My husband kept a beautiful, brilliant woman as a director at his side. From the company’s first breath to the ringing of the opening bell at the New York Stock Exchange, she was there for every one of his triumphs. Not like me. I was at home, raising our daughter, wrestling with homework, scrubbing pots and pans. I learned of my husband’s crowning achievements the same way the rest of the world did: on TV. My best friend, Chloe, couldn’t stand it. Her frustration boiled over during our weekly wine night. “I don’t know how you stomach it, Audrey,” she said, her voice laced with the fury I couldn’t seem to muster. “That woman practically introduced herself as Mrs. Crawford to the press.” She swirled the cabernet in her glass. “It’s been ten years. Ten years is long enough for even the most lovesick fool to wake up.” Hearing her words, I just traced the rim of my own glass, a calm settling over me. Ten years. It really had been that long. But the outcome was perfect. That bastard and his bitch finally took my company public. And with the upcoming shareholders’ meeting, it was time to fire my husband from his position as CEO. And her, from the Executive VP role she was about to step into. 1 Ethan finally came home the night before the shareholders’ meeting. The moment the front door clicked open, our daughter, Sophie, shot off the couch like a little rabbit, her pigtails flying. She wrapped her arms around Ethan’s leg, a chorus of “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!” erupting from her. He scooped her up, planting a loud, whiskery kiss on her cheek. “I missed you so much, my little bug.” He nuzzled his stubble into her neck, coaxing squeals of laughter from her before setting her back down. Only then did he turn to me, his smile softening into something gentler, more practiced. “You’re a saint, Audrey. Holding down the fort.” He always spoke to me like that at home—polite, warm, the very picture of a devoted family man. It would have been convincing, too, if I didn’t know how he’d spent the month since the NYSE ceremony. The celebratory trip to Vegas that ended in a million-dollar loss. The five-million-dollar penthouse he’d bought for his director in the heart of Tribeca. The luxury cars and suburban McMansion he’d gifted her parents and brother. If he hadn’t been so reckless with my money, I might have let him keep his job. He and his director, Ava, were a ruthlessly effective pair, after all. Driven, hungry, with a work ethic that bordered on pathological. They were everything I wasn’t. I was born soft, allergic to hardship. The greatest struggle I’d ever endured was the pain of Ethan’s affair, which laid me out for exactly three days. On the fourth day, I woke up and started seeing him for what he was: my prized workhorse. After all, I secretly owned 48% of the company through an anonymous holding firm, on top of the 3% he’d signed over to me as a wedding gift. It was a staggering amount of money. The love was gone, but the assets remained. I supposed it could have been worse. A flicker of irritation in Ethan’s eyes pulled me from my thoughts. He was watching me, his brow furrowed. “Are you still stewing about Ava? Audrey, you can’t have everything. I’ve given you a life of luxury, of ease. You can’t also expect my absolute fidelity.” He had always been this brazenly honest. It was the same five years ago, when I’d found them. I’d brought him homemade mooncakes for the Mid-Autumn Festival, a nod to our shared time in Shanghai. I’d walked into his office to the sight of him pressing Ava against his desk, their mouths locked together. He’d calmly dismissed her, then poured me a cup of tea as if nothing had happened. “Audrey, we were college sweethearts,” he’d begun, his voice maddeningly reasonable. “Four years of dating, five years of marriage. I truly loved you. A part of me still does.” He took a sip of his own tea. “But you have to understand, I’m a man. I have needs. I’m on the road six months out of the year. You can’t expect me to live like a monk.” He leaned forward, his tone shifting to that of a patient professor. “I have money, and I have urges. Ava is brilliant, she’s attracted to me, and she’s right there. I’m utilizing her talent, so why not her body? It’s efficient. You’re just too greedy, Audrey. You want the lifestyle I provide, but you also want my body to be exclusively yours. You even want me to love you with that same desperate, youthful passion we used to have. We’re adults now. It’s time to let go of perfection.” That was the first time I’d heard him dissect human nature—a man’s nature—with such cold precision. The shock was so profound that I fainted shortly after getting home. At the hospital, I found out I was pregnant. This baby, our Sophie, was a miracle I’d fought for through three grueling years of IVF. Abortion was unthinkable. But over the next ten months, as Ethan played the part of the perfect, doting husband at home while flying Ava to the Maldives and Hong Kong for lavish vacations, my perspective crystallized. If everything was a transaction, then I would maximize my return on Ethan Crawford. I pushed down the familiar, phantom ache in my chest and smiled sweetly. I stepped toward him and began to loosen his tie. “Don’t be silly. She’s your right hand. Why would I be jealous of Ms. Vance?” I said, my voice smooth as silk. “She’s a powerhouse—a Wharton MBA who can close a deal and run an empire. Honestly, I’m grateful she takes such good care of you.” A relieved, almost tender smile spread across Ethan’s face. He reached out and gently squeezed my earlobe, a gesture that had once been our intimate little signal. But I’d seen him do the exact same thing to Ava in a candid photo from a business gala. Now, his touch made my skin crawl. Perhaps even Ethan himself had forgotten that I hadn’t let him touch me—not really—in five years. Not since the day I found them. I didn’t let him start now. I took a half-step back, a blush rising on my cheeks for effect. “Stop it, the baby’s right here,” I murmured. “Go on, get in the shower.” I turned to our daughter. “Sophie, honey, Daddy’s being lazy. He doesn’t want to take a bath. Can you go push him into the bathroom for Mommy?” Instantly, Sophie latched back onto his leg, a tiny, giggling barnacle. As Ethan disappeared into the master bath, I walked straight to the kitchen, a wave of revulsion washing over me. I scrubbed my hands, my face, and especially my earlobe, which I washed three separate times. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed his secretary. “Something’s come up,” I said, my voice low and sharp. “I need you to create a crisis. I want Ethan Crawford out of my house. Now.” 2 The call came less than a minute later. I watched as Ethan’s face, still damp from the shower, darkened with every word from his secretary. He ended the call and turned to me, his towel knotted precariously at his waist. “Audrey, find me a suit. I have to go back to the office.” I went to the closet and pulled out a classic navy suit. He glanced at it and scowled. “What is this, a relic from 2015? My God, your taste is atrocious. Am I going back to the office to work or to be publicly humiliated?” This was his way. When things went wrong, his words became weapons, and I was always the nearest target. I knew his moods, so I didn’t fight back. My only goal was to get him out. “I’m… I’m sorry,” I stammered, letting my voice tremble. “I’ll get another one.” But my compliance did nothing to soothe him. He shoved past me with a grunt of disgust, snatching his phone and hitting the speed dial for ‘1’. A moment later, Ava’s smooth, professional voice was on the line. “Ethan? What’s wrong?” He shot a venomous look in my direction before speaking into the phone. “The Aethel project is blowing up. Bring a suit to my place. Now.” He hung up without waiting for a reply and rounded on me, his voice dripping with condescension. “Could you please try to keep up with the modern world? What do you even do all day? I’m not asking you to build an empire, but could you at least learn something from Ava? Develop an ounce of taste?” Without another glance, he cinched his towel and stalked into his study to wait. I stood there, my fingers twisting the fabric of the suit. Of course it was an old style. It was the last one he’d left here, five years ago. For half a decade, every single item of his—from his tailored suits and Swiss watches down to his socks and underwear—had been curated and managed by her. I had nothing to do with it. On the rare occasion I tried to play the part, buying him a gift for our anniversary, it would remain unopened, gathering dust in his study drawer with all the others. Which was, perhaps, for the best. My anniversary and birthday gifts for him over the past five years had been… unconventional. A miniature anatomical model of a man, neatly gelded. A framed, calligraphed curse for impotence. A small effigy of him, riddled with pins. And my personal favorite, a prayer card wishing him and his lover a lifetime of debilitating, untreatable STDs. Every year, I waited for the explosion, the moment he’d finally discover my little gallery of hate. But, to my disappointment, he never had. A sudden, angry little voice from the hallway snapped me back to the present. “Who are you? You can’t just walk in here! You didn’t even ring the doorbell!” 3 My jaw tightened. I dropped the suit and walked out of the bedroom. There she was. Ava Vance, crouched down to Sophie’s level, a sickeningly sweet smile on her face. “Well hello, Sophie,” she was saying. “Guess what? I have a secret. You’re going to be a big sister.” My blood ran cold. “How did you get in here?” Ava looked up, her expression shifting from feigned warmth to cool indifference. “Oh, hello, Audrey. Sorry to intrude so late. Ethan gave me the code.”

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The day I left my ex-husband, he made me choose: the money or his daughter. I took the money. She was seven. She didn’t cry or throw a tantrum. She just watched me go, her expression unreadable. I moved on. I remarried, had a son, and my life settled into the quiet rhythm of ordinary. Twenty-five years later, my son told me he was bringing his new girlfriend home to meet me. 1 My son, Leo, had been single for all twenty-five years of his life, but he’d inherited my romantic heart. He’d just graduated, and to celebrate landing his first real job, he’d had a little too much to drink. He’d also, apparently, ended up in someone’s bed. “Mom, what do I do?” he’d groaned over the phone a few days later. “I just found out she’s my boss.” I was speechless. Honestly, some things are better kept between you and your own crippling sense of embarrassment, not shared with your mother. “I don’t care,” he declared before I could respond, a new fire in his voice. “I don’t care who she is. I’m going to ask her out.” I didn’t offer a single word of encouragement, but his hope ignited all on its own. Two days later, he shuffled home, the picture of defeat. “She told me to leave her alone, Mom.” “Well,” I said, trying to be gentle, “you can be… a lot.” He made a frustrated sound. “She asked what it would take for me to stop bothering her.” “And what did you say?” “I told her if she’d just come home and meet you once, I’d never bother her again.” I blinked. And blinked again. Wow. Just… wow. Was this some new form of emotional blackmail? The “my-mom-wants-to-meet-you” gambit? “I know it’s a lost cause,” he mumbled, his voice small and pathetic. “But… I just wanted you to meet the person I’ve fallen for.” His sincerity was a little heartbreaking. My resolve softened. And so, here I was, having spent the entire day cooking and cleaning, bracing myself for the arrival of this VIP. When the doorbell rang, I took a deep breath, pasted on my most welcoming smile, and opened the door. A woman stood behind Leo, dressed in a sharply tailored black coat. She carried an aura so potent it seemed to chill the air around her. My mind went blank. A buzzing static filled my ears. My first instinct was primal: hide. Find a crack in the floor and disappear into it. But the woman—Claire Sterling—merely glanced at me, her face a placid mask. There wasn’t a flicker of recognition. I didn’t know if I should feel relief or a fresh wave of grief. Of course, I told myself. She was only seven when I left. It’s been twenty-five years. She’s forgotten you. I forced the storm of emotion down and managed a smile, ushering her inside. “Claire, please, come in. It’s cold out there, isn’t it?” Leo, meanwhile, was a machine gun of nervous chatter, trying to unload his entire life story over the course of one dinner. “Look, Claire, this is a picture of me when I was a kid. Awkward, right?” “You have to try this, Claire. It’s my mom’s specialty. She…” Through it all, Claire remained poised and elegant, eating her food with a quiet focus, offering only the occasional, polite nod in response to Leo’s monologue. Then, she reached for one of the garlic butter prawns, glistening under the dining room light. My blood ran cold. “Don’t!” The word tore out of me. I shot up from my chair, my body moving on pure instinct. Just as the shrimp was about to reach her lips, I lunged across the table and knocked it from her chopsticks. The motion was so violent that a spray of buttery sauce splattered across the back of her hand. She has a severe shellfish allergy. When she was little, a single, thumb-sized shrimp had sent her into anaphylactic shock. Leo stared at me, dumbfounded. “Mom? What the hell was that?” My mind raced, my voice trembling as I scrambled for an excuse. “This… this batch. I think this batch went bad. Don’t eat it.” I turned to Leo. “There’s soup simmering in the kitchen. Could you get a bowl for Claire?” Though his face was a mask of confusion, he nodded and headed for the kitchen. The two of us were left alone in the suddenly cavernous silence of the living room. Claire slowly, deliberately, wiped the sauce from her hand with a napkin. Then she lifted her eyes to mine, and a slow, knowing smile curved her lips. It didn’t reach her eyes. “For a second there,” she said, her voice dangerously soft, “I was beginning to think you didn’t recognize me, Lena.”

