embrace tight and warm. I used to tease him, this powerful CEO, for being so clingy. He would just grin. “It’s not illegal to be addicted to your wife.” But now, when I reached for him, my arms passed through empty air. I watched him read the message one last time before hitting send. He waited, his eyes fixed on the screen, expecting my reply. But the screen remained blank. He frowned slightly. He started to dial my number, then stopped himself, murmuring, “She’s probably still angry. I just need to finish this work and get home to her.” He called his assistant back in, and they threw themselves back into their work, a relentless, round-the-clock push. As night fell, the assistant went home, but Sebastian kept going, fueling himself with bitter coffee and stale bread. I watched him, a cold wind of grief howling through my soul. He was so full of hope, so eager to come home to me, to sit by the roses and read together. He didn’t know I was already dead. He would never see me again. The thought was a physical blow, hollowing me out until there was nothing left but a gaping, bleeding wound. 5 The next day, still no reply. Sebastian started to panic. He called the house landline. One of the maids answered. “The missus is having her afternoon tea.” “She says she doesn’t want to talk to you.” “She says you need to learn your lesson this time.” I could even hear my own impatient voice in the background. Ally had planned this meticulously. She had bribed the staff and was using an AI voice cloner. My fight with Sebastian had given her the perfect cover. He didn’t dare push me too hard. Even if he had demanded a video call, I’m sure she would have found a way. She fooled him completely. He told the maid to make sure I was eating properly, then hung up and went back to work. I watched him down cup after cup of black coffee. I knew he was desperate to see me. But what could I do? Sebastian, we would never see each other again. And he had no idea. That night, back in his hotel room, I watched him gently trace our picture on his phone’s wallpaper. In the dim light, the harsh lines of his face softened. He was a man who had clawed his way up from nothing. He was ruthless, calculating, and cold. But in recent years, as the company grew, he had sanded down his sharp edges, becoming polished and diplomatic. Sometimes, I worried he had changed too much, that he was no longer the man I had married. I worried, as the tabloids suggested, that his heart had strayed to the vibrant, younger Ally. The fear had taken root when he hired her right after she had publicly humiliated me. It’s why I had lost my mind, why our last conversation was a storm of ugly, hateful words. I drifted closer to him, resting my head on his shoulder, and whispered, “I was wrong about you. I’m so sorry.” Suddenly, Sebastian stopped what he was doing. I thought, for a wild second, that he had heard me. I looked up, a flicker of hope in my soul. This silence was unbearable. But then his phone rang. It was the hospital. “Hello, am I speaking with a relative of Ms. Elara Croft?” 6 “Ms. Croft came in for a check-up last week. We’re calling to confirm that she is one month pregnant.” Sebastian shot to his feet, a look of stunned disbelief on his face. He made the doctor confirm it three times. When the truth finally sank in, his eyes grew bright with unshed tears. “Mr. Croft, would you like to reserve a maternity suite for your wife?” Of course, he would. He booked the most luxurious suite, complete with 24-hour private medical care. He paid the deposit without a second thought. As soon as he hung up, he called my number. “I” answered. He was beaming, his voice overflowing with joy. “Elara, you’re pregnant! You have to be so careful. I’ve arranged for a private chef who specializes in prenatal nutrition. He’ll be at the house tomorrow. Are you feeling sick? Are you having any symptoms? Morning sickness?” The questions tumbled out of him. But the voice on the other end was calm, almost detached. “Yes, I am. I was going to surprise you when you got back. I feel fine. Everything is fine.” The voice was mine, but something was wrong. Sebastian’s smile faltered. He was silent for a moment, then asked, “Elara… do you miss me?” “I” gave a soft laugh. “Of course, I do.” Sebastian laughed too, pretending everything was normal. But the moment he ended the call, his face hardened into a mask of stone. He took a deep breath and dialed his assistant. His voice was like ice. “Book me on the first flight out tomorrow morning. I’m going home. You and the team will handle the rest.” Ally had made a mistake. She didn’t know that Sebastian never, ever called me Elara. Not in private. To him, that name was a nightmare. 7 We grew up together in an orphanage. The director was a kind, matronly woman who always called me by my full name, Elara. It was her special, loving nickname for me. Then, one night, she led me to a rich businessman’s room, smiling that same loving smile. “Her name is Elara,” she’d said. “The prettiest girl in the whole orphanage.” That was the night I learned that her love was a lie, that she was a monster who sold children. Sebastian nearly died getting me out of there. After that, the name Elara became a ghost that haunted my sleep. Sebastian knew this. He would never use it. He was testing the person on the phone. And she had failed. Sebastian was coming home. At the airport, he kept lighting up his phone screen, his eyes full of worry as he stared at my picture. A woman sitting next to him smiled kindly. “You must love her very much.” Sebastian looked up, startled. He glanced down at the silver band on his finger, and a rare, boyish stubbornness entered his expression. “She’s my wife.” His wife, for life. “And we’re going to have a child,” he added, a proud smile spreading across his face. A faint blush crept up his ears. “I’m going home to be with her.” The woman congratulated him warmly. Watching him, my heart ached. He was flying toward a dream that had already been shattered. “How long have you been married, to be so in love?” she asked. Sebastian didn’t have to think. “We’ve known each other for thirty years. Been married for ten.” 8 We met when we were three. We fell in love at sixteen. We married at twenty-three. When we started, we had nothing but each other. From twenty-three to thirty-three, I was by his side as he fought his way from a small town to the heart of the city. I gave him every penny I had saved. We worked multiple jobs, side-by-side, until we were numb with exhaustion. We lost a child during that time. A silent, tiny life that took root in my womb and was torn away two months later. The pain was unbearable. Lying in that hospital bed, I wept until I had no tears left. Sebastian cried harder, blaming himself, hating himself for failing me. “My love, I’m so sorry.” But apologies couldn’t bring our baby back. I told him it was okay. I told him we would have another. I never imagined I would lose another child, this time along with my own life. The thought brought a fresh wave of agony. Where had Ally hidden my body? I must have been a gruesome sight after a fall like that. Would Sebastian even recognize me? Would he find my killer? Would he avenge me? I floated closer, placing my hand over his, trying to feel his warmth. He had been awake all night and was starting to doze off, his eyes half-closed as he stared at my photo. I rested my head on his shoulder and whispered, “Sebastian, I miss you.” So close, yet a world away. Sebastian, please find me. Five hours later, the plane landed. At the same moment, his phone rang. It was the police. “Hello, are you a relative of Ms. Elara Croft? We need you to come to the hospital. Ms. Croft fell from Blackwood Cliff this morning. She was deceased when she was found.”

