I’d been grinding for a full month to make my position permanent. The last all-nighter was finally over. I stared at the proposal on my screen—flawless, perfect—and let out a breath I’d been holding for weeks. The caffeine that had been thundering through my veins finally gave way to exhaustion. I slumped forward, resting my head on my arms, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep right there at my desk. I woke to a sharp, piercing shriek. My head snapped up. The scene in front of me sent a jolt of ice through my veins, freezing the blood in my heart. Mark—my boyfriend of three years, my mentor at the firm—had a line of glowing, translucent text hovering above his head: 【THE DEVOTED HERO: Logic Optional. Utterly Whipped.】 And next to him, Ava, the new intern, had her own label: 【THE CHOSEN ONE: The Saintly Martyr. Weaponizes Tears.】 1 Before I could even begin to process the sheer absurdity of it all, it happened. Splash— Ava, holding a steaming cup of black coffee, stumbled. Her hand slipped with a theatrical “oops,” and the entire contents of the cup cascaded directly into the cooling vents of my laptop. A wisp of blue smoke curled into the air. The acrid smell of burning electronics, mixed with the cheap, bitter scent of office coffee, assaulted my nostrils. My screen flickered twice, then went completely black. A month of my life’s work, my entire future at this company, was trapped inside that dead machine. The office fell deathly silent. Tears were already streaming down Ava’s cherubic, innocent face. “Oh my god, Nora, I’m so, so sorry… I… I really didn’t mean to…” She bit her lip, fat tears rolling down her cheeks, but her gaze darted past me, landing helplessly on Mark. It was the look of a startled fawn, a direct hit to the glowing tag above his head: 【The Devoted Hero】. Mark’s protective instincts flared so intensely you could almost feel the heat from them. He rushed over, but his anger was aimed at Ava. “Ava, how could you be so careless?” he snapped. A sliver of relief went through me. For a second. Then he whipped around to face me. His handsome features, the face I knew better than my own, were twisted with blame and impatience. “Nora! It was an accident. Don’t give her a hard time about it!” A buzzing filled my ears. Give her a hard time? I hadn’t even opened my mouth. “What’s the point of blaming her now?” he continued, his brow furrowed with a frustration aimed squarely at me. “The presentation is this afternoon! What about the proposal? Your entire month’s work was on there, and now it’s gone!” I looked at him, then at Ava, who was sobbing as if she were the one who had just lost everything. The whole scene was so ridiculous, it was almost funny. One month. Thirty days. I had survived on four hours of sleep a night, chugging coffee like water, to single-handedly tackle the bid for “Project Tempest,” a project so notoriously difficult no one else dared to touch it. And Mark. My mentor. My boyfriend. He’d paid lip service to how worried he was about me, how much he admired my work ethic. But now, in the moment I needed his support the most, he was tearing me down to protect an intern who’d been here for three days—an intern who had just destroyed everything. Ava was still sniffling beside him, delivering the final, perfectly timed blow. “Nora… I can pay for the laptop… but the proposal… it’s all my fault. Maybe… maybe I should just…” She trailed off, but her meaning was crystal clear. She’d replace the computer. But the loss of the work? That was on me. After all, I was the one who hadn’t protected my own data. Coworkers had started to gather, murmuring and pointing at the disaster. “Well, she’s screwed. The client briefing is at two.” “Seriously, Nora. For something that important, you’d think she would’ve made a backup.” The looks they gave me were a mixture of pity and, worse, a smug, schadenfreude-fueled excitement. Just as the weight of it all was about to suffocate me, a thought struck me like a bolt of lightning. The cloud. Late last night, as a final precaution, I had uploaded a compressed file of the final version to my personal cloud drive. The will to survive instantly overrode the heartbreak and the humiliation. I lifted my chin and met Mark’s disappointed gaze. My heart felt like a block of ice. He was still lecturing me. “Nora, are you going to say something? Are you mute? This isn’t the time for a tantrum!” I stared at the glowing words above his head and felt a bitter laugh rise in my throat. 