My sister and I were unexpectedly given a choice between two systems. One was the Amplify System, which could make anything 100 times bigger. The other was the Shrink System, which could make anything 100 times smaller. My sister, Jessica, smiled and chose the Shrink System. That left me with the other one. Three days later, the apocalyptic rains began. The entire world was trapped indoors, unable to move, and resources became the single most critical issue. Using the Amplify System, I enlarged our meager supplies, and by rationing carefully, my sister and I managed to survive the ordeal. But the day the rains stopped, Jessica pushed me from the roof of our high-rise apartment building. “If you hadn’t stolen the Amplify System from me, I could have made enough food to save Leo and his family!” she had screamed, her face twisted with rage. “You’re a good sister in every way, Kathreen, except for one thing. You’re just too selfish!” When I opened my eyes again, I was back in that moment of choice. Jessica, moving a split second before me, chose the Amplify System. That’s when I knew. She had been reborn, too. I smiled. Using the Shrink System, I shrank enough food to last me five years, and then… I shrank myself. And just like that, I vanished from the world. 1 “Please select your system.” The words, the scene—why was it all so familiar? My mind was still foggy. Wasn’t I… just pushed off a building by my sister? A dizzying sensation of falling washed over me before I finally snapped back to the present. Jessica seemed just as stunned, but only for a moment. She lunged forward, her voice sharp with decision. “I want the Amplify System!” A disembodied voice echoed in our minds. [Affirmative. The Amplify System is now bound to you.] She shot me a triumphant look, her eyes shining with unconcealed glee. That’s when it hit me with absolute certainty. I had been reborn. Reborn to the exact day my sister and I were given our systems. I sneered inwardly. If you love your precious Leo so much that you’d murder the sister who saved your life, then fine. This time, I won’t be lifting a finger to help you. Seeing Jessica’s ecstatic expression, I said calmly, “Then I’ll take the Shrink System.” [Affirmative. The Shrink System is now bound to you.] Jessica was already eager to test her new power. She picked up a nearby cup and focused. In an instant, the small cup swelled into a massive, oversized mug. “Wow, it’s real! The Amplify System is really mine!” she squealed. I watched her with cold detachment. This was the sister I had protected with my life. In my past life, when the apocalyptic rains hit, trapping everyone in their homes, supplies became dangerously scarce. I used the Amplify System on the few cases of instant noodles and bread we had, stretching them out to survive the five-year deluge. Jessica’s childhood crush, Leo, lived in the apartment across the hall. She had begged me to help his family, to enlarge their food, but I refused. In an apocalypse, I told her, you couldn’t trust anyone. Without my help, Leo’s family didn’t last five years. They starved to death early on. I survived the apocalypse, only to be murdered by the very sister I protected. The irony was laughable. “Kathreen, the Amplify System is mine now. Aren’t you jealous?” Jessica asked, a sly glint in her eye. “I can make anything I want bigger. Your Shrink System seems kind of useless, doesn’t it?” She was testing me, trying to see if I remembered. Her gaze was sharp, laced with suspicion. I let out a relaxed breath and forced a casual smile. “What’s the difference? It’s just a system. If you wanted it, you can have it. I don’t really care.” Seeing my complete lack of interest in the Amplify System, Jessica finally relaxed, her smile genuine now. I knew, without a doubt, that this time she would save Leo and his family. And I also knew that the moment anyone else found out about her system, her life in this new world would be in constant danger. Everyone would covet a power like that. Jessica excitedly ran out of our apartment and knocked on Leo’s door. “Jessica? What are you doing here?” Leo asked, looking confused. She immediately linked her arm through his, ignoring the flicker of annoyance on his face. “Leo,” she said with a sugary sweet smile, “let’s talk inside…” The moment their door clicked shut, I pulled out my phone. The date glared back at me. The 14th. Three days until the storm hits. There was still time. I grabbed my car keys and sped to the nearest supermarket, clearing the shelves of everything I could get my hands on. Non-perishables like instant noodles and bread, essentials like toilet paper, combs, and mirrors, and comforts like blankets and pillows. I bought sacks of rice and flour, packets of every kind of vegetable seed imaginable, and, on a whim, a crate of live baby chicks. I even went to a furniture store and bought an entire matching set for a new home. I was going to build myself a perfect, tiny sanctuary. 2 My apartment was on one of the highest floors, high enough that even in my past life, the rising floodwaters never reached it. I had no plans to leave my home. I was just going to live in it… a different way. I went on a frantic shopping spree, draining my bank account to the last cent. Jessica, on the other hand, was completely unconcerned. Knowing the storm was coming, she made no preparations at all. With her Amplify System, she figured she could make a single loaf of bread last forever. She was actually looking forward to the apocalypse. I knew why. She was dreaming of becoming the hero who saves her beloved Leo and his family from starvation, earning his eternal love and devotion. I always knew she had a crush on him, but I never realized she was such a lovesick fool. That night, she came home floating on a pink cloud, looking like she’d already spent the day swimming in the ocean of love with Leo. “Kathreen, if I saved Leo’s family—hypothetically, of course—do you think he’d fall in love with me?” she asked, her face glowing with a shy, hopeful blush. “No,” I said coldly. “That’s impossible! He’ll definitely fall for me!” she retorted, her tone suddenly sharp. “Just admit it, you like him too, don’t you? But you’re two years older than him, so don’t even think about it!” I ignored her, my head bent over my phone as I ordered the last of my supplies online. She had already killed me once. I wouldn’t let it happen a second time. This time, you can die on your own. “Hey, Kathreen, do you have any money left? Can you lend me a few thousand? I want to buy some snacks,” she asked, her voice wheedling. “No,” I said, my face a mask of stone. “I just bought a new refrigerator. I’m broke.” Her voice turned into a shrill shriek. “Why would you buy a refrigerator?!” I frowned. “I wanted a new one. Is that a problem? Why are you overreacting?” Realizing her mistake, she quickly smoothed over her expression. “Oh, no reason! I was just curious, hehe,” she giggled. “By the way, Kathreen, I remember you had some snacks in your room. I hope you don’t mind, but I already gave them to the lonely old folks in our building. They have it so tough, you know? You’re not mad, are you?” She beamed at me, as if expecting me to praise her for her kindness. I couldn’t believe it. Reborn with the system she always wanted, and her first move was to give away my last remaining supplies. She was actively trying to kill me. If I hadn’t been reborn, if I didn’t have a system, I would have starved to death in the coming apocalypse. Looking at her bright, innocent smile, my disgust for her deepened. I thought I had been a good sister. Our parents died when we were young. As the older one, I shouldered the responsibility, dropping out of school to put her through her education. I never blamed her for her poor grades. I always made sure her allowance was far more generous than her peers’, money I earned through back-breaking work. When she failed her college entrance exams, I had already managed to buy this apartment. I brought her here to live with me. But then she reconnected with Leo, her childhood friend who lived across the hall. They had played together as kids, but his family had moved away after receiving a huge payout for their land. The moment Jessica saw the now-handsome Leo, she fell head over heels, chasing after him relentlessly. Even in our past life, when I refused to help his family, she had secretly given them a third of our precious supplies behind my back. All I could do then was lock our door tight to prevent theft. It was clear now. In my sister’s eyes, I was worth less than a man who had never done a single thing for her. 3 I was done with her. “It’s fine,” I said. She smiled and hooked her arm through mine. “Hehe, you’re the best, Kathreen! I knew you wouldn’t get mad over something so small!” I pulled my arm away. “I’m a little tired. I’m going to bed. You should get some rest too.” I retreated to my room and began to finalize my plans. I had also purchased a small wind turbine generator, which would provide a steady stream of electricity during the storm. All my preparations were complete. Now, all I had to do was wait. Jessica, confident in her Amplify System, used her pocket money to buy a few hundred dollars’ worth of food and locked it in her room, as if she was afraid I would steal it. I had already decided to abandon the apartment I had worked so hard to buy. No matter how small I became, if I stayed in the main living area, there was always a chance they could find me. So I chose another place. The secret room inside my bedroom. It was a small, hidden room I’d had built during renovations, a space I had never told Jessica about. It was no bigger than a walk-in closet, but for a shrunken me, it would be a perfect safe house. The door was controlled by an app on my phone. I had no fear of her finding it, and even if she did, she could never open it. As a final preparation, I had driven ten miles out into the wilderness and used my system to shrink a large plot of fertile soil. With that and my seeds, I could grow my own vegetables and be completely self-sufficient. I also shrank a few small trees and brought them back with me. Within a day, all my orders arrived. There was now only one day left until the storm. I had everything delivered to our old, abandoned family home in the countryside. The village had been deserted for years. The house was now piled high with furniture, appliances, food, and all sorts of other supplies. When no one was around, I used the Shrink System to shrink everything down and pack it into a large suitcase I had prepared. At the last moment, I hesitated, then shrank the little house itself and brought it with me. It was old, but with a little work, it would be a cozy home. Late that night, I drove back to the city and moved everything into the secret room. Jessica was so giddy with her own preparations that she hadn’t even noticed my comings and goings. The secret room was already equipped with an air filtration system, so I wouldn’t have to worry about oxygen. I left five large bottles of mineral water unshrunk, pouring them into a small basin to serve as my future water source. I installed lights that I could also control with my phone. After a full night of careful arrangement, the secret room had been transformed into a miniature farm. The chirping of the tiny chicks was barely audible as they pecked for insects in a small patch of grass. Just beyond the farm stood my little house, complete with every modern convenience. Now, finally, I could rest. I was ready for the storm. 4 During the last half-day of peace, Jessica went over to Leo’s apartment again. His family didn’t seem to like her much, but she didn’t care, making a beeline for his room as usual. I’d overheard Leo’s mother complaining to the other women in the building more than once. “That girl from across the hall has no shame. She’s a grown woman, and she’s always running into my son’s room. So improper.” One of the neighbors had joked, “Looks like she’s got a crush on your son! You might be getting a daughter-in-law soon!” Leo’s mother had scoffed. “Please! You don’t know? She couldn’t even get into college. She’s in her twenties with no real job, just mooching off her sister all day. A poor girl like that wants to marry my son? No way! My Leo is tall, handsome, and has a good job. She’s not even in his league.” I had heard it all and said nothing. There was one hour left. I called Jessica. “Hello? Kathreen, what’s up?” “Something came up at work,” I said, my voice flat. “I’m working overtime tonight, so I won’t be back.” She hesitated for a second, but offered no warning about the impending storm. “Okay, I’ll eat by myself then. I’m hanging up.” Hah. I knew she wouldn’t tell me to be safe. My call was just a ruse anyway, to make her think I wasn’t home. Using my phone, I opened the secret door, slipped inside, and sealed it behind me. Then, I used the Shrink System one last time. This time, the target wasn’t an object. It was me. A wave of dizziness washed over me, and then my perspective shifted dramatically. The once-cramped secret room now felt like a vast, open world. I was willing to take this risk because of something I had observed in my past life. After the rains stopped, everything I had enlarged with the Amplify System had miraculously returned to its original size. I gambled that the Shrink System would work the same way—that it would deactivate when the apocalypse ended. Looking at my plot of land, my trees, my chicks, and my little house, a profound sense of peace filled me. I was finally free from the storm. While Jessica was out, I had installed hidden cameras in the apartment and the hallway outside, all linked to my phone. I could watch everything. For good measure, I even put one outside Leo’s door. The cameras were top-of-the-line, with crystal-clear images and audio. With everything in place, I tucked my phone into my pocket, shouldered a tiny hoe, and began to till my land.