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1 The night before the mission, Elara, my ever-composed wife, couldn’t sleep. I knew she still had feelings for the man who killed my family. I gave her a choice: leave the mission and sign the divorce papers, or cut him out of her life forever. She spent the night violently punching the gym bags. By morning, she was bruised and hoarse but resolved. “I’m with you,” she vowed. “I’ll see this revenge through.” The firefight was intense. We were about to win—until she pressed her gun to my temple. Her hands shook as she cried, “I know he killed your family… But they’re gone! Why can’t you let it go? I love him. Please, let him go.” Furious but helpless, I watched him walk away unharmed, smirking. Within minutes, I became the joke of my own team. Then came the final blow: photos of Elara and Adrian getting married, spread across every news feed and dark web forum. That was when my heart turned to stone. If you insist on crushing my last shred of dignity, don’t blame me for what happens next. … Staring at their retreating figures, something inside me snapped. “Elara, how could you?” The words ripped from my throat, raw and full of hate. “What about my parents? They died protecting you from that monster! Have you forgotten that?!” She flinched, her steps faltering. When she turned back, her eyes were bloodshot, her voice a fragile whisper. “Caleb, Mom and Dad wouldn’t want this! They wouldn’t want to see you consumed by this hatred!” “Let Adrian go,” she pleaded. “Isn’t that a way of letting yourself go, too?” Thirty minutes. That’s all it took. The dark web forums exploded. “Elara Thorne Betrays Mercenary King for His Sworn Enemy.” 【Can’t believe the great Caleb Thorne can’t even control his own wife. Watched her run off with his nemesis? How’s he ever going to show his face again?】 【Talks a big game, acts all tough, but turns out he’s just another lovesick fool. Pathetic.】 【Hey Thorne, you give me that disputed territory on the Serrovian border, and I’ll send you two hundred women to help you get over her.】 Overnight, I went from being the most feared name in the private military world—a god of war—to a global punchline. The entire underworld was laughing at my expense. I stared at the screen, each taunt a fresh log on the fire of my rage. But before I could even formulate a response, Elara provoked me again, this time publicly. She posted on a high-profile forum, a beacon of sanctimony: 【An eye for an eye leaves the whole world blind. I am willing to broker a peace summit between the two leaders to end this needless bloodshed.】 She even had the audacity to tag me and Adrian. The fury that shot through me was blinding. How dare she? How dare she presume to forgive the man who slaughtered my parents on my behalf? And yet… I agreed to the meeting. How else was I going to personally send that fucking pair to hell? The forums erupted once more. 【HOLY SHIT! Thorne is actually going? Is there no limit to how much of a doormat this guy can be?】 【LMAO, is this a throuple situation now? One big happy family?】 【Two warlords fighting over a woman. This is the dark web’s reality TV show of the year!】 I said nothing. I simply had my tech division lock onto the IPs of the three loudest commentators. That night, three precision-guided missiles found their targets. The resulting fireballs turned a thirty-mile radius into a scorched wasteland, a barren scar on the earth where nothing would grow for a decade. 【So you can dish it out but you can’t take it? Real classy, Thorne!】 【Got the balls to bomb random posters but not your actual enemy? What a coward!】 I didn’t respond. Results were always more persuasive than rhetoric. The day of the “peace talk,” Elara specifically requested I come alone. I agreed. But not before positioning a thousand of my best soldiers in concealed positions around the summit location. One word from me, and they could assemble and overwhelm the site in under sixty seconds. When Elara saw me, she forced a smile and rushed forward, ready to play peacemaker. “Caleb, Adrian knows he was wrong. He’s here today to personally apologize to you.” Adrian stood, offering a deep, formal bow. “Thorne. I’m sorry.” A cold, humorless laugh escaped my lips. “You think three empty words are enough to pay for the lives of my parents?” Elara’s face hardened. She grabbed my arm, her voice sharp. “Caleb! We came here to talk, to make peace! What the hell is this attitude?!” I shoved her away, the back of my hand connecting with her cheek in a sharp crack. “For what he did,” I snarled, “the only outcome is one of us in a body bag.” Seeing me strike her, Adrian immediately moved to shield her, his voice a low threat. “Caleb Thorne, my men swept this place. You came alone. Today, you either accept my apology, or you don’t leave here alive.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud, a harsh, grating sound. I raised a hand, pointing languidly toward the window. “Open your eyes, you idiot. There are at least a hundred rifles aimed at your heads right now. If I so much as twitch a finger, you’ll both be turned into human confetti.” Their faces went pale. A quick, panicked scan of the surrounding rooftops confirmed I wasn’t bluffing. Adrian scoffed, trying to regain his composure. “So what? If I’m going down, taking the great Caleb Thorne with me is a fair trade. We die together! Then you can have a happy little reunion with your useless parents.” He dared. He dared to mention my parents again. The rage I had suppressed for so long finally detonated. My fist crashed into his face with the force of a battering ram. I felt his nose give way with a sickening crunch. A second later, he wiped the blood from his lip, a savage grin spreading across his face as he launched a heavy kick at my chest. I dodged, grabbing him and slamming him to the floor. In one fluid motion, I drew my combat knife and pressed the blade to his throat. “You want to die with me?” I whispered, my voice deadly calm. “Dream on. I’m sending you to hell first.” I pressed the blade down. A line of crimson welled up along the steel. “Caleb! Don’t, I’m pregnant…” Elara’s voice shattered the moment. She threw herself at me, pushing me back and shielding Adrian with her own body, her voice trembling. “I don’t want my child to grow up without a father… Please, let him go… I’m begging you!” The words hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled back, collapsing into a chair, the world spinning around me. A child. They had a child. Tears streamed down Elara’s face, but all I could see was the ultimate betrayal. Five months? Was that all it took? Five short months for her to completely turn, to beg me to forget the murder of my parents, to spare the life of her new lover. But why should I? We were married for three years, and we never had children. She was the one who said she didn’t want to be “trapped by a baby,” confined to a home. She wanted to fight by my side, to be my equal, a legend in her own right. And now? Now she was telling me she was carrying the child of the man who destroyed my world? How could she? In that moment of stunned silence, Adrian saw his chance. He lunged, wrenching the knife from my grip and pressing it back against my own neck. “Let us walk out of here, right now, or I’ll send you to see your parents!” I stared into his eyes and smiled, a chilling, dead thing. “The entire foundation of this building is wired with explosives. Enough to level this whole city block.” “The moment my heart stops,” I informed him, “a dead man’s switch will turn a fifty-mile radius into a smoking crater.” Elara’s face was a mask of horror, her eyes wide and red-rimmed. “Caleb, you’re insane… We came here to talk. You gave us your word!” My word? She had the nerve to speak to me of broken promises? “Elara, you are the most despicable thing I have ever known.” Before the words even left my mouth, I snapped my head to the side, breaking his hold and twisting the knife back into my hand. The blade sliced my palm open, blood dripping onto the floor, but I felt nothing. Expressionless, I raised my bloodied hand and gave a sharp, almost imperceptible signal. The doors and windows shattered inwards as nearly a hundred of my elite soldiers stormed the room. In seconds, all of Adrian’s hidden guards were dragged out, disarmed and subdued. I shook the blood from my hand and tossed a single sheet of paper onto the table in front of Elara. A divorce decree. “Sign it,” I ordered. “Don’t dirty my family’s name any longer.” But instead of signing, she snatched the paper and ripped it to shreds. “No,” she said, her voice shaking with a twisted sort of defiance. “I won’t. Mom and Dad treated me like their own daughter. They’re barely cold in their graves and you’re already throwing me out? Aren’t you afraid of what they would think?” She knew. She knew how much my parents had adored her. And she was using their memory as a shield for her and her monster. “A backstabbing, ungrateful bitch like you?” I spat. “My parents would be celebrating the fact that I finally see you for what you are. And don’t you dare think that marriage certificate is some kind of get-out-of-jail-free card…” Before I could finish, Adrian started barking like the dog he was. “Thorne, if you lay another finger on Elara, I’ll kill you!” “Are you still not clear on the situation here?” I looked at the pathetic, struggling pair, a wave of nausea washing over me. The next second, one of my men sent Adrian to the floor with a brutal kick to the ribs. I walked over slowly, grinding the sole of my boot into his chest. My second-in-command handed me a dagger. “Alright,” I said, my voice deceptively calm. I took the dagger. “Then I’ll start with you.” I dug the tip of the blade under his fingernail. Adrian screamed. “This is what you did to my father, isn’t it?” One by one, I pried off all ten. Then, I moved the dagger towards the palm of his hand. Suddenly, a gunshot echoed through the room, and a searing pain exploded in my shoulder. The dagger clattered to the floor.