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The ninth time Ethan Hayes rejected me, I was finally ready to give up. That’s when the Comments appeared, scrolling across my vision like a ghostly news ticker only I could see. 【Just one more time. The last one. He says yes on the tenth try.】 【He’s just aloof and bad with words. He’s crazy about her, you can tell.】 【Oh my god, his eyes are practically glued to her.】 I remembered my past life. The tenth time worked. We dated, got married, had a son. He built an empire. And then, one day, he’d said to me: “Ava, do you have any idea what it’s like for people who weren’t born with a silver spoon in their mouth? “I’m just helping her out. Stop being so dramatic.” So, no. Not this time. There would be no tenth time. 1 I wasn’t surprised to see the Comments flicker to life. But I didn’t turn around. I had no interest in confirming whether or not Ethan Hayes’s eyes held any trace of me. 【Why isn’t she turning around? Please! Just look at him!】 【His eyes are getting red. He’s about to cry.】 I remained unmoved. In fact, a wave of relief washed over me. Thank god he hadn’t said yes yet. Thank god it was only the ninth time. What I hadn’t expected, though, was for someone as proud as Ethan to come looking for me. He was standing at the edge of my family’s driveway, a silhouette against the manicured lawn. His lean, cool frame seemed to shimmer under the oppressive summer sun, making it hard to look away. When he saw me, he held out a cardboard box. “These are yours,” he said. “The things you gave me. I thought… you should have them back.” The June air was thick and hot, clinging to my skin even in a thin tank top. I wasn’t in the mood for a conversation. I gave the box a cursory glance and took it. His lips parted, as if he had more to say. The Comments erupted again. 【She totally did that on purpose. The tank top. Smart move.】 Seriously? It was ninety degrees out. Nobody sits around their house in a turtleneck. 【He worked up so much courage just to come here. She should be grateful.】 【So what if there’s a wealth gap now? In a few years, he’s going to be the new star of the Boston tech scene.】 【Her family will be the ones trying to get on his good side then.】 Right. All true. The Comments were absolutely right. Except for one tiny detail they always left out: his startup capital, in that other life, came from me. The investment strategy was a tip from my father. 2 Of course, I wasn’t stupid enough to argue with a ghost-commentary feed. I just looked at Ethan, my expression a blank question. “Was there something else?” He frowned, a sheen of sweat dotting his pale forehead. His gaze darkened with a hint of displeasure. There was no denying Ethan was beautiful. Devastatingly so. It was the only reason I’d chased him so relentlessly in the first place. Nine times. The last one was right after graduation. “It won’t interfere with our studies now,” I’d said, my smile wide with hope. “You can at least give me a chance, right?” He’d just shaken his head, his voice firm. “We’re not a good fit.” The first eight rejections were all variations of “we can’t get distracted from school.” For the ninth, he’d finally changed his excuse. In my past life, I had been ready to give up then, too. But that’s when the Comments had appeared. I listened to them. I turned around. And just as they’d said, I saw his cool eyes brimming with unspoken emotion. They told me his pride was the only thing in the way, that he felt he wasn’t good enough for me. So I followed him to his college town, lived a sparse life just like his to prove I didn’t care about the money. On my tenth attempt, he finally said yes. “I’m planning on going to school in Boston,” Ethan’s voice pulled me from the memory. When I looked up, all I saw was his back as he walked away. 3 【Oh my god, he’s making a move!】 【He wants her to go to Boston with him! That’s totally what that was.】 【She must be so happy. He’s finally giving her an opening.】 【Dropping hints like that instead of just saying it… He’s impossible, but I love it.】 I pressed my lips together and handed the box to the security guard at our gatehouse. “Can you take care of this for me?” I walked away without a second glance. “Tsk, what a shame.” The voice belonged to Leo, my next-door neighbor. He was leaning casually against a pillar of their garden gazebo. He caught my eye and grinned. “Don’t tell me you’re actually heartbroken over that guy.” A strange thought surfaced, a phantom memory from my past life. Leo died young. At thirty. Which meant… he only had nine years left. A pang of sympathy hit me. “You should take care of yourself,” I said earnestly. He just stared at me, completely bewildered. 4 The next time I saw Ethan was at our class graduation party. The air was thick with the bittersweet feeling of goodbyes. My long and very public pursuit of Ethan provided some of the night’s comic relief. “So, Ava,” someone called out from across the table. “You gonna ask our class genius out one more time for the road?” A chorus of laughter followed. “She got shot down again last week, right?” “What number is that now? Nine?” “Come on, Ethan, just give her a break. She’s rich, she’s hot. What’s the problem?” “Yeah, man. You could skip the next decade of grinding if you play your cards right.” The casual cruelty of high school kids. As if that wasn’t enough, the Comments chimed in. 【Shut up, all of you! He was just starting to open up. You’re ruining it.】 【Seriously. Look at his face, he’s furious.】 【He’s working so hard to catch up to her, to feel like he deserves her.】 【God, his love is so humble and intense. I’m obsessed!】 Right. Because having my unrequited crush serve as the entire grade’s running joke for years was something to be proud of. “Seriously, Ava, you should consider me instead,” Matt, the student council VP, said with a joking tone that didn’t quite mask the sincerity in his eyes. “What do you think, Ethan? You cool with me taking a shot?” “Whatever,” Ethan bit out, not even bothering to look at me. The gazes that fell on me shifted from amusement to a mix of pity and scorn. I could hear their whispers. “Guess money can’t buy you everything.” “It’s kind of pathetic, honestly. Chasing him when he’s so obviously not interested.” “I saw her dad on the cover of Forbes last month. Wonder what he’d think if he knew his daughter was acting this desperate at school.” 【That’s so harsh! Why isn’t he defending her?】 one of the Comments wondered. But I knew the answer. Ethan wouldn’t. 5 Sensing the awkwardness, Matt quickly produced a bouquet of roses he’d had stashed away. “Hey, no pressure or anything, Ava,” he said, his cheeks flushing a little. “Just… congratulations on graduating. I just wanted to say something, you know? Before we all scattered.” The mood in the restaurant lifted, turning into a wave of whoops and cheers. 【Ethan’s face is completely white. He had no idea Matt was going to do this.】 【He cares so much more than he lets on.】 【He’s terrified she’s actually going to say yes to him.】 Amidst everyone’s expectant stares, I politely turned Matt down. But when he insisted, I accepted the flowers. “Thank you,” I said, meeting his eyes. In my past life, I wouldn’t have dared. I would have been too worried about Ethan’s feelings. But being liked by someone isn’t something you should have to hide, is it? “So Ethan’s still the one, huh?” Someone just couldn’t let it go. “Are you still going to chase him?” It was time to put an end to it. I smiled, a real smile this time. “No, I’m done,” I said, my voice clear and light. “I’m tired.” The words fell into the sudden silence. Both the restaurant and the Comments went completely still. Across the table, Ethan’s head snapped up. 6 “Why? I thought you were in love with him,” whispered Sarah, the girl sitting next to me. A flicker of something—glee?—danced in her eyes. She was one of the wallflowers of our class. Average grades, barely got into a state school. In my past life, five years into my marriage with Ethan, she became his executive assistant. Back then, her admiration for him was painfully obvious. “I have feelings for you,” she had told him once, “but that has nothing to do with you. Don’t worry, I won’t ever get between you and Ava. I just want to be near you. It’s enough to just look up to you.” Ethan was working from his home office that day, and Sarah had come to deliver a report. I was standing outside the door with a tray of coffee, frozen in place. I listened as she confessed her feelings, and all Ethan did was look up at her, his expression unreadable. Then, in that same cold voice, he started talking about quarterly projections. He never fired her. In fact, he gave her chance after chance, championing her career. When I questioned him about it, his patience wore thin. “I see a part of myself in her,” he’d said, an edge to his voice. “I want to help her. She didn’t have your advantages, Ava. Stop being so dramatic!” By then, the Comments were long gone. They had vanished the day we got married, assuming it was a happily-ever-after. They didn’t know that a wedding ring can sometimes be the beginning of the end. 7 “That’s ridiculous. How can she not like him anymore?” someone at the party scoffed. “Just last week she was asking around about where Ethan was applying to college.” Sarah’s face fell slightly. 【He’s terrified.】 【The glass in his hand is about to shatter.】 【But now he knows she was asking about him… Look, he’s smiling! The corner of his mouth just turned up!】 I instinctively glanced over. For a rare moment, a genuine smile graced his face. It was clean and bright, like a cool evening breeze in summer. But this time, it couldn’t find its way into my heart. 8 After the party, my driver was waiting to pick me up. As I got into the car, Ethan suddenly appeared at the window. “I sent you a list,” he said, his voice low. “The universities your GPA can get you into. You can take a look. They’re all in the same college town, anyway.” My eyes drifted past him, to where Sarah was waiting for him a little ways down the street, her head bowed. Ethan followed my gaze and frowned. “I saw some guys harassing her on the street the other day,” he explained quickly. “We live in the same direction, so she’s been walking home with me lately. Don’t get the wrong idea.” As we both looked at her, Sarah seemed to shrink, burying her face even deeper. She was a world away from the woman she would become ten years later. The woman who would get drunk, throw up all over herself, and end up wearing one of Ethan’s dress shirts in my bedroom. “You can’t help him with anything, Ava,” she’d sneered at me then. “But I can.” The woman who would play the victim in front of him, crying, even falling to her knees. “I’m not like you! I fought for everything I have! Please, don’t ruin me.” And Ethan, his face a mask of fury, would pull her up and shield her behind him, glaring at me as if I were a stranger. “You disappoint me,” he’d said. So. It had started even back then. My focus returned to the present. “I’ve already decided where I’m going,” I said calmly. I rejected his offer, thinking he would understand. Clearly, he didn’t. 9 “I leave for campus tomorrow.” A month later, Ethan called me. The Comments insisted he’d been holding back for weeks. 【He’s been checking his phone every five minutes, waiting for a text from her.】 【The ice prince is finally coming down from his tower. Who doesn’t love that!】 【But why does she look so… bored?】 “Mm-hmm,” I said. My gaze was fixed on the gardenias blooming over the wall of Leo’s yard. They were beautiful this year. He was sitting in his gazebo, lost in a book. “Once I’m settled in, give me a call when you get there,” Ethan continued. “And Ava, you’ll be an adult in college. Your parents work hard for their money. Try not to make a big scene, letting everyone know how rich you are.” I blinked. He was starting to sound like a nagging parent. Was I supposed to pretend to be poor just to soothe his ego? I wasn’t an idiot. “Actually, my parents make their money pretty easily,” I replied. For them, making another billion might be a challenge. But funding my entire college experience without blinking an eye? That was nothing. The line went silent for a long time. “Then don’t bother coming to find me,” he finally snapped, and hung up. I stared at my phone, a little stunned. It was only by glancing at the Comments that I realized he was angry. 10 【Seriously, Ava? You know how proud he is. Why would you say that?】 【But she’s not lying.】 【And asking her to pretend to be poor is pretty hypocritical, isn’t it? Like he’s ashamed of the difference between them.】 Finally, a dissenting voice in the feed. “Seen enough?” Leo’s voice startled me. He thought I’d been staring at him. He let out a short, mocking laugh. I shook my head to clear it. “Have you been to the doctor for a check-up recently?” His face clouded over. “Are you sick in the head?” “I’m just trying to help you,” I said, my tone more meaningful than he could possibly understand. In his previous life, he hadn’t had much family. He’d left his entire estate to me. Still, I had something of a conscience. I just wasn’t sure if he’d written his will yet. 11 I left for college two weeks early, turning the drive into a leisurely road trip. My Instagram feed was a blur of roadside diners and scenic overlooks, racking up likes with every post. Then, one day, a message from Ethan popped up. 【Tomorrow’s the last day for registration. Why are you still in New York City?】 【I’ve already registered.】 His call came a second later. “Where are you? Let me buy you dinner.” I smiled, the NYC breeze whipping through my hair. “I’m in New York,” I said casually. “So that might be a little difficult.” “What?” He was silent for a long moment, the confusion palpable even over the phone. He wasn’t the only one. The Comments were in disbelief. 