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A text from the real estate agent lit up my phone in the dead of night: “Annie, can you give me your fiancé’s number? I missed my period this month, and I’m starting to get scared.” I glanced at the message, then at my fiancé, Tomer, sleeping like the dead beside me. “You managed to get pregnant but not his phone number? You’re pathetic,” I typed back, my thumb jabbing the screen. Then, with a surge of fury, I kicked him clean out of the bed. 1 I woke up in the middle of the night, my throat parched. As I reached for a glass of water, my phone buzzed with a notification. Who would be texting me this late? I wondered, picking it up. To my surprise, it was Amber, the real estate agent I’d been in contact with recently. “Annie, can you give me your fiancé’s number? I missed my period this month, and I’m starting to get scared.” For a moment, the words didn’t register. I rubbed my eyes, reading it again. And then it hit me like a ton of bricks. My fiancé’s mistress was knocking on my digital door. I looked over at Tomer, who was snoring peacefully, oblivious. In my mind, I was already tearing him limb from limb. “You managed to get pregnant but not his phone number? You’re pathetic,” I typed, gritting my teeth as I sent it. Then, I swung my leg out and shoved him hard. He tumbled out of bed with a startled yelp. jolted from a deep sleep, Tomer scrambled to his feet, his eyes wide with alarm. “What’s wrong? Was that an earthquake? Babe, we have to go!” I just stared at him, my expression glacial. “Babe? What is it?” Seeing my face, he realized the danger wasn’t seismic. It was me. He sighed, cautiously climbing back onto the bed. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare? What unforgivable crime did I commit in your dreams this time?” He tried to pull me into a hug, but I pushed him away. “Don’t touch me,” I said, my voice cold. “Stay right there. I have some questions for you.” Tomer, utterly confused, retreated to the corner of the bed, looking like a kicked puppy. It was a look I knew well, the one he used when he wanted comfort. The thought that this same man, this man who could look so pitifully innocent, would betray me with another woman… Honestly, before today, the possibility had never even crossed my mind. I took a deep breath, about to demand how he and Amber had gotten together, when my phone buzzed again. It was her. Amber: “Annie, I know it’s hard to accept that your fiancé cheated on you. I get why you’re trying to put me down.” “But you need to face reality. Cutting me down with words won’t help you. You can’t keep a man who doesn’t want to be kept. Besides, I’m not trying to cause trouble. I just think the father has a right to know about his child.” “Are you so afraid of him finding out because you know you can’t compete with me?” I’d lived for over two decades and had never encountered someone so utterly shameless. For a second, I was too stunned to speak. Instead, I tossed the phone at Tomer. “Your baby mama’s looking for you. You’d think after knocking someone up, you’d at least get their contact info. Now she’s using me as a messenger.” Tomer, who had assumed my rage was dream-induced, was completely blindsided by the phone hitting his lap and the words “baby mama” hitting his ears. He gave a weak laugh. “Annie, what are you talking about?” He picked up the phone and started reading. As the meaning of the texts sank in, his eyes went wide. “This is slander!” he yelled, jumping up. “It’s defamation! Who is this? I’m going to sue her.” “She missed her period? Maybe she has a hormone imbalance or some kind of illness! How does that automatically mean she’s pregnant?” “Wait, even if she is pregnant, what does that have to do with me? I don’t even know this person!” He looked up at me, his face a mask of wounded innocence. “Annie… do you have another boyfriend?” My first instinct was to scream. The nerve of this man, trying to pin his own mess on me! But then I thought about it. For the past two months, Tomer had been on a business trip with my dad. He’d only gotten back yesterday. He genuinely didn’t know Amber. So why would she claim to be pregnant with my fiancé’s child? Seeing my silence, Tomer’s act grew more dramatic. He looked ready to burst into tears. “You really do have another man on the side, don’t you? You cruel, heartless woman! I’m telling your parents! We’re about to get married, and you’re cheating on me!” He actually pulled out his phone and started scrolling for my mom’s number. I lunged, clamping my hand over his. “Don’t you dare!” “I have to! You have another man! I’m heartbroken! Your parents need to know about this!” He struggled against my grip but didn’t actually hit dial, just stared at me with wide, pleading eyes. I sighed, my anger giving way to confusion. “Something isn’t right here.” I took my phone back and explained the situation to Tomer. We were planning to buy a new house for our wedding, so I’d spent the last two months visiting sales galleries all over the city. Amber was the agent I’d dealt with the most. Our interactions had always been pleasant, though recently, whenever I’d tried to schedule a viewing, she’d made excuses or passed me off to another agent. When her text came in tonight, I hadn’t stopped to think. I’d just assumed she meant Tomer. With that in mind, I sent Amber another message: “Are you sure you have the right person? Do you know who I am? Do you know who my fiancé is?” Her reply was instantaneous. Amber: “Annie Davis. You can’t be hoping I made a mistake. Of course I know who your fiancé is.” “If you don’t believe me, I’ll send you a picture of us. Tomer himself told me I’m way more interesting than you.” A photo appeared on my screen. In it, Amber was pressed tightly against a handsome man. He was grinning from ear to ear, his arms wrapped securely around her waist. But the man in the photo wasn’t Tomer. It was someone we both knew, though. It was Tomer’s cousin, Aidan. That’s when I remembered. When I first started house hunting, Tomer was away on that business trip, so he’d asked his cousin to go with me. But I was picky. It was our first home, after all. After two viewings, Aidan lost his patience. In front of the sales staff, he’d griped about how high-maintenance I was, how I was making a simple task difficult and wasting everyone’s time. I’d bitten my tongue for Tomer’s sake, but I complained to him about it later. After that, Tomer never asked his cousin to accompany me again. I never imagined that in just those two visits, he and Amber had… connected. On my phone, two minutes after sending the photo, Amber unsent it. I didn’t even have time to take a screenshot. “See? I told you it wasn’t me,” Tomer said, a note of triumph in his voice now that he’d seen the picture. I shot him a withering glare. “Right, it’s not you. But it looks like she’s about to become your cousin’s new wife.” Tomer’s brow furrowed. “What new wife? My cousin is married!” 2 He was right. Aidan had gotten married a year ago. He had a wife. And he was sleeping with Amber. A wave of disgust washed over me. I was about to call Aidan and give him a piece of my mind, but Tomer stopped me. “What? Are you going to cover for your cousin?” I asked, my eyes narrowing. Tomer shook his head. “Of course not. But if you call him now, he’ll just deny everything. He’ll probably even flip it around and accuse you of trying to stir up trouble between us.” His assessment told me he knew his cousin’s character all too well. “So what do you suggest we do? Just pretend we don’t know?” I said, feeling deflated. A wicked grin spread across Tomer’s face. “No way. The other woman has come directly to you, the fiancée, to pick a fight. It’s only natural for you to go raise a little hell, isn’t it?” His words made my eyes light up. He was right. Amber had provoked me in the middle of the night. It was perfectly normal for me to be furious. I ignored the stream of taunting messages still coming from Amber, turned off my phone, and went back to sleep. The next morning, Tomer left early for work. I slept in, then took my time getting ready before driving to the sales gallery where Amber worked. She saw me the moment I walked in. A smug smile played on her lips as she watched me storm towards her. Another agent, seeing my thunderous expression, approached me. “Ma’am, is there something I can help you with?” I pointed a trembling finger at Amber, who was standing a short distance away, still smirking. “I’m about to get married,” I announced, my voice loud enough for the entire showroom to hear. “And your employee, Amber, seduced my fiancé! She’s pregnant with his child! Does your company just let its staff destroy people’s families like this?” My voice echoed through the large space. The handful of potential buyers browsing the models all turned to stare. They followed my finger to Amber. I had to hand it to her; anyone bold enough to provoke the fiancée directly had nerves of steel. Faced with the judgmental stares of everyone in the room, her expression didn’t waver. That smug smile never left her face. Amber walked towards me, her smile unwavering. “Honey, if your fiancé did something wrong, you should take it up with him. Why come after me?” “You don’t actually think it’s all the other woman’s fault when a man cheats, do you? You’re a woman yourself. Has it ever occurred to you that the real problem is your fiancé?” Her smile grew brighter as she closed the distance between us. Her shamelessness almost threw me off balance. But I’m no fool, and I wasn’t about to let her deflect the blame with a few well-chosen words. It was clear, however, that some of the onlookers were being swayed. A young woman nearby whispered, “She has a point. Every time a guy cheats, the wife comes and attacks the mistress while the jerk gets to hide. Why not deal with your own man instead of making trouble for another woman?” Hearing this, Amber’s colleagues seemed to gain a bit of confidence. One of them even approached me with a placating smile. “Miss, if your fiancé really did wrong you, perhaps you should talk to him? We’re all women here, why make things hard for each other? At the end of the day, this is all about a man.” More people started chiming in, and my face grew darker by the second. 3 I never thought that I, the victim, would be labeled as some pathetic woman obsessed with a man. As more people took her side, Amber’s confidence swelled. She placed a hand on her stomach and gave me a triumphant smirk. “Honey, I helped you see your man for the cheater he is. You should be thanking me, not causing a scene. You’re being so ungrateful.” I could feel her deliberately trying to provoke me, hoping for an explosive reaction. It was obvious she was an expert at manipulating a situation and shifting the focus. Seeing her increasingly smug expression, I couldn’t hold back any longer. I stepped forward and slapped her hard across the face. “A homewrecker is a homewrecker. Did someone teach you to build a monument to your own virtue after sleeping with another woman’s man?” After the slap, I saw a flash of triumph in her eyes, though her expression immediately crumpled into one of pain and sorrow. She clutched her cheek, her voice choked with emotion. “This world is so cruel to women. It takes two people to make a mistake, but you only come after me.” With that, she transformed into the perfect victim. The other customers and staff immediately rushed to her side, forming a protective circle around her. I frowned, a sudden realization dawning on me. This woman had been pushing me to confront my fiancé from the very beginning. Her goal was to make me fight with the man, so she could swoop in and pick up the pieces. “It does take two,” I said, my own eyes welling up with tears as I put on a performance of my own. “How do you know I haven’t confronted my fiancé? He denies ever knowing you. But you’re the one who texted me in the middle of the night to taunt me. Shouldn’t I come to you?” I grabbed the arm of a girl standing nearby, showing her the messages Amber had sent me last night. “Look at this. Isn’t she deliberately trying to provoke me? My fiancé isn’t even in town. I called him, and he denies everything. My only option was to confront her directly.” “If this is true, I’m calling off the wedding,” I added, my voice cracking. The girl read the messages, and her face twisted in disgust as she looked at Amber. “You’re the one in the wrong, and instead of lying low, you jump out and provoke his fiancée? That’s disgusting.” She then read Amber’s first text aloud for everyone to hear: “‘Annie, can you give me your fiancé’s number? I missed my period this month, and I’m starting to get scared.’” “Wow, the passive-aggression is off the charts. If that were me, I’d be furious too.” The girl read a few more of the messages, and the expressions on the faces of the onlookers shifted. Those who had been standing by Amber awkwardly shuffled a few feet away. Amber hadn’t expected me to play the victim card. Her face paled slightly, but she quickly regained her composure. “I’m just trying to do what’s best for the child in my belly. And besides, I helped you see your fiancé’s true colors. Isn’t it better to find out he’s a scumbag now, before you’re actually married?” She had the audacity to look like she was doing me a favor. I almost laughed out loud. “Don’t you dare say you’re doing this ‘for my own good.’ I’m your client, for God’s sake. If you really cared about my well-being, you wouldn’t have slept with my fiancé. And now he’s calling you a liar and denying you even exist. Why don’t you clear that up for me?” My words seemed to surprise her. “Didn’t you see the picture I sent?” “I didn’t get a good look before you unsent it,” I said dismissively. “Since you claim you slept with my fiancé, show me some proof. After all, you didn’t even manage to get his number.” 4 My taunt seemed to trigger her competitive streak. She pulled out her phone. “I said I didn’t have his phone number. We’re connected on social media.” She opened a chat window. The profile name was ‘Tomer,’ and the avatar was his. I squinted, trying to get a better look, but she quickly snatched the phone back and placed a video call through the app. At that moment, I pulled out my own phone, my heart pounding. Was it possible Tomer had been lying to me? But a second later, the call connected, and the voice that came through the speaker was unmistakably Aidan’s. “Honey, your fiancée is here at my office, making a scene. What do I do? I’m so scared,” Amber cooed, her voice dripping with false fear while her eyes shot me a look of pure provocation. Aidan’s voice, full of disdain, crackled from the phone. “What’s there to be scared of? It’s not like she can eat you.” “But she said you won’t even acknowledge our relationship. You’re not just going to sleep with me and then dump me, are you?” Amber’s voice became even more saccharine, sending shivers down my spine. She completely ignored the disgusted looks from the people around her, her eyes fixed on me, eagerly awaiting my reaction. Aidan laughed on the other end. “Of course not. If Annie hadn’t come along first and gotten the family’s approval, I would have broken up with her a long time ago. Let her make a scene. If it gets too bad, you can quit, and I’ll support you.” Aidan’s voice was loud and clear. Everyone in the showroom heard it. Amber shot me a triumphant smirk. The onlookers now looked at me with pity. The girl who had read my texts aloud stepped forward and put a supportive hand on my arm. I feigned an expression of utter disbelief and lunged for Amber’s phone. She stepped back, still holding the phone to her ear. “What if your fiancée comes to find you?” “Let her,” Aidan’s voice boomed. “I doubt she has the guts. She’s lucky to be marrying into our family.” That was the last straw. Even Tomer wouldn’t dare say something so arrogant. Where did Aidan get the nerve to say I was lucky to be marrying into his family? I was about to open my mouth and let him have it, but Amber, satisfied, ended the call. She looked at me with a mixture of pity and contempt. “It seems you don’t have the courage to confront your fiancé after all, Ms. Davis. Everything you said before was just a lie.” “A woman needs to learn to love herself. If you just cling to a man, one day he’ll let you down. Consider this a lesson from me: men can’t be trusted.” “There’s no point in directing all your anger at me. It’s 2025. When will you learn that when a man cheats, it’s not just the other woman’s fault? Most of the blame lies with your own partner.” “It’s obvious you can’t handle your fiancé. So why not just recognize him for the scumbag he is and walk away?” Her little speech, incredibly, seemed to win over several people in the crowd again. I even saw someone recording a video. “Now that’s what I call a strong female lead,” the person recording muttered. “You guys, this sales agent is amazing. So calm, so clear-headed.” I was so furious I could only laugh. “Are you people insane? Now we’re glorifying homewreckers and calling them strong female leads?” “Getting involved with someone who’s already in a relationship is morally wrong. There’s no excuse. You can’t just say ‘it’s mostly the man’s fault’ and expect to get off scot-free.” “And don’t you stand there acting like you’re my savior. I don’t need you to rescue me.”

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The day Ethan Shaw booked a private island for his new girlfriend’s birthday was the day I picked up his medical report. Well, now. Cancer. I calmly asked the doctor just three questions. “How long does someone in his condition have?” “Would drinking and smoking every day make it worse, faster?” “And what if he’s also trying to have a baby, with…you know, zero restraint?” 1 Ethan Shaw was a very busy man. So busy that when his own medical reports were ready, it was me who went to collect them. At that exact moment, his secretary, Jenna, was on the phone with me. The girl was practically sobbing. “Claire, aren’t you going to do anything about Mr. Shaw?” I scanned the details of Ethan’s lab results, my voice placid as I dealt with her. “Jenna, does Mr. Shaw know how unprofessional you’re being?” “But… but you’re his wife!” she choked out. “He’s messing around out there, aren’t you even angry?” Angry? I leaned against a quiet corner of the hospital corridor and let out a cold, quiet laugh. If I got angry over little things like that, I would have died of rage a hundred times over by now. I tried to summon a little patience for the girl on the other end of the line. “It’s Miss Vance’s birthday today. What’s wrong with Ethan renting an island to make her happy? For your birthday, didn’t he buy you that limited-edition handbag?” The line went silent, then the call disconnected. Incredible, really. I’d never seen a mistress so shamelessly run to the wife, crying because she was losing a turf war with another mistress. What did she expect? That I was going to step in and play referee for them? I really don’t have the time. I smoothed a stray piece of hair from my forehead and returned my focus to the report in my hands. Well, now. Cancer. I rubbed my eyes hard, making sure I wasn’t mistaken. Then I sent a silent prayer of thanks to whatever deity was listening. One of them had finally answered. My dream was coming true. 2 I took Ethan’s medical report to see my old college friend, David, who’s a doctor. We met privately in a quiet café, tucked away in a corner booth. I kept my head down, my expression a careful mask of melancholy and gravity. “David, I haven’t dared to tell him yet,” I began, my voice low. “I’m afraid he won’t be able to handle it.” David’s face was equally grim. “A lot of families feel the same way, Claire. But ultimately, we believe it’s best for the patient to know the truth.” “No, you don’t understand.” I made a show of dabbing at my eyes, my voice thick with contrived emotion. “I just want him to be happy right now. I want him to stay happy for as long as he has left.” He looked at me with such sympathy, letting out a soft sigh. “Whatever you need to know, just ask. We go way back. If there’s anything I can do to help, I will.” I took a moment to compose myself, then slowly looked up. “How long does he have?” “It’s hard to say. Maybe six months. Maybe a year. With aggressive treatment, maybe longer.” Maybe longer? That wasn’t the answer I wanted. A flicker of annoyance passed through me, but I kept my voice steady. “Will smoking every day make it worse?” I asked, then quickly corrected myself. “I’m sorry, it’s just… he has so many business dinners. If smoking is going to affect his health, I’ll try to find a way to talk him out of it.” David looked helpless. “In his condition? He absolutely has to quit.” Quit smoking? Ethan? Not a chance. I lowered my gaze again, asking my final question. “And… should we be limiting our… marital life?” Fearing he wouldn’t understand, I added, “I still want to have a child with him. At least… at least then I’ll have a part of him with me, always.” That did it. David’s professional composure finally cracked. “Claire, you need to prepare yourself. A child… I’m afraid that’s something you can’t force.” And with that, a wave of profound relief washed over me. A train wreck like Ethan Shaw. Who in their right mind would want to have a child with him? All I wanted was a confirmation of his expiration date. 3 I made David promise to keep this confidential, and he agreed. I trust him. On the drive home, every breath of air I took felt sweet. I found the divorce papers I kept in my nightstand drawer. I had once planned on using them to make a clean break, to walk away with what I could. Not anymore. I fed the papers into the shredder, the machine’s grinding a symphony to my ears. For the days to come, all I had to do was wait. Ethan would never give up his cigarettes, and he’d never give up his women. The only question was whose bed he would finally die in. I poured myself a glass of expensive red wine and put on some soft jazz. Then, I drew the curtains of my five-thousand-square-foot penthouse overlooking the river and savored the pure, unadulterated joy of the moment. I have been married to Ethan for seven years. I have never, not once, been as happy as I am today. My only fear now was some unforeseen complication that might prevent me from smoothly inheriting his entire estate. I was tempted to immediately call up the most expensive young escort in the city to come share this perfect night with me. 4 The next time I heard from Jenna was a month later. Ethan had fired her. Because his new flame, Sienna, didn’t like her. Jenna was hysterical on the phone. “Why? Who the hell does she think she is?” I moved through my yoga poses, listening to her rant. “She’s just some D-list influencer! What’s so special about her? Her plastic surgery face isn’t even as pretty as mine! What does Ethan even see in her?” I stared straight ahead, holding a perfect warrior II, a small smile on my face. “I don’t know what he sees in her, Jenna, but I know he’s not seeing you anymore.” “It’s not fair!” “You’re an idiot,” I said, my voice sharp. “That condo he gave you in the West End is worth five million. You could sell it tomorrow if you dropped the price by a few hundred thousand. You’re never going to be Mrs. Shaw, and you’re never going to have Ethan’s love. You should have just taken the money and disappeared quietly.” Jenna whimpered, sounding like she had more to say. I had no interest in hearing it. “Or, you could wait for me to file a motion to reclaim it as marital property. Then you’d be left with nothing at all. Your choice.” Silence. Then a click. She wasn’t that difficult to handle. And she’d been around the longest, I recalled. Four, maybe five years. Of all Ethan’s women, Jenna had always been the most docile. She knew what she wanted and never dreamed of trying to usurp my position. I didn’t begrudge her the five million. See? Sometimes, I can be very generous. 5 During my afternoon break, my assistant forwarded me an email. Sienna Vance… I opened her file. D-list influencer? Hardly. She was a major beauty blogger with several blockbuster product collaborations. Tens of millions of followers across her platforms. She was the one Ethan rented the island for last month. They say influencers make good money; someone at her level must be loaded. So what was she doing with a married “old man” like Ethan? It couldn’t possibly be true love, could it? I rested my chin on my hand, scrolling idly through her photos. I couldn’t figure it out, and I didn’t want to waste the energy trying. Ethan wasn’t going to be around for much longer anyway. I just needed him to die, quickly and cleanly, while our marriage was still legally intact. Don’t transfer any major assets. Don’t cause me any trouble. As for spending a little pocket change to entertain his women? I couldn’t care less. Compared to Ethan’s net worth, it was a drop in the ocean. I’m very generous. But someone, it seemed, was determined to ruin my plans. Because Sienna Vance wanted to be the real Mrs. Shaw. 6 Ethan brought her to our home. Boldly. Shamelessly. I had just woken up from a beauty nap. I opened my bedroom door to find Sienna clicking across the marble floors of my penthouse in a pair of stilettos, taking a tour. She seemed to adore the place. The decor, the furniture, the art, and of course, the panoramic river view from the floor-to-ceiling windows. She was completely captivated, suddenly calling out to Ethan. “Ethan, come look! You can actually see the gulls from here! Oh, I love it!” Ethan wrapped an arm around her slim waist, murmuring, “As long as you love it. That’s all that matters.” “So when can I move in?” “Soon. Very soon.” They kissed, oblivious to my presence, and Ethan’s hand was already sliding up under her shirt. I really didn’t want to interrupt. But. It was making my eyes hurt. And! I didn’t want them dirtying my house. I’ve grown accustomed to this place. I plan to enjoy it by myself, to entertain my own beautiful young things here. So, I cleared my throat, stopping them before they could proceed any further. They both turned. Ethan didn’t even bother to feign surprise, his hand still resting on Sienna’s waist. I tightened the belt of my silk robe and walked over to the armchair, sitting down gracefully. I picked up the cup of herbal tea my housekeeper had left for me, took a delicate sip, and said, “We have a guest? You should have told me. I would have prepared a proper welcome.” Sienna nestled against Ethan, poking him in the chest. Ethan cleared his throat. He walked over and sat on the sofa across from me. No preamble, no beating around the bush. “Claire,” he said, his voice flat. “Let’s get a divorce.” The water in my teacup trembled slightly, the flower petals dancing on the surface. “A divorce?” I repeated the word, my tone light, as if he’d just told a moderately amusing joke. If he’d asked me this a month ago, I might have just nodded. We would have let the lawyers handle the division of assets and the paperwork. But things were different now. “No,” I said simply. Before Ethan could react, Sienna stormed forward. She stood over me, glaring. “Why not? Why won’t you agree? Ethan doesn’t love you anymore! He loves me!” “Oh.” It was the only response she deserved. She didn’t understand. “We’ll make sure you’re taken care of,” she continued. “We’ll give you enough money so you can live comfortably for the rest of your life. Ethan said, for the sake of your seven years together, he won’t leave you in a bad position.” Is that so? It sounded less like a settlement and more like charity, like they were tossing a few coins to a beggar. What others give you can never be as reliable as what you own yourself. Even a kindergartener knows that. Seeing my lack of reaction, Sienna grew anxious. She turned to Ethan. “Ethan…” Ethan shifted, crossing his legs, his tone turning vaguely threatening. “If you agree to a divorce now, you’ll walk away with something. Like Sienna said, we won’t be unfair to you. But if you make this difficult, I’ll make sure you get nothing. Not a single cent.” “Oh.” I maintained my cool, detached expression. Sienna’s voice rose to a shriek. “Is that the only word you know how to say?” Of course not. I stood up, walked calmly around the sofa, and repeated, “I am not agreeing to a divorce.”