【The Devoted Hero】. Fine. Just fine. Let’s see just how stupid love can make you. 2 “I’m going to the restroom.” I dropped the sentence into the suffocating silence and, without another glance at them, grabbed my phone and walked out of the office. Behind me, I heard Mark let out an annoyed “Tsk.” He must have thought I was storming off in a huff. “See? That’s the attitude I’m talking about. Forget it, Ava, stop crying. I’ll figure something out.” My fingers tightened around my phone, nails digging into my palm. The sharp pain was the only thing keeping me grounded, keeping me sane. I ducked into the cold, empty stairwell, leaning against the concrete wall as my trembling fingers navigated to my cloud drive app. There it was. A single file named “Project Tempest – Final Draft.” The download progress bar crawled across the screen, each percentage point feeling like an eternity. Just then, through the wall, I heard hushed voices from the breakroom. It was Ava, her voice thick with a put-upon sob. “…I really didn’t mean it. I don’t know why Nora reacted like that, like… like I was trying to sabotage her or something.” “Mark, am I just too clumsy? Did I make things worse for you again?” A few of the office gossips chimed in with their support. “Oh, honey, don’t worry about it. Everyone makes mistakes when they’re new.” “Exactly. Nora is totally overreacting. She’s always been so full of herself, walking around like she owns the place just because she’s dating the creative director. The slightest little thing sets her off.” “Right? I asked her to grab me a coffee last week and you would’ve thought I’d asked for her firstborn. What’s her deal?” My heart sank. I held my breath. And then, I heard Mark’s voice. It was a sigh, laced with a kind of weary indulgence I had never heard before. “She’s just like that. I’ve spoiled her, I guess. You’ll have to forgive her.” “She’s been under a lot of pressure with this project. When she gets stressed, she loses control.” “Ava, don’t take it personally. On her behalf, I apologize.” Boom. The last thread holding me together snapped. Spoiled? High-strung and out of control? So that’s who I was to him. In his words, I was just some irrational, shrewish girlfriend. Our three years together, in the eyes of our colleagues, were nothing more than leverage I used to get ahead. And Ava—the person who ruined my work, the cause of all this—was “Ava,” the one who needed his protection, his personal apology. How intimate. It struck me then that Mark hadn’t called me by my nickname in a long, long time. More often than not, it was just a flat, perfunctory “Nora.” My phone screen lit up. Download Complete. I took a deep, shuddering breath, wiped away a tear I hadn’t realized had fallen, and composed my face into a mask of calm. Then, I pushed open the door to the breakroom. The conversation stopped cold. The atmosphere crackled with awkwardness. Ava’s eyes were still red-rimmed. When she saw me, she instinctively shrank behind Mark, a practiced movement she seemed to have perfected. I ignored them, walking straight to the water cooler to fill a glass. Then I turned around and held up my phone for Ava to see. The screen displayed a freshly started audio recording. “Ava, you said you’d pay for my laptop, correct?” I asked, my voice as placid as if I were discussing the weather. Ava froze, then nodded jerkily. “Y-yes! Of course, Nora! I’ll definitely pay for it!” “Good,” I said, the smile on my face widening. “It was the latest top-spec MacBook Pro. The price on the Apple store website is two thousand, three hundred and ninety-nine dollars.” “Will you be wiring the money, or paying in cash?” “Oh, and by the way,” I added sweetly, “just to avoid any future confusion, I’ve recorded our little agreement.” The color drained from Ava’s face. The other people in the room stared, their expressions shifting. “Twenty-four hundred bucks? You’ve got to be kidding.” “She’s an intern. She makes, what, three thousand a month? How is she supposed to pay that?” Just moments ago, she’d been so eager to take responsibility. Now that the bill had come due, her saintly mask was cracking. Her lips trembled, unable to form a single word. “Nora! Have you lost your mind?” Mark finally snapped, grabbing my wrist. “It’s just a laptop! Do you have to be so aggressive?” he hissed. “She’s just starting out! Where is she going to get that kind of money?” I yanked my arm from his grasp, my eyes cold as I stared at his face, now a mask of righteous indignation. “Mark, that was my laptop. I paid for it with my