【Are you kidding me? He worked a crappy summer job for a month to save up enough money to take her to a nice dinner, and she’s pulling this stunt?】 【What, is she supposed to hop on a flight to Boston for a meal?】 【I don’t know, guys… I don’t think she loves him anymore.】 After a brief pause, a new consensus began to form in the feed. 【I agree. The desperate, love-struck girl is gone.】 【Which might be a good thing, honestly. He never says anything. I’d go crazy if I were her.】 【If you love someone, you should shout it from the rooftops. Keeping it bottled up doesn’t help anyone.】 I pulled my attention back from the ghostly text and spoke into the phone. “Ethan, I’m not going to chase you anymore. I meant what I said.” “Ava—” I hung up before he could finish. 12 I never thought he would come all the way to New York for me. Less than a week into the semester, he was standing outside my dorm. White button-down shirt, a bouquet of red roses in his arms. My roommates watched with curious eyes as I walked out to meet him. He held the roses out to me, his expression a mixture of nervousness and sincerity. “I’m sorry about before,” he began, his voice tight. “I’ve had time to think, and… I do like you. The reason I kept saying no was because I didn’t feel like I was good enough for you. I wanted to wait until I’d made something of myself before I accepted your feelings. But I realize now that if I don’t do something, I might lose you for good.” He took a breath. “Ava, will you be my girlfriend? The distance doesn’t matter. I can apply to grad school here. I—” He trailed off, his words faltering as he met my calm, detached gaze. It was clearly getting harder for him to speak. In contrast to my composure, the Comments were in a frenzy. 【He came all this way for her. That has to be enough now, right?】 【So predictable. Girls love playing hard to get.】 【If you keep this up, you’re really going to lose him, you know.】 But was I supposed to say yes? 13 Of course not. I gently pushed the roses back toward him, ignoring the way the color instantly drained from his face. My smile was polite, my tone firm. “I’m sorry, but I’m not interested.” I was only now starting to truly appreciate the freedom my family’s wealth afforded me. If I wanted to travel, I could book a business class ticket on a whim, or a flight if I was in a hurry. I didn’t have to spend hours searching for the cheapest train seat or endure a sixteen-hour bus ride just to protect someone else’s fragile ego. Late-night pizza from a street vendor is delicious, but not if you have to eat it every day. And if I saw a dress in a boutique that cost a thousand dollars, I could just buy it. The freedom was intoxicating. “Why?” Ethan’s voice was strained, laced with disbelief. “We’re not a good fit,” I told him, using his own words. His pupils contracted, his face a mask of pain. But he was proud, and this grand gesture was clearly the extent of what he was capable of. The Comments were quick to defend him. 【What a bitch. She chases him for years, and now that he finally comes around, she shuts him down? Poor Ethan.】 【Just wait until he’s a tech CEO. She’ll be crying then, trying to get back with him.】 【It’s a cliché for a reason: never look down on a guy when he’s young and broke. Especially not this guy.】 But for the first time, there were just as many voices on my side. 【How is she the bitch? He’s the one with the issues.】 【He ignored her and treated her like dirt when she was chasing him. Now that she’s moved on, he suddenly shows up?】 【Classic. Men always want what they can’t have.】 【Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to be with someone that emotionally stunted?】 That last one hit home. I couldn’t agree more. 14 His issues weren’t my responsibility to fix. They weren’t an excuse to hurt me. I couldn’t save him, and I no longer wanted to. In my past life, Ethan’s excuse for promoting Sarah was always that she reminded him of himself. They’d spend entire nights alone in the office together. If she got drunk and called him, he’d drop everything to pick her up. His explanation was always the same. “I don’t have feelings for her. She’s my employee. It’s strictly professional.” It continued until the affair rumors hit the media. He demanded that I be the one to issue a public denial. “It wasn’t easy for Sarah to get where she is. You need to help her,” he’d pleaded. “There’s nothing going on between us. Ava, she’s not like you. She doesn’t have everything handed to her.” I finally broke. “What exactly do I have, Ethan? A husband who spends all his time with another woman for the sake of ‘work’? A bank account full of money I can’t spend on anything I actually want? A driver who has to report my every move back to you? Love? Freedom? Money? Tell me, which of those do I truly have?” He didn’t force me after that. But then Sarah attempted suicide. Right before she did it, she called him. He rushed to her side, saved her, and then arranged for a new, high-powered job for her overseas. “I sent her away,” he told me, his voice cold and accusatory. “Are you happy now?” By then, I was too tired to fight. He never knew that before she left, Sarah sent me one last text. 【You may have won, but he’ll spend the rest of his life feeling like he owes me.】 15 “Hey, why are you crying?” Leo’s voice cut through the memory. A moment later, his warm, dry fingers brushed against my cheek. I looked up, startled, and he quickly pulled his hand back. His gaze shifted to the figure behind me. Ethan was still standing in front of the women’s dorm, a stoic, miserable statue drawing curious glances from passersby. “Did he do this to you?” Leo’s voice turned cold, and he started walking toward Ethan. I grabbed his arm, stopping him. “No.” It was just the weight of the past, the sting of old wounds. These damn Comments had no idea how painful it was to be with someone like Ethan. “Then what…” Leo’s voice was laced with a rare note of panic. I wiped at my tears haphazardly. “Whoa, Professor, you made your girlfriend cry? For shame!” “We’ve got a whole durian in our room if you need something to kneel on, man.” A couple of Leo’s grad students walked by, their teasing loud and cheerful. He immediately looked like he wanted to punch them. But instead of backing off, they just grinned and lined up in front of me. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Professor!” they chorused.

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We were playing a fake couple on Coupled, the biggest reality dating show in the country. When the finale wrapped, Liam, the A-list movie star I’d been paired with, had a million dollars quietly transferred to my account. That night, his manager sent me a warning. “Take the money and be smart. Don’t get any ideas about this being real. A million bucks is a king’s ransom for a D-lister like you.” The next day, he and my best friend, Ava—the show’s other female lead—went public with their real relationship. The shippers went wild. Amid the nationwide celebration, I sat down for a live interview. I held up my phone, letting the camera catch the glint of the audio recorder app. “Toast number one: To me,” I said, my voice steady. “For falling for the act and ending up the punchline.” “Toast number two: To being the smokescreen, the perfect cover for his real love story.” “And toast number three: To the two of them, for not even waiting 24 hours to slap me in the face with their official announcement.” Liam and Ava blew up my phone, their threats frantic. “If you release that, you’ll disappear from this town for good!” I smiled. Who said I was just some D-lister? 1 The camera flashes in the interview room were relentless, searing spots into my vision. Reporters, smelling blood in the water, shoved their microphones toward my face. “Chloe, what did you mean by those ‘three toasts’?” “What’s on that recording? Is it about Liam and Ava?” “Is this just a case of a woman scorned? If you can’t have him, you’ll ruin him?” In my pocket, my phone vibrated violently. The screen lit up with the two names I knew better than my own: Liam. Ava. I didn’t answer. I let the frantic buzzing hang in the air, a jarring counterpoint to the tense silence of the room. I looked straight into the camera lens and curved my lips into a smile—the perfectly calibrated, media-trained smile I’d practiced for three months on the set of Coupled. “You want to know what’s on the recording?” I held up my phone, my thumb hovering over the play button. The entire room held its breath. Suddenly, my agent, Sarah, burst through the door and snatched the phone from my hand. “I’m so sorry, everyone. Chloe’s a bit emotional today. This interview is over!” She grabbed my arm, her grip surprisingly strong, and hauled me toward the exit. “Chloe, are you insane?” she hissed under her breath. “You think you can take on Liam Carter? With what army?” She shoved me into the back of a black SUV and slammed the door, cutting off the cacophony of the press. Sarah tossed my phone back at me, her face a mask of fury. “Liam’s team just called. They want you to post a retraction on social media right now. Say it was all a joke.” I glanced down. A new text from Liam had come through. Chloe, don’t push it. I can make sure that recording of yours never sees the light of day. It was followed by a voice memo from Ava, her voice thick with fake tears. “Chlo, aren’t we best friends? Why are you doing this to me? Liam and I are in love. Can’t you just be happy for us?” In love? An image flashed in my mind: the final night of filming Coupled. Ava, hiding in a corner of the green room, her eyes red-rimmed. “I’m so jealous of you, Chlo,” she’d whispered. “Getting to be with Liam. I just have to watch from the sidelines.” I had actually comforted her, telling her it was all just for the cameras. Looking back now, I realized she wasn’t jealous. She was auditioning. She should have gotten an Oscar for that performance. I turned off my phone, leaned my head back against the leather seat, and closed my eyes. “Sarah, pull over.” “What for?” “I’m terminating my contract.” Sarah slammed on the brakes, and the SUV screeched to a halt in the middle of the street. She stared at me in the rearview mirror, her eyes wide with disbelief. “You’re what?” “I’m leaving you. And the agency. Effective immediately.” The news that I’d unilaterally broken my contract shot up the trending charts even faster than Liam and Ava’s relationship announcement. #ChloeQuits #ChloeBlackmailsLiam The two tags sat side-by-side at the top of the Twitter trending list. The comments were a cesspool. “LOL, this D-lister really thinks she’s somebody. Threatening her way to the top?” “Does she not get how reality TV works? It was a script, honey. He was never into you.” “Poor Ava, being backstabbed by her own best friend. My heart goes out to her.” “Chloe Parker has such a bland face but such a nasty heart. Get her out of Hollywood!” The termination agreement from my agency arrived in my inbox moments later. The penalty clause: thirty million dollars. For a small-time actress like me, it was an impossible sum. They were sure I couldn’t pay. Sarah’s last call came through, her tone dripping with condescending pity. “Chloe, why are you doing this to yourself? Just come back, apologize to Liam and Ava, post a retraction, and the agency will forget this ever happened. You can’t afford thirty million dollars.” I hung up on her. Then, a call I didn’t expect came in. It was Leo Maxwell, the second male lead from Coupled. A quiet, indie musician who was always scribbling lyrics in a notebook or strumming his guitar. We’d barely interacted on the show. “Are you okay?” he asked. His voice was gentle, cautious. “I’m fine.” There was a pause. “I believe you,” he said. Those three simple words sent a flicker of warmth through my chest. “Thank you.” I hung up, only to have a video call request from Ava pop up. I accepted. Her face filled the screen, makeup perfectly applied, eyes artfully reddened. The background was unmistakably Liam’s minimalist L.A. penthouse. “Chloe, why would you break your contract? Don’t you know that just makes everything worse?” she asked, her voice oozing with concern. “Just delete the recording, okay? Liam said… he said he can give you another two million if you do. We can go back to being best friends.” I looked at her face, a beautiful portrait of deceit, and let out a soft laugh. “Ava, what do you think a recording of this conversation would be worth?” The color drained from her face. “Chloe! Don’t be a bitch!” Just then, Liam’s face shoved into the frame. He pushed Ava aside, his eyes dark with rage. “Chloe, this is your last warning. Delete it, or I’ll make sure you can’t get a job as a waitress in this city.” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “I’m so scared.” Then I ended the call. Within the hour, the “dirt” started appearing online. Stories about me being a diva on set, pulling rank because I was classically trained. Stories about my “messy” private life, implying I’d slept with directors and producers for roles. Conveniently angled paparazzi photos were “leaked.” A picture of me talking to a director at a cast dinner, cropped to look intimately close. A photo of me helping a drunk co-star to his car, framed as me throwing myself at him. Smear campaigns were their specialty. My social media was a war zone. My DMs were flooded with death threats. And just as the hate campaign reached its peak, they announced the kill shot. Liam and Ava would be appearing together on the country’s biggest live-streamed talk show: The Pulse Live. They were going to “set the record straight” in front of the entire world. The Pulse Live was the flagship program of the largest media conglomerate in the country: Starstream Entertainment. A smug text arrived from Sarah. “You’re finished this time, Chloe. Starstream itself is coming for you. Not even God can save you now.” I looked at the text and smiled.