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For three years, I was the secret wife of Cole Pierce, Hollywood’s biggest star. And for three years, I was the most hated woman on the internet. He resented me. He resented our arranged marriage, a business deal that forced him onto the set of a reality dating show with Ava Sinclair—the girl he’d always loved—and pretend they were strangers. We were toxic, a slow poison we fed each other daily. It only stopped when I was diagnosed with terminal cancer. On my deathbed, I scrolled through my phone and saw it: Cole and Ava’s relationship was finally public. The whole world was celebrating. “It’s about time,” one of the top comments read. “That desperate parasite is finally out of the picture.” The next time I opened my eyes, I wasn’t in a hospital bed. I was back on the set of that godforsaken reality show, at the exact moment the director told us all to reveal our phone’s lock screen. The first time around, my screen showed a candid photo I had secretly taken of Cole. They crucified me for it online. This time, with a steady hand, I woke up my phone. “It’s nothing special,” I said. “Just the photo from my marriage certificate. To Cole Pierce.” You want your freedom, Cole? Fine. But first, you can pay for it by giving me the most spectacular, career-ending implosion the world has ever seen. 1 “Alright, everyone, let’s start with a little icebreaker to warm things up!” The director of Heartbeat Harbor, the reality dating show of the season, grinned as he raised a megaphone. “On the count of three, I want everyone to show us your phone’s lock screen. Let’s see who—or what—you’re all holding close to your hearts!” A ripple of knowing smiles went through the cast. Cole Pierce, the aloof, impossibly handsome movie star, stood with a practiced, cool distance. Beside him, Ava Sinclair, the current “it girl,” glanced at him with a blush painting her cheeks. They were the internet’s favorite couple, a match made in PR heaven. And then there was me, Claire. The background character. The one they shoehorned in, the industry plant everyone loved to hate. The last time I was here, in another life, this exact moment had been my public execution. The candid photo of Cole’s profile on my lock screen had made me a laughingstock. “Get that desperate stalker off the screen!” “Claire needs to stay a million miles away from our man!” Cole had shot me a look of pure disgust, his words a cold blade in the sudden silence. “Claire, have some self-respect.” One sentence, and I was condemned. Now, the director’s voice boomed again. “Okay, here we go! Three… two… one!” Ava, with a bashful dip of her head, turned her screen to the camera. It showed an adorable little ragdoll cat. Everyone knew Cole’s beloved cat was named Mochi. The livestream chat instantly exploded. omg I’m screaming!! It’s Mochi! This is proof! Ava is so sweet! Look at the way Cole’s looking at her, his whole face just softened! And it was true. A faint smile was playing on Cole’s lips. He pulled out his own phone. The screen showed the generic, default mountain landscape that came with the device. Classic Cole. Never giving anything away, always maintaining that untouchable brand. Finally, every camera, every pair of eyes in the room, swiveled to me. They were filled with judgment, with disdain, with the delicious anticipation of watching a train wreck. I met their gazes and calmly woke my phone. The screen lit up with a government-issued document, its header stark and official. It was a photo of a man and a woman, shot against a plain red background. The man’s handsome features were pulled into a tight, reluctant line. The woman beside him offered a gentle smile, but her eyes were utterly dead. It was my marriage certificate photo. Mine and Cole’s. The air in the studio froze. The director’s smile was cemented on his face. The color drained from Ava Sinclair’s cheeks, inch by painful inch. And Cole Pierce’s famously unreadable expression finally cracked. He whipped his head toward me, his eyes wide with utter shock. The livestream chat, after three seconds of stunned silence, went nuclear. ??????????? Is my screen frozen or am I having a stroke? Is that a MARRIAGE CERTIFICATE??? HAS to be photoshopped! That bitch Claire is insane, she’ll do anything for clout! Through the rising chaos, I heard Cole’s voice, squeezed through his clenched teeth. “Claire, what the hell have you done?” His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a blind spot from the cameras. His grip was tight enough to grind my bones together. I looked up at him, my smile as thin and sharp as ice. “You think the certificate is fake, Cole? Is the fact that we’re married fake, too?” I ripped my wrist from his grasp, stood, and held my phone up to the nearest camera, making sure the lens got a clear, steady shot. “Sorry, I almost forgot to introduce myself properly.” “I’m Claire. Cole Pierce’s legal wife.” “We’ve been married for three years.”

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My brother was the best Fire Captain in the state. During a chemical plant explosion, he was trapped deep inside the inferno, covering the retreat of a rookie. The entire structure groaned, threatening a secondary blast at any second. The Battalion Chief gave the final order: no one else goes in. I knelt on the ground, sobbing, as I dialed my girlfriend’s number. My Ava. She’s one of the top structural engineers in the country. Only her modeling, her analysis, could find the safest rescue path in the sliver of time we had left. Ava’s voice on the phone was calm, resolute. “Wait for me, Leo. I’m bringing my team and the equipment now. Keep the scene stable. Don’t let them give up.” But as I stood guard at the police tape, locked in a standoff with the Chief, a text from her lit up my screen: [An important academic conference just came up. You’ll have to find someone else for the rescue.] I clutched my phone, kneeling in the muddy earth, listening to the muffled booms from within the blaze. I called her back, again and again. On the 99th try, she finally picked up. The background was filled with the clinking of glasses and cheerful chatter. My voice was a raw whisper. “Ava, my brother is dying. You’re the only one who can save him. Please, come back.” A brief silence, then the line went dead. The next second, a new post popped up in my feed, from her old college mentor. It was a photo. Ava, beaming, laughing with several men in sharp suits. The caption read: [A huge thank you to Dr. Ava Chen for her critical technical support, clearing the final hurdle for us to land the project.] So, the mandatory conference… was helping her mentor secure a multi-million-dollar contract. While my brother’s life hung by a thread, she chose another man’s future. 1 By the time I rushed the police tape again, the entire building had collapsed. When they carried my brother’s body out, he was so blackened by smoke he was unrecognizable. The rescue captain took off his helmet and just shook his head at me. “No chance, son. Asphyxiation, then crushed by the debris. When we got to him, he was still shielding a rookie with his own body.” My world imploded. My legs gave out, and I crumpled to the ground. The firefighters from my brother’s unit came to help me up. “Your brother is a hero, Leo! He saved all of us!” Their eyes were filled with grief, with regret, but mostly, with a quiet, burning anger. They knew, just as I did, that the one person who might have given my brother a fighting chance, Ava, was at a champagne toast, celebrating her victory. The Chief took off his own jacket and draped it over my brother’s remains. My heart felt like it was being carved out of my chest, but I tried calling Ava one last time. The number had been disconnected. I couldn’t hold on any longer. I collapsed next to my brother’s body, sobbing, my trembling hands trying and failing to close his wide, staring eyes. My tears fell onto the badge pinned to his chest. My brother, Ryan, never took that badge off. He said it was to remind himself that lives were on his shoulders. Running on nothing but fumes, I escorted my brother to the morgue and personally saw to his cremation. At the funeral, the Chief clapped my shoulder and made a promise. “What your brother did… he’s being put in for the Medal of Valor.” “As soon as the incident investigation is closed, we will hold a full honors memorial for him.” The funeral had just ended when my phone rang. A new number. It was Ava. Her tone was clipped, impatient. “I had to change my number, too many work calls. What’s wrong with you? Is this some kind of tantrum? You’re not even answering my texts?” I couldn’t form a single word. After scolding me for a few more seconds, she hung up in a huff. I opened her last text, sent two days before: [Marcus’s project is critical for my future. I’ll be back as soon as this is over. Tell your brother’s colleagues to figure something else out.] But by then, my brother was already gone. My already numb heart was pierced again. I opened her mentor’s social media feed. In just three days, he’d posted half a dozen times. From the group photo at the celebration dinner, to a brag about how Ava had dropped some “unimportant” personal matter to help him. The latest post was a picture of the two of them at a cocktail party, bathed in low light, smiling into each other’s eyes. A flood of comments from mutual friends poured in below. [Dr. Chen is usually so reserved. Looks like you’re the only one who gets to see her smile, Marcus.] [That’s what years of friendship will do.] Every word was a searing brand on my soul. It made sense, I guess. Ava and Marcus, they’d known each other for years, came up through the same program. To everyone else, they were the golden couple of the engineering world. If Marcus hadn’t gone overseas for his post-doc, I probably never would have had a chance. It was only after Ryan died that I finally understood. If you don’t live in the same world as someone, you can never truly share their joys or their sorrows. I sent Ava a single text message. [Ava, we’re done.] Then I blocked and deleted her from everything. I placed my brother’s ashes in a small wooden urn and set it carefully in my bedroom. I wanted to display all the medals and commendations Ryan had earned over the years next to him. But I couldn’t find them. I was tearing the apartment apart, frantic, when I ran into Ava and Marcus in the hallway. “See, Ava? You’re a miracle worker,” Marcus was saying, holding a box. “I mention wanting to build an architectural model, and you find me the perfect metal materials, with real heft.” “But these medals look pretty valuable. Are you sure it’s okay for me to melt them down?” Ava gave him a playful little punch on the arm. “Don’t worry about it. I’ve got your back. It’s just some honorary stuff. Not nearly as important as your work.” I never dreamed she would take my brother’s medals—his honor—to win points with her mentor. I stared at the box in her hands, my throat closing up. Those medals were bought with every fire my brother walked into, with every life he snatched back from the jaws of death. “Ava. Those are my brother’s medals. Give them back to me.” My voice was shaking uncontrollably as I advanced on them. Ava shifted the box behind Marcus’s back, her brow furrowed. “What are you yelling about? It’s just a few pieces of tin.” Marcus jiggled the box, a smug grin on his face. “Hey, it’s Leo. Isn’t your brother still on that rescue? Heard it’s looking pretty optimistic.” “What’s with you? You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Don’t be so cheap, it’s just a couple of old medals.” His words made Ava’s eyes turn to ice. “Leo, I can’t believe you. You’d even lie about something like that just to get me to come home early.” “I’m not lying!” I roared. My next-door neighbor opened her door, poking her head out to see the commotion. “My brother is gone, Ava! You chose to help Marcus instead!” “Gone?” Ava laughed, her voice dripping with contempt. “My friend at the fire department told me the rescue was a success. The man is out.” Marcus fanned the flames from the side. “Ava, I told you he was just trying to manipulate you, trying to make you abandon the project. You didn’t believe me.” “Good thing you stayed to help me, or you would’ve fallen right into his trap.” “Getting this worked up over a few worthless medals. I bet he was planning to sell them for cash.” “You’re a liar!” I lunged forward, trying to grab the box, but Ava stuck her foot out and tripped me. I hit the ground hard. A sharp pain shot through my knee, but my eyes were fixed on that box. Ryan’s Distinguished Service Cross, his Firefighter of the Year plaque, his Medal of Courage… Behind every single one was a scar left by the flames. And now, they were going to be melted down into a cold, lifeless architectural model. I scrambled back to my feet and lunged again, clamping my hand around Marcus’s wrist. “Give me the medals!” He struggled, and the box fell, spilling the medals across the floor. I reached for them, but he stomped his foot down hard on the back of my hand. The ribbon of one of the medals snapped under the heel of his leather shoe. With a yell of pure rage, I shoved him away and gathered the medals, clutching them to my chest. Marcus stumbled to the ground, a flash of malice in his eyes before he looked up at Ava, his expression turning to one of hurt. “Ava, it’s fine, if Leo doesn’t want to, we can forget it. He’s obviously just jealous that you were helping me.” “My project is secured now. You don’t have to worry about me anymore. I’ll be fine on my own…” Ava rushed to his side immediately, kicking me out of the way to help her beloved Marcus to his feet. “Leo, Marcus and I are purely professional colleagues. Why do you always have to be so possessive and petty?” The murmurs from the neighbors grew louder. [That kid’s got a mean streak. What’s the big deal if his girlfriend helps an old friend?] [Seriously, it’s just some medals. So dramatic.] Marcus shot me a triumphant smirk over Ava’s shoulder. “Ava, let’s just go. We’ll find another way.” Ava glared at me, finally moving her foot, but not before kicking one of the medals into the corner. “Leo, this is your last warning. There is nothing going on between Marcus and me.” “As for these medals, I’ll hold onto them for you. When you’ve cooled down and are ready to be reasonable, you can come and get them.” With that, she took Marcus’s arm and turned to leave. I ran back into my apartment and grabbed a utility knife from my desk, blocking their path. My eyes were bloodshot as I stared at Marcus. “Give me back my brother’s medals. Now.” Ava was shocked by my action, but her shock quickly turned to fury. “Put the knife down! Do you have any idea that Marcus has a severe anxiety disorder? You’re going to trigger him!” “Are you really going to assault someone in front of all your neighbors?” Amid the neighbors’ gasps, I lunged forward and pressed the blade against Marcus’s neck. “Give them back, or I swear to God I’ll kill you.” A thin red line appeared on his skin from the sharp edge. Ava’s face went white. “Leo, stop this, you’re insane. We’ll give them to you, just stop.” Only then did I release my grip. Ava anxiously checked Marcus’s neck, not sparing me a single glance. Marcus looked at her, terrified. “Ava, I had no idea he was this hostile towards me.” “Maybe I never should have come back and asked for your help. Ava, I think I should just go back overseas.” “The pressure from this project has already given me an anxiety disorder, but I don’t want to be the reason your relationship with Leo is destroyed.” Ava’s gaze flickered from the scratch on Marcus’s neck to me, and her expression was nothing but icy disappointment. “Leo, you have disappointed me more than I can say,” she said, supporting Marcus by the arm. “If you ever want to be with me again, you will get on your knees and apologize to Marcus. Right now.”