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1 A traffic ticket for my husband arrived in my email. I tapped open the attachment. The photo wasn’t of him speeding. It showed my husband, Oliver, and another woman, mouths locked in a passionate kiss, neither of them wearing a seatbelt. My heart felt like it was being torn in two. As tears blurred my vision, a few lines of text scrolled across the screen, like comments from some unseen audience. 【LOL, the ex-wife is so pathetic. They’re just a cute couple having a moment, what’s she getting worked up about?】 【She probably doesn’t even know. When the male lead said they needed a ‘fake’ divorce to buy a new property, it was actually so he could marry our sweet Mia.】 My fingers trembled as I dialed the number for the city registrar’s office. “Yes, ma’am,” the clerk’s voice confirmed, detached and professional. “Our system shows that an Oliver Cole finalized a marriage certificate with a Ms. Mia Vance the day after his divorce from you was registered.” The phone slipped from my grasp, clattering onto the floor. Mia. Of course. I knew the name. Mia was his first love, the one that got away, the woman who had abandoned him at his lowest point. The comments continued to flood my vision. 【Welcome back, Queen Mia! Welcome back, Queen Mia!】 … Numb and disoriented, I found myself standing outside Oliver’s corporate headquarters. I just needed to ask him why. Why the lies? As the elevator ascended towards the top floor, I heard the sounds of a party. The doors were just about to open when a chorus of voices erupted from the executive suite. “To Oliver and Mia! Happy one-month anniversary!” The pop of champagne corks and a burst of applause followed. The elevator doors slid open. I froze, suddenly feeling like an intruder about to shatter their perfect moment. “What about Zoey?” someone asked, cluelessly. Oliver’s voice was cold, dismissive. “I gave her enough good years. She got her value out of it. Today is my anniversary with Mia. She deserves to be spoiled for once, don’t you think?” The ghostly comments agreed. 【Exactly! Our Mia has suffered so much. She finally gets to be with her true love.】 【Mia and the male lead are a match made in heaven. The ex-wife can go eat dust.】 【Bet the ex-wife doesn’t know this, but on their wedding day, the male lead got a call and rushed out of the ceremony? That was Mia. He’d finally found her again. They spent the rest of the day in bed together, screwing their brains out. He was so exhausted he forgot to even call the ex-wife back.】 A chill settled deep in my bones. So that’s why he never picked up. I’d spent that night, my wedding night, a sobbing mess, my makeup ruined, terrified that something terrible had happened to him. I sat by the phone all night. When he finally called the next day, his voice hoarse, I’d cried with relief. “I forgive you, Oliver. I don’t care why you left yesterday. As long as you’re alive and okay, I forgive you.” Now, I heard Mia’s voice, sweet and considerate. “Oliver only married me out of pity. He still has feelings for Zoey. I know he’ll find a way to balance his love for both of us.” Someone else chimed in. “What if Zoey finds out? You know how she is. Once she sets her mind on something, you can’t change it. She’ll never agree to the three of you.” A dangerous edge crept into Oliver’s voice. “Then she will never find out.” That was it. That was the answer that shattered the last piece of my heart. A part of me had wanted to believe the comments were a lie, a cruel trick of my mind. Oliver loved me. He had promised he would only ever marry me. But promises mean nothing when a new love appears. I wiped the tears from my eyes and pressed the elevator’s down button. If that’s how it was going to be, then I would disappear from their lives forever. I filed the paperwork to relinquish my citizenship, erase my identity, and applied for a new passport. I would start over, abroad, as someone else entirely. The documents would take two weeks. Two more weeks, and then a woman named Zoey would cease to exist in Oliver’s world. A week passed. Not a single text, not a single call from him. Then, on the seventh day, Oliver finally noticed my absence. He found me, holding a diamond necklace, and dropped to his knees before me. “Sweetheart, I’m so sorry. I’ve been buried in work. I completely forgot to make time for you.” The comments danced above his head. 【A whole week. Mia and the male lead spent an entire week in a seaside villa. That man has some serious stamina.】 【Ugh, why is the ex-wife still here? She’s so gross. Totally killing the vibe while I’m trying to watch Mia and the male lead’s personal porn show.】 I stared into Oliver’s seemingly sincere eyes, my mind drifting back to when we first met. He was eighteen, a beautiful boy confined to a wheelchair, his long lashes casting dark shadows on his cheeks. I fell for him instantly. I was there for him through every painful step of his rehabilitation, helping him learn to stand, to walk, to run again. The day he was fully healed, he ran across the lawn, grabbed my hands, his eyes shining. “Zoey, I can’t live without you. You saved me. Will you stay with me, always?” But people change. My gaze fell on the man kneeling before me now. Before I could respond, Oliver was already fastening the diamond necklace around my neck. “I chartered a yacht for us,” he murmured, his warm breath tickling my ear. “There’s a captain’s dinner tonight. Come with me.” At the dinner, Oliver pulled me onto the dance floor. His steps were different, more complex and aggressive than I remembered. I had to concentrate fully just to keep up. Suddenly, his body went rigid. His hand loosened its grip on mine, and I was sent stumbling, flying outwards. I landed hard, scraping my knee raw on the deck. When I looked back, Oliver was staring intently at a figure across the room. It was Mia. She stood there, biting her lip, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. By the time Oliver started after her, she had already turned and fled. “Honey, something’s come up. Just stay here for a bit, okay?” His eyes never left Mia’s retreating form. He didn’t even glance at me, crumpled on the floor. No one offered a hand. I pushed myself up, biting back the pain, and limped towards the restroom to clean my wound. As I approached, I heard noises from inside. Inappropriate noises. Mia’s breathy moans. “No, not in here.” Oliver’s voice was a husky, coaxing tone. “Shh, it’s okay. Just once. Just for a minute.” There was a rustle of clothing, a blending of breaths, the sound of hungry kisses. Mia’s hands were on his chest in a show of pushing him away, but her eyes were like silk, luring him in. “Zoey is still out there waiting for you.” His face was flushed with desire, my existence completely erased from his mind. “Forget her. Right now, all I want is you.” “I don’t want to cause a fight between you two. You love her, and I love you.” Her voice caught in a sob, maybe because he was being too rough in his haste. “I just want you to be happy.” At that, his movements seemed to soften. His lips traveled from her neck down to her chest. Mia’s body trembled, a soft moan escaping her lips. Oliver chuckled, his voice a low, gentle rumble. “See? You want it too. Just open up a little more for me.” To better accommodate him, Mia wrapped her arms around his neck, surrendering completely. I stood frozen, tears streaming down my face, a pain so sharp in my chest I could barely breathe. By the time Oliver returned, the dinner was over. But he had a gift for me. “Sweetheart,” he said, wrapping his arms around me. The scent of his soap, the same scent that was all over her, made me want to vomit. “The most expensive jewels for the most beautiful woman.” A wave of nausea hit me, and I shoved him away, bile rising in my throat. He wasn’t angry. He just gently took a napkin and wiped my mouth. “Not feeling well? We’ll go home early. You shouldn’t drink so much.” I looked up and saw the flash of jealousy in Mia’s eyes as she watched us. “Let me help Zoey downstairs to rest,” Mia offered, reaching for my arm. I flinched away. But I never could have predicted she would be willing to gamble with her own life. There was a sudden rush of wind beside me. I saw Oliver lunge forward, his hands desperately grabbing for Mia as she tumbled over the railing. Then, the icy shock of seawater closing over my head. “Man overboard!” The shouts from the deck were panicked and distant. The crushing pressure in my lungs was overwhelming. As my consciousness faded, Oliver’s face flashed before my eyes, shattering and reforming into the sounds of him and Mia in the restroom. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital bed. My body was wrapped in so many bandages I couldn’t move anything but my eyes. I must have looked ridiculous. Directly in my line of sight, Mia was sobbing in Oliver’s arms. “It’s all my fault,” she cried. “If I hadn’t lost my balance, you would have caught Zoey. It’s my fault. Punish me!” Her pathetic, helpless act seemed to ignite something in Oliver. He had no intention of blaming her. “Don’t cry,” he murmured, kissing the tears from her eyes. “You little troublemaker. I could never hurt you.” “Come on, call me ‘hubby,’ and I’ll forgive you.” “Hubby,” she whispered, giving his chest a playful tap. The sound of rustling fabric followed. The comments reappeared. 【Ooh, are we about to get another show?】 