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Ethan has never been a morning person. So, for this business trip, when he booked a six a.m. flight, it was more than just unusual. It was a red flag. I couldn’t help but ask him why he’d bought a ticket for such an ungodly hour. A rare, helpless smile touched the lips of a man who was usually so cool and composed. “The new assistant isn’t very experienced,” he said. “She told me the earliest flight was the cheapest.” I took a slow, deep breath, a sudden, chilling clarity washing over me. This marriage was finally on its last legs. 1 Ethan was never the kind of boss who went easy on people. On the contrary, he was a notorious perfectionist, with zero tolerance for rookie mistakes. His last assistant, who had been with him for three years, was exiled to a branch office in Chicago simply for mixing up his coffee order. But this time, a new assistant’s blunder had him waking up at four a.m. for a flight, and all he did was laugh it off. A delicate string inside me suddenly vibrated with unease. Then I told myself I was overthinking it. I knew Ethan. I trusted our eight years together. Besides, he had always despised incompetence. I figured he’d fire the new girl the second he got back from this trip. The last day of his trip happened to be our third wedding anniversary. I’d booked a table at our favorite restaurant a month in advance to celebrate. But Ethan, whose meetings ended that morning, dragged his return out until he landed just after midnight. I was dozing off in the driver’s seat of our car at the arrivals curb. The moment he pulled open the passenger door, a wave of disappointment washed over me. “The restaurant is closed,” I grumbled. “What took you so long? Was the flight delayed for hours?” Just as the words left my mouth, the back door opened. I turned my head. A young, beautiful girl slid into the back seat as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She looked up at me and smiled sweetly. “Hi, you must be Claire. I’m Sienna, Mr. Hayes’s new assistant.” She beamed. “I hope you don’t mind me catching a ride. Thanks so much for dropping me home!” Ethan, now buckling his seatbelt, had an amused smirk on his face. “Ask her,” he said, nodding toward the back. He was answering my complaint. “Ethan!” the girl whined, drawing out his name and pouting. “Don’t tease me! I only booked the red-eye to save the company money!” I didn’t start the car. I narrowed my eyes, my gaze shifting to my husband. He was looking down at his phone, showing no signs of the fatigue or irritation that usually came with a late-night flight. My heart sank. These all seemed like trivial little things. But after eight years together, I knew Ethan better than anyone. He was a man who lived by firm boundaries. He hated mixing his professional and personal lives. The company had a generous car service policy, yet even in a downpour, he’d never let an employee hitch a ride. What’s more, Sienna had just committed two major professional sins in the span of a few minutes. My hands tightened on the steering wheel. My intuition screamed that there was something unspoken between them, a current of ambiguity that I couldn’t ignore. It felt like a tiny needle pricking my heart, releasing a slow, spreading poison of anxiety. I lifted my eyes, meeting Sienna’s gaze in the rearview mirror. The smile was still on her face, but beneath the bright surface, there was a flicker of something else—a challenge that only another woman would recognize. But I wasn’t the type to swallow my feelings and play nice. “Sorry, Sienna. That’s not going to work for me,” I said, my voice cold as I unlocked the doors. The smile on her face froze. She clearly hadn’t expected the CEO’s wife to be so blunt. But she recovered quickly, pressing her palms together in a playful, pleading gesture. “Oh, please, Claire? It’s impossible to get a cab at this hour. I had to beg Ethan to give me a lift. I promise I won’t get in the way of your date night.” Ethan, who had been absorbed in his messages, finally seemed to notice the storm brewing in the car. He turned his head to look at me. His expression held a hint of disapproval. But he didn’t say anything. I raised an eyebrow, my gaze unwavering. “I saw a whole line of taxis at the arrivals terminal when I pulled up,” I said evenly. “Remember to get a receipt for reimbursement.” “Claire… I…” The girl bit her lip, her eyes welling up with tears as she darted helpless glances at Ethan. My patience was gone. “Get out of the car,” I said, my voice sharp. Sienna flinched, and tears began to stream down her cheeks. Ethan cleared his throat. In the end, he wasn’t going to piss me off for the sake of a new assistant. “Just call an Uber,” he said to her, his tone gentle but firm. “Be safe. And text me the license plate number when you get in.” 2 Just like he’d always promised, Ethan had my back. Whenever it mattered, he stood firmly behind me, no questions asked, ready to protect me. But this time, I felt no joy. The concern and softness Ethan showed for another woman was like a thorn in my side. Finally, we were alone in the car. But the silence was a living thing, a vine that crept and coiled between us. Ethan was the first to break. He sighed, a sound of resigned indulgence, and took my hand, lifting it to his lips for a soft kiss. “She’s just a young girl, Claire. I was worried about her going home alone this late.” I stared directly into his eyes. “Weren’t your other assistants young? Weren’t they girls? I don’t remember you ever showing this much compassion before.” Ethan blinked, then a small laugh escaped him. “Is it that time of the month? Why are you letting your imagination run wild?” “She’s just my assistant. That’s all.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a necklace, and leaned over to fasten it around my neck. “Alright, baby,” he murmured, his voice softening. “Today is our anniversary. Let’s not let someone irrelevant ruin the mood.” “Let’s go home. I’ll grill you a steak myself, how about that?” He looked at me with that familiar gaze, warm and deep, the kind of look you could drown in. The moisture in my eyes hadn’t dried, but the corners of my mouth had already begun to curve into a smile. Absence does make the heart grow fonder. Ethan’s spirits were high, and we spent most of the night tangled up in each other. The next day was a workday, but we slept in until the sun was high in the sky. I decided to take the day off, but Ethan had to go into the office to deal with work. He’d never had a sweet tooth, but as he was leaving, he asked our housekeeper to pack up some of the dessert she’d just made. My intuition told me his unusual behavior had something to do with that new assistant. Since I had the afternoon free, I drove to his office. He was in a meeting. Through the crack of the conference room door, I saw his brow furrowed as he scanned a report. He tapped his knuckles on the table. “This data has a 0.1% margin of error. Redo it.” A subordinate started to explain, but Ethan tossed the file back at him. “I want a revised version on my desk by the end of the day.” An entire room of top-tier graduates fell silent, no one daring to breathe too loudly. Finally, Ethan announced the end of the meeting in a glacial tone. “Efficiency is the bare minimum. Don’t make me repeat myself.” A collective sigh of relief filled the room as they filed out. They saw me and were about to greet me, but I put a finger to my lips to silence them. Soon, only Ethan and Sienna were left in the room. Alone together. Ethan leaned back in his chair, pinching the bridge of his nose wearily. When he opened his eyes and saw she was still there, he asked, “You’re still here? Is there something else?” Sienna clutched a proposal to her chest and moved closer to him, her eyes shining with a perfectly measured dose of adoration. “Ethan, those points you highlighted for me… after I revised them, I realized it was like you turned lead into gold!” “I could meditate for a billion years and all my brain cells combined wouldn’t come close to understanding how you create such a perfect strategy!” “You’re honestly the most brilliant, most perfect man I’ve ever met! You’re like a beacon in the darkness, guiding me forward…” Ethan had always hated corporate flattery, especially the empty, over-the-top kind. And I knew he wasn’t deaf to the syrupy sweetness she’d intentionally injected into her voice. He should have shut her down, told her to get out without a second thought. But instead, I heard the distinct sound of amusement in his voice. “Is this what they call ‘gassing someone up’?” As if she’d been given a green light, Sienna practically glowed with pride. “And that’s not all!” “The little cake you brought for me was even better than the ones I buy myself!” “It was so silky, not too sweet… it just completely lifted my mood. I was so energized for the rest of the afternoon!” The girl was bold and effusive, and Ethan, seeming to be caught off guard, let out a low laugh. Standing outside the door, listening to my normally stern, demanding husband banter with this young woman, I started to tremble uncontrollably. I bit my lower lip so hard I could taste blood, clenching my fists to choke back the wave of emotion rising in my throat. I raised my hand and pushed open the conference room door. 3 When I walked in, Sienna’s fingertips were less than an inch from the lapel of Ethan’s suit. She froze, as if petrified. Her hand hovered in mid-air, the flirtatious smile on her face stiffening into an unnatural mask. A flash of shock crossed Ethan’s face, but he quickly composed himself, stood up, and strode over to wrap an arm around me. “What are you doing here? I thought I told you to rest at home.” I gave a humorless smile, my eyes fixed on Sienna. “Just thought I’d check up on you.” At my words, her pupils contracted, and a visible blush crept up to the tips of her ears. After a few seconds of dead silence, she jerked her hand back and took an instinctive step away. For a young woman, caught red-handed, the panic in her eyes was impossible to hide. Ethan chuckled, the curve of his lips so gentle it could make you melt. He raised a hand and gently ruffled my hair. “You’re welcome anytime.” Sienna had regained her composure by then. She quickly masked the bitterness in her eyes. When she looked up again, a perfectly calibrated smile was back on her lips. “That necklace really suits you, Claire.” Sienna walked over, her gaze landing on my anniversary gift from Ethan. “Last week, when Ethan was trying to pick out a gift for you, he was flipping through all these magazines and couldn’t decide on anything. Then I remembered seeing this necklace when I was out shopping—it was so sparkly and beautiful. So I recommended it to him.” She spoke as she swept her hair aside to show me the same brand, the same collection, around her own neck. “Of course, I could only afford the basic version. It’s not as dazzling as your all-diamond one.” Her long lashes cast soft shadows on her cheeks. Her tone was a careful mix of youthful excitement and a cautious fear of overstepping. “I’m just so glad you like it, Claire. Otherwise, I’d have been worried my taste was terrible and I’d let Ethan down.” My eyes scanned Sienna’s face for a long moment, the smile on my own fading completely. I reached up, unclasped the necklace, and in one swift motion, tossed it at her. It landed against her chest with a soft thud. “Since you like it so much, you can have it.” I pulled my lips into a smirk, my voice ice-cold. “I have plenty of things like this.” The necklace slid to the floor. Sienna didn’t dare pick it up. Her eyes were already red. She looked as though she’d suffered a great injustice, her voice choked with tears as she turned to Ethan for help. “Ethan… did I say something wrong…?” “That’s not what I meant.” “Claire, I’m so sorry.” Without even glancing at Ethan, I turned, slammed the conference room door behind me, and walked away without looking back.