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The Mercedes was gone. My heels clicked on the polished concrete of the garage, the sound echoing in the empty space where the G-Wagon should have been. “Susan?” I called out, walking into the house. “Did you see where the Mercedes went?” The housekeeper, Mrs. Evans, was lounging on my custom-made Italian leather sofa, shelling pistachios. The television blared a daytime talk show, and she didn’t bother to look away from the screen when I walked in. “My son took his girlfriend out for the day,” she said, her tone casual, as if she were talking about the weather. “It’s hard to get around without a car. You weren’t using it, so I told him to go ahead.” I stared at her, at the discarded pistachio shells scattered on the floor around her. “You let your son take my car?” “You have other cars,” she said, finally turning to look at me, her expression one of mild annoyance, as if I were the one being unreasonable. “And you hardly ever drive that one. Better to let Derek get some use out of it than let it just sit there collecting dust.” She tossed another shell onto the pile. “He’ll even put gas in it for you. See? He’s practically doing you a favor. Cars fall apart when you don’t drive them.” My jaw tightened. “I want you to call your son. I want him to bring my car back. You have two hours.” She sighed, a heavy, put-upon sound. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic. They’re all the way downtown. It’s not convenient for them to come back now. Don’t be so stingy.” I didn’t say another word. I turned, walked straight to my bedroom, closed the door, and dialed 911. “911, what’s your emergency?” “Hello,” I said, my voice steady. “My name is Kate Holloway. I need to report a stolen vehicle.” Less than half an hour later, a frantic pounding erupted on my bedroom door. “Kate! Open this door right now! You get out here!” Mrs. Evans shrieked, her voice raw with fury. “You have the guts to call the cops on my son, but not the guts to open this door? Get out here, you little bitch!” 1 This woman, Susan Evans, had become a tyrant in my own home. Her audacity was breathtaking. I’d overlooked her earlier transgressions, chalking them up to cultural differences or a lack of professional boundaries. I had even tried to gently remind her of her role, to suggest that she refrain from commenting on my personal life. She hadn’t listened. If anything, my polite requests had only emboldened her. She’d started treating my deference as weakness, my home as her own, and my life as a project she needed to manage. She began speaking to me not as an employer, but as a disapproving, overbearing mother-in-law I never asked for. It started small. Expensive cheeses and bottles of wine disappearing from the fridge. Then came the constant, unsolicited advice. She’d sneer at my takeout containers, telling me I’d never find a husband if I didn’t learn to cook. She’d leave sinks full of dishes and patches of dusty floor for me to clean when I got home from a twelve-hour workday, clucking her tongue about my “laziness.” The absurdity peaked last week. Her daughter was coming for a visit, and because my house is in a gated community a good forty-five minutes from the city, she demanded that I leave work early, pick her daughter up from the train station, and stop at the gourmet market for fresh lobster on the way home. “Cindy just loves lobster,” she’d said, “and I’m going to make her my special bisque.” Even my own health routines became her property. I’d ask her to prepare my morning collagen drink, and she’d make two—one for me, and one for herself. Mine would be the plain powder dissolved in water. Hers would be a concoction brimming with organic berries, manuka honey, and goji powder from my pantry. When I asked why mine was so spartan, she’d replied, with no hint of shame, “You only asked for the collagen. You didn’t say to add anything else.” The final straw before the car had been the truffle oil. A friend had brought me an incredibly rare, expensive bottle of white truffle oil back from a trip to Italy. I came home one day to find her complaining of a stomach ache. The bottle of oil, nearly full the day before, was almost empty. She didn’t apologize. She blamed me. “You shouldn’t keep things that are so rich in the house. It’s not good for people.” And now this. Handing the keys to my $150,000 vehicle to her son so he could impress his girlfriend. I’d only noticed because the garage door was left wide open when I pulled in tonight, a gaping invitation to any opportunist in the neighborhood. The moment I saw the empty space, I knew she was behind it. Forget the sheer entitlement—think of the liability. If her son, Derek, got into an accident, if he hurt someone, I was the registered owner. I would be the one sued. If he couldn’t pay, the financial and legal fallout would land squarely on me. I had tried to be reasonable. I had planned to just demand the car back and let it go. But her attitude when I walked in—lounging on my sofa like she owned the place, the floor littered with her mess—ignited a cold fury in me. A housekeeper, a professional, should at the very least stand up when her employer gets home. She should ask if I’ve eaten, if I need anything. Instead, she’d just gestured vaguely towards the kitchen with a pistachio-filled hand. “Dinner’s in the fridge. You can heat it up yourself.” A glance into the kitchen confirmed my suspicions. The sink was piled high with dirty dishes, and the trashcan overflowed with the carcasses of a roasted chicken and empty oyster shells. She’d hosted her son for a feast in my home before sending him off in my car. I wasn’t hungry anymore. I went to my room, took out my phone, and made the call. “Yes, 911? I need to report a stolen car. The GPS tracker shows it’s currently near the waterfront district in the next city over.” My voice was calm, almost detached. “That’s right. It was taken from my home. Without my knowledge or permission.” Thirty minutes later, the banging began. 2 “Kate, did you call the police?” Susan Evans screamed through the door. “Derek just called me. The police have him pulled over!” The pounding intensified. “I know you’re in there, Kate! Stop hiding and come out here and face me! You coward!” I took a deep breath, walked to the door, and opened it. Susan’s face was a mask of crimson rage. “Are you out of your mind? I told you he was just borrowing it! I said he’d put gas in it! What is wrong with you?” She advanced on me, stabbing a finger in my direction. “He was just taking his girlfriend for a drive! Is that a crime? You have so many cars, what does it matter if he borrows one? Does it take a pound of your precious flesh?” Her voice rose to a fever pitch. “I have worked my fingers to the bone in this house! I’ve earned a little consideration! And you call the police over something this small? Now my son is being held by the police in another city! You’re humiliating him! If his girlfriend breaks up with him over this, will you take responsibility for that?” I leaned against the doorframe, my arms crossed. “Susan, I gave you a chance. I asked you, politely, to have your son bring the car back, and I would have forgotten the whole thing. Do you remember what you told me?” “Do you have any idea the kind of risk I’m exposed to when your son is driving my car?” I continued, my voice low and even. “If he hits someone and can’t pay for the damages, I’m the one who has to pay for everything.” “So what?” she spat. “You’re rich! I work for you! Shouldn’t you help us out? It’s just a car! It’s not like he wrecked it! He was going to buy you gas! Do you have to be so cruel? I see what this is. You rich people are all the same. You can’t stand to see working-class people have a single nice thing.” As she was winding up for another tirade, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She snatched it out, glanced at the screen, and jabbed the answer button, putting it on speaker. A man’s voice, shrill and panicked, crackled through the tiny speaker. The faint wail of a siren whined in the background. “Mom, what the hell is taking so long? These pigs have me boxed in, and they’re about to impound the car! You need to get her to call this off! Right now!” There was a pause, then: “My girlfriend is right here watching all of this! This is a total fucking disaster! If she dumps me over this, it’s on you! Do you want me to be alone forever?” A deeper, calmer voice interrupted from the other end. “Sir, who are you calling pigs?” Derek’s voice exploded from the phone. “I’m calling you a pig! What are you gonna do about it, you fucking asshole?” He was practically screaming now. “Are you blind? This is a goddamn G-Wagon! I’ll have your badge for this! I’ll have all your fucking jobs!” Hearing the escalating chaos, Susan shoved the phone toward my face. “This is your fault! None of this would be happening if you hadn’t called them! You tell them to let him go! Retract your statement right now!” “No.” I looked her dead in the eye. “You had your son steal my car, and you think you’re the victim here? Let him spend a night in a holding cell. Maybe he’ll learn something.” I took a breath. “And you? Don’t bother coming in tomorrow. You’re fired.” For a split second, she just stared. Then, her face contorted, and she lunged. The sharp crack of her hand across my cheek echoed in the hallway. “You worthless bitch!” she screamed, her voice guttural. “You want to ruin my son? I’ll kill you!”

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My dad is a tech mogul. My mom is an heiress. Together, they’re the Sterlings, a name you’ve probably seen in headlines. And me? I was just a straight-A student, plain and simple. Everyone says a good girl’s biggest weakness is a bad boy. So when Liam Ryder crooked a finger in my direction, I fell right in. I skipped class with him, got into fights with him, raced cars with him. I even deleted my applications to the Ivy Leagues and applied to the same community college he was going to. On graduation day, he stood beaming in front of the whole class, declaring victory. “See? Told you six months ago. Good girls are the easiest challenge there is.” I looked down at the acceptance letter from NYU in my hands, and I smiled, too. My mom always said that with my family and my grades, my future was destined to be blindingly bright. So I figured, if I was going to cause a little trouble, I’d better get it out of my system early. 1 I got back from the state academic decathlon to the sound of chatter spilling out of my homeroom. “Ugh, the mouse is back from another competition. I bet the principal gives her another damn award at the Monday assembly.” “I’m so sick of it. It’s always her, showing off. Can’t stand the sight of her.” “Seriously. That whole holier-than-thou act is disgusting. What can she even do besides ace every test?” “She can be born. Got the right parents, didn’t she? Hahaha…” My name is Claire Sterling. To my face, my classmates called me Claire. Behind my back, they called me “the mouse.” I leaned against the cool cinderblock wall in the hallway, waiting for the noise to die down. Just as I thought it was safe, my hand on the doorknob, I heard my name again. “Hey, who do you guys think a girl like Claire Sterling, a total bore, would even be into?” “What, you interested?” someone jeered. The guy laughed, a sly, mean edge to his voice. “Come on, wouldn’t you love to see the ice queen finally melt? I refuse to believe that if Claire Sterling actually got a boyfriend, she’d still be the perfect, untouchable saint the teachers are always gushing about.” “You’re not wrong. A good girl like her has probably never even held a guy’s hand. She wouldn’t go for someone sweet. It’d have to be someone with experience, someone who comes on strong. You know… like Liam Ryder?” “Oh my god. The delinquent and the valedictorian. That’s straight out of a novel.” The name Liam Ryder traced a line over my heart, leaving a tingling numbness in its wake. A long silence followed. Just when I thought the topic was over, Liam’s low voice drifted through the crack in the door. “Get lost. Girls like that are boring. I’d rather date a block of wood.” The room erupted in jeers. “Come on, Liam! Do it for all of us! You’ve gotta be the one!” “Yeah, man, if you can get Claire Sterling to fall for you, we’ll all chip in and get you a gift on graduation day. Whatever you want.” Liam laughed, a lazy, confident sound. “Alright. But a simple bet is no fun. Let’s make it interesting. If I can get her to go to community college with me, you guys can buy me that new carbon fiber helmet I’ve been eyeing.” Someone gasped. “No way. That’s impossible. Claire’s a shoo-in for the Ivy League. No matter how much she likes you, she’d never throw away her future for a guy.” Liam just chuckled again, sure of himself. “You guys just get the gift ready. And watch.” Everyone thought it was an impossible bet. Until I started skipping class, street racing, and even getting into fights right alongside Liam. Whatever Liam asked, I never said no. I earned a new nickname. They started calling me “the puppy.” A loyal little lap dog, trailing at Liam Ryder’s heels. 2 My parents’ status meant my life had to be a meticulously curated performance, one that could withstand the scrutiny of a magnifying glass. I had to be brilliant, but not so brilliant that people would whisper about my family pulling strings. I couldn’t be too quiet, or they’d call me the family’s great disappointment. My mother gave me the strategy: just be the perfect good girl who only knows how to get A’s. So, from my first day of school, wherever I went, I was number one. The first time I really saw Liam Ryder was at the freshman orientation assembly. He was so ridiculously good-looking that they’d made an exception and put him on stage as a student speaker. Nobody expected him to toss the prepared speech aside and lean into the microphone. “I’m Liam Ryder,” he’d said, his voice echoing through the auditorium. “If you’ve got a problem with that, find me after school.” From that day on, he was the school’s resident troublemaker, with a disciplinary record a mile long. I’d seen him once, decked out in a leather jacket, his long legs encased in tight black jeans as he swung one of them over a motorcycle and roared away. Sharp. Dangerous. Beautiful. I was jealous of every girl who had ever ridden on the back of that bike. They’d wrap their arms around his lean waist, shouting with joy into the wind as they sped off into a world of freedom. That evening, during last period study hall, I flipped through a calculus textbook to distract myself. I didn’t dare look up. I could feel Liam’s eyes on me, and they hadn’t moved for half the class. I knew he was about to make his move. The bet was on. When the final bell rang, I deliberately told my driver, Andrew, that he could go home without me. I had to give Liam his chance. A few minutes later, the roar of an engine grew closer. Liam cornered me in a narrow alleyway behind the gym, like a predator trapping its prey. “Be my girl.” He tilted his chin up, his eyes intense. “You only have one answer: yes.” His impossibly handsome lips were spouting the cheesiest lines I’d ever heard. If I wasn’t so captivated by his face, I might have laughed out loud. He moved closer, his jawline sharp enough to cut glass. I could feel the heat rising in my cheeks. My mom always said a girl should be demure. I planned on playing hard to get, to draw it out for a few rounds. But I quickly discovered that his patience was shockingly thin. The very next day, I saw him tearing out of the school parking lot with a girl in a micro-mini skirt perched on the back of his bike, her arms wrapped tightly around him. That night, I tossed and turned in my bed, a pang of regret twisting in my stomach. Maybe… maybe I should have been more direct? Bolder? Suddenly, my phone rang, shattering the silence. It was him. His voice was a low, rough pant, like a brush scraping back and forth across my heart. “…Claire… hah… Claire…” “Come be with me. Be my girlfriend.” Clutching my bedsheets, I nodded silently into the phone. 3 My first time on the back of Liam’s motorcycle was on an afternoon we skipped school. It was my first time ever cutting class, but even more thrilling was the feeling of the wind rushing past my face. At first, I only dared to cling to the hem of his jacket. He must have felt how tense I was. At an intersection, he deliberately gunned the engine, and I slammed into his back. His hand, large and warm, covered mine and guided it to his waist. Beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, I could feel the hard ridges of his abs. It was a very nice feeling. I suddenly understood why our teachers were so adamant about us not dating. It really does mess with your studies. I was so busy reliving that sensation during my English exam that I completely missed an audio question. I still got first place, though. On Friday night, the principal called me in to discuss the upcoming decathlon. He had to step out for an emergency, so he told me to head back to class. As I stood at the classroom door, I heard my name again. It was Mark, the class president, leading the charge. “What’s up, Liam? You’re losing your touch. The mouse is dating you and her grades haven’t dropped one bit. Guess she doesn’t care about you that much, huh?” Mark was number two in our class, and number two in our grade. There’s nothing a teenage boy hates more than a challenge to his pride. Liam let out a cold laugh. “Just you wait. She’s so into me, she’ll do anything I say. Next month’s exams? I guarantee you, she’ll slip up.” Mark was practically vibrating with excitement. Three years. He’d been number two for three years. Was this finally his chance to take the top spot? During the next break, Liam found me. He leaned against my desk, a hint of a pout in his voice that was almost like a spoiled complaint. “Every time we have a test, you’re ranked so far ahead of me. It makes me feel like we’re not even in the same world.” I rushed to reassure him. “How can you say that? I’m with you now. We’re in the same world.” “You really like me? Then prove it.