I couldn’t take it anymore. I summoned every ounce of strength I had. “Oliver.” My voice was a broken rasp, the taste in my mouth bitter. He jumped as if electrocuted, shoving Mia off his lap so hard she tumbled to the floor. “Zoey! Are you okay?” He scrambled to my bedside, his panic genuine, the concern in his voice real. I said nothing, my gaze dropping to Mia on the floor. A few buttons on her blouse were undone, revealing the pale skin beneath. I didn’t understand. How could a man who was moments away from taking her right there suddenly rush to my side and perform this act of devoted concern? “What’s going to happen to the person who tried to kill me?” I asked, my voice cold, my question a deliberate test. Oliver’s expression changed instantly. He thought I was going after Mia and immediately jumped to her defense. “Mia didn’t mean to. She’s been hurt, too. Can’t you just forgive her?” I wanted to laugh. “She’s hurt? What kind of injury? The kind you get from spreading your legs for too long?” “You know?” I didn’t answer, my silence a heavy weight in the room. Seeing my expression, Oliver dropped the pretense. His voice turned accusatory. “You’re a woman, too. How can you be so vulgar?” “You need to think about your attitude. When you’ve calmed down and you’re ready to apologize to Mia, I’ll come back.” He turned, helped Mia up from the floor, and they left. Leaving me, a patient who couldn’t even care for herself, alone in the room. I laughed, a broken, hollow sound, as tears streamed from the corners of my eyes. The comments scrolled mercilessly above me. 【The ex-wife got what she deserved. Who does she think she is, blaming our sweet Mia?】 【Just die already, ex-wife. You’re just an eyesore for Mia and the male lead.】 【Hope the male lead floors it on the way home. They need to finish what they started in the hospital.】 In that moment, I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. When I was well enough, Oliver came to pick me up from the hospital. He’d brought his entire office staff with him, all holding bouquets. “Mrs. Cole, you’re so lucky to have a wonderful husband like Mr. Cole,” one of them gushed. The comments sneered. 【Flowers? Big deal. Our Mia has a new house. A love nest from the male lead.】 In front of everyone, I pushed Oliver away. He panicked, grabbing my arm. “Are you still angry? I’ve already forgiven you, what more do you want?” I ignored his question, my eyes scanning the crowd. “Where’s Mia?” The comments preened. 【Our Mia was up very late last night. Of course she wouldn’t come to see you.】 Oliver’s face hardened, all traces of tenderness gone. “Why are you always so obsessed with Mia? Is it really that hard for you to be a little more generous?” His grip on my wrist tightened, so hard I thought the bones would snap. The fragile pieces of my heart, which had just started to mend, shattered all over again. His phone rang. He let go of me to answer it. It was Mia, her sobs frantic and convincing. “Oliver… help me… I’ve been kidnapped… by men Zoey sent… They said they won’t let me leave here alive.” “They’re going to… they’re going to sell me to the rings… as a prostitute. Please, you have to save me, I’m so scared… sob.” Oliver’s face contorted with rage. He dropped the phone and his hands shot out, closing around my neck. “Tell me,” he snarled, his face demonic, “where did you take her?” It took all my strength to knock his hands away. Gasping for air, I choked out my defense. “It wasn’t me. I didn’t do it.” “We’ve been married for three years. Don’t you have any trust in me at all?” He regained a sliver of composure. “I know you wouldn’t. But Mia has been taken. How can you stand there and let someone die because of you?” See? He still didn’t believe me. Even knowing I’d been bedridden in a hospital for a month, unable to orchestrate anything. His voice dropped to a threat. “Zoey, if anything happens to Mia, I will make you pay.” I met his dark, furious gaze. “I don’t know,” I repeated. “I really don’t know. I didn’t send anyone to kidnap Mia. I can say it a hundred times and the answer will be the same.” A chilling coldness radiated from him. “I’ll trust you this one time,” he said, his words like shards of ice. “But you better pray that when I find out the truth, your name isn’t attached to it.” He left. The crowd of people who had arrived with him vanished just as quickly. As he walked away, I saw him pull out his phone, his voice sharp and commanding. “Get every man we have on this. I want to know Mia’s last known location, now.” His car sped off, leaving me choking on a cloud of exhaust fumes. I stumbled to my feet, my wrist screaming in pain, probably dislocated. My head throbbed from his shouting. I couldn’t go anywhere. I turned back towards the hospital to find a doctor. As I walked down the hall, nurses and patients pointed and whispered. “That’s her. The one whose husband cheated, so she had the mistress kidnapped and sold.” “So vindictive. No wonder he cheated on her. I wouldn’t be able to stand her either.” Rage, shame, and heartbreak warred inside me. Where was the doctor? I needed a doctor. My vision blurred, my steps faltered. The world went black, and I collapsed. I woke up to water being splashed on my face. My arms were bound tightly, my mouth sealed with duct tape. My wrist was on fire; not only had it not been treated, but the injury was now far worse. 【Awesome! The ex-wife got kidnapped too. Let’s see who comes to save her now.】 【Hehe, they should sell her off quick. Sell her somewhere far, far away. That’ll teach her to compete for our male lead.】 【Looks like the male lead is here! Our Mia is just over there. Go save her, hero!】 Through the comments, I pieced together my situation. Through the thin black fabric of a blindfold, I could see Oliver holding Mia, who was crying dramatically in his arms. “Oh, Oliver, I knew you’d come for me!” He let her cling to him, stroking her back soothingly. I stared at her face. Her makeup was perfect. Her hands and feet were unbound. Not a single hair was out of place. This wasn’t a kidnapping. It was a performance. I understood instantly and began to struggle, making muffled noises to get Oliver’s attention. But then Mia spoke, and my struggles ceased.

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1 For ten years, Nina and I were the industry’s most notorious couple—and it was all an act. If she dined with a male co-star, I flipped the table. If she filmed a kiss, I’d storm the set. I fueled endless negative press to keep her in the spotlight, watching her rise to stardom while I became the most hated man in Hollywood. It ended when she was photographed checking into a hotel with Felix, the new heartthrob. She issued one statement: 【It’s real.】 Fans celebrated but warned Felix: “Watch out for Leo, that psycho.” Felix mocked me on live: “A good dog knows its place. It doesn’t bite its master.” Then Nina texted me: 【Don’t act this time. The brand wants us to play up our relationship. Be good.】 I laughed coldly. She’d forgotten one thing: I, Leo Ashworth, am competitive. I hold grudges. I repay every debt. The psycho was never an act. … When I crashed Nina’s lovey-dovey livestream, the host was in the middle of a question. “Nina, what are your thoughts on the rumors that you and Leo Ashworth have a toxic, on-again, off-again relationship?” “We are not in a relationship.” Nina’s voice was as cool and placid as ever. With one sentence, she severed our ten-year history. The live chat erupted with comments praising her for being so direct. Just then, the host spotted me striding onto the set. In an instant, every camera swiveled and zoomed in on my face. I met their lenses with a dead-eyed stare. Fresh scratches from my latest manufactured brawl marred my cheekbone. The fight had been simple: Nina didn’t want to film a kissing scene with some rising star, so I’d shown up and made a scene. She shot to the top of the trending topics again, her new drama a guaranteed hit before it even aired. I, on the other hand, spent the next two weeks being hounded by the press and had my head split open by a rock thrown by an extremist fan. Seeing me, a flicker of panic crossed Nina’s usually unflappable face. Her brow furrowed, a wall of defense rising in her eyes. “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded, instinctively moving to shield Felix who was sitting beside her. I just stood there, and the entire studio tensed, treating me like a bomb about to detonate. The live chat on the massive screen behind them scrolled with derision. 【OMG, the real couple makes it official and the psycho ex actually shows up? Look at his face, all scratched up. He’s here to make a fool of himself.】 【Did you see how Nina instinctively protected our sweet Felix!! I’m shipping it so hard! The psycho is just embarrassing himself!】 【Can someone get security? She already denied their relationship on live TV. Why is he still clinging to her? It’s pathetic.】 【Seriously, can this infamous industry troll stop leeching off Nina’s fame? Every time he goes crazy, it’s terrifying. He’s probably abusive IRL.】 Somewhere along the way, my name had become synonymous with “psycho.” I didn’t argue. I just repeated her words back to her, my voice low and dangerous. “Not in a relationship?” It was half-question, half-accusation, laced with the bitter sting of a decade of sacrifice. She had promised me she would never be close to another man. Nina met my gaze with that same infuriatingly calm expression, effortlessly sidestepping the weight of my question. “Leo, just look at the state of yourself,” she said, her tone dripping with disappointment. “Stop demeaning yourself like this. Go home.” Her composure was a stark contrast to my raw, unhinged presence. The live chat immediately exploded with praise for Nina’s grace and compassion, lauding her for giving even a “maniac” like me a dignified exit. She accepted their praise without a hint of irony. After playing a part for so long, she seemed to have forgotten who it was that had thrown his dignity away to build her this “unhinged protector” persona in the first place. A deep, unforgiving chill began to spread through my chest. The internet trolls had one thing right. I was a mad dog. And everything she had today, she’d gotten by standing on my back. I deserved an explanation. But before I could speak, Felix, the boy she was protecting, shot to his feet, placing himself firmly between us. He snatched a teacup from the table and flung its contents into my face. “That’s enough!” he cried, his voice trembling with manufactured bravery. “Stop harassing Nina!” The scalding liquid hit the open scratches on my cheek, and a thousand tiny needles of pain erupted across my skin. I winced, my jaw clenching. Felix, dressed in a simple white T-shirt, looked heartbreakingly fragile and defiant as he stood with his arms spread, shielding his damsel. Nina saw my pained reaction and instinctively leaned forward, about to check on me, but Felix’s next words stopped her cold. “The tea is lukewarm,” he declared, his voice ringing with certainty. “You can act all you want, but no one’s going to pity you. We all know what kind of person you are!” Hearing his confidence, Nina’s expression hardened again. “Are you still acting?” she snapped at me. “Was I not clear enough?” My face was flushed red from the hot tea, but she didn’t seem to see it. Or care. The chat went wild with praise for Felix. 