money.” “She broke it. She pays for it. It’s that simple.” “So how, exactly, does that make me the aggressor here?” “Are you trying to be reasonable, or are you just trying to guilt-trip me with our three-year history?” My voice was quiet, but each word landed like a stone. Mark was speechless. He clearly never expected me, the woman who had always deferred to him, to suddenly have such a sharp tongue. “Nora, you—” “I what?” I cut him off, my gaze shifting from him to Ava’s pale, stricken face. “If you can’t pay it all at once, that’s fine,” I said, pressing my advantage. “You can write me an IOU. I’ll even let you pay in installments.” “I’ll give you the lowest possible interest rate. How does that sound?” I didn’t give her an inch of breathing room. Fresh tears welled in Ava’s eyes. This time, they were real tears of panic. She looked to Mark, pleading for rescue. He took a deep breath and squeezed the words out through clenched teeth. “Fine. I’ll pay for it.” “Oh?” I raised an eyebrow. “Such a gentleman, Director Evans. I’m just curious, in what capacity are you paying? As her boyfriend? Or… as her backup plan?” “Nora!” he roared. I was done with him. Holding my phone and my glass of water, I turned and walked toward the communal hot-desking area. Log in. Plug in the USB drive I kept in my purse. Open the file. It was all seamless. Behind me, I could hear Mark’s furious cursing and Ava’s pathetic sobs. I put on my headphones and turned the volume all the way up. The world was finally quiet. My counterattack had just begun. 3 At two o’clock sharp, the final bidding presentation for Project Tempest began. When I walked calmly to the conference room door, USB drive in hand, the expressions on Mark and Ava’s faces were priceless. They looked like they’d seen a ghost. “Nora? You…” Mark hurried over, his face a complicated mess of feigned concern. “Where did you get the proposal? Did you pull another all-nighter to redo it?” “Let me see it,” he demanded, his voice softening into his familiar mentor tone. “I need to check for any mistakes. We can’t afford any slip-ups in a meeting this important.” He reached for my USB drive, his manner so natural it was as if the morning’s horror show had never happened. As if he were still my caring boyfriend and supportive boss. I pivoted my wrist, smoothly evading his touch. “Don’t trouble yourself, Director Evans,” I said coldly. “I can handle it.” The title, “Director Evans,” landed like a slap, drawing a formal line between us that hadn’t existed an hour ago. Mark’s hand froze in mid-air. His face darkened. The room was filled with the company’s top brass—our CEO, Mr. Sterling, department heads, and senior executives from the client’s side. This wasn’t the place for a scene. He lowered his voice, his words laced with a threat. “Nora, don’t be childish. The success of this entire project is on the line.” I didn’t even bother to look at him again. I walked straight to the podium. The presentation began. I inserted the drive. On the massive projector screen, the meticulously designed slides appeared one by one. The animations were dynamic, the logic was airtight, and the visual impact was stunning. I saw Mr. Sterling, seated at the head of the table, nodding repeatedly, a look of distinct approval in his eyes. I could feel two pairs of eyes burning into my back: Mark’s and Ava’s. I was halfway through, just getting to the core creative concept. As I was about to click to the next slide, Ava suddenly shot up from her seat. Her voice trembled, the tears arriving right on cue. “I’m sorry… Mr. Sterling, everyone… I… I have to tell the truth.” She took a ragged breath as if steeling herself for a great sacrifice, then pointed a shaking finger at me. “The core concept of this proposal… the ‘Immersive Interactive Experience’… that was my idea!” “Nora knew I was new, just an intern… easy to push around… so she… she took my idea and put it in her proposal as her own!”