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing the corner of my mouth, deliberately missing their target. It was more like a cat’s scratch, leaving you itching for more. I’d never seen any of those old Hong Kong gangster movies, but I felt like the phrase “young and dangerous” fit him perfectly. He was intoxicating. On the last exam of the midterms—physics—I turned in a blank paper. Liam was leaning against the wall outside the testing center, waiting for me. I ran out, practically skipping, eager to show off. “Well? I didn’t write a single word.” A satisfied smile spread across his face, a smile warmer than the spring breeze and brighter than the stars. His beautiful face filled my vision as he leaned in and pressed a firm, rewarding kiss to my lips. I savored it for a moment. A fair trade. After that midterm, I was still ranked number one in our grade. The math and physics exams had been unusually difficult, and scores were low across the board. Even with a zero in physics, my near-perfect score in math put me on top. Mark, a six-foot-tall varsity basketball player, burst into tears right there in the hallway. Afterward, Liam was furious, his teeth clenched. He gripped my chin, his voice low and tight. “You played me.” I just blinked at him, an innocent smile on my face. “What are you talking about? It was just a coincidence.” We were arguing on the side of the road when a car horn blared behind us. Liam glanced back and reluctantly pushed me and the bike out of the way. From my seat on the motorcycle, I looked over and saw a Maybach. The license plate seemed familiar. “Claire?” A guy in a perfectly tailored suit stepped out of the car, calling my name uncertainly. I looked up. Of course it was him. Ethan Hayes was my oldest friend. We’d gone to private school together since we were kids, before I transferred to a public high school. Ethan walked closer, his eyes scanning me from head to toe. He didn’t say anything, but a sly, knowing smile played on his lips. He unbuttoned his suit jacket, revealing a matching, custom-made vest, and slid his hands into his pockets. “Doing well?” he asked. “Well enough,” I replied. The conversation was brief, but he shot a long, meaningful look at Liam before getting back in his car and driving away. Ethan was just… so much more mature. Compared to his polished, sophisticated presence, Liam suddenly looked young, almost clumsy. In a strange way, I was grateful to Ethan. I had fallen for Liam’s siege too quickly. Aside from the times he was actively trying to distract me from my studies, he didn’t pay much attention to me, often taking that devastatingly handsome face of his and flirting with anyone who looked his way. Ethan’s appearance was the first time Liam had ever felt a sense of crisis. Because Ethan was a type of man he could never surpass, never beat. 4 For the first time, he turned down the bombshell with a chest that entered the room before she did. And I, for the first time in my life, was challenged to a fight. The bombshell, dressed head-to-toe in leopard print, cornered me at the school gate. Behind her stood five cronies, their hair dyed a rainbow of six different colors. “So you’re the little bookworm who won’t let go of Liam?” “You don’t actually think he’s serious about you, do you?” “He’s just having fun with you. Once the novelty wears off, you’ll be nothing. I suggest you go back to being a nerd and stop trying to steal my man.” I found the whole thing fascinating. I watched, amused, as she and her little gang tried to intimidate me. Her long, acrylic nail poked me in the forehead. “You dare steal my man? Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. Tonight, after school, the parking lot across the street. Bring as many people as you can. We’ll see who’s left standing.” She spun on her heel and strutted away, the picture of cool confidence. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911, giving them an anonymous tip about a potential public disturbance. That night, Liam showed up at my door, looking frantic, his eyes blazing with fury. “Claire, was it you? Did you call the cops?” He grabbed my shoulders and shook me, demanding answers on behalf of another woman. I slowly brought my hands up, wrapping them around his neck, my fingers playing lightly around his Adam’s apple. “Liam, do you remember whose boyfriend you are?” His expression soured. “What, you think you can control me?” “Let me tell you something. Even if you are my girlfriend, you don’t get to meddle in my business.” I flicked my finger hard against his throat. He yelped in pain, letting go of me and stumbling back, clutching his neck. I smiled at him sweetly. “Think about it carefully before you answer.” He stared at me, surprised. Something was different, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He hadn’t understood one simple thing. He wanted to conquer a girl, win a bet, claim a prize. The key to all of it was me. I was the one who could walk away at any moment and leave him with nothing. 5 Liam didn’t even realize it was happening, but he started spending more and more time with me. I never asked anything of him, yet he began to proactively check in, telling me where he was going. And for every step he took closer, my grade on the next test would drop by five points. In the hallways, his friends would give him discreet thumbs-ups, whispering, “Liam, you’re the man!” Mark, the class president, started treating him like a king, buying him sodas and snacks every few days. Fueled by their admiration, he redoubled his efforts, becoming even more attached. And then, it was the day to submit our college choices. My SAT scores were solid. I could have my pick of any top-tier university. The cursor blinked on the college application portal. I was waiting for someone. A light rain began to fall as night settled in. Liam climbed through my open window, completely soaked, rainwater dripping from his hair onto my white carpet. The sight of him, so vulnerable and tragically beautiful, was a stark contrast to his usual swagger. It was enough to soften anyone’s heart. He glanced at my computer screen, and his eyes instantly reddened. “I heard you did really well on your finals… Where are you going to apply?” I dabbed at his wet hair with a towel, answering casually, “Probably somewhere in New York.” He suddenly pulled me into a fierce hug, his voice tight. “I don’t want to be without you. Don’t go to New York. Let’s go to the same school, okay?” My hand froze. I looked at this boy, who was suddenly showing me such weakness. He really, really wanted that new helmet. If my cousin, who was hopelessly addicted to K-dramas, were here, she would have been screaming like a banshee. “Someone who truly loves you wants you to be better! They don’t drag you down to hell with them!” But for me, seeing his need so clearly just meant it was time to negotiate my payment. With his arms still wrapped around me, Liam used the mouse to delete every single one of my Ivy League choices, replacing them with the local community college he was applying to. The moment he clicked “submit,” he let out a long, satisfied sigh. Since I had paid his price, it was time for me to collect my reward. I slid my hand under his shirt, slowly moving it upward. His eyes shot open. He looked around nervously, sputtering, “…Let’s get a room.” “No one’s home…” I silenced his protests with a kiss. Who wanted to go to some small, dirty motel room? My room was warm and spacious, my bed soft and strong. This was where I would enjoy my prize. After that night, we didn’t speak again. Not until the first round of acceptance letters came out, and the school called us back to campus. The classroom, now without me, was as boisterous as ever. A crowd had formed around Liam, everyone talking at once. “So, how’s it feel, man? You put up with that good girl for a whole semester. You must be so ready to be done with her!” “No kidding. If it wasn’t for the bet, you think our boy Liam would’ve put himself through that?” “So what’s next? Are you gonna dump the mouse? I call dibs on a front-row seat. I can’t wait to see her pathetic, tear-streaked face, hahaha…” One by one, they presented their gifts to Liam. He accepted them all, grinning from ear to ear. The entire class was celebrating, genuinely celebrating the fact that one of their classmates, because of a stupid bet, had just thrown her entire future away. I turned and looked down into the school’s main courtyard. The principal was walking toward the entrance, greeting a reporter from the local news station. I covered my face with my hand and laughed. Oh, Liam. I’m so sorry, but the party’s over. 6 When I first transferred to this public high school, I genuinely wanted to get along with everyone. After all, I’d understood the importance of networking from a very young age. But I quickly realized it wasn’t going to work. Problems that I could solve with a single glance, they would ask the teacher to explain over and over again. I was actually very patient. I had simpler ways of solving them, methods that were easier to understand than the teacher’s. I waited for someone, anyone, to ask me. But they would just glance at my perfect test paper and mutter disdainfully. “So she got them all right. What’s the big deal?” I thought maybe I wasn’t being friendly enough. Sharing is a basic social courtesy. So I brought in some imported chocolates my uncle had given me and passed them around to my classmates. They raved about them. “Whoa, you can tell these are imported. They’re amazing!” “I looked it up online. A box like this costs hundreds of dollars. Claire must have brought in like, seven or eight boxes, right?” I smiled, thinking I was finally making a connection. But then someone threw one of the empty boxes on the floor. Our class lost points during the daily cleanliness inspection, and our homeroom teacher flew into a rage. Every finger in the room pointed at me. “It was Claire. She brought the chocolates. Her family has a little money and she doesn’t know how to act.” “Yeah, so what if they’re imported? Does she have to show them off at school?” After class, Mrs. Davison, my homeroom teacher, called me into her office and, in front of all the other teachers, chewed me out. “I know your family is influential, Claire, but as your teacher, it is my duty to educate you, and I’m not afraid of you running home and telling your parents!” “From now on, do not bring your rich-girl attitude to this school. This is a place for learning, not a place for you to make friends!” In that moment, I finally understood what my father had been trying to teach me. Private school and public school were two entirely different ecosystems. The rules I had learned before no longer applied. I abandoned any hope of making friends. I stopped holding back, stopped hiding my abilities. I locked down the number one rank in our grade, leaving second place dozens of points behind. I started representing the school in academic competitions, competitions our school had never even qualified for before. The teachers and the principal treated me like a precious treasure, their faces beaming whenever they saw me. Meanwhile, my classmates’ resentment only grew. It was as if their own mediocrity was somehow my fault. They started hiding my textbooks, tearing up my assignments, stealing my chair. When I was looking for my things, they would trip me as a “joke,” and the whole class would erupt in laughter. “Oh, careful there. That’s the little princess of Sterling Tech. Wouldn’t want her big-shot CEO daddy to come after a little guy like me, would we?” They hated me, but they were too afraid to do anything serious. Just petty pranks and cruel jokes that Mrs. Davison always chose to ignore. Gossip is poison to those at the top. The first person who tormented me faced no consequences, so the others slowly grew bolder. That was the first time I truly understood why, of the seven deadly sins, one of them was something as seemingly insignificant as envy. Envy makes people ugly. 7 I pushed open the classroom door, and the room fell instantly silent. Everyone had a strange expression on their face. Liam was so nervous he started to stammer. “Wh-when did you get here? You were so quiet.” I feigned confusion, pulling an earbud out of my ear. “What did you say? I couldn’t hear you.” The rest of them let out a collective sigh of relief. Just then, a student from another class ran in, breathless with news. “Hey! A reporter from the local news is here!” “They said they’re just getting some footage from each class. Mrs. Davison told us to look enthusiastic when they come in.” The reporter and her cameraman came into our classroom like they owned the place. “Alright everyone, no need to be nervous. I’ll just ask a few questions, and whoever I point to can just give a simple answer.” Everyone nodded obediently. The first person they interviewed was Mark, the class president. He’d done well on his finals and had gotten into a good university in California. He confidently shared his reflections on the college entrance exams and offered some words of encouragement to future students. Then, he looked over at me, his eyes glinting with malice. “The princess of Sterling Tech is in our class, too. Why don’t we let her say a few words?” Someone behind me gave me a hard shove, pushing me directly into the reporter’s surprised line of sight. The camera swung around to focus on me. “Young lady, how did you do on your exams this year? What universities did you apply to?” Dozens of pairs of eyes stared at me, dripping with ill will. I looked at the microphone and the camera lens, and suddenly, I felt the urge to put on a show. I adopted a look of distress, glancing nervously toward Liam, as if begging for help. He just shot me a single look before dropping his head, his expression cold and indifferent. The grand play they had so carefully prepared was finally reaching its climax. Even though I remained silent, my classmates were more than happy to help. They crowded around, speaking over each other into the camera. “Our Claire used to be number one in the grade. With her scores, she could have gotten into Harvard or Yale, no problem. The principal poured all of our school’s resources into her. Whichever class she was in, that’s where they put the best teachers. But it’s such a shame…” The reporter, sensing a story, pressed on. “A shame? What’s a shame?” “It’s a shame that ever since Claire got a boyfriend, she’s just gone completely downhill. It’s senior year, and she started skipping class. I heard some people from off-campus even tried to pick a fight with her. Tsk, tsk. If that were me, my dad would have broken my legs.” “I also heard that to go to the same college as her boyfriend, she deleted all her applications to top universities and only applied to a community college!” “Oh my god, is she crazy? How could she do that to her parents, her teachers, and this school?” The reporter and cameraman exchanged uneasy glances. They had planned on giving the Sterling Tech heiress a glowing feature, but this… this was something they couldn’t possibly air. Their jobs would be on the line. Noticing the reporter was about to signal for the camera to be cut, one of the students, who had already started a livestream on her phone, spoke up. By now, a crowd of online viewers had flooded in to watch the drama unfold. [Is this for real? The Sterling heiress is really this wild?] [She’s a disgrace. Wasting all the resources the school gave her. What a stupid, lovesick fool.] [How did the Sterlings raise their kid? Our city only gets a handful of kids into the Ivy Leagues each year, and she just throws it away?] [CEOs like them are too busy making money to pay attention to their own kids. Be glad she wasn’t using her family’s power to bully other students. You really expect her to care about school?] Jessica, the head of the social committee, stepped forward. She put a comforting arm around me while angling her face perfectly for the livestream camera. “Claire, maybe you should just take a gap year and reapply. Don’t waste such high scores.” She leaned in, whispering so only I could hear, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “Although… I hear reapplying is really stressful. Some students do even worse the second time around. But don’t you worry. When we’re all away at college, we’ll be sure to come back and visit you!” Out of the camera’s view, she shot me a defiant, triumphant look. I understood why Mark hated me; I was always one step ahead of him. But Jessica was an arts student. What beef did she have with me? Just then, my eyes met Liam’s across the room. Jessica, noticing his gaze, tilted her head back, showing off the long, elegant line of her neck. Ah. I see. So that’s what this was about.