【Our boy Felix is so amazing, bravely standing up to the industry’s biggest bully!! That tea splash was ICONIC!】 【It’s always the psycho beating up on others. Finally, someone puts him in his place. Felix, our little angel of justice!】 【He was literally shaking with fear but he still protected Nina. Tell me they aren’t the real deal!】 【But won’t the psycho retaliate? He’s famous for getting revenge…】 【No way! Felix is protected by Orion Enterprises. Every big shot in the industry has to treat him with respect. Leo is just a D-list celebrity famous for being trash. If he touches a hair on Felix’s head, the corporate overlords will crush him!】 Nina’s disgust was palpable. “Leo, stop this. Can’t you have a shred of dignity?” My heart plummeted. “Nina,” I asked suddenly, my voice hollow. “Do you know how many scars are on my body?” She blinked, caught off guard. “What?” “Fifty-nine.” For ten years, playing the part of the mad dog, I had chased away every man who got too close. She didn’t want to drink with producers, so I crashed the dinner and started a fight. She didn’t want to do a promo livestream with a co-star, so I smashed the set. She rode the wave of controversy I created all the way to the top, becoming a household name. In return, their crazed fans took their revenge on me. They put needles in my water bottle. They threw rocks at me on the street. The longest scar on my body came from a stalker who stabbed me in an alley. She used to cry when she saw those ugly marks. Now, all she could talk about was dignity. Ten years. Fifty-nine permanent reminders of my devotion. What the hell was dignity? I’d forgotten long ago. Seeing my silence, Nina grew impatient. “What does that have to do with anything? It’s your own fault for being so extreme.” I stared at her, taking a slow step forward. “You’re right,” I said, my voice dangerously soft. “And since you know how extreme I can be, you should also know I’m not the type to suffer in silence.” Realization dawned on her face. She moved to shield Felix again, her voice rising in alarm. “I told you, don’t you dare touch Felix!” When I didn’t stop, she finally played her trump card. “Felix is with Orion Enterprises! Do you want to throw your career away? They’ll have you blacklisted!” I finally stopped. The live chat lit up with mockery. 【See? Felix is the golden boy of the corporation. I knew he wouldn’t dare!】 【No one who messes with Felix in this industry gets away with it.】 Felix saw me hesitate and puffed out his chest, a smug look on his face. “Now you get it. Get on your knees and apologize, and I might forgive you.” My eyes scanned the set, landing on a decorative bottle of red wine on the table. In the next second, without a flicker of hesitation, I snatched the bottle and brought it crashing down on his head. “Orion Enterprises?” I sneered as his eyes rolled back in his head. “You? You’re all nothing.” The bottle was a sugar-glass prop, but the shock was enough to make Felix faint on the spot. Nina, without a backward glance at me, rushed him to the hospital. The clip of me assaulting him went viral. My agent’s call came minutes later, his voice dripping with fury. “Do you have any idea who you just touched? Felix is the heir to Orion Enterprises! Not even I can protect you this time!” he screamed down the line. “Your reputation is destroyed! The breach of contract penalty is three million dollars! You couldn’t afford that if you sold your own organs!” “Your only option is to apologize. Beg for his forgiveness. Otherwise, you’re on your own!” Nina had recommended this agent to me. I knew those words were coming straight from her. The last bit of warmth in me died. I hung up without a word. If any of them had a single working brain cell, they might have wondered why, after ten years of offending countless celebrities, not one had ever truly come after me. It wasn’t because they didn’t want to. It was because they didn’t dare. I took a deep breath, opened my messaging app, and sent a text to my family’s group chat. 【Dad, I’ve thought it over. I’m ready to come home.】 I went back to the villa Nina and I shared to pack my things. When I opened the door, I found Felix standing there, wearing my pajamas. He flinched when he saw me. Then, as if remembering his position, he straightened up, deliberately tilting his head to show off the faint, suggestive marks on his neck. “Oh, hey, big brother. Sorry about this. I didn’t realize you two were a real couple. After I got hurt, the investors insisted I stay here with Nina to recover. It’s all for the cameras, you know.” He smirked. “Nina needs my popularity to get an invitation to the Film Guild Gala. Your kind of infamy would only drag her down.” I shot him a withering glare, having no interest in his games. “Get out of my way.” I brushed past him and went to my bedroom. The minimalist space I had designed was gone. In its place were trendy, garish furniture and graffiti-covered walls. I froze, then frantically scanned the room for the picture frame that always sat on my desk. It was the only photo I had of my late mother. A voice came from behind me. Felix was leaning against the doorframe, dangling something from his hand. “Looking for this?” It was the frame. “Give it back,” I growled, striding toward him. He gave me a sly, knowing smile. Just as I reached him, he let his hand go slack. The frame dropped, shattering on the hardwood floor. “Oops,” he said with fake innocence. “My bad, brother.” Then, he ground his heel onto the photograph itself. “I heard your mom died a long time ago. Who keeps a picture of a dead person in their room? So morbid.” A murderous rage surged through me. I raised my hand to strike him, but before my palm could connect, Nina, who had just arrived, grabbed my wrist. “Leo, have you completely lost it?!” she yelled. “I already told you, Felix and I are just business partners! Why are you so jealous of him?!” Felix peeked over her shoulder, a triumphant smirk on his face. My eyes flickered from Nina’s disgusted expression to the shattered photo on the floor. I took a deep, steadying breath. “Nina,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “We’re done.” She stared at me, stunned into silence. I took the opportunity to yank my hand free. In one swift, brutal motion, I grabbed a fistful of Felix’s hair. “Now,” I said, my voice as cold as the grave. “It’s time for you and me to settle our accounts.” Felix shrieked in pain. “Nina, help me! Mr. Hayes and the media are coming to interview us! Don’t let this lunatic ruin your career!” Nina snapped out of her shock, her face paling with panic. “Leo, stop! I let your other tantrums slide, but if you make a scene in front of Mr. Hayes, your career is over!” “Nina, I played the part of a maniac for you for ten years,” I said, my voice dripping with ice as I slapped Felix hard across the face. His cheek instantly swelled. “What career do you think I have left?” “That,” I snarled, “was for touching my things.” I yanked his head down, preparing to grind his face into the shards of broken glass on the floor. The first rule I learned growing up in the Ashworth family was simple: if someone throws mud at you, you shove their face in the swamp. Fear breeds respect. As I expected, Felix started sobbing. “Are you crazy?! I’m sorry… I was wrong, I was wrong! Please, don’t ruin my face!” I felt nothing. People should pay for their actions. But in the next second, Nina shouted for her bodyguards. Several large men rushed in, grabbing my arms and pinning me. “Enough! How long are you going to keep this up? You’re acting like a hysterical shrew. You’re nothing like the man I used to know.” “He destroyed the only photo I have of my mother, and you think I’m in the wrong?!” I roared, my eyes red with fury. Nina paused, turning to Felix. “Is that true?” “I was going to give it back to him, I swear!” Felix whimpered, burying his face in Nina’s shoulder. “But he came at me so aggressively, I got scared and dropped it…” Nina’s heart immediately softened. The look she gave me was filled with revulsion. “So this is your own fault, then,” she said coldly. “Now, apologize to Felix.” I gritted my teeth, refusing to speak. At her nod, the bodyguards dragged me forward and forced me to my knees in front of him. “Brother, I’m not a bully like you,” Felix said, looking down at me, his voice dripping with false magnanimity. “Just get on your knees, bow your head, and apologize, and I’ll forgive you.” He placed his expensive leather shoe on the back of my hand and pressed down. A sharp, grinding pain shot up my arm. I met his gaze and let out a cold laugh. “You better pray I never get my hands on you again. Because when I do, I’m going to break your fucking leg.”