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Caleb Reed has a tongue like a scalpel. I’ve always been on the curvier side, and when the sample for a photoshoot—a delicate white lace dress—arrived from the online boutique, he’d smirked. “Are you seriously going to humiliate yourself in that? Anyone who sees you will think a sausage is trying to play dress-up.” I’ve lost count of the number of times Caleb’s words have broken me, but I always convinced myself to let it go. He was devastatingly handsome and outrageously generous, and I forced myself to believe that was enough. Until the incident with the freshman from the debate society, Chloe. The night before the finals, she leaked our entire case file to the opposing team. Normally, this is the kind of catastrophic incompetence that would have had Caleb sneering, asking if her brain was just for decoration. But this time, all he did was toss her a pack of tissues and turn his face away. “What are you crying for? It’s ugly.” 1 Chloe’s sobs were a theatrical performance. “I’m so sorry,” she wailed. “It’s all my fault. Because of my mistake, everyone’s disqualified!” Five minutes earlier, the tournament organizers had officially booted us from the competition. Months of grueling preparation, all of it gone before we even had a chance to step on stage. The air in the hotel hallway was thick with fury. “A mistake?” one of our teammates shot back. “You call that a mistake? Who ‘accidentally’ prints out a dozen copies of our entire strategy and leaves it neatly stacked in front of our opponent’s hotel room?” Chloe’s voice hitched. “I’m sorry… I must have mixed up the room numbers…” That just fanned the flames. “Our rooms are all next to each other! You’re telling me you don’t remember where we are, or even where you are staying?” Another teammate piled on. “Just stop. You could cry a river and it wouldn’t be enough to fill that empty head of yours.” Caleb, who had been leaning against the wall in silence, finally pushed himself off with a sharp sigh. “Dude, your breath stinks,” he said to the guy. “Seriously? You think ganging up on a freshman makes you look tough?” A stunned silence fell over the group. Caleb wasn’t just our star first-chair debater; he was the undisputed king of verbal evisceration. Under any other circumstance, a screw-up this colossal, this blatantly intentional, would have had Caleb coldly dissecting the person’s entire genetic lineage. He would’ve asked, with genuine curiosity, if their parents were siblings. But this time, he just fished a pack of tissues from his pocket, tossed it at Chloe’s feet, and averted his gaze. “It’s done. Crying isn’t going to change anything.” Watching him, my heart pricked, a sharp, thin sting. It felt deeply, uncomfortably wrong. Caleb was sharp-tongued and allergic to comfort. I thought back to the countless times he’d made me cry. He’d stand there, hands shoved in his pockets, impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. “Are you done yet? It was a minor thing. How long are you going to drag this out?” Everyone was now looking at me, the team president, waiting for a verdict. I pushed down the strange, sour feeling in my gut and focused on Chloe. “Whether it was intentional or not, your actions have consequences for the entire team. You’re no longer a member of the debate society. Don’t come to any future meetings or events.” Her eyes widened, fresh tears spilling over. “Claire, I know you’ve never liked me, but everyone makes mistakes! Are you really going to take away my chance to pursue my passion over one little slip-up?” A teammate scoffed. “What passion? You can barely string a sentence together! The only reason you ever got to speak was because Claire gave you her own talking points, and even then you stammered through them and dragged the whole team down!” “And this wasn’t a ‘little slip-up’!” another added. “This was the championship tournament! This was everything! How can you call that a small thing?” Before Chloe could answer, Caleb’s voice cut through the air, low and dangerous. “Enough.” He turned his gaze on me. “Claire, you’re the president, for Christ’s sake. Are you just going to stand there and watch your team bully a freshman?” He raked his eyes over me, a dismissive, head-to-toe scan. Then, he let the final words drop, soft and lethal. “Oh, right. I forgot. You’re leading the charge.” My throat felt like it was stuffed with wet cotton. The sudden, suffocating pressure stole my voice. Thankfully, someone else spoke up for me. “What are you talking about, man? How are we bullying her?” “Claire just kicked her off the team. She’s not pressing charges or getting her expelled. How does that make her the ringleader?” Chloe sniffled, grabbing the sleeve of Caleb’s jacket. “Caleb, it’s okay. I know you’re just trying to stand up for me, but…” She shot a look at me, as if I were some kind of monster, and lowered her head. Her voice was laced with a tragic whisper. “Maybe it’s just because Claire really doesn’t like me.” 2 The night ended with everyone scattering in anger and disgust. Before leaving, Caleb took Chloe’s hand. He glanced back at me, his expression cold as ice. “You’re being petty, Claire. I hope you take a good, long look at yourself.” I watched their retreating figures, a profound sense of confusion washing over me. What did I do wrong? The question echoed in my mind as I walked, zombie-like, back to the apartment Caleb and I shared. Staring at the flawlessly polished floors, a bitter thought surfaced. Caleb was a notorious neat freak, a germaphobe who practically had a “Do Not Touch” sign tattooed on his forehead. He didn’t just keep strangers at a distance; sometimes, even I, his girlfriend, was treated like a contaminant. Unless he initiated it, any attempt I made to touch him was met with a cold recoil. If I tried to hold his hand, he’d pull away. If I did what Chloe just did—tug on his sleeve—he would, without fail, take off the shirt right in front of me and toss it into the trash like it was radioactive waste. I remember once, I was working a late shift at a greasy spoon diner to make extra cash. A couple of drunk guys started harassing me. I called Caleb from the police station, crying, begging him to come get me. When he finally walked in, his face a mask of annoyed indifference, the dam of my composure broke. I threw myself into his arms, sobbing into his chest. “You… you came,” I wept. “Caleb, I was so scared.” He let me hold him for a long moment, waiting until my sobs subsided. When I finally pulled back, he looked down at my swollen, tear-streaked face. I thought, just for a second, that even he would offer a word of comfort in a situation like this. But all he said, his lips barely moving, was, “Claire. Do you have any idea how disgusting you are right now, clinging to me like this?” The memory made fresh tears trace paths down my cheeks. Just then, the front door opened. It was Caleb. Our eyes met before I had a chance to wipe my face. He kicked off his shoes with an irritated flick of his foot and looked away with a sneer. “Unbelievable. Chloe gets torn apart by your whole team and she barely sheds a tear, but you, the instigator, are here crying your eyes out. That’s rich.” My voice was thick with emotion. “She sabotaged months of work for every single one of us. All I did was remove her from the team. Was that really so cruel?” I paused, the frustration that had been simmering all afternoon finally boiling over. “And you… you’re the guy who practically has ‘I can’t stand idiots’ tattooed on your forehead. Why were you so quick to jump to her defense today?” Caleb flinched, then his annoyance flared. “‘Can’t stand idiots’? Can you ever say anything without being dramatic, Claire? What’s wrong with me not wanting to see a group of people tear a girl apart for making one mistake?” I raised a hand to wipe my eyes, but the tears just came faster. “Chloe is a stranger. You can’t bear to see her cry.” My voice cracked. “But what about me? I’m your girlfriend. Am I supposed to just stand by and watch you defend the person who screwed me over?” He let out a cold laugh. “There it is again. Honestly, Claire, I’m impressed. You always find a way to get jealous over the most ridiculous things.” Ridiculous jealousy? A laugh escaped my lips, but it was watery and broken. “You think this is just me being jealous? You think we were bullying her?” I took a shaky breath. “Did you forget that my scholarship doesn’t cover everything? I was counting on that prize money for next semester’s tuition. She didn’t just ruin a competition for us, Caleb. For me, she ruined everything. And all I did was kick her off the team. Was that really so unforgivable?” He was unmoved. “And now you’re playing the victim. How predictable.” He’d seen how broke I was. He’d seen me exhausted and humiliated at my part-time jobs. He knew I’d poured every ounce of my energy into winning that tournament to cover my expenses. And in his eyes, all of it was just an act. Me, playing the victim. All afternoon, I’d been torturing myself, wondering what I did wrong. Now I knew. My mistake was wasting three years of my life on a man like Caleb. I had cried for so long that when I pushed myself to my feet, the room spun. Caleb instinctively reached out to steady me, but then, as if remembering something, his hand froze in mid-air and he pulled it back, clenching his jaw. A desolate smile touched my lips. My voice was raw, numb from crying. “Think whatever you want.” “Caleb, we’re done. Let’s break up.” A flicker of disbelief crossed his face. “You’re breaking up with me? Over something this small?” Then he scoffed. “Fine. You’re the one who said it, Claire. Just don’t come regretting it.” “I won’t,” I said, my voice flat. I refused to waste another second of my life on a cold-hearted man who had never once seen me as an equal. “I’ll get my things and be out as soon as possible. You…” Before I could finish, his phone rang. He glanced at the caller ID, a cruel little smile playing on his lips, and answered, putting it on speaker. Chloe’s delicate voice filled the silence. “Caleb? I was out for a run and I think I twisted my ankle. Can… can you come see me?” Caleb’s eyes were locked on me. He smirked. “Sure. Send me your location. I’m on my way.” He hung up and looked down at me, his expression imperious. “Let me make myself clear. I don’t do second chances. If you apologize to Chloe, we can pretend tonight never happened. Otherwise…” I cut him off, meeting his gaze directly. “I did nothing wrong. Why would I apologize to her?” I held his stare. “Chloe’s waiting. You should go.” He scanned me one last time, then spat out through gritted teeth, “Fine. You’re really something else, you know that?” Then he turned and slammed the door behind him.

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When I found out Mark was cheating, he didn’t panic. He didn’t deny it. We talked. We agreed to a divorce. It was all maddeningly civil. On the way to sign the papers at City Hall, a question I’d buried finally clawed its way out. “Why… why were you so insistent on getting the house? Our first one?” “Oh, that.” Mark said it with the breezy indifference of a man ordering coffee. “Chloe gets jealous. She said the only way she’ll feel better is if she can personally destroy every trace of me having lived with another woman.” He shook his head, a small, fond smile playing on his lips. The kind of smile you give a charming, mischievous child. “She’s ridiculous.” I stared at him for a few seconds. At the profile of his face, visibly brightened by the simple fact that he was on his way to divorce me. Then I lifted my purse and smashed it into his nose. Blood went everywhere. 1 I have a knack for compartmentalizing. It’s a skill, I suppose. Some might call it emotional detachment. So when Mark asked for a divorce, I handled it with my usual rational calm. As the guilty party, he readily agreed to give me the lion’s share of our marital assets. The only thing he fought for was our first home. It was a condo we’d bought when we were twenty-four, scraping together every last cent of our savings. I can still remember getting the keys, standing in the empty shell of a room that smelled of drywall and potential, mapping out a future that felt as boundless as the sky. The pure, uncut joy of that day has never really left me. Eight years went by. Mark’s salary climbed. We bought bigger, better, more beautiful homes. By the time we filed for divorce, we had seven properties to our name. We hadn’t lived in that first condo for years. It was in a now-inconvenient neighborhood, the light was poor, and our first attempts at decorating looked painfully amateurish. Compared to the rest of our portfolio, it was barely a footnote. The only thing it held, really, was the memory of the years when Mark and I were most in love. So when he insisted on keeping it, I was naive enough to think that, despite everything, he still felt some guilt. That he wanted to hold onto a piece of our ten years together. A testament to the love we once had. But it was just a toy for his new girl to break. There was no sentiment. No guilt. He wasn’t just a cheater; he was a man who didn’t even see me as a person anymore. You don’t say things like that, so casually, to someone you respect, not even a little. I took a deep, steadying breath, studying his profile. He looked happy. Genuinely happy to be divorcing me. A few seconds passed. I checked my seatbelt. I scanned the traffic ahead. I glanced around the car’s interior, then felt the satisfying, solid weight of my clutch in my hand. “Mark.” “Yeah?” The next thing he knew, my purse was connecting with the bridge of his nose, and blood was spraying across the pristine leather dashboard. 2 “Jesus Christ, Sarah, are you insane?” The sudden, vicious attack had completely blindsided him. His carefully cultivated executive polish vanished, replaced by a raw, guttural curse. I watched his reaction, my hand ready to grab the steering wheel if needed. The man was about to start a new life; he’d be careful with this one. Ignoring the blood, he fumbled to pull the car over to the shoulder before turning to glare at me, his eyes wide with fury. He pinched a wad of tissues from the console, pressing them to his nose. His jaw was tight, his voice dripping with disappointment. “Sarah, I always thought you were smart, that you were calm. That you wouldn’t act like some screeching harpy. Can’t we do this with a little dignity?” I let out a short, sharp laugh. “Dignity?” “For you, this divorce has been planned for months. You can’t wait to run off into the sunset with your little girlfriend. You’re happy, everything is going your way. Of course you can afford to have ‘dignity.’ Your dignity is sincere.” I could finally see the lie I’d been telling myself, the hollow performance of being ‘fine.’ “But me? I’m the one who was betrayed, the one being discarded, the one forced into this scene. Why the hell should I have dignity? That’s not dignity. That’s being a doormat.” Mark looked at me as if I were speaking a foreign language. “What do you even want?” I want you to be miserable. I want you and that little tramp to have the life you deserve. I stared him down. “I want to let off some steam.” While he was still processing that, my hand shot out. The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the small space, a bright red handprint blooming on his skin. Before I could land another, he caught my wrist, his fingers digging in. “Sarah, don’t push it.” “More than you cheating? More than you taking the soup I made for you and giving it to your mistress? More than your little slut sending me photos of you two together while I was in the hospital?” My face was a mask of calm. “No. I’m not signing anything until I get this out of my system.” He looked at me as if seeing me for the first time, and a strange, angry laugh escaped his lips. “Wow. Just, wow.” He shook his head. “Sarah, I always knew you were selfish and cold, that you never let anyone get one over on you. But I really underestimated you.” But he didn’t want any more delays. He couldn’t bear the thought of his precious girl having to remain a mistress a moment longer. Mark closed his eyes, taking a breath. He let the fight go. “Fine. Do what you have to do. Consider it a debt I owe you.” I twisted my wrist free, a humorless smile on my face. “Tsk. What a noble sacrifice for love.” I paused. “You make sure you show her that face when you see her. Make sure she appreciates the battle you fought for her today.” And with that, I slapped him again, hard. 3 By the time we got to City Hall, I was actually feeling better. The mood was ruined by a high-pitched shriek. Chloe, Mark’s mistress, was standing at the entrance. She had a hand clamped over her mouth, her eyes wide with theatrical horror as she stared at Mark. The girl was dressed for a victory parade. Stiletto heels, a Chanel dress, an Hermès bag slung over her arm. Her makeup was flawless, her hair perfect, her nails immaculate. She was a walking, talking, dazzling monument to youth. I didn’t know if she was here to gloat, to rub her victory in my face, or if she was just so eager to start celebrating her new life with Mark that she couldn’t wait another minute. Whatever her plan was, it was now officially ruined. She rushed into Mark’s arms, her voice trembling as she stroked his bruised face. Tears welled in her eyes. “Mark, baby, did… did that awful woman do this to you?” Her voice rose. “How could she? Why didn’t you hit her back?” Mark’s tone was a practiced blend of stern and doting. “Hey, now. Behave.” He glanced at me. “It’s a small price to pay to make sure she doesn’t take it out on you.” Chloe’s lip trembled. She buried her face in his chest, and Mark immediately melted, stroking her hair and murmuring reassurances. The two of them clung to each other, a nauseating tableau of mutual pity and staged drama. I’d had enough. “Are we doing this or not? If not, I’m leaving.” “We are.” Mark gently disentangled himself from his girlfriend. He wasn’t about to let a couple of slaps go to waste. But Chloe wasn’t done. She spread her arms, blocking my path. “No wonder Mark couldn’t stand you anymore,” she declared, her voice ringing with righteous indignation. “You… you need to apologize to him first!” She was at least half a foot shorter than me, and had to crane her neck to glare up at me, tears still clinging to her lashes. It was a look of bold, almost cute defiance. I could see the appeal. Being with a girl like that would make any middle-aged man feel like he was back in high school, both emotionally and intellectually. I tucked the unsigned divorce agreement into my bag. “Fine. You can stay the other woman. The one he has to hide for the rest of his life. And whenever I’m in a bad mood, I can make your life hell. Every single dollar Mark spent on you is marital property, and I can sue to get it all back.” I let my eyes travel down her expensive outfit. “Including everything you’re wearing right now.” The fight went out of her instantly. After a few more whispered words from Mark, she shuffled meekly to the side, watching with sullen eyes as we went inside to dissolve our marriage. 4 The paperwork was done. Mark hustled his girl into his car and sped off. I stood on the steps of City Hall and took a deep breath, the cold December air flooding my lungs. And that’s when the pain, which had been waiting patiently in the wings, finally made its entrance. I remembered what Mark had said in the car. Selfish and cold. It wasn’t the first time he’d said it. He’d pursued me relentlessly in college. After two years of getting nowhere, he’d sighed and said it then, too. “Sarah, you seem so gentle on the outside, but you’re the most selfish, cold person I know. You’re so afraid of getting hurt that you won’t let anyone in.” And yet, I, the selfish and cold one, had eventually let all my defenses down for him. After graduation, we both wanted to go to grad school, but we couldn’t afford it. When I got a great job offer, I gritted my teeth and took it. I told Mark to focus on his studies; I would work and support us both. Rent in the city was astronomical. On my single salary, all I could afford was a tiny room in a fifth-floor walk-up with a shared bathroom down the hall. We were so broke. We never ate out. I bought a small hot plate and would cook simple meals by the window. On the rare occasion I got a bonus, we’d celebrate at a dive bar at the end of our street that served the best spicy ribs in the city. On winter nights like this one, it was the best way to get warm. Mark would always give me the meatiest pieces. I remember him watching me once, seriously scouring the leftover bones for any missed bits of meat. His eyes got red. Sarah, he’d said, his voice thick. I’m sorry I’m making you live like this. You just wait, he’d said. One day, I’m going to make sure you can buy anything you want, eat anything you want, without ever looking at the price. You trust me, he’d said. I’m going to make you the most envied woman in the world. … Promises are beautiful things. Reality is a heartless bastard. Last month, I collapsed from acute appendicitis. A stranger found me and called an ambulance. From the hospital bed, I called Mark over and over. No answer. Then, a message came through from a number I didn’t recognize. It was a photo. In it, a beautiful young girl was holding Mark’s phone, playfully taking a selfie. The caption read: “Confiscating this man’s phone. No calls from other girls allowed! ;)” Behind her, my husband, Mark, was leaning against a doorframe with his arms crossed, watching her antics with a lazy, indulgent smile. The next day, he came to the hospital. He stood before my bed, meeting my calm stare with a look of pure exhaustion. “Sarah, it’s been ten years. People get tired.” His voice was flat. “Whatever you want, I’ll give it to you as compensation. Chloe is young. Don’t hold this against her.” 5 Back in my empty house, I started to regret my outburst. Violence wasn’t the answer. My life was long. I could have handled this with more grace, enacted a more clever revenge. I was in the middle of this self-righteous reflection when I saw Chloe’s new Instagram story. Mark was clearly trying to soothe her wounded pride. He’d taken her on a massive shopping spree. They were at a high-end restaurant, bags from half a dozen luxury brands piled on the chair next to them. Chloe, looking perfectly happy now, was posing in a little dress and heels, flashing a V-sign at the camera. The caption: “Some people just don’t know how to lose gracefully. ” A second slide: “What can you do? Guess we just have to be the bigger person and let the old hag have her tantrum.” Among the series of photos was one of a slender, pale ankle. Loosely wrapped around it was a delicate chain. I recognized it instantly. It was my necklace. The one I’d left behind in our first home. It was a simple silver chain Mark had given me for our first anniversary. I had cherished it for years. It was now, according to the divorce agreement, his property, along with the condo. He could give it to Chloe to wear as an anklet, or he could put it on a dog. There was nothing I could do. It was such a cheap, pathetic move. Chloe was posting it for me to see, to taunt me, to provoke me, to score a point and win back her pride. I closed the app. And I was honest with myself. Yes. I was provoked. Yes, violence wasn’t the best tool. Yes, my life was long, and I could handle this with more grace and enact a more clever revenge. But right now, in this moment, all I wanted was to wipe that smug smile off her face.

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My best friend suggested I use a burner account to test my fiancé. So I did. I created a fake profile and gave her the username, telling her it was his. The second she added it, she went to work. One minute she was trashing me, telling my “fiancé” I had a train of men behind me and was damaged goods. The next, she was spamming the account with her own pictures—low-cut tops, long legs, ass pushed out. “Hey stranger 😉 Up for something fun?” “I’m a good girl. I do what I’m told.” I typed back: “I don’t believe you. Unless…” The next day, at the company’s all-hands meeting, my best friend was hauled out on a stretcher by paramedics, convulsing from a foreign object vibrating inside her. 1 The moment Liam asked me to marry him, something shifted in my best friend, Mia. A subtle cloud passed over her face. Was she worried I was going to get hurt? It didn’t make sense. Liam was the entire package: tall, handsome, smart, from a good family. He was completely devoted to me. You couldn’t find a flaw on the man if you hired a private investigator. Maybe she was just afraid she’d see less of me after the wedding. I tried to soothe her fears. “I know Liam loves to travel, but don’t worry. I’ll bring you back a souvenir from every single place we go.” That only seemed to make it worse. No amount of cajoling worked. I was getting frustrated. “Mia, what is going on with you?” I finally asked. She’s been my best friend since elementary school. We’re practically sisters. She’s been there for every major moment of my life, and I couldn’t stand the thought of her holding some secret resentment about my marriage, about Liam. Mia picked at a loose thread on her sleeve. “Chloe,” she started, her voice hesitant. “I’m just… I’m worried about Liam. Don’t you think getting engaged was a little… impulsive?” A cold knot formed in my stomach. Did she know something? Had Liam done something? Seeing the alarm on my face, she quickly backpedaled. “No, no, it’s just a healthy suspicion! Think about it. What man doesn’t have a wandering eye? Especially a guy like Liam. He’s got everything going for him, women are constantly throwing themselves at him. Why would he be so completely fixated on you? You’re great, but… you know.” I narrowed my eyes. “What does that mean? Are you saying I’m not good enough for my own fiancé?” “Of course not!” she said, a little too quickly. “I just mean that marriage is forever. You should be absolutely, one-hundred-percent sure about his character before you commit. What if he shows his true colors after you’re married? Cheating, abuse… Your whole life could be ruined.” I hesitated. “So what are you suggesting I do?” Her eyes lit up. She grabbed my hand, her grip surprisingly tight. “Give me his number. I’ll make a new account, add him, and test him. If he can resist the temptation, then we’ll know he’s a good guy. Then I’ll feel okay giving you away.” Something about it felt wrong immediately. It was a blatant show of distrust, and it just wasn’t my style. But Mia was relentless. Finally, to shut her up, I told her I’d think about it. When I got home, my mind was racing. I decided to do what I should have done from the start: tell Liam. We were supposed to be partners. Honesty was everything. Better to air this out now than to play stupid games. If there was a real problem, we’d deal with it. I explained the situation, bracing myself for his anger. Instead, he just laughed. It was a full, genuine laugh that echoed in our apartment. He pulled me into his arms, stroking my hair. “Are you sure she’s your best friend and not some enemy spy trying to sabotage us?” he chuckled. “That’s a new level of shady. The girl is practically radiating desperation.” I bristled, pushing away from him. “Don’t talk about her like that. We’ve been friends for over a decade. We’re not going to let a man come between us.” Liam’s smile faded. He looked like he wanted to say more, but he held his tongue. Instead, he offered a different solution. “Okay, how about this? You create a burner account. Give her that username and tell her it’s me. Then you can chat with her yourself.” He smirked. “Let’s see how she plans on ‘testing’ me.” Just then, my phone buzzed. A message from Mia, pestering me for his contact info. A slow grin spread across my face. Perfect. I created a new profile in seconds and sent the username to Mia. Almost instantly, a friend request popped up on the burner. The first message followed. “Hey there, handsome. ;)” I thought for a moment, trying to channel Liam’s direct, no-nonsense tone. “Who is this?” Her reply was instantaneous. “Who I am isn’t important. What’s important is that your girlfriend is playing you for a fool, sleeping around behind your back while you get ready to wife her up.” My breath caught in my throat. I stared at the screen, the words blurring. This was her test? To slander me? I took a few deep breaths, forcing my trembling hands to steady as I typed. “What are you talking about? What about my girlfriend?” A sympathetic hug emoji appeared. “You’ve been lied to. She puts on this innocent act, but in college, she was legendary. Juggled multiple guys at once. Her reputation was garbage.” “For a thrill, she used to hook up with the foreign exchange students. Tons of people saw her going back to their dorms with two or three of them at a time.” “She even had some nasty STD for a while. Had to get treated for… you know… growths down there. It was disgusting.” “I know you two are about to get married, and I just can’t stand by and watch a good, decent guy like you get conned by a woman like