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In my last life, I fought stray dogs for scraps in an alley. I died there, too, with a restaurant owner’s boot against my temple for trying to steal a piece of bread. The next time I opened my eyes, I was the long-lost daughter of a family so rich they smelled like money. The girl who had taken my place—my place—looked at me with pure venom in her pretty eyes. “You’re just a stray they dragged in off the street,” she hissed. “Don’t even think about trying to steal Mom and Dad’s affection from me.” No one had ever spoken to me from that close before. The sound of it, the feeling of her breath, was a gift. I broke into a wide, happy smile and told her the honest truth. “Your voice is so beautiful.” Later, when a lie got me cornered and my new mother raised her hand to slap me, I didn’t flinch. I closed my eyes and breathed in, mesmerized. “Your hand smells so nice, Mom,” I whispered. “Even the little breeze it makes smells like perfume.” And when my new brother shoved his glass of milk at me—the milk he refused to drink—my heart swelled with a warmth I’d never known. So this is what it feels like to be cared for by a brother. But eventually, everything changed. When they saw me later, beaten and kneeling on the ground, trembling in fear before a bully, my new family finally broke. 1 The last thing I knew was the toe of a boot connecting with my temple. The pain was a white-hot flash, then nothing. A shame. I never got a single bite of that hot food. You shouldn’t steal. I groaned, my head throbbing like a drum, and blinked my eyes open. I wasn’t in the alley anymore. I was in a car. A clean one. Seeing me awake, the driver glanced in the rearview mirror, a sneer twisting his lips. I heard him mutter, “Kid from the sticks. First time in a real car and she just passes out.” A jolt of pure terror shot through me. I instinctively scrambled back, pressing myself into the corner of the leather seat. “Where—where are you taking me?” My voice was a useless, trembling thing. My whole body shook. I’d had run-ins with men like this before, men who wanted to grab you. I’d fought them off, gotten beaten for it, and had to run for my life. But when I spoke, the driver’s disdain vanished, replaced by a wide, unnerving smile. “Don’t you worry, Miss. I’m your family’s driver. The moment Mrs. Ashworth heard they’d found you, she got the whole family together. They’re all waiting for you.” The words made no sense, but then a flood of memories—memories that weren’t mine—rushed into my head, sharp and painful as needles. I was the real daughter, the one who’d been stolen and swapped at birth. The girl who had taken my place was the biological child of the couple who’d raised her. She had lived my life for over a decade. She had a beautiful name: Stella Ashworth. She had parents who adored her, a brother who protected her. She had the life of a princess, never wanting for anything. Not like the girl whose body I now inhabited. Her name was a cruel joke: Grace. Thrown away, then found by a family that used her as a workhorse. This girl, Grace, had never been to a single day of school in her life. For as long as she could remember, she’d never had a full meal. She cut grass for the pigs, washed clothes for a family that wasn’t hers, and spent every other waking moment doing back-breaking farm labor. She was sun-darkened and painfully thin, a girl folded in on herself with shame, who never spoke. When she learned the truth—that she was the long-lost daughter of a wealthy family—the shock and excitement of getting into this car had triggered a fatal heart condition. She had closed her eyes and never opened them again. The realization hit me, and tears of guilt streamed down my face. I’m so sorry. I don’t know how I got here. She was supposed to have this. She was seconds away from having the life she deserved. I huddled in the corner, my hand clamped over my mouth to stifle my sobs. I was just a pathetic little stray who’d been kicked to death over a piece of stolen food. I didn’t know how to get out of this body, but if there was any chance the real Grace could come back, maybe… maybe I could just have a few full meals before I had to leave. 2 The car glided to a stop. I stumbled out, dazed. Before me stood a house so enormous it looked like it had swallowed the sun. Three figures were waiting on the porch. A beautiful girl stood in the middle, her eyes red-rimmed and glistening with tears. As I crept closer, a boy, tall and angry-looking, wrapped his arm around her. “Don’t worry, Stella,” he said loudly, for my benefit. “No one in this house is going to hurt you.” How nice, I thought. He seems like a good brother. Then the boy—Caleb—turned his glare on me, his brow furrowing in disgust. “This can’t be my sister. She looks like some beggar they pulled off the street.” A tremor went through me. I instinctively darted behind the woman standing beside him. For some reason, I felt a pull toward her. She must be the original Grace’s mother. My lip trembled. I apologized again to the girl whose life I’d stolen. Please, just let me call her Mom once. “Mom…” I whispered. The woman, Mrs. Ashworth, flinched and subtly shifted away, breaking our proximity. Her smile was tight and awkward. “You must be Grace,” she said, nodding stiffly. “Welcome home, dear.” Hearing those words, “welcome home,” I couldn’t stop myself from nodding back, my eyes welling up with tears of gratitude. It was real. I had a home. Stella walked over, her soft, pale hand taking mine. Her smile was bright. “I guess that makes you my sister,” she said. “Welcome home, Grace.” I managed a small, shy smile in return. She seemed nice, too. As we all turned to go inside, Stella looked back at me, her round, almond-shaped eyes now hard as marbles. “A word of advice,” she whispered, her voice a sliver of ice. “Don’t get any ideas. You can’t win against me.” I just stared at her perfect face, then dropped my gaze to the ground, ashamed. “You’re so beautiful,” I said, my voice barely audible. “And your voice is so pretty.” Stella froze, momentarily thrown. Then a cynical smirk crossed her lips. “Psycho,” she muttered, and walked away. Inside, I didn’t know where to stand. The place was immaculate. The floors were so polished they reflected the lights like a mirror, making me feel even dirtier and more out of place. “Grace, you arrived so suddenly, we haven’t had time to prepare a room for you,” Stella said, rubbing her eyes as if fighting back tears. Her voice was filled with guilt. “It’s all my fault. Please don’t blame Mom. It’s okay, you can take my room. I’ll sleep in the storage closet.” Caleb’s face darkened. “Stella, don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “You’ve been pampered your whole life. You can’t sleep in a place like that.” He turned his disgusted gaze back to me. “You stink. You can stay in the storage room for a few nights until we figure things out.” I nodded immediately, not daring to hesitate. “Okay. Thank you.” Mrs. Ashworth had looked like she was about to say something, but seeing how compliant I was, she simply let it go. They led me to a small room on the first floor. Inside, there was a clean cot, a small nightstand with a lamp, and not much else. The air was a little musty, and the room was dark, but it was the single nicest place I had ever slept in my entire life. I turned back to them and bowed deeply from the waist. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Thank you so much.” 3 They all just stared at me. Seeing their stunned silence, I worried my thanks hadn’t been enough. For a gift this great, for a roof over my head, I should be on my knees. Without another thought, I dropped to the floor, my knees hitting the polished wood with a soft thud. I pressed my forehead to the ground in a gesture of ultimate gratitude. This time, my cold, distant brother reacted. He sprang forward, almost instinctively, and hauled me to my feet. His brow was so deeply furrowed you could lose a coin in it. “What the hell are you doing?” he demanded. “Nobody asked you to do that.” I rubbed my eyes, secretly cataloging their kindness in my heart. That evening, the family gathered for dinner. My stomach was aching with hunger. Before Mrs. Ashworth could even say a word, I had grabbed a dinner roll from the basket and was stuffing it into my mouth with my bare hands. Caleb slammed his hand on the table. “Have you no manners?” he barked. “Use a fork, for God’s sake!” I picked up the heavy silver fork, my hand clumsy, and tried to spear a piece of chicken. I’d never really used utensils before. I knew I must look hideous, mangling the food on my plate. After a few failed attempts, I reluctantly set the fork down. “I’m sorry,” I whispered, the words automatic. “Please don’t make me leave.” Mrs. Ashworth’s expression, which had been one of pure distaste, softened slightly. She let out a long, heavy sigh and placed a few pieces of roasted potato on my plate herself. “Don’t just eat bread,” she said, her voice strained. “Take whatever you want. Anna, could you please bring Grace a spoon?” Stella jumped up. “I’ll get it!” she chirped, and ran to the kitchen. But as she returned, she “tripped,” sending the spoon flying through the air. It hit me squarely in the cheek, and the momentum knocked my plate off the table, where it shattered on the floor. “Oh, I’m so sorry, Grace!” Stella cried, her eyes wide and bright, as if she were waiting for a specific reaction. “I was just in such a hurry! Are you okay?” But I didn’t feel the sting on my face. All I could see was the food—the precious, perfect food—scattered across the floor among the porcelain shards. My heart broke. I dropped to my knees and began picking up the larger pieces of potato, shoving them into my mouth. Tears of panic streamed down my face. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” I sobbed. “I can still eat it. It’s clean.” The floor was clean. For years, the cleanest food I ever ate was the leftovers a restaurant owner would scrape into the trash. Most days, I ate from garbage cans. If I was lucky, I’d find a half-eaten sandwich. When the hunger got bad enough, I’d swallow my pride and fight the alley cats for the food kind strangers left out for them. I’d tried the kibble once or twice. It was crunchy, salty, and tasted like fish. My desperation must have terrified Stella. The crocodile tears she’d prepared froze in her eyes. For the first time, she looked completely at a loss. It was Mrs. Ashworth who finally broke the spell. She pulled me up from the floor, and as she lifted me, she seemed to startle at how light I was. Stella and I were the same age, yet she was a head taller than me. I was a stunted, malnourished gargoyle, a living testament to a life of unimaginable hardship. A flicker of pain crossed Mrs. Ashworth’s face before she suppressed it. She took me to the sink and gently washed my hands. Her voice was softer now. “From now on, don’t eat things off the floor. It’s not clean, and you’ll get a stomachache. You’ll rest at home for a few days, and then you can start school with your brother and sister.” I was staring, mesmerized, at her face. But when I heard the word “school,” my whole world lit up. I was going to learn how to read. 4 After a few days, I started to adjust. One morning, Caleb scowled at the glass of milk in front of him. “Milk every single day. I’m going to puke.” He made a gagging motion. I was walking past the table just then. Caleb’s eyes flicked toward me. A sly smile spread across his face. “Hey, Grace. Want some milk?” He smirked. “You can have mine.” I stopped, my heart pounding. “Really?” I asked, my voice filled with disbelief. “Thank you, Caleb!” I beamed at him. “You’re so nice.” Caleb blinked, taken aback. “I can’t tell if you’re for real or just crazy,” he muttered, shaking his head. I just gave him a shy smile, fiddling with the hem of my shirt. He pushed the tall, cold glass toward me. I swallowed hard, picked it up, and drank it all down in a few big gulps. It was sweet, with a creamy vanilla flavor. So this is what milk tasted like when it wasn’t expired. I tapped my chest, feeling a burp coming on. Just then, Stella walked by and bumped into me, jarring the burp right out. I looked at her with gratitude. My brother was nice. My sister was nice, too. Caleb was in tenth grade, while Stella and I were in eighth, in different classes. The teacher told me to stand at the front of the room and introduce myself. I hadn’t expected this. My throat went dry. I stood there, swallowing repeatedly, my mind a complete blank. The teacher tapped her desk impatiently. “Come on, now. Don’t waste everyone’s time.” Her sharp tone made me jump, and the words lodged even deeper in my throat. A few students in the back started to snicker. “Just say something! You shaking so hard you’re gonna wet yourself?” “Is that even a girl? She’s built like a twig.” “Look at her clothes. What a hick. Can’t even talk.” The insults washed over me, and I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I’d had a few comfortable days at the Ashworths’ house, and I’d almost forgotten. This was what my life was supposed to feel like. “I’m sorr—” Before I could finish my apology, the teacher waved her hand dismissively. “Never mind. We don’t have time for this. There are two empty seats in the back. One is next to our class president, Ethan. The other is next to… Ryder,” she said, her voice dripping with disdain as she gestured toward a boy with dyed-blond hair slouched in his seat. “Just find a spot and sit down so I can start the lesson.” I scurried away from the front of the class, breathing a sigh of relief. The class president. He must be a very good person. 5 I walked quickly to the back of the room and stood beside Ethan’s desk, waiting for him to let me into the empty seat by the window. The other students watched me with malicious curiosity. Ethan, however, just smiled—a perfect, practiced smile—and graciously waved me in. He was handsome, in a clean-cut, slender way. I felt my cheeks flush. Once the class lost interest, I pulled out my brand-new textbook and ran my hand over the glossy cover again and again. I’d never been to school. I could barely recognize a few letters. But I was too afraid to admit that, too afraid to disappoint my new family. I would just have to try my best to follow along. Ten minutes into the lesson, the teacher started passing out a worksheet from the front row. “Pop quiz. You have twenty minutes.” My heart sank. When the paper landed on my desk, I stared at it in horror. Aside from the numbers, I couldn’t understand a single word. It was the longest, most excruciating twenty minutes of my life. Before, I had been ashamed of my past, of being homeless, of eating garbage. But I had never felt a shame as profound and all-consuming as this: the shame of my own ignorance. I didn’t know anything. I wrote down a few random numbers and handed in my paper. When the bell rang, I felt a desperate urge to cry. I needed to find Stella, to talk to someone. I leaned toward Ethan. “Excuse me,” I whispered. “Can I get out, please?” He didn’t move. His slender fingers turned the page of a book, his focus absolute. “Hello? I need to get by.” He still didn’t acknowledge me. It wasn’t that he couldn’t hear me. He was deliberately ignoring me. I pressed my lips together and sank back into my seat. The next class began. It didn’t take long for the teacher to grade the short quiz. She stood at the front of the room, her face a thundercloud, and began reading out the scores from highest to lowest. My head sank lower and lower, my heart pounding in my chest. Please don’t say my name… please don’t say my name… Just as I thought I might be safe, the teacher’s voice boomed through the classroom. “Grace! Stand up.” I flinched and shakily got to my feet. She slapped the blackboard with her pointer. “Nine percent! Class, our new student, Grace, has just set a new record low for this class, single-handedly dragging down our class average.” “Let’s give her a round of applause.” A smattering of clapping mixed with cruel laughter filled the room. I kept my head down, tears dripping silently onto my desk. My chest felt tight, aching with a sour pain. “I’m sorry…” I whispered. “I’m so sorry.” 6 No one was listening. The teacher made me stand for the rest of the period. I just stood by my chair, silent tears tracking paths down my dusty cheeks. Every now and then, a student would turn around to smirk at me, and I would duck my head even lower, digging my nails into my palms. When the bell finally rang, I couldn’t wait to escape. I couldn’t do this. I wasn’t meant for school. This place was terrifying. I didn’t want to come back. “Hello,” I said to Ethan, my voice hoarse. “Can you please let me out?” He ignored me again, turning to chat and laugh with the student next to him. I wiped my tears. My only option was to try and climb over his desk. But as I moved, he shot out an arm, blocking me. He looked at me, his face cold, his eyes filled with a familiar malice. “You’ll get my books dirty.” Without a word, I slowly got down on my knees. As Ethan watched with a smug, raised eyebrow, I crawled out from under his legs. “Oh my god, look! She’s crawling through the class president’s legs!” someone shouted. The classroom erupted in laughter. A few kids even came closer, laughing loudly right next to my ear. It’s okay, I told myself. It’s okay. This wasn’t new. When I was on the streets, kids my age used to throw rocks at me. When I couldn’t get away, they’d make me crawl between their legs. If they were in a good mood, they might even toss me a quarter. Just as I scrambled to my feet, I looked up and saw Stella walking past the classroom door. Our eyes met. I managed a weak, hopeful smile. It’s my sister. Stella’s eyes went wide. Then, she twisted her face away in disgust and hurried down the hall. 7 I hid in the bathroom until the final bell rang. When I got home, I locked myself in my little room and took out my new books, trying to sound out the words one by one. But I was too stupid. Nothing made sense. I was so consumed by my failure that I barely touched my food at dinner. Tears, like broken pearls, fell from my eyes and splashed into my bowl. Stella glanced at me but said nothing, returning her attention to her meal. Seeing me cry, Mrs. Ashworth grew impatient. “Did something happen at school? What is wrong with you? Say something. Crying isn’t going to solve anything.” My shoulders shook. I felt completely helpless. “I’m scared,” I sobbed. “I don’t know anything. The teacher yelled at me today. She said I was holding the whole class back. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t be in school.” “What are you talking about?” Mrs. Ashworth asked, confused. “School is where you go to learn. If you already knew everything, there would be no point in going.” But I didn’t want to go back. That night, my anxiety and misery manifested as a raging fever. My mind grew foggy. Acting on old instincts, I slid off the cot and lay on the cool floor, hoping it would bring the fever down. Eventually, I lost consciousness. When I opened my eyes again, I was in a hospital. What happened? A nurse came in to change my IV bag. Seeing I was awake, she quickly called the Ashworths. A short while later, Mrs. Ashworth arrived. She sat gracefully in the chair beside my bed, her gaze a mixture of scrutiny and a fleeting, quickly suppressed flicker of pain. “You were burning up like that,” she said, her voice strained. “Why didn’t you call for someone?” I stared at her face, and a wave of raw, inexplicable grief washed over me. This was my mother. When you were sick, a mother was supposed to be with you. Tears welled up again, but this time they were silent. “I didn’t dare,” I whispered. Mrs. Ashworth sighed. She reached out and pulled the blanket up a little higher around my shoulders. Her voice softened. “Grace, you are my biological daughter. You’re allowed to be brave.” I blinked at her through my wet lashes, my voice small. “Does that mean… you’ll care about me?” She pressed her lips into a thin line, but after a moment, she gave a single, firm nod. My eyes lit up. “And… do you like me?” Mrs. Ashworth hesitated. Her gaze drifted over my small, sickly frame, and finally, she nodded again, slowly. That’s good. It felt like I had nothing left to wish for. 8 It was as if my body had stored up a decade of suffering, and it was all coming out at once. The fever kept returning. I was a pincushion of needles and a vessel for medicine. In my clearer moments, I would stare at the textbooks, trying to decipher their meaning. But it was no use. I had to start with the alphabet. During my hospital stay, Mr. Ashworth finally returned from a business trip abroad. He came to see me with Mrs. Ashworth. The moment I saw him, my eyes filled with tears. “Dad?” I asked, my voice choked with emotion. “Are you my dad?” Mr. Ashworth’s stern, imposing face softened almost imperceptibly. He nodded. And I broke into the biggest, happiest smile of my life. “Dad. Mom.” He hesitated for a moment, then reached out and placed his hand on top of my head. It was large and warm. The warmth of a father. I pulled the covers up over my face and cried again, ashamed of my own weakness. This was a stolen happiness. I knew I couldn’t ask for anything more. After that, even Caleb came to visit. When he found out I was learning to read because I was illiterate, he stared at me for a long, silent moment. I automatically smiled at him. “Brother, my life was really hard before. I never had a chance to learn. But I’m smart, I really am!” I could see the shock in his eyes, and maybe a flash of discomfort. He left abruptly, but returned a while later with a stack of colorful picture books. By the time I was discharged, a month had passed. Our shared birthday was approaching, Stella’s and mine. Mrs. Ashworth decided I should continue resting at home until after the party. On the day of the celebration, Stella was dressed in a breathtaking princess gown. Her hair, dark and glossy, fell in perfect, natural waves around her shoulders. She was the very picture of a fairy-tale princess. I looked at her, and even though I knew I could never be as beautiful, my heart filled with joy for her. Mrs. Ashworth had a dress for me, too, but I was so small and thin that it hung off my frame. The only small victory was that my time with the Ashworths had allowed my skin to grow paler, and the years of grime had finally washed away, revealing a subtle resemblance in my features to Mrs. Ashworth. As was tradition, the house was filled with guests. The adults made small talk, and Caleb hung out with a group of boys his own age. Stella, naturally, was the center of attention, surrounded by a crowd of admirers wishing her a happy birthday. “Stella, who’s that?” one of the girls asked, nodding in my direction. “The maid’s daughter?” Stella shot me a complicated look but didn’t answer. I just smiled at them and retreated to a quiet corner to eat a slice of the sweet, wonderful cake. A girl who was clearly older than us sidled up to me. She looked me up and down, a sly smile playing on her lips. “My name’s Chloe,” she said. “You’re the real daughter, right?” She leaned in closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Aren’t you jealous? They only pay attention to Stella.” I shook my head quickly. “Stella is lovely. Of course they love her.” 9 Chloe stared at me as if I were an idiot. “This was all supposed to be yours,” she pressed. “How can you not hate her? She stole your parents.” I felt a pang of discomfort. “Please don’t say that. Stella is my sister.” Chloe looked genuinely speechless this time, as if she’d run out of ways to provoke me. Across the room, Stella was opening her presents. Someone had given her a pair of beautiful ballet slippers. She put them on and, to the delight of the crowd, began to dance. She was graceful and light, twirling her way up the grand staircase to the second-floor landing. She finished with a deep, dramatic bow to the applauding guests below. I clapped along with everyone else. She’s so talented. Unlike me. I had nothing. No skills, no dreams. I decided to slip away to my little room. As I passed the second floor, I saw Chloe appear behind Stella. She was clapping, but as she did, she gave Stella a subtle, deliberate push. My blood ran cold. My body moved before my brain could process it. My sister is in danger! I lunged forward. Stella fell backward, hard, right into my arms. The impact sent us both tumbling down the grand staircase. The room filled with gasps and screams. By the time Mrs. Ashworth pushed through the crowd, Stella and I were in a heap at the bottom of the stairs. She rushed over and immediately gathered Stella into her arms, checking her from head to toe for injuries. Then, her eyes landed on me. I was about to say I was okay when the sharp sting of a slap exploded across my face. “Grace!” Mrs. Ashworth shrieked, her voice filled with venom. “After all this time pretending, you finally showed your true colors! You couldn’t stand to see Stella happy, could you?” “I told you again and again that Stella will always be my daughter! I raised her for sixteen years! You’ve only been here a few months! I can’t believe I actually thought you were a sweet, innocent girl. How could you push your sister down the stairs?!”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384513”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

I’m the CEO’s doctor friend. The very first day I get back from my residency in Germany, his girlfriend points a tear-streaked face at me and wails: “I thought you were different from all those other alpha-male CEOs, but I can’t believe you sponsored a charity case, too. Are you trying to replace me with her?” I just stand there, completely baffled. I look over at my friend, the CEO in question. “Dude,” I say. “You sponsored me? Where’s the money? Because I sure as hell never saw a dime.” 1 Before Leo could get a word in, the girl he’d put on a pedestal for years, Clara Monroe, steamrolled right on. “It all makes sense now! All those trips you took overseas every month, you said they were for business. You were going to see her!” “And now she’s back. So what’s next, Leo? Are you going to bring your little charity case home, hide behind some flimsy excuse of pity, and then start sneaking around with her right under my nose?” Her voice wasn’t quiet. The usual rush of travelers in the arrivals hall at JFK slowed, then stopped. A small crowd was forming, their curious gazes bouncing between the three of us like a tennis match. Clara, however, seemed completely oblivious, lost in her own tragic performance, tears streaming down her cheeks like something out of an old movie. My toes were threatening to permanently cramp from the sheer awkwardness of it all. What in the world was happening? All I did was finish my residency and ask my oldest friend, Leo Sterling, to pick me up from the airport. How did that morph into me being his sponsored student from the wrong side of the tracks? And where did this whole plotline about moving into his house and having a secret affair come from? Leo looked just as stunned as I felt. It took him a second to find his voice, his brow furrowing. “Clara, what are you talking about? My monthly trips abroad were for work. You were with me on almost every single one of them. You know exactly what I was doing.” “And this,” he said, gesturing toward me, “is Wren. Wren Miller. My friend the doctor, the one I told you about who was doing her residency in Germany. She’s finally back. She is not, and has never been, a ‘sponsored student.’” Clara’s eyes raked over me, from my worn-out travel sweats to my messy bun. A fat, perfect tear rolled down her cheek. Her expression crumpled into one of profound heartbreak. “Leo, darling,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “You don’t have to lie to protect my feelings. If she was really your doctor friend, how could she possibly be back from a German program so soon?” I, the German-residency-survivor, felt that dig deep in my jet-lagged soul. Thank you for that. I sighed, deciding to intervene. “Miss Monroe, I really did just graduate. I can show you my diploma if you’d like.” I tried a small, reassuring smile. “And I have my own place. I have absolutely no plans to move in with Leo.” Her face twisted as if I’d just slapped her. She stared at me in disbelief. “You call him by his full name, so intimately. And he bought you a house? Of course, he did.” She let out a watery, bitter laugh. “True love really is fickle. And here I am, like a fool, still drowning in this fantasy.” I felt my eyelid twitch. Honey, what alternate reality are you writing in your head right now? Leo ran a hand through his hair, looking exasperated. “Clara, just tell me. What will it take for you to believe that Wren is just my friend?” Clara wiped a tear away, her demeanor shifting. Suddenly, she looked like she held all the cards. “In the novels, the CEO’s doctor friend is always on call. 24/7. No questions asked.” She crossed her arms. “Give me one week. Let me test her. If she passes, I’ll believe you.” Leo’s frown deepened. He shot a hesitant look in my direction. I shook my head. Vigorously. No. Absolutely not. Forget it. There was no way on God’s green earth I was going to be at anyone’s beck and call. Leo knew me well enough to know that, but he also knew Clara. It was clear she wasn’t going to let this go. After a long, tense moment, he squared his shoulders and walked over to me, ignoring my silent, murderous glare. “Wren,” he started, his voice low. “I know this is insane. But I’m out of options here.” He leaned in closer. “You know that limited edition SSC Tuatara in my garage? The one you drool over? It’s yours. And I’ll throw in the villa next door to mine. That way, if you do get a midnight call, it’s the shortest possible commute.” He even had the audacity to try for a charming grin. “Besides, midnight here is only six p.m. in Berlin. You’re not over your jet lag yet anyway. It’s perfect, right?” My eyes went wide. I stared at him, aghast. “Leo Sterling, do you really think I’m that easily bought? Do you honestly believe that just because you’re dangling my dream car and a multi-million-dollar piece of real estate in my face, I would actually agree to this madness?” I took a deep, dramatic breath. “I’m telling you, right now, that I absolutely would.” Leo just gave me a flat, unimpressed look. “Next time, just nod. You don’t need the whole soliloquy.” 2 With the deal struck, Leo quickly relayed the verdict to a triumphant Clara. A moment later, when Leo was busy with the luggage, Clara sauntered over to me, her chin held high. She let out a cold little scoff. “So, Wren. You played the pity card and got Leo to fund you for all these years. Good for you,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “But in the end, to make me happy, he still agreed to put you on a 24/7 leash. See? In his heart, I’m the one who matters. You can flap your little wings all you want, but a sparrow will never be a swan.” I just pictured the keys to that Tuatara in my hand, and suddenly, even Clara’s pathetic provocations seemed almost charming. I smiled sweetly and played along. “You’re absolutely right. You’re everything to him. What am I? Nothing.” She preened, lifting her chin even higher. “At least you know your place.” With a final, dismissive glance, she turned and glided back to Leo’s side. Watching them walk away, I couldn’t help but marvel. That kid’s life was never boring, was it? It was like living in a constant primetime drama. After explaining the bizarre situation to my parents, I moved into the villa next to Leo’s that very day. He had already arranged for someone to come and clean the place. It was Maria, a woman who had been the Sterlings’ housekeeper for decades. She’d watched both me and Leo grow up. When I saw her, I was struck by how tired she looked, her face etched with a deep weariness I’d never seen before. “Maria, has work been that stressful these past few years?” I asked gently. “You look exhausted.” She let out a long, heavy sigh. “Don’t even get me started. Ever since Miss Monroe moved in two years ago, I haven’t had a single good night’s sleep.” She lowered her voice. “Soon after she got here, she started asking me if I had a daughter. Said she could be a potential childhood sweetheart of Mr. Sterling’s, and that threat needed to be ‘dealt with early.’ Then she insisted he had a hundred secret illnesses—insomnia, stomach problems, night blindness, claustrophobia… she gave me a whole list of demands.” Maria shook her head, a flicker of anger in her tired eyes. “But I wasn’t the worst of it. The worst was Arthur, the butler. All because he didn’t announce that she was ‘the first woman Mr. Sterling had ever brought home’ the moment she walked through the door, she threw a fit and had him fired.” It was like a dam had broken. Maria, who I’d only ever known as quiet and composed, poured out two years of accumulated misery, a torrent of stories about Clara’s relentless torment. As I listened to her go on and on, a sinking feeling settled in my stomach. I suddenly felt that my decision to agree to this whole 24/7 charade for a sports car had been, perhaps, a little reckless. It turns out, I was right. It was incredibly reckless. It began the very first night, at three in the morning, with a call from Leo telling me to come over and treat a two-millimeter cut on Clara’s hand. From that moment on, my life descended into a special kind of hell. In less than a week, I understood Maria’s exhaustion on a profound, spiritual level. When she came over to bring me dinner one evening, we just grabbed each other’s hands and stared into each other’s eyes, a silent, shared trauma passing between us. I sent a text to Leo: I can’t do this anymore. Your girlfriend is a professional chaos agent. I’m out. Lose my number. After hitting send, I started packing. I was done with the villa, done with the drama. I was going home. My phone buzzed relentlessly as I threw my clothes into a suitcase. I figured it was Leo, dangling another shiny object to try and make me stay. But when I finally checked, the messages weren’t from Leo at all. They were from Clara. Her tone was drenched in her usual melodrama: Giving up after only a few days? And you had the nerve to claim you were his doctor friend. I see what you’re doing. You’re pretending to leave so Leo will chase after you. Let me tell you something: forget it. He’s never even going to see this text. Oh, no. No, no, no. She couldn’t do that. That would make me look like I took the bribe and ran. I gritted my teeth. Fine. One more night. I would wait for the inevitable midnight summons and tell Leo to his face that I was done. Sure enough, at eleven p.m., my phone rang. I was being summoned. After examining Clara’s self-diagnosed dark circles and prescribing a glass of warm milk before bed, I was ready to grab Leo and give him my resignation. 3 But before I could open my mouth, Clara cooed, “Leo, darling, could you go warm up my milk for me right now? I want to drink it and go straight to sleep.” Without a second thought, Leo nodded and headed for the kitchen. The moment he was gone, Clara’s sweet expression vanished, replaced by a cold sneer. “Wren. I thought you were leaving. What happened? Realized Leo wasn’t going to chase you, so you decided to stick around like a bad smell? I’ve seen your little tricks a thousand times in the novels. It won’t work.” A vein was starting to throb in my temple. I took a deep breath, trying for patience one last time. “Miss Monroe, I really am Leo’s friend, just back from my residency in Germany. If you don’t believe me, look, I have pictures from my time there.” I pulled out my phone and showed her a few photos. Her face, however, only grew darker. She stared at my phone, then back at me, her eyes flashing with anger. “What are you trying to prove with these pictures? That Leo cares about you? That he spent a lot of money on you? Let me tell you something. Even if you’ve been abroad, you will never, ever be on our level.” With a flick of her wrist, she tossed a heavy, cream-colored invitation onto the coffee table in front of me, as if bestowing a great favor. “Tomorrow is Leo’s birthday party. A lot of important people will be there. You should come and see for yourself. Then you’ll finally understand the difference between the clouds and the mud.” I stared at her, utterly speechless. Leo’s great love. She was certainly something out of a historical novel. A very, very feudal one. I had no intention of going to Leo’s birthday party. My plan was to tell him I quit and then disappear. But the next day, as I was packing my last bag, Leo showed up at my door. He looked exhausted. “Clara is insisting you come to the party tonight.” “I know you’ve been through a lot this week,” he said, his voice laced with apology. “I’m sorry. Look, pick any three other cars from my garage. They’re yours.” I didn’t stop packing. “This isn’t about the cars, Leo.” “And the penthouse downtown. The one you love.” He added it so casually. I dropped the suitcase. “Deal.” I dusted off my hands. “It’s not about the cars or the apartment, obviously. I’m just… really invested in making sure my buddy has a happy birthday.” Leo’s face was a mask of disbelief. “Right. I’m sure you are.” The party was at Leo’s villa. When I arrived, Clara was playing the perfect hostess, greeting guests with a radiant smile. For a moment, she actually looked the part of the idealized woman he’d made her out to be. Most of the people there were from our circle, people we’d all grown up with. As soon as they saw me, they swarmed. “Wren! When did you get back? I can’t believe you didn’t tell me, are we even friends anymore?” “You’re finally done with Germany! That’s amazing. So, where are you headed next? Any hospital would be lucky to have you.” Before I could even answer, Clara stormed over, her face a thundercloud. “Well, Wren, I have to hand it to you. I underestimated you. You’re quite the social butterfly, aren’t you? Barely here five minutes and you’ve already got a flock of men around you.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. “Oh, I get it. You know Leo only loves me, so you’re using his party to find your next meal ticket, is that it?” She turned to the group. “Gentlemen, don’t let this woman fool you. She may look polished on the outside, but she’s just a charity case that Leo sponsors.” My friends exchanged confused glances, then completely ignored her and went right back to catching up with me. Clara stomped her foot in frustration. But then, a cruel smile spread across her face. “It doesn’t matter how many men you charm tonight, Wren,” she hissed. “When things go down, you’ll be the first one they run from.” Her smile sent a shiver down my spine. That throbbing in my temple was back with a vengeance. I had a very bad feeling about what was coming next. And sure enough, in the next second, Clara turned and threw herself, with spectacular drama, straight into the decorative fountain in the center of the foyer. Just as Leo walked in from his study, finished with his work. He saw her, and his eyes widened as he rushed to pull her out. Soaking wet, Clara collapsed into his arms, sobbing. “Leo, darling, it was Wren! She pushed me! You have to do something, you have to punish her!” Leo’s brow furrowed as he looked at me. I immediately held up my hands. “I did not.” Clara’s crying intensified, her voice taking on a martyred tone. “It’s fine. No one saw anything. If Wren-darling says she didn’t do it, then she didn’t. I suppose I must have just… thrown myself into the fountain.” 4 Her words hung in the air, and Leo’s frown deepened. But before he could respond, someone else spoke up. “What do you mean nobody saw?” one of our friends, Mark, called out from the crowd. “We all saw it. You absolutely did just throw yourself in. Why are you trying to frame Wren for it?” “Yeah,” another friend chimed in. “Besides, there are security cameras everywhere in this place, right? Just pull the footage.” Clara froze, her mouth slightly agape. This was clearly not how the scene was supposed to play out in her script. She looked around at the crowd, utterly bewildered. “This is the part where the main characters have their moment. You’re all just the background. Why are you talking?”