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1 The tense silence in the conference room was thick. My department was in the middle of a final pitch when a voice, clear as a bell, echoed in everyone’s mind: My sister’s face is so flushed. She must be playing with that little toy again. I can’t say a word, or the client will tear up our contract. The client’s representatives exchanged uneasy glances. The deal was dead. My manager, purple with rage, canceled our entire department’s bonuses. I became the object of everyone’s scorn. My life spiraled. I clawed my way back, using my expertise to single-handedly win back the project, earning a promotion. But then, my sister’s inner voice sighed for all to hear: Vivian looks successful, but it’s a sham. She slept her way to the top. The CEO’s wife, our company’s Vice President, heard it. At the company-wide ceremony, she publicly slapped me, branding me a homewrecker. My reputation was destroyed. I was ostracized and forced to resign. At my farewell dinner, her voice struck one last time: This is a trap. Vivian drugged the drinks to hand them to executives at her new company. My colleagues, consumed by mob mentality, beat me to death. As I died, I wondered why everyone turned on me with such venom. I only understood when I woke up—reborn. And this time, I could hear my sister’s thoughts, too. The conference room again. A colleague was droning on about market projections. A wave of dizziness washed over me; the fever I was fighting made each breath a struggle, painting my cheeks a deep crimson. The hand I had started to raise for help froze mid-air. I was back. It had all happened. In my last life, I had spearheaded this project. I insisted on leading the final presentation, despite being sick. I never imagined it would be the first step into my own personal hell. As if on cue, my sister Molly’s inner voice, a saccharine whisper in my mind, began. Wow, Vivian’s face is beet red. Oh my god, is she really that bold? Using her vibrator… here? I know she has trouble controlling herself, but this is insane. At home is one thing, but bringing it to the office? In front of all these people? Is she just addicted to the rush? Should I stop her? But if I say something, the client will get furious and cancel everything. What do I do? I lifted my head, my gaze locking onto Molly. Disbelief warbled my vision. Was she the one who had orchestrated my ruin? But why? She was my sister. My own flesh and blood. That very fact had made her mental broadcasts so devastatingly effective. Everyone believed her instantly, their stares turning from professional to perverse. I remembered the confusion from my past life, wondering why my normally supportive colleagues had let our manager throw me, the project lead, out of the room without a single word in my defense. Afterward, they docked everyone’s bonuses, and I, consumed by guilt, assumed my fever had offended the client. I didn’t dare argue. I just worked harder. But this wasn’t my past life anymore. This was a second chance. My hand slipped into my pocket, my fingers closing around a small pill. I was mildly allergic to one of its ingredients; within a minute, it would trigger an asthma attack. To them, a feverish blush didn’t look like sickness; it looked like sin. So what if I got sicker? What if it became a matter of life and death? I looked up and met Molly’s eyes. They glittered with a defiant, triumphant light. As the team’s curious gazes intensified, I bit down hard on my lip, a pained groan escaping. It was the perfect sound effect, confirming every sordid detail of Molly’s inner monologue. She had no idea I was playing along. You can’t win the game if you’re not willing to be a piece on the board. The room fell silent. My manager, Mark, slammed his hand on the table, his face a mask of fury. “Vivian Hale, get the hell out of my sight!” he roared. Before I could respond, Molly shot up, rushing to my side and grabbing my arm. “Vivian, are you feeling alright? Let me help you out of here.” Her thoughts, however, told a different story. If she stays in here any longer, she’s going to orgasm and pass out in front of everyone. I can’t let that happen. It would be too obvious. Her fingers dug into my bicep like talons as she practically dragged me toward the door. And then, just as we reached the threshold, I let it happen. My breath hitched. I gasped, clutching my chest, and collapsed to the floor in a heap. The illusion of a faint was complete. Molly’s mental voice skyrocketed in volume, a panicked megaphone blasting in everyone’s ears. Oh, crap, too late. She actually came and passed out. She’s wearing a skirt today! What if the damn thing vibrates its way out? The explicit thought shocked the room into a stunned silence. Mark stared down at me, his expression twisting with disgust as if I were something he’d scraped off his shoe. He drew back his foot and kicked me hard in the ribs. “Having filth like you in this company pollutes the very air we breathe,” he spat. “Stop faking it. I’m telling you right now, you’re fired!” Molly, who had been frantically calling my name, suddenly stood up, her face a picture of righteous indignation. “You can’t just fire my sister! She has slaved away for this company for years! If you’re going to fire her, you owe her severance!” I was only pretending to be unconscious, but hearing those words sent a genuine pang of pain through my chest. The little sister I had practically raised wasn’t just trying to destroy me; she was trying to squeeze every last drop of value from my corpse. Mark snorted. “Severance? I should be making her hand over that… thing. A degenerate woman like her is lucky I don’t.” Seething, he lifted his leg for another kick. Before his foot could connect, a powerful voice cut through the chaos. “Stop!” A path cleared through the gawking crowd. A man knelt beside me, immediately starting chest compressions. “Mark, what the hell is wrong with you? We’re a medical tech firm! Can’t you see she’s having an asthma attack? Instead of helping, you’re assaulting her?” Recognizing that voice, I finally let myself truly slip into darkness. When I woke up, the sterile smell of a hospital filled my nostrils. Back in the conference room, I had sent a text to the one person who could fix this: Mr. Grant, the CEO and founder of the company. I told him I’d had a breakthrough on the new prototype and needed to meet with him urgently. I knew he valued this project above all else. More importantly, he was a doctor by training, and he knew about my asthma. I was safe. Mr. Grant’s furious voice echoed from the hallway. “What were you thinking, Mark? Your employee collapses and you decide to kick her? In front of a client? Do you have any idea what this does to our company’s reputation?” Mark’s voice was a pathetic mumble. “It was Vivian… she was playing with one of those… things… in the meeting. Her face was all red, everyone in the office knew, I thought—” “Thought what?” Mr. Grant roared. “That was a high fever triggering an asthma attack! You nearly killed her, you idiot! Just… just go in there, apologize to her, and then pack your things. You’re done here.” A moment later, a defeated-looking Mark shuffled in and offered a half-hearted apology. Our firm was number one in the industry. After a scandal like this, his career was effectively over. He’d be blacklisted. He channeled all his rage onto the person he blamed for his downfall. He lunged for Molly, who was cowering in the corner, his hands closing around her throat. “You bitch!” he screamed, his voice cracking with hysteria. “It was you! Your twisted thoughts about your sister wanting a thrill… you made me do this! You misled me! I’ve lost everything because of you, and now I’m going to kill you!” The other colleagues stared, stunned. For the first time, they realized it wasn’t just a fluke. Everyone could hear Molly’s thoughts. Molly’s face turned purple as she clawed at Mark’s hands. “I don’t know what you’re talking about! Let me go!” she rasped. When he didn’t relent, she turned her pleading eyes to me. “Vivian… help… me…” The others finally snapped out of their shock and pulled Mark off her. Molly collapsed, coughing, but the look she gave me was pure venom. “Why didn’t you help me, Vivian? After I was trying to help you!” she cried. “Are you really going to believe their crazy talk over your own sister? Do you think I would ever try to hurt you?” I said nothing. After being discharged, I moved out of our shared apartment and into the company dorms. I poured every waking moment into refining my project proposal. Weeks later, I successfully landed a massive new contract, and with it, a promotion to Mark’s old position as manager. At my celebration dinner, Molly’s voice surfaced again. I’m happy for my sister, I really am. But she didn’t earn this promotion with her skills. Isn’t that unfair to everyone else who worked so hard? They don’t know the truth. Vivian has been sleeping with multiple clients. There’s even one who’s over sixty, with a combover, who smells like he hasn’t showered in a week. I don’t know how she can stomach it. The cheerful chatter in the restaurant died. A dozen pairs of eyes swiveled toward me, simmering with a cocktail of disgust, contempt, and morbid curiosity. Molly, feigning ignorance, continued her silent broadcast. A few of the senior executives are in on it, too. Especially Mr. Grant. I’ve seen Vivian sneaking into his office when no one’s looking. She goes in wearing a prim white blouse and comes out with it buttoned wrong and her hair a mess. That whole ‘vibrator in the conference room’ incident? Mr. Grant was the one who covered it up. Her mental gaze shifted to Eleanor Grant, the VP, and her thoughts dripped with faux pity. Poor Mrs. Grant. She and the CEO have always been seen as the perfect couple, so in love after all these years. I can’t believe he’d throw it all away for my sister… Eleanor’s face was a thundercloud. Mr. Grant was away on business and couldn’t attend the dinner. The other male executives at the table nervously avoided each other’s eyes, each wondering who among them was being implicated. Eleanor’s patience snapped. She