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The noise from the room upstairs ripped me from my sleep. It was the scraping of chairs on the floor, the sound punctuated by shrieks and what sounded like laughter. “Idiots,” I muttered, clamping a pillow over my head. I fumbled for my earplugs on the nightstand, shoved them in, and rolled over, surrendering back to the darkness. The next morning, the landing for the fourth-floor staircase was cordoned off with police tape. When I asked what happened, the story came out in hushed, horrified whispers. Sometime in the dead of night, the girls in Room 414 were slaughtered. All four of them. No survivors. 1 To understand the timeline, the four of us from the room directly below—314—were brought to the station for questioning. It was the girls in 427, the room next door to the victims, who found them. The winter dawn was still a vague promise in the sky when they got up for an 8 AM lecture and noticed 414 was still dark. Then they looked down. A thick, blackish-red liquid was seeping from under the door. The police were fast, but someone was faster. Before the scene was fully secured, a photo had been snapped and blasted to every group chat on campus. The pictures were… a Jackson Pollock of blood and something worse. Leah threw up the second she saw them. Now, Nina, Zoe, and I sat in a sterile waiting room at the police station while Leah gave her statement. The air was thick with a shared, unspoken weight. If just one of us, annoyed by the noise, had gone up there to complain… could we have stopped it? And if not, could we at least have seen the killer’s face? Given the police something to go on? But we didn’t. None of us did. I just laid there, beneath the unfolding carnage, and cursed them for waking me up. I called them idiots, then fell asleep and didn’t wake until morning. Sleep feels impossible now. Every time I close my eyes, I see blood dripping through the ceiling tiles above my bed. Sensing our fragile state, the police brought in a specialist to “interview” us—a department-approved psychologist. The door to the interview room opened, and Leah emerged, leaning on the arm of a woman with long, dark hair. 2 Dr. Evelyn Reed was a renowned criminal psychologist, a frequent and vital partner in the department’s major cases. Her reputation was built on one extraordinary skill: a masterful use of hypnosis. A conscious criminal can lie, can control their narrative. But under hypnosis, the mind’s floodgates open. Every detail, every buried memory, is laid bare for the hypnotist to see. Dr. Reed gently guided Leah to a chair beside me, her voice as smooth and soothing as warm honey. “Alright, girls, thank you for providing what you could. The detective tells me you’re all quite shaken up. Don’t worry. I’m going to have a one-on-one session with each of you, just to help you process everything. How does that sound?” She was talking to us like we were children. I glanced at her ID badge. She couldn’t have been more than four years older than us. But I didn’t care. At that moment, I desperately needed whatever help she was offering. 3 We went into her temporary office one by one. For the twenty minutes I was under, I have no idea what happened. I only know that when I woke up, a profound sense of calm had settled over me. The bloody image of Room 414 had, for a moment, receded into a manageable haze. As I was leaving the room, she offered a small, disarming smile. “Nice combat boots, kiddo.” I waited in the lounge while the others took their turns. A young officer, sensing my boredom, handed me a tablet to watch videos on. Leah was the last to finish. This time, she walked out on her own, no longer needing support. “Congratulations, girls. You should all be able to get a good night’s sleep tonight,” Dr. Reed said, clapping her hands together softly. Her gaze landed on me. I offered a weak smile in return, but as my eyes met hers, a sliver of ice traced its way down my spine. Her red lips parted. “I’m sorry, Ava. You’ll need to stay.” Nina, Zoe, and Leah froze. Leah was the first to speak. “Why?” Dr. Reed strode toward me. My wrist suddenly felt heavy. Cold. A pair of handcuffs clicked shut around it. She was still smiling, but the expression didn’t reach her eyes. “Because you’re the one who murdered everyone in Room 414.” 4 “What are you talking about?” Nina lunged forward, placing herself between me and the psychologist. “Ava was with us the entire time! There’s no way she could have killed anyone!” Zoe and Leah rushed to my defense. “That’s right! I even heard her roll over in her sleep that night!” Leah added. Dr. Reed crossed her arms, watching our frantic display with a detached amusement. “She’s deceived all of you.” “You’re lying!” Nina was furious now. “I thought you were here to help, but you’re just twisting things! Police! Officer!” Nina’s voice was loud, echoing through the station as she yelled for the uniformed officers standing down the hall. “Help! Someone is trying to illegally detain my friend!” A few officers approached, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern as they looked from my terrified face to Dr. Reed’s calm demeanor. “Dr. Reed,” one of them began, “are you saying this girl… killed four people?” She said nothing, her smile unwavering. “That seems… unlikely,” another officer murmured. “The killer was brutal, a complete psychopath. She’s just a twenty-two-year-old kid.” Dr. Reed’s gaze settled on me. “Then I suggest we watch the session tapes.” 