her.” She followed it up with a string of kissy-face emojis. This was my best friend. My sister. Smearing my name, fabricating the most vicious lies, all under the guise of helping me. White-hot rage flooded my veins. I forced myself to stay calm, to play the part. “Do you have any proof of this? Or are you just making shit up?” “I have pictures from college. And screenshots of her texts. You want to see them?” How was that possible? Before I could even ask, my phone buzzed with a flood of incoming files. I opened them, my stomach churning. And there they were. They were real. But they were twisted. Screenshots of conversations, edited and spliced together to look incriminating. Messages sent from accounts with my profile picture, saying things I would never say. The photos were from my study abroad program—group pictures with other students from around the world. But the way Mia had packaged it, combined with the specificity of her lies—the dates, the places—it was terrifyingly convincing. If she sent this to anyone else, they would believe it. The “evidence” was right there. The anger peaked and then collapsed into a profound, hollow sadness. I was the fool. I’d been so good to her. The first person I called with any good news. The person I defended unconditionally, no matter what. Why? Why would she do this to me? A second later, I had my answer. After giving “Liam” a few minutes to process the shock, she sent another message. “I know you and your girlfriend. I know all the things she tries to hide. I can only imagine how you’re feeling right now.” “A woman like that doesn’t deserve you. You give her everything, and she throws it in your face.” Then, the pivot. “You should look at me instead. I’ve been watching you for a while. I feel for you.” “If I had an amazing boyfriend like you, I would never, ever cheat. I’d cherish you.” I actually laughed out loud, a bitter, sharp sound. So that was it. Liam was right. She was trying to steal him. To seal the deal, she sent a volley of photos. No face, just body parts. A shot looking down her low-cut shirt. A picture of her legs, crossed just so. Her bending over in a pair of tiny shorts. The caption read: “I know you’re hurting. Let me help you forget about that bitch. Come out and play.” Liam saw the look on my face, the raggedness of my breathing. He gently took the phone from my hands. “Don’t let her get to you,” he said softly, then raised his hand as if taking an oath. “I swear, Chloe. I would never be interested in a two-faced snake like Mia. You’re the only one I love.” “See her for who she is, and then we cut her out of our lives. We never have to deal with her again.” A twisted smile touched my lips. I took the phone back. “Oh, no,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “I can’t let her get away with this. She took her shot. Now it’s my turn.” I typed a reply. “Who are you? Why should I believe a total stranger?” She responded instantly. “You’ll know when we meet. I promise, it’ll be a pleasant surprise.” For the next few days, I played the part of a heartbroken, confused Liam. I’d text Mia sporadically, never agreeing to break up with myself, just keeping her on the hook. She was getting impatient. Her messages grew bolder. “Hey stranger. You up for some fun?” “I’m a good girl. I do what I’m told. ;)” “Don’t worry, I can keep a secret. I’ll be your perfect little dirty secret. Your girlfriend will never have to know.” At the same time, she was probing me in person, asking how things were with Liam. I put on my best performance, letting my shoulders slump, my voice laced with sadness. “I don’t know what’s wrong with him,” I’d sigh. “He’s been so distant lately.” “It’s like he’s upset about something, but he won’t tell me what. He’s always hiding his phone, texting someone in secret.” Then I’d look at her, my eyes wide with fake worry. “You tested him, right? You didn’t find anything weird, did you?” I watched her face closely. A flicker of panic in her eyes, quickly masked by a triumphant smirk. She covered her mouth with her hand, feigning a giggle. “Nope, everything was totally normal! Liam was a perfect gentleman. You shouldn’t be so suspicious. Maybe he’s just stressed about work. Give him some space.” That night, Mia escalated her attack. She sent a new batch of photos, these ones practically pornographic, the text messages a desperate, vulgar plea. Fighting back a wave of nausea, I saved every screenshot. Then I replied. “We’ve been talking for a while now. I need to see some real commitment from you. How do I know I can trust you?” She saw her opening. “How can I prove it to you?” she asked eagerly. A cold, sharp smile spread across my face. I licked my lips. “Honestly? I like a girl who’s uninhibited. More fun to play with.” “My girlfriend looks innocent, but she’s secretly a freak. I’m kind of sick of it. It feels… dirty.” “You get it, right? I want a girl who’s only wild for me. A girl who’s up for anything.” She assured me she was that girl. So much more adventurous than me. And clean, of course. No messy history. So, I gave her the first task. “So you’re that desperate for a man, huh, you little slut?” “Good. Send me your address. I’m mailing you a package. Do exactly what I tell you to.” “You pull this off, and I’ll agree to meet you.”

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In my last life, my best friend Ivy and I were a team. We married into the Harrison dynasty together, and we walked away from it together. The problem was, once we walked, we were broke. Utterly, hopelessly broke. We had no money, no skills, and no idea how to survive in the real world. Our grand finale? Asphyxiation from a faulty gas stove in a slum apartment. Meanwhile, our ex-husbands thrived. One of them married his childhood sweetheart, and the other went on to win a Grand Slam. So when I woke up back here, lying on a massage table in the mansion’s private spa, I just stared at her, my heart pounding in my throat. Ivy’s eyes met mine. “I’m not doing it,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Are you?” I thought of the divorce papers I’d once been so desperate to sign, and a wave of nausea washed over me. “Divorce?” I said, the word tasting like ash. “Not a chance in hell.” You have to stare death in the face to appreciate life. You have to taste real poverty to understand: the life of a pampered trophy wife isn’t a prison. It’s a goddamn cakewalk. 1 Who can understand the whiplash? One second, you’re in a slum apartment, feeling the strength drain from your limbs as the gas leak claims you, your last conscious thought a blur of regret. The next, you’re blinking awake in an 8,000-square-foot mansion, the scent of lavender oil in the air, the bliss of a deep-tissue massage soothing muscles you’d forgotten you had. Ivy and I can. We understand it all too well. We stared at each other from our respective massage tables in the spa room, tears welling in our eyes. A soft knock echoed on the door before it opened. It was my husband, Cole. “Ryan and I are waiting in the living room,” his voice was a low rumble, devoid of warmth. “I have a meeting later, and he needs to catch a flight.” Shit. I’d almost forgotten. In the timeline we’d just escaped, today was the day. After months of demanding a divorce, of navigating schedules and stonewalling assistants, today was D-Day. Ryan was a world-class tennis player, Cole was a CEO. It had taken three months just to get them in the same room. We scrambled into our clothes, minds racing. “Okay, plan B,” Ivy whispered, her voice tight. “We apologize, we beg, we grovel. We’re not too proud to bend, right?” “Bend?” I hissed back, pulling a silk blouse over my head. “I’ll break if I have to. We are not getting divorced.” Downstairs, Ryan sat on the cream-colored sofa, flipping through a coffee table book, his silence a heavy blanket. Cole stood with his back to us, staring out the floor-to-ceiling window, his posture radiating a chilling coldness. I nudged Ivy, a desperate plea in my eyes for her to go first. “So…” she started, her voice cracking. “You’re back.” Ryan snapped the book shut with a sound like a gunshot. His gaze flicked to her, sharp and dismissive. “Memory failing you? Weren’t you the one who told my agent you hoped I’d get knocked out in the first round so you could get this over with?” Ivy’s mouth snapped shut. She shot me a helpless look. My own voice trembled as I spoke. “Cole, maybe we could… not do this? The divorce?” He let out a short, bitter laugh, the sound scraping against my raw nerves. He didn’t even turn around. “And what about the 6’2” college athlete you’ve been keeping on the side? What happens to his promotion?” Right. I shut up too. In our frantic bid for freedom, we had said the cruelest things imaginable, aiming for the softest parts of these two men, just to get them to let us go. And it had worked. We’d walked away with our pride intact, refusing a single penny of their money. We were trophy wives, insulated by their dynasty. We knew nothing of poverty, nothing of the real world. We thought we were choosing freedom. We never imagined that freedom was just another word for broke. Job rejections. A bad investment that took the last of our savings. Eating ramen until we were sick of the sight of it. The two of us, who had once debated the merits of Michelin-starred restaurants, trying to cook for ourselves in a tiny, roach-infested kitchen. And in the end, a forgotten gas knob. A final, pathetic exit. The memory sent a shiver down my spine. Ivy was the first to move. She scurried over to Ryan’s side, her smile painfully bright. “Hey, I only said that because I missed you. I wanted you to come home to me.” I took my cue, rushing to Cole’s side and wrapping my arm around his. It was like hugging a marble statue. “He was just a lie, honey. Who needs a boy with abs when I have you?” It was the truth, at least that part. Whatever else our marriage had become, the nights were still… harmonious. We fought like enemies in the light of day, but in the dark, we… Cole flinched, then glanced down at my hand on his bicep as if it were a foreign object. That’s when I saw the deep, weary lines around his eyes. He looked exhausted. He peeled my fingers off his arm. “Leah, do you want stock options or a lump sum? Just name your price. I don’t have time for these games.” 2 We’d pushed too hard. Now, our sudden reversal just looked like a pathetic, last-ditch negotiation for a bigger settlement. I froze, words failing me as I tried to form a denial. But it was too late. Cole’s phone was already pressed to his ear as he walked away. Ryan was just as skeptical. He pinched the bridge of his nose, sighing. “My schedule is tight. Just tell my lawyer what you want. I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.” A black car was idling in the driveway. His tournament wasn’t even over; he’d flown halfway across the world just for this. Ivy’s shoulders slumped in defeat. “I don’t want to get divorced,” she whispered. Ryan’s lips tightened into a thin line. He looked at her for a long moment, then said, “You’d better mean that,” before turning and walking out the door. Watching them leave, a wave of relief washed over me, quickly followed by a cold tide of fear. “What are we going to do?” I murmured, my voice hollow. “We have zero credibility with them.” I’ve followed Ivy’s lead my whole life. She was always the bold one, the decision-maker, and I was her loyal shadow. In moments like this, her thoughts were my anchor. She took a deep breath, her chin lifting with a familiar resolve. “The marriages might be on life support for now,” she said, her gaze firm. “We need a backup plan. A real one.” We were never going back. Never going back to that cramped apartment, to working minimum-wage jobs, to eating expired sushi from convenience stores. We would never again trade our dignity for survival. Not when we remembered what it felt like to live like this. Ivy turned to me, her expression all business. “Your husband… what’s his name again… how much does he give you for your allowance?” “Thirty thousand? Fifty? I lose track.” “A month? Perfect! You must have a couple million saved by now, right?” I winced. “It all sort of… became shoes. And bags.” Ivy stared at me, her look a perfect blend of horror and pity. “You spendthrift! You didn’t save a single dime?” I glared back. “The couture jacket you’re wearing right now? That was five grand of that allowance money.” Cole was generous, but I had nothing but time on my hands. Shopping was my only hobby. Ivy sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Okay, well, I’m no better. Every spare cent I had went to paying off my parents’ business debts.” Ivy’s family had been well-off once, but their business had been failing for years, and she was the only thing keeping it afloat. After our divorce in the other life, they’d declared bankruptcy. We collapsed onto the sofa, a symphony of synchronized sighs. Finally, Ivy slapped her thigh. “Okay, new plan. It’s not enough to just have their money. We’d just burn through a settlement anyway. We need to learn how to make our own. We stay married, we play nice, and we use this time to build real skills. Then, when we can stand on our own two feet, we can decide if we still want to leave.” It made sense. We were both graduates of prestigious universities, but we’d married into the Harrison dynasty right after college. The sheer, blinding luxury of it all had erased any ambition we once had. We hadn’t worked a day in our lives. We were completely useless, unemployable. The decision was made. Ivy would buckle down and study for the GMATs, aiming for a top-tier MBA program. I would leverage the Harrison name—our greatest asset—to get a job and gain corporate experience. It was shamelessly easy. The moment a potential employer saw “Wife of Cole Harrison” under the ‘Family’ section of my resume, the world rolled out the red carpet. I landed an offer from a mid-sized marketing firm without a single difficult question. I showed up for my first day in a Chanel suit, basking in the glow of my new boss’s sycophantic smiles. But there was a downside. Everyone was terrified of me. No one gave me any real work. I could have sat there naked and no one would have dared to say a word, let alone ask me to file a report. I wasn’t gaining experience; I was a decorative object. Just as I was about to give up, a task finally came my way. My boss asked me to deliver a file to a meeting in the main conference room. I pushed open the heavy glass doors and my heart stopped. There, at the head of the long table, sat Cole, looking severe and immaculate in a tailored suit.