shot to her feet, lunged across the table, and grabbed a fistful of my hair. “You little slut!” she shrieked. “You dare touch my husband?” In my previous life, this was the moment that sealed my fate. Eleanor had branded me a homewrecker, a stain that never washed off. Even after Mr. Grant returned and cleared my name, the damage was done. People believe what they see, and what they had seen was a public beatdown. But this time, I was ready. I had been watching Eleanor all night. The second she moved, I dodged back. I scrambled over to the presentation laptop and connected it to the projector, flooding the large screen with my work from the past several weeks. “Mrs. Grant, I don’t know what you’ve been led to believe,” I said, my voice steady, “but I have proof for every single step I took to win this contract.” An image appeared on the screen—a grainy photo of me sitting on a curb outside a client’s office building at dawn. “This was me, waiting for the lead client. I followed him from his office to his home, just begging for five minutes to present my proposal.” Another photo: me, soaking wet, holding a small, crying child, with the same client and his wife looking on in gratitude. “I ended up saving his son from drowning in their pool. As a thank you, he gave me a chance. His wife and I are good friends now.” I showed a picture of the two of us having coffee. Murmurs rippled through the crowd. If I had slept with the man, the last thing I’d do is befriend his wife. I pulled up the security footage from the conference room. “And as for what happened with our former manager, I have no idea why he was so convinced I was doing something sordid. I had a full medical examination at the hospital. He was fabricating everything. In fact, he formally apologized and admitted he was influenced by… my sister’s thoughts.” I stared directly at Molly. She froze, a deer in the headlights, squirming in her seat. Just as she was about to burst with a panicked explanation, I smiled. “But hearing people’s thoughts? That’s something out of a fantasy novel, isn’t it? It couldn’t possibly happen in real life.” I turned to the VP. “Mark must have been having a psychotic break. Wouldn’t you agree, Mrs. Grant?” Eleanor’s eyes were glued to the screen. She slowly nodded. Many of the people present had been at that meeting; they knew the truth. Now, the way they looked at Molly was different. Molly’s face went white. She lowered her head, but her inner voice was frantic. What is Vivian talking about? How could anyone hear what I’m thinking? Ugh—It doesn’t matter. No matter how much fake evidence she shows, she can’t fake what’s on her own body. If someone just ripped open her shirt, they’d see it all. The marks from all the men who’ve ‘loved’ her. Bruises everywhere, purplish and blue. Even rope marks… she’s into some really kinky stuff. I can barely stand to look at it… Eleanor’s sharp eyes darted to my partially open collar. A flicker of something. A hint of red on my collarbone. That was all it took. Her rage returned, white-hot and absolute. All semblance of corporate decorum vanished. She charged at me, her hands a blur. Two sharp slaps cracked across my face, making my head ring and stars burst behind my eyes. The room erupted. My colleagues were spectators at a circus, whispering and pointing. I was a shameless harlot getting what I deserved. In another time, they’d have drowned me in a pig cage. Below the stage, Molly watched me with a smug, triumphant smirk. You’re finished, sister. Eleanor’s eyes were blazing. With a final, furious cry, she grabbed the front of my thin blouse and ripped it open. Shh-rrrriiip! The fabric gave way, and the angry red marks and deep purple bruises covering my chest and shoulders were suddenly exposed for all to see. “Vivian, I didn’t know you had a boyfriend! Where did all those marks come from?!” Molly gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth in mock horror. The performance was flawless, the final nail in my coffin. Splat. A rotten egg hit my forehead, dripping yolk into my eyes. Then came crumpled napkins, leftover food, anything people could grab. I was being buried in garbage, the homewrecker, the slut. Just as the refuse was about to swallow me whole, the main doors of the banquet hall burst open. A smile finally spread across my lips. The person I’d been waiting for had arrived. “Everyone stop! I want to see who dares to harm this company’s greatest asset!”

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At my childhood friend’s wedding, just as the bride and groom were about to exchange rings, the bride suddenly snatched the microphone and turned to look directly at me. In an instant, a single, blinding spotlight swung from the altar and pinned me in my seat. Every head in the chapel turned. With all eyes on her, the bride, Sophia, walked slowly down the aisle until she stood before me. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and with a choked sob, she thrust her bouquet into my hands. “Amelia, please. I’m begging you.” “Ethan and I are married now. Please, have some sense of decency. Stop using the ‘just friends’ excuse to be so intimate with my husband, regardless of the time or place.” 1 A collective gasp swept through the guests. Those who didn’t know the situation were already shooting me looks of pure contempt. In the distance, I saw my mother’s face fall, her expression hardening like stone. Ethan’s face was even uglier than mine. He lunged forward, his brow furrowed as he tried to grab Sophia’s arm. “Sophia, are you insane? This is our wedding! What the hell are you doing?” She violently shook him off. The screech of microphone feedback pierced the air. Tears streaming down her face, she pulled out her phone. The screen showed Ethan’s social media profile. The background picture was their engagement photo. But the latest post was a picture of Ethan’s forearm, marked with a faint, old bite mark. The caption was what made it damning. “Getting married tomorrow, but I can’t forget you, or the mark you left on me.” “Look, everyone!” Sophia’s voice was a raw scream. “I’ve tolerated you being close with Amelia all this time!” “But to post this, right before our wedding, and set the privacy so only she could see it! Ethan, you tell me, what is this supposed to mean?” The color drained from Ethan’s face. Sophia shot me a cold, triumphant smirk. “Amelia! Since you need him so much, and since he’s so clearly obsessed with you, why didn’t you two just get together? Why keep that intimate bite mark as some kind of secret trophy? Are you both just playing me for a fool?” The stares of the guests felt like a thousand needles pricking my skin. I stood frozen, not out of shock, but out of sheer, dumbfounded exasperation. Me? Need Ethan? When have I ever needed Ethan? And that bite mark… what a joke. Until this very moment, I had always considered it a symbol of our mutual hatred. Ethan’s family and mine were next-door neighbors. Our mothers were best friends. By all accounts, we should have gotten along. But from the moment we could walk, he made it his mission to torment me. Tearing the ribbons from my hair and smearing mud on my dresses were his tamer tricks. The worst was when he threw my kitten into the deep end of his family’s pool and physically blocked me from getting help. I was so frantic, so utterly helpless, that I bit his arm with all the strength my small body could muster. That was over a decade ago. The fact that the scar is still visible is a testament to how viciously I bit him. It was also the day I started taking Muay Thai classes. After that, our dynamic shifted. I was the one pinning him to the ground until he finally learned to leave me alone. I’ve despised him my entire life. If it weren’t for our families’ history and the fact that his mother has always been kind to me, I wouldn’t have even shown up to this sham of a wedding. As for his social media post… Good lord. I had no idea. He’d always had a flair for overly dramatic, emo nonsense that polluted my timeline. I found it so annoying that I’d muted his profile years ago. With that thought, I opened my phone, navigated to my chat with Ethan, and turned the screen toward Sophia. The setting was clearly displayed: “Mute this person’s posts and stories.” Even our chat history was on silent mode. I scrolled through it. Aside from the occasional spammy link he’d sent, the most recent message was from last week—an invitation to his wedding. I hadn’t even bothered to reply. It was a pointless invitation. Given our families, my mother would have dragged me here by my hair if I’d refused. I took a deep, steadying breath. “I have no idea what kind of misunderstanding you two are having, but don’t you dare drag me into your mess to play the villain.” I shot a glare at Ethan, my jaw tight. “And for the record, that pathetic bite mark is from when he pushed me too far and I snapped! I wasn’t even in elementary school! God only knows why he’d post something so twisted about it.” Ethan, who had been trying to placate Sophia, froze. He looked at me, his eyes filled with a wounded, disbelieving expression. 