5 I didn’t kill anyone. I knew that. But when the video from my hypnosis session played, my world tilted on its axis. On the screen, I was reclined in a soft armchair, Dr. Reed’s voice a gentle murmur guiding my answers. It started with simple things: my name, my major, the university I attended. Then it delved deeper, into secrets I’d barely admitted to myself—the time I cheated on an exam, the raw, simmering resentment I held for my family. I pressed my hand to my mouth. Some of these details were things I thought I’d forgotten, yet under her guidance, they flowed from me with perfect clarity. Hypnosis unearths memories buried under layers of dust. Finally, she asked the question. “On April 12th, at 1:00 AM, what were you doing?” My voice, thin and distant, came from the speakers. “Killing them.” Dr. Reed pressed on. “Who?” “Room 414. All four of them.” 6 A gasp escaped my lips. Nina, Zoe, and Leah stared at me, their faces masks of disbelief. I shook my head frantically. “No! That’s not me! That’s when the noise woke me up! I looked at my clock—it was exactly 1:00 AM! I muttered something and put my earplugs in and went back to sleep!” Leah immediately backed me up. “I can vouch for that! I’m a light sleeper. I heard her toss and turn!” Nina nodded vigorously. “Our beds are head-to-head. I heard her curse them out! How could it be her?” Zoe chimed in, her voice firm. “I was half-asleep, but I know it wasn’t Ava. She has a history of depression, and since her recovery, she’s been extremely sensitive to screaming. I heard screams from upstairs that night. Ava would never go towards a sound like that.” We sat on one side of a long table, the four of us from Room 314. On the other side sat Dr. Reed and the police. Detective Miller, the lead on the case, clearly trusted his consultant, but his eyes held a flicker of doubt as he looked at me. Another officer leaned over and whispered to Dr. Reed, “The girl’s history checks out. Hospital records confirm it. She has a stress-induced aversion to screaming. Are you sure about this?” Dr. Reed just smiled. “Detective Miller, when has my hypnosis ever been wrong?” The detective fell silent. I’d read about her. In the four years since she’d started consulting, Dr. Reed had helped close over a hundred major cases, including twelve cold cases from the last century. And in all those cases, she had never once made a mistake. 7 Because of Dr. Reed’s flawless record, the department had granted her a special privilege: any suspect identified under her hypnosis could be detained immediately, pending further evidence. Just like that, I was held at the station. But to formally charge me, they needed more than a recording. They needed physical proof. Dr. Reed seemed unusually invested in my case over the next few days. The clock was ticking. The department could only hold me for a limited time without concrete evidence. If they couldn’t produce anything in five days, I’d have to be released. And her special detainment privilege would be revoked. I wasn’t worried. I knew where I was that night: in my bed. In five days, I would become the first blemish on her perfect career. But on the evening of the fourth day, the forensics team found one of my footprints in the blood-spattered dorm room of 414. 8 With solid evidence now in hand, I was formally arrested. Dr. Reed sat across from me in the interrogation room, her face radiating confidence. “Well, Ava, what do you have to say now?” I clenched my fists. “I was never in Room 414!” Detective Miller looked at me, his expression conflicted. “Then how do you explain your footprint at the scene?” I had no answer. Why was my footprint there? I hadn’t even gotten out of bed that night. How was it possible? Unless… unless I had sleepwalked? Murdered them in a trance and had no memory of it? But that didn’t make sense. I was awake when I heard the noise. The screams mixed with laughter, the sounds that made me think it was just a wild party… My breath hitched, a painful tightness gripping my chest. It was hard to breathe. I clutched my head, curling into myself in the hard metal chair. “I… I don’t know… It wasn’t me… I