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It was the second time the Donovans had sent me away. The first time, I was eleven. This time, I was eighteen. The reason was the same: Sloane. This time, it was because I’d slapped her for trying to snatch the worn-out rag doll I’d had for years. The first time… the reasons were more complicated. On the day I left, my parents—our parents—were busy comforting Sloane, whose sobs echoed through the marble entryway. My brother, Ethan, stood in front of her like a bodyguard, his face a mask of fury directed at me. The only thing I took with me was that doll. A gift from Carter Hayes, my betrothed, from the day I was first found and brought to this house. Seven years later, they summoned me back for the second time. The reason, once again, was Sloane. She had decided she was in love with my fiancé. 1 The moment I stepped into the grand, sun-drenched living room, Sloane dissolved into tears, her face a perfect portrait of tragedy. “I love Carter,” she cried, her voice catching prettily. “I won’t have anyone but him.” My brother, Ethan, fixed me with a look he usually reserved for criminals. “Sloane and Carter have always been close. Why do you have to be the one to ruin it?” My mother and father, the Donovans, took a softer approach, their voices laced with practiced reason. “Sloane has been raised with a certain… delicacy, Chloe. Marrying into a family as influential as the Hayeses is what’s best for her, what she’s prepared for.” My mother reached out, then let her hand fall. “Please, Chloe. Can’t you just let her have this?” My hands felt clammy on the handle of my single suitcase. I looked at the four of them, a united front of familial concern, all of it aimed at protecting someone else. “Excuse me,” I said, my voice quiet in the cavernous room. “Which room is mine?” The four of them blinked, the flow of their drama momentarily dammed. After a few seconds of silence, Ethan cleared his throat, a flicker of awkwardness in his eyes. “The housekeeper just cleared out one of the rooms on the second floor. I’ll… I’ll show you.” I nodded and followed him up the sweeping staircase. The suitcase was heavy, its wheels bumping on each step. Halfway up, he finally seemed to realize he should be carrying it, turning to take it from me with a gruff, reluctant motion. I followed a step behind him, the old habit of politeness ingrained in me. “Thank you.” Ethan’s shoulders tensed. He didn’t reply. The room was an old storage space, hastily converted. The bed frame looked like a cast-off from the basement, and the mattress was still bare, waiting for linens that no one had remembered. For a family like the Donovans, this room was worse than what they gave the staff. Ethan coughed lightly. “The third floor…” “I know,” I cut him off gently. “It’s fine.” The third floor had four bedrooms. Sloane had claimed the two best ones—with the best light and the best views—one for sleeping, and one for her million-dollar grand piano. We stood in the dusty silence for a moment before Ethan finally broke. “Chloe, Grandpa set up this engagement for you. He left you a separate inheritance, a significant one. Sloane… she doesn’t have any of that. Can’t you just…” “What did the Hayes family say?” I asked, cutting through his appeal. “The Hayeses…” He hesitated. “This is a matter between our families. It’s an alliance. As long as we sort it out internally, we can present a united front to them later.” So, this wasn’t Carter’s idea. A small, secret breath of relief escaped me. I was eleven when they found me and brought me to this house. I thought I was coming home to parents and a brother who had spent years searching for me. Instead, I found a family that was already complete, with a daughter named Sloane. They told me that after I, the original Sloane Donovan, was lost at four years old, they’d adopted another girl to fill the void, to soothe their grief. They gave her my name. They had come to see her as their own. So when they found me, they gave me a new name: Chloe. The echo. The return. Sloane, emboldened by their adoration, had thrown a tantrum and smashed up the princess bedroom they had prepared for me. She’d pointed a finger in my face and called me a charity case from the system, unfit to sleep in such a nice room. She’d cried and screamed that she needed an inspiring environment for her piano practice, and so the room became hers. At the dinner table, she mocked me for eating too quietly, a habit I’d learned in the group home. She laughed, loud and unrestrained, at my clumsy attempts to cut a steak. When my parents offered a mild rebuke, she ran to the rooftop terrace and threatened to jump. After that, my father’s only refrain was for me to “get along with Sloane” and “not to upset her.” My mother said nothing, but her eyes, so much like my own, followed me with a cold disappointment. The turmoil that rocked the Donovan household was always, somehow, my fault. The first time I fought back against her, Ethan proposed sending me away to live with a distant relative in Blackwood Creek. … “Chloe.” Ethan’s face was stern again, pulling me from the memory. “You didn’t grow up with Mom and Dad. In terms of education, of culture, of knowing your place… how can you possibly compare to Sloane? A family like the Hayeses… even if you managed to marry into it, you wouldn’t last.” I looked at him calmly, at this man who shared my blood but had done nothing but belittle me since the moment we met. My voice was cool, each word deliberate. “Carter is my fiancé. And I am not giving him to Sloane.” 2 “Chloe! I thought after all these years, you would have grown up, learned some sense. Why must you fight Sloane for Carter?” Ethan’s anger was predictable. His eyes held a familiar glint of contempt. “I know what you’re thinking. You see the Hayes family name, the money. You think marrying Carter means you’ll be set for life, dripping in luxury.” He took a step closer. “But you and Carter have no real connection. Nothing like him and Sloane. They grew up together. Why are you so selfishly clinging to this arrangement and making Sloane miserable?” A dry laugh escaped my lips. “Ethan, you just listed all the reasons the Hayes engagement is so valuable. Why on earth would I give it away?” I stepped toward him, my eyes locked on his. “You’re so worried about Sloane’s pain. What about mine? And another thing—did you ever once stop to ask if I, your actual sister, even like Carter?” He looked genuinely stunned, sputtering, “You don’t deserve…” My gaze turned to ice. He stopped himself, a look of shamefaced anger crossing his face as he registered my mocking, knowing expression. What a joke. We were both daughters of the Donovan family. But when it came to me, the only sentiment was that I didn’t deserve it. I dropped my eyes, the dust motes dancing on the dark wood floor stinging them. I turned away sharply. “Don’t bother with the room. I’m heading back to campus this afternoon. I have an internship to focus on. I won’t be staying here.” “Chloe!” he called out as I walked away. “You bullied Sloane in high school. You were the reason she fell into a depression and had to drop out for a semester. Don’t you feel any guilt for what you owe her?” My feet froze on the top step. A hot, acidic sting filled my eyes. Bullied her? It didn’t matter what I said. They would always believe the daughter they had raised, the one they knew. I walked down the stairs and into the living room. My mother was now fussing over Sloane, feeding her something from a small bowl. She looked up as I approached, her body tensing. “Chloe, you’re not staying for dinner?” I stood there, studying the familiar lines of her face, the curve of her brows that mirrored my own. A treacherous flicker of hope ignited in my chest. “I have to get back to school,” I said. “Internship prep is starting.” My mother hesitated, a wave of relief washing over her features, followed by something else—guilt, maybe. “About Sloane… well, never mind. You… be safe on the road.” The silence stretched for a few seconds. I gave a small, self-mocking smile. “…Okay.” This house. Eight years ago, or today, it made no difference. I wasn’t welcome here. Not even by my own mother. I walked out of the Donovan mansion without a backward glance. … On the city bus, my phone buzzed. A text from Ethan. Chloe, you have to pay back what you owe Sloane. It’s my duty as her brother to see that she gets justice, and my responsibility as your brother to teach you right from wrong. I stared at the message, then powered my phone off. Eight years ago, Sloane and her friends had made my life a living hell at school. They’d thrown my textbooks in the trash, cut my hair in the bathroom, put hand sanitizer in my water bottle. After school, they would corner me, tripping me, calling me names, their laughter echoing as I picked myself up off the pavement. In a strange way, it was almost easier than the group home, with its constant hunger, the casual cruelty of the older kids, and the endless chores. Back then, I didn’t understand what it meant to be the true, lost daughter of the Donovans. All I knew was that my parents and my brother loved the beautiful, delicate Sloane. If I wanted to stay in this beautiful, delicate house, I had to get along with her. I couldn’t go back to the system. I just couldn’t. So I told myself to endure it. Just like before. Just endure it, and it will pass. But Sloane didn’t want to share her home. She switched tactics. She started showing up with mysterious bruises, telling her friends I was hurting her. She paid a shady online clinic for a depression diagnosis and tearfully announced she had to drop out of school because of the trauma. The rag doll from Carter was the final straw. She’d ripped it from my hands, her face twisted with a viciousness I’d never seen before. “Why do you get to keep anything from him? You’re a pathetic little stray who should have stayed in the system! Why did you have to come back and try to steal my family?” For the first time, I hit her. I fought back. For that one doll. It was the only gift I had received since returning to the Donovans. My home, my name, my brother, my parents—they were all hers now. Why did she have to take this one small thing, too? That night, Sloane presented my parents with edited security footage from a camera in the hall. It showed one thing, crystal clear: me, striking her. Her carefully constructed narrative of being bullied, her fabricated depression—it all solidified with that video. I was the villain. They sent me away to Blackwood Creek. And for eight lonely years, that doll, and the memory of a boy I’d met only once, were the only comforts I had. 3 It didn’t take long for Ethan to demonstrate his brotherly “responsibility.” Over the next week, every single internship application I had submitted to companies in Port Sterling in my field was rejected. I finally went to my faculty advisor, a kind man who suddenly couldn’t meet my eye. “Chloe,” he stammered, shuffling papers on his desk. “Did you… have you upset someone important? Someone with your last name, perhaps?” The words hit me like a bucket of ice water on that hot summer day. I couldn’t believe it. To force my hand for Sloane, Ethan was willing to use the Donovan family’s influence to blacklist me. Without a relevant internship, I would fail a core requirement of my degree. I wouldn’t be able to graduate. Ethan had never, not once, shown me an ounce of mercy. I wandered the campus in a daze for what felt like hours until a single name surfaced in my mind. Carter Hayes. The Donovans were powerful in Port Sterling, but they weren’t the only ones. The Hayes family was just as formidable, and Carter, as one of the heirs, was already working at the family corporation. Over the years, our engagement had been a strange, disembodied thing. We weren’t close, but we exchanged polite phone calls on holidays and birthdays. Every time he called, my heart would leap with a nervous excitement, and I’d force myself to respond with a calm, measured grace. He had no idea that a simple rag doll was enough to make a lonely girl think of him for eight years. My palm was sweating as the phone rang. This was the first time I had ever asked anyone for help. And I was asking the one person I had secretly cherished a crush on. After I explained my situation, Carter agreed without a moment’s hesitation. “Don’t worry about it. Just bring your internship forms to HR tomorrow. I’ll let them know you’re coming. We happen to have an opening that’s a perfect fit for your major.” A wave of relief washed over me, so potent it pushed back the tears that had been threatening to fall all day. “Carter, thank you. Thank you so much.” He laughed on the other end of the line, his usually formal tone softening into something warmer, almost intimate. “Chloe, relax. You can intern here for as long as you need. Besides… it’ll give us more time to get to know each other.” 4 After I finished my onboarding paperwork at Hayes Corp, I saw a text from Ethan, sent at some point during the day. Chloe, if you insist on being stubborn, the consequences will only get worse. This is my final warning, as your brother. I stared at the screen for a long, quiet moment, then blocked his number. Though Carter and I worked in the same building, our paths rarely crossed. He didn’t give me any special treatment, which I was grateful for. I was assigned to a senior manager and thrown into the deep end, working on projects, drafting proposals, and pulling the same late nights as everyone else. My manager would even assign me extra off-site tasks. It was exhausting, but also a relief. Carter had given me a chance, and the best way I could repay him was by working harder than anyone else. My direct supervisor was an older woman, Ms. Albright, notoriously difficult to please. She would send my proposals back covered in red ink, call me at midnight demanding revisions to a PowerPoint, and had no problem chewing me out in the middle of the open-plan office. I took it all in stride. One afternoon, however, she was particularly vicious about a minor data error in a report. As she dressed me down in front of the entire department, Carter happened to walk by, pausing for a moment to watch before continuing on his way. Later, terrified the incident would reflect poorly on him for bringing me in, I found him and explained that the mistake was entirely mine and that Ms. Albright was just doing her job. Carter just smiled, a strange, unreadable expression on his face, and said nothing. Eventually, my relentless work ethic started to soften Ms. Albright’s sharp edges. She started making small jokes, offering begrudging compliments. “You know, Chloe, that stubborn streak of yours reminds me of someone I used to know… someone I respected a great deal.” “Honestly, if you weren’t an intern, I’d think they’d signed you to an iron-clad contract from hell. You finish my projects, do the extra work the department head throws at you, and then you still manage to pull an all-nighter before spending the next day with me at the factory two hours out of town. I don’t think ten full-time employees work as hard as you do.” She looked at me shrewdly one day. “Chloe… you didn’t piss someone off, did you?” I just smiled and didn’t answer. This was an opportunity I couldn’t afford to lose. If hard work was the price, I would gladly pay it. … Four months into my internship, Ms. Albright called me into the office at ten o’clock at night. She handed me a file. “Chloe, take this to Mr. Hayes.” I took the folder, confused. “To Carter?” Delivering a document to the heir apparent at this hour was far above my pay grade. Her voice was heavy with meaning. “You’ll understand when you get there.” I followed the address she gave me to a sleek, private club downtown. As I approached the door to the VIP room, I could hear Carter’s voice inside. Just as I raised my hand to knock, Sloane’s high-pitched laughter cut through the door, sharp as glass. “Oh my god, that video of Chloe getting yelled at like a dog was hilarious! I’ve watched it a dozen times.” “Carter, darling, tell me again. Besides sending her to that factory in the middle of nowhere and then making her work all night, what else have you done to punish her?” A violent tremor went through me. My blood ran cold. Carter’s voice, when it came, was not the polite, gentle one I knew. It was lazy, laced with contempt and a casual cruelty. “Patience, baby. The old hag I assigned her to is the biggest ball-buster in the company. It’s only a matter of time before she makes Chloe cry.” He paused. “Besides, this is just to soften her up. When the internship ends, I’ll have HR invalidate her paperwork. She won’t graduate.” Sloane’s voice dropped into a pout. “But the family is planning to announce your engagement on Chloe’s twenty-first birthday.” Carter sounded bored. “So? I’ll let her think everything is fine until the party. Then, in front of everyone who matters in Port Sterling, I’ll accuse her of corporate espionage. I’ll destroy her reputation so completely that I’ll have no choice but to break the engagement. She’ll be a pariah. Is that satisfying enough for you?” Through the crack in the door, I saw Sloane, pretty and petite, curl into Carter’s arms. “Daddy and Mommy and Ethan never liked her anyway,” she purred. “But you know what would be even better? You should pretend to be nice to her. Make her fall completely in love with you. Imagine how much more satisfying it will be to crush her on the day of the engagement.” Her voice turned sharp. “Just… don’t let it get real, Carter.” “Please,” he scoffed. “As if I would ever be interested in some charity case from the system.” … I stumbled back, away from the door, turning and blindly running down the corridor. I crashed right into someone, hard. “Watch where you’re going! Do you have any idea who you just ran into?” a voice beside him snapped. Dazed, I looked up, and my vision swam into focus on a familiar, sharp-featured face.

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