2 Sophia’s hand, still holding the phone, hung in the air. A flash of surprise crossed her face, but she quickly doubled down, biting her lip. “But you can’t deny the inappropriate intimacy between you two!” “You spend all your time with a bunch of guys, acting like you’re one of them, but it’s all just a cover to stay attached to Ethan! There’s a limit to playing the ‘cool girl,’ Amelia! You have a fiancé, yet you’re still stringing my husband along. Have you no shame?” I let out a humorless laugh and looked at Ethan, who was now pretending to be part of the scenery. Just then, my friend Jake’s girlfriend, Chloe, spoke up with blunt honesty. “Sophia, are you sure you’re not mistaken? I’ve never seen Amelia act out of line.” Sophia faltered, turning her attack to Leo’s wife, Sarah. Sarah just smiled. “Sophia, you really have it all wrong. We’re all friends with Amelia because she’s a genuinely good person. She rarely organizes get-togethers; we’re always the ones begging her to come out.” “The building materials supplier my husband’s company needed? The design team for Jake’s new restaurant? The insider discount on Mark’s new car? That was all Amelia. She made those connections for us.” Leo tried to quiet his wife, but Sarah shot him a look that silenced him instantly. She glanced at Ethan, whose face was growing darker by the second, and added with a sly smile, “Amelia is the reason our group exists. Ethan has nothing to do with it. He only started hanging out with us because he’s her neighbor. We only put up with him for Amelia’s sake.” I silently gave Sarah a mental high-five. The truth was simple. We live in a small city. The business circle is tight. Our crew was solid, but the cornerstone, the one holding it all together, had always been me. My family made its fortune in renewable energy a few years back. I then started my own consulting firm and opened an exclusive bar, accumulating a network of high-profile clients. I became friends with Jake and Leo because our fathers knew each other, and we helped each other’s businesses grow. Ethan’s family ran a small construction supply business that had been failing for years; they were on the verge of bankruptcy. My mother, out of pity, had my father throw them a few contracts to stay afloat and insisted I include Ethan in my social circle. I was against it. I hold a grudge, and I’ve never forgotten the way he treated me as a child. But my mom’s relentless nagging wore me down, and I reluctantly let him tag along. I fixed my gaze on him. “What exactly were you trying to achieve with that post?” Ethan’s face turned the color of raw liver. His lips moved, but no words came out. Sophia’s expression soured, but she wasn’t ready to give up. “You’ve all been fooled by her! She’s just pretending to be above it all, showing off how successful she is to seduce men!” I frowned, my patience finally gone. It was her wedding day. I had been willing to let it slide, to endure the humiliation for the sake of peace. But she was pushing it, determined to smear my name. “Sophia, you need evidence to make accusations like that,” I said, my voice turning icy. “You’ve seen my chat history with Ethan. What more do you want?” She sneered. “If there’s nothing between you, why did he pour so much money into your bar? It’s a members-only club with a ridiculously high barrier to entry. As a woman running a place like that, you must have your methods for keeping wealthy clients around. Ethan recently dropped fifty grand on a membership. Are you going to tell me that’s not suspicious?” The venue fell silent. My mother, pale with rage, rushed to my side. “You say that one more time.” I gently pushed my mom back into her seat and stepped toward Sophia. “First of all, Ethan spending money at my bar is a normal business transaction. I didn’t force him.” 3 “And don’t you worry. I’ll have my manager refund every penny he hasn’t spent and post a notice at the entrance permanently banning him from the premises.” What a joke. My bar is a top-tier establishment that would hold its own in any major city. The renovations alone cost millions. My clientele consists of the city’s wealthiest and most influential people. Did she really think I needed Ethan’s chump change? Sophia froze, clearly not expecting me to be so decisive. “Even so, you can’t deny that you call him in the middle of the night! Why does he always rush out to meet you at ungodly hours?” “Last Wednesday, at two in the morning, he told me there was an emergency at your bar and ran out in his pajamas! Are you going to deny that you called him?” Her words even stunned me. I would never, ever contact Ethan. Besides, last Wednesday, my fiancé and I were on vacation out of state. As I was about to refute her, I caught a glimpse of panic in Ethan’s eyes. “Sophia, stop it! It’s all a misunderstanding! We can talk about this at home. Today is our wedding…” She ripped her arm from his grasp. “You need to tell me the truth right now! Is she the only one you love? Did you ever even want to marry me?” “Yes! I didn’t want to marry you!” Ethan suddenly roared, his composure shattering. He glanced at me, a wild, cornered look in his eyes. Sophia stared at him, her face a mask of disbelief. In the next second, all the color drained from her cheeks. “My stomach… it hurts…” Her eyes rolled back, and she collapsed in a dead faint. The scene erupted into chaos. Ethan, terrified, scooped her up and ran for the exit. My mother watched the pandemonium, her voice laced with worry. “Amelia, maybe we should go to the hospital, just to check…” I hesitated for a moment, then nodded, and we followed the ambulance. Outside the emergency room, Ethan was crouched against a wall, his face ashen. My mom tried to offer a few words of comfort to his mother, Wanda, but was met with a cold shoulder. My mom’s expression darkened, but before she could speak, the ER doors opened. A doctor emerged. “The patient is stable. The emotional distress caused a threatened miscarriage. She’ll need to be admitted for observation to ensure the pregnancy is safe.” Wanda’s face lit up with manic joy. She grilled the doctor, and after confirming Sophia was pregnant, she whirled on me, her eyes blazing with resentment. “Are you satisfied now, Amelia? If you hadn’t started a fight with Sophia at her own wedding, would she have almost lost my grandchild? You have a fiancé of your own, so why can’t you just leave my son alone?” She grew more agitated with every word. “Sophia was right! People need boundaries! If you don’t like my son, then stay away from him! Stop pretending to be his buddy while secretly seducing him, keeping one man on the hook while you look for another! You may have no shame, but we do!” “What nonsense are you spouting?” My mother stood up, her face a mixture of anger and disappointment. “Wanda, if I hadn’t convinced my husband to give your family business, you would have gone bankrupt years ago! And this is how you repay us? By slandering my daughter?” Wanda flinched, then changed her tone. “Amelia, dear, please. I’m begging you. You know my son’s… condition. The doctors all said it would be nearly impossible for him to have children. Now that Sophia is finally pregnant, that baby is our family’s lifeline! Just stay away from Ethan from now on, please!” “Mom! Stop it!” Ethan hissed, his face burning with humiliation at having his infertility broadcasted to the world. I scoffed and sent a quick text to my assistant, telling her to dig up Ethan’s recent movements and social media activity. I hadn’t called him in the middle of the night. Someone else had. And I wasn’t about to take the fall for it. 4 Just as I sent the message, Ethan approached me, hesitating. “Amelia, I know you’re innocent in all this, but… I’m finally going to be a father. This is so important to our family. For the sake of our childhood friendship, can you please just let this go? Don’t push her any further.” I rolled my eyes. “You should be thinking about what you did to make your wife so insecure in the first place.” He opened his mouth to say more, but was cut off by the sound of approaching footsteps. I turned. It was my fiancé, Liam. For once, his calm demeanor was replaced by a hint of urgency. “I’m sorry I’m late.” He was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, clearly having come straight from the office. His handsome face was cold as he came to my side, his gaze sharp and commanding. “I’d appreciate it if certain people would conduct themselves with a little more dignity and stay away from my fiancée,” he said, his voice low and dangerous. “And stop trying to blame her for your own messes.” Ethan flinched under Liam’s glare, a flicker of jealousy and fear in his eyes. After a tense moment, he turned and scurried back toward the ER. Liam watched him go, then gently smoothed my hair back, his tone softening. “Come on. I’m taking you and your mom home.” It was dark by the time we got back. I had just slipped off my shoes when my phone began buzzing relentlessly. It was my assistant. As I looked at the photos she sent, my eyes narrowed. So that’s why Sophia was so convinced I was the other woman. It was because… Before I could finish reading, a notification popped up on my screen. A trending local news post. “Boycott Local Socialite: Juggling Two Men and a Messy Private Life.” Someone had edited clips from the wedding, cutting out all context, making me look like the villain. The comment section was a cesspool of people calling me a manipulative “cool girl.” Thanks to the algorithm, I didn’t even have to search. A local livestream recommendation appeared. It was Sophia, broadcasting from her hospital bed. The title read: “The Price of Marrying a ‘Devoted’ Man: My Husband’s Affair with His ‘Best Friend’.” I clicked. She was propped up against the pillows, pale and red-eyed, weeping for the camera. “I’m pregnant with twins, and he’s still messing around with another woman. A woman who has her own fiancé but insists on calling my husband in the middle of the night…” The comments were a flood of sympathy. “I’m so sorry, sweetie!” “Girls like that are the absolute worst!” “I heard her family is like local royalty. They’re in business, and she owns some shady bar. What kind of decent woman runs a bar?” I laughed out loud at the absurdity. My mom saw it too, her hands trembling with rage. Liam wrapped an arm around my shoulders. “Don’t let them get to you.” I smirked. “Oh, I’m not angry. I should be thanking them for all this free publicity.” My company was about to launch a new product line. Free press is free press. Half an hour later, I started a livestream from my own account. As soon as I went live, a flood of viewers poured in—half to curse me out, half to watch the drama unfold. I sat in front of the camera with a calm smile. A moment later, a request to co-stream popped up. It was Sophia. I accepted immediately. Her pale, tear-streaked face appeared on the screen. “You really have no shame, do you? Broadcasting after all this,” she sneered. I raised an eyebrow and held up my phone. “I’d invite everyone to take a look at the new video I just posted on my account.” In the next second, the comment feed exploded.

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