can’t… breathe…” “Hey! Are you okay, kid? Dr. Reed! Get a medic in here!” 9 When I came to, Leah was sitting across from me. They told me that in my disoriented state, I had begged to see one of my roommates. I needed to know, needed to hear from someone else if I had left the room that night. Leah was the only one free from classes, so the police had called her in. Seeing her familiar face, I opened my mouth, my voice raspy. “Leah, I…” She held up a hand. “I know what you’re going to ask. Don’t.” I stared at her, confused. Leah sat perfectly still, her eyes darting to the side for a split second. “I did some digging…” I didn’t understand. She brought her gaze back to me and gave me a tiny, almost imperceptible wink. “All you have to do is keep denying it.” “But that night…” “Don’t worry,” she interrupted, her voice firm. “I was barely asleep. You never left your bed. Don’t you dare start doubting yourself.” The visit was over just like that. After Leah left, I remained seated, my mind reeling. It was Detective Miller who gently prompted me to my feet. As I turned, I saw Dr. Reed standing in the doorway, watching me with a strange, knowing look. Wait. I spun back around, looking at the spot where Leah had been sitting. Her eyes… where had they been looking? Slowly, I lifted my gaze. The one-way mirror. The digging she did… it wasn’t about the case. It was about Dr. Reed. “Ava!” Leah suddenly ran back into the room and threw her arms around me. “I’ll be back to see you soon, I promise!” For the first time, Dr. Reed’s composure cracked. An annoyed expression flashed across her face as she reached out to pull Leah away. “That’s enough! The visit is over!” As Leah was pulled back, she leaned in, her lips brushing my ear as she whispered a single, rapid phrase. “She has a history of coercion.” 10 “What did you say to her?” Dr. Reed demanded, her fingers digging into Leah’s shoulders. Her voice was sharp, menacing. “Do you have any idea that by withholding information, you’re only hurting yourself?” Leah looked at her, her expression a mask of innocence. “I just told her to take care of herself.” “You—!” Dr. Reed seemed to realize she wouldn’t get anything more. She released her grip, took a deep breath, and nodded slowly. “Fine. If you refuse to cooperate, then I can’t guarantee your friend will be able to take care of herself.” “Oh, she will,” Leah said, her gaze unwavering. “This is a police station. There are rules here.” I saw a muscle jump in Dr. Reed’s jaw. She forced her signature smile back into place. “Alright, kiddo. Let’s hope so.” After Leah was escorted out, I stared at Dr. Reed, a terrifying thought taking shape in my mind. If hypnosis could unearth forgotten details… …could it also be used to implant them? A chilling possibility bloomed in the darkness of my thoughts. If she could alter someone’s memory and then plant corresponding evidence, she could frame anyone she wanted. She could make anyone a killer. And my footprint… My mind flashed back to the moment after my first session. Her casual comment as I walked out the door. Nice combat boots, kiddo. 11 “You can forget it! I’m not confessing to anything!” Facing Dr. Reed again, I felt a surge of defiance. “Your hypnosis is bullshit! I never left Room 314 that night!” I turned my attention to Detective Miller. “Detective, the killer was obviously a violent maniac. Instead of wasting time on a girl who can barely lift a textbook, why don’t you focus on finding the real monster?” Detective Miller’s brow furrowed, but Dr. Reed cut in before he could speak. “Rest assured, kiddo, the police have considered more angles than you can imagine. Do you really think we haven’t looked at other suspects? The fact is, there were no signs of forced entry, and no trace of anyone else at the scene. Just you.” I let out a cold, bitter laugh. “You’re at every crime scene with the team. How hard would it be for you to fake a single footprint?” “Thump, thump!” Detective Miller rapped his knuckles on the table. “Watch your tone! That’s a baseless accusation against an officer of the court!” I pointed directly at Dr. Reed. “She’s not an officer. She’s a consultant you brought in. And if I recall correctly, Doctor, right after you graduated, there was an incident, wasn’t there? A little scandal involving forced confessions?” A flash of genuine anger lit up Dr. Reed’s eyes. Her chest rose and fell sharply before she suppressed the emotion. “Ava, it would be much better for you to confess now. It could be a mitigating factor during