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The year I was dirt poor, I walked into the factory and let the gears mangle two of my fingers for my grandmother’s thirty-thousand-dollar surgery. The owner, his face etched with pity, offered me eighty thousand in compensation. Drowning in guilt, I only took the thirty. Years have passed. My grandmother is long gone. But then I saw the trending news. That same factory had burned to the ground. The owner was dead—a heart attack, they said. His wife was missing. Their twelve-year-old son had been sent to an orphanage. I stared at the boy’s helpless, terrified eyes on the screen, then at the pills I was about to swallow. I washed them down the drain. Alright then… time to live again. All for the sake of that thirty thousand. 1 Even after all these years, the sight of my own hand, the two missing fingers, could still summon a thick, choking wave of guilt. But if I could go back, I know I’d do it again. Because back then, I was out of options. Utterly and completely. My grandmother found me in a dumpster on a snowy night. Without her, I would have frozen to death in the biting cold before my first sunrise. Now, she had stomach cancer, and the doctor said the surgery and follow-up treatments would cost eighty thousand dollars, minimum. We sold everything. Our tiny, crumbling one-room apartment, the mismatched, worthless furniture inside—all of it. It brought in a little over fifty thousand. We were still thirty thousand short. “Let’s not do it, Tally,” she’d said, her voice thin as old paper. “I’ve lived a full life. I can’t have you sleeping on the streets because of me.” I shook my head, my throat tight. “I’d rather sleep on the street than be without you, Nana. We… we have to do this.” She pulled me into her arms, her sigh melting into a sob. We just held each other and cried, a single, desperate knot of grief in the cold, dark night. We both knew what thirty thousand dollars was to us: an impossible, astronomical sum. Where could we possibly find that kind of money? She had no other family. She only had me. And I didn’t have the thirty thousand dollars that could save her. But at nineteen, I had a boundless, reckless courage. The moment I shoved my hand into the blur of the spinning gears, the pain was so blinding I nearly passed out. But through the haze, I saw the panicked, horrified faces of my coworkers, and in their eyes, I saw a flicker of hope. Nana was going to be saved. It was the only way. The only door I could find that led to her survival. 2 Mr. Henderson, the factory owner, was a good man. By the time he rushed to the hospital, my hand was already bandaged. He knelt beside my bed, his brow furrowed with such genuine pain. He reached out, wanting to touch my mutilated hand, but hovered, helpless, not knowing where to put his own. Finally, all he could manage was a heavy, heartbroken sigh. “Kid… you’re so young. What are you going to do now?” I turned my head away, unable to meet his eyes. I wasn’t a good kid. I didn’t deserve his sincere compassion. His wife, Anna, came to take care of me personally. She missed nothing. She would gently comb the tangles from my messy hair. She’d cut fruit into small, perfect bites, warm them slightly, and feed them to me one by one. It was a mother’s tenderness, a gentleness I had never known. It was completely different from the love Nana gave me. A coworker who came to visit whispered a warning in my ear. “Be careful. This is a classic gentle trap. They’re being nice now so they can pay you less in compensation later.” A switch flipped in my head. I became guarded, suspicious. I started trying to refuse their kindness. But they kept on, ignoring my deliberate coldness, tending to my physical needs and trying to soothe my spirit. When I was discharged, Mr. Henderson and Anna drove me home themselves. Nana cradled my hand, her palm holding the two stumps where my fingers used to be, and silent tears streamed down her face. She couldn’t speak, her whole body trembling with choked-back sobs. In that moment, a sliver of regret pierced through me. Maybe this hadn’t been the right way. The Hendersons were wiping their own eyes, looking around our bare, grim apartment. Nana’s skin had a sickly, yellowish tint; it was obvious to anyone that she was very unwell. They placed eighty thousand dollars in cash on our small, wobbly table. Neat stacks of bills. Nana shot up from her chair, her hands flapping in a panic, too flustered to form words. She could only look at me, her eyes wide with a silent, anxious question. “This is the company’s compensation for Tally,” Mr. Henderson said softly. “Please, take it. We’ll also cover any future medical expenses.” Shame washed over me, hot and heavy. I stared at the floor. The amount was far more than I expected. I’d consulted a legal aid lawyer, and the figure he’d quoted was significantly lower. This was a small factory, the kind where the owner himself had to go out every day to drum up business. Every dollar was earned with sweat. I was desperate for money, but… I couldn’t be that shameless. I couldn’t take more than I was owed. Assuming I had any conscience left at all. “It’s too much,” I mumbled. “I can’t take all of it.” Anna stroked my hair. “Don’t feel bad, sweetie,” she said, her voice a balm. “You have a long road ahead. Use this money. Learn a trade, something you can do to support yourself.” I kept my head down, tears dripping from my chin no matter how fast I tried to wipe them away. I couldn’t speak, just stubbornly shook my head, my neck stiff. I took thirty thousand dollars. I pushed the rest back toward them, my refusal absolute. Nana stared at the three stacks of bills I’d left on the table. Thirty. Thirty thousand. A number that was painfully, intimately familiar to her. Her expression shifted from confusion to shock, and then… a flicker of understanding, of dawning, soul-crushing pain. No one else understood why she suddenly broke down, her wails echoing in that tiny room. Only I did. I kept my head bowed, not daring to look anyone in the eye. I was afraid to see my own reflection in their pupils—despicable, shameful, ugly. In the end, my stubbornness won. I practically shoved them out the door, my face a cold mask. I even threw the remaining fifty thousand dollars after them, the stacks hitting Mr. Henderson’s chest and falling to the floor. I knew it was rude, unforgivable. But I didn’t know how else to refuse a kindness so warm it felt like it was burning me alive. Nana cried all night. No one was more heartbroken than her. My only regret was that I hadn’t hidden my plan better, that she had figured it out so easily. The next day, we packed our few belongings, left that tiny, broken-down room, and moved into the hospital. We said goodbye to our home. The only home Nana and I had ever had. I had no home anymore. But I still had Nana. And as long as I had Nana, I had a home. 3 Nana’s surgery was a success. But when she was discharged, we had nowhere to go. We ended up in a tent pitched under a highway overpass. Renting an apartment, even a room in a cheap motel, would have eaten through our money. Every single dollar had to be stretched to its breaking point. I had no idea how much her follow-up treatments would cost. All I could do was cut our expenses down to the bone. There were moments, many of them, when I regretted not taking that other fifty thousand. But I also knew, with a certainty that settled deep in my gut, that even if I could go back in time, I still wouldn’t have taken it. If I had, the weight of it would have broken my spine for good. I’d never have been able to stand up straight again. After two rounds of chemotherapy, Nana’s body was clearly struggling. She couldn’t stay in a drafty tent any longer. We moved into a cheap rental in a cramped, narrow alleyway. Winter was coming. It was so cold. I found a job doing food delivery. I worked like a machine that never needed to rest, juggling deliveries and taking care of Nana. On the side, I’d take any gig I could find at the downtown clubs—promo girl, shot girl, anything to fill the gaps. Whatever it took to make money. That was the closest I ever came to falling into the abyss. I saw so many ways to make fast cash, easy money that preyed on the desperate. My own sanity pulled me back from the edge. If I truly fell, if Nana ever found out, she would rather die than accept another day of treatment. Mr. Henderson and Anna found us during that time. They came to visit us once. I have no idea how much effort it took them to track down our new address. “Tally,” Mr. Henderson said, his voice gentle. “You could always come back to the factory. We could find a less strenuous position for you.” My fingernails dug into my palms. “A less strenuous job would mean lower pay, wouldn’t it?” I asked, my voice hard and hostile. “Are you going to be charitable and pay me more than I’m worth?” He nodded without a second’s hesitation. I didn’t accept the kindness. “I don’t need it. Are you pitying us? I can take care of my grandmother just fine on my own.” They both opened their mouths to speak, then closed them. Their faces were etched with pain, but they didn’t say anything more. Nana seemed scared of something. She waved her hands clumsily, rejecting the offer for me. “Our Tally isn’t going back to work there. Thank you. Thank you so much.” She stroked my scarred hand, her eyes filled with a raw terror. The Hendersons finally left with a heavy sigh, looking back every few steps. I watched their backs disappear down the alley and whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.” Forgive my rudeness. Forgive my ugly, twisted heart. My tough act was a sham, built on a foundation of my own despicable actions. I wasn’t a good person. At least, I didn’t feel like one. Nana started crying, too. “It’s my fault, Tally. I’m a burden to you. This old woman… how could I drag down a child like this?” I spun around and hugged her tight, terrified. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re all I have, Nana. You just get better. Everything is going to be okay.” But would it? Looking at her waxy, sallow face, a seed of helpless despair took root in my heart. Nana didn’t speak, but the tears soaking into my sleeve said everything. One after another, an endless stream. She had suffered so much. How could I let her leave this world without knowing a single day of peace? I absolutely could not. That night, a plastic grocery bag appeared on our doorstep. Inside were two containers of nutritional powder for seniors. Underneath them, stacked neatly, was fifty thousand dollars in cash. Fifty. Another sensitive number. I knew immediately who it was from. I tried calling Mr. Henderson, but the phone just rang and rang, unanswered. Nana gently touched my hand, my fingers chapped and rough from the cold. “Tally, stop calling. We’ll take it. And someday… we’ll find a way to pay them back.” I looked at her, and her cloudy eyes were filled with a heartbreak that shattered me. I nodded, turning my head so my tears could fall into the shadows. It was the last stand of my youthful pride, my final, stubborn concession. 4 That winter was the most grueling and yet the most purposeful time of my life. Delivering food by day, working gigs at the clubs by night. I was so exhausted I could fall asleep sitting up anywhere. It was exhausting, yes, but the decent monthly income did little to ease the constant anxiety gnawing at me. Nana had chemotherapy every three weeks. Medical bills and nutrition were costs I couldn’t cut. The doctor said that if she ate well and kept her strength up, the side effects of the chemo would be less severe. During that time, every extra bite of rice she ate, every spoonful of soup she drank, would fill me with joy for hours. It was as if she wasn’t consuming food, but life itself. After her fourth round of chemo, it was time for a routine check-up. I was in the middle of a delivery run when my phone rang. It was her oncologist. “Your grandmother isn’t responding well to the chemotherapy,” he said, his voice flat with professionalism. “The scans show the tumors… they’ve spread to her liver and lungs.” The city flowed around me, a river of people and cars. I stumbled to the corner of the street, squatted down, and cried, my body shaking with huge, helpless sobs. Why? After everything I had done, why was this still the result? Couldn’t fate spare us just one small kindness? I clocked out early that day. I went to see the oncologist alone first. When I asked about the next steps, the treatment plan, all I got were heavy, regretful sighs. He was a young doctor, not much older than me. “Take your grandmother home, kid,” he said gently. “Don’t spend any more money at the hospital. Whatever she wants to eat, let her have it.” I knew he meant well, but I didn’t want to hear it. Every word felt like a death sentence, a final judgment from a god I had stopped believing in. It was impossible to accept for someone who had been clinging so desperately to the hope of a miracle. “If we just go home… what will happen to her?” “She’ll be in a lot of pain,” he said, his voice getting quieter. “She might run a fever, lose her appetite, not want to move. There could be fluid buildup in her abdomen.” He looked away, pretending to be busy with the screen on his desk. “What if I insist on continuing treatment?” I pressed, unwilling to give up. The doctor looked up, his eyes meeting mine. He lowered his voice. “If you insist on treatment… your grandmother will still go through all of that.” His words were the final blow. The tears I’d been holding back burst forth.

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