sentencing.” I said nothing, staring back at her in stony silence. She turned to the detective. “Detective Miller, I’m requesting permission to conduct another hypnosis session.” After receiving a nod, she looked back at me, her voice cold. “Just remember, a confession extracted under hypnosis doesn’t qualify for leniency.” I slammed my hands on the table. “This is coercion! It’s a forced confession under a different name!” Dr. Reed walked around the table and grabbed my arm. “Let’s go.” 12 I fought against the hypnosis with every fiber of my being. But she had some kind of power, a force of will that pinned me to the chair. She held a silver pocket watch, swinging it gently before my eyes. After a few passes, a throbbing pain began behind my temples. “Your father doesn’t love you. Your mother doesn’t love you. You don’t even love yourself,” her voice whispered, weaving its way into my mind. “You’re not the cheerful person you pretend to be. It’s all just an act…” There’s a unique cruelty to hypnosis. The things I had locked away, the deepest vulnerabilities of my soul, she pried them open with casual ease. Then, she used them as leverage, as weapons to shatter my defenses. The overhead light blurred, expanding into a hazy halo. Her words sank into me like anchors, and once again, my consciousness slipped from my grasp and fell into her hands. “You killed everyone in 414 because you wanted to survive, isn’t that right?” My body felt limp, my mouth moving against my will. “Yes… No… it wasn’t… Yes, it was me…” “Say it again. You were the one who killed them, correct?” “No… Yes, it was me…” “That night, you snuck into 414 and used a hammer to crush their skulls, didn’t you?” My teeth chattered, a violent tremor running through my body. Dr. Reed’s voice sharpened, cracking like a whip. “Didn’t you! Speak! Say it was you!” Tears streamed down my face. “Yes… yes…” “Good. Now, I’m going to ask you again, calmly and clearly…” Through my blurry vision, I saw her reach over and turn on the video camera. 13 A tidal wave of despair crashed over me, so heavy I thought it would drown me. I wanted to scream, but I was paralyzed by a terror that stole my voice. Then, the door burst open. The sound was followed by a volley of camera flashes. “See! This is exactly what I was talking about! Coerced confession! Dr. Reed, I can’t believe in this day and age, you’re still pulling these tricks!” My mind slowly cleared. I pushed myself up from the reclining chair to see a wall of reporters and cameras blocking the doorway, all aimed at the scene inside. Nina was at the forefront, her voice booming and righteous as she condemned Dr. Reed’s methods. Leah and Zoe stood beside her, adding their own angry accusations. It turned out they had dug into Dr. Reed’s past, found the dirt, and leaked it to a few hungry tabloid reporters. These were people who cared only about clicks and controversy; they had no problem storming a psychologist’s office affiliated with the police department. The office was technically separate from the main station, and by the time the police responded to the commotion, the reporters had already captured their headline moment. Detective Miller pushed through the chaotic crowd, his eyes wide with shock as he took in my tear-streaked face and the frozen figure of Dr. Reed. “Dr. Reed,” he stammered, “what in God’s name are you doing?” 14 With concrete proof of her coercive methods, the department immediately revoked Dr. Reed’s status as a special consultant. Her special detainment privileges were gone, too. And just like that, I was released. We got a stern lecture about orchestrating a media circus, but in the end, Detective Miller let us go back to campus. Dr. Reed’s office, situated just beside the main police building, looked like it was being shut down. As I walked out of the station, I saw her standing by the door, wrapped in a white coat, her gaze cold and fixed on me. A shiver of discomfort went through me. I kept my head down and tried to walk past without making eye contact. “You think this is over?” Her voice, low and sharp, stopped me in my tracks. I turned back. She hadn’t moved a muscle, only tilted her head slightly in my direction. The smile on her face was deeply unsettling. “Psycho,” Nina muttered, stepping in front of me. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward our waiting ride-share. Dr. Reed remained motionless, her chilling gaze following me until the car door slammed shut. 15 Back in my own bed, I slept better than I had in days. Maybe the sheer exhaustion of the ordeal had finally overridden the trauma of what happened upstairs. I thought it was finally over. The next morning, I rolled over and felt something hard and circular digging into my side. Half-asleep, I reached for it. The cool metal against my palm sent a jolt of ice through my veins. I shot upright in bed, my hand clenched around it. A pocket watch. A silver pocket watch, identical to the one Dr. Reed had used to hypnotize me. A flicker of movement in my peripheral vision made me turn my head. A splash of crimson against the pale morning light made me scream. Across the room, Zoe was dead. Her body was half-draped off the side of her bed, her face turned towards me, her eyes wide and lifeless.

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On my wedding day, my fiancé was a no-show. His reason: the girl he was supposed to marry, the one I replaced, was having a depressive episode. As the silence in the grand hall stretched into an eternity, I called the man who’d been my shadow, my best friend for the last decade. The one who’d told me he loved me a thousand times. “Liam,” I said, my voice dangerously steady. “If you get here now, I’ll marry you instead.” A dry, cold laugh came through the phone. “You really think you’re all that, don’t you?” Before I could process the sting, another voice bled through the line—a delicate, trembling soprano. “Liam,” she whispered, “are you going to leave me, too?” It was Stella. Of course, it was Stella. Half an hour later, two men stormed into the reception hall. My fiancé, Carter, marched up to me. In front of hundreds of guests, his hand cracked across my face. “Stella is in so much pain, and all you can think about is your goddamn wedding?” he snarled, his voice vibrating with rage. “Do you even have a heart?” The blow sent me stumbling backward. I wasn’t used to the heels, the weight of the dress. I crashed into the ten-tier wedding cake, a humiliating explosion of buttercream and jam. A clown in a ruined gown. I looked up, my eyes searching for Liam. He stood by the entrance, hands shoved in his pockets, a flicker of disgust in his eyes. Even my own parents marched toward me, their faces etched with disappointment. “A wedding can be rescheduled, Chloe,” my father said, his voice tight with authority. “Stella’s health is not something we can afford to delay.” But when I finally decided to give up on all of them, they were the ones who panicked. 1 The slap from Carter’s hand was still ringing in my ears as I tried to peel myself away from the wreckage of the cake. Sticky cream and fruit filling soaked into the custom-designed silk of my wedding dress. My gaze instinctively flew to Liam. His eyes, the eyes that had always looked at me with warmth, were now filled with a deep, chilling contempt. He scanned me from head to toe, his voice cold as ice. “Chloe, you’ve gone too far this time,” he said. “Stella is having a breakdown. This is life or death. And you choose now to throw a tantrum? Have you no humanity?” A sharp, stinging pain radiated from my cheek. I saw a single drop of blood land on the white satin of my skirt. I touched my nose; my fingers came away wet and warm. “Carter, are you insane?” I whispered. He let out a bitter laugh. “If it weren’t for Stella—if she, in her kindness, hadn’t begged me with tears in her eyes to come here and go through with this farce—do you think I would have shown up at all?” He violently yanked a glass from the bottom of the champagne tower, sending the entire structure crashing down in a symphony of shattering crystal. With his other hand, he grabbed a bottle, held it over my head, and let the golden liquid cascade down, soaking my hair, my dress, my skin. When the bottle was empty, I was a drenched, pathetic mess. He smashed the bottle on the floor, then crouched down, his face inches from mine. “You wanted to get married, right?” he hissed. “Here. A wedding toast.” He still had the glass he’d salvaged. It was full. With a brutal flick of his wrist, he flung its contents into my face. The liquid dripped down my chin. I couldn’t tell what was champagne and what was blood. He stood up, towering over me. “Satisfied, my lawfully wedded wife?” And Liam, my childhood friend, just watched. Hands in his pockets, an impassive spectator at the circus. A murmur rippled through the guests. My parents finally pushed through the crowd. For a fleeting, foolish moment, I thought they were coming to defend me. My mother didn’t even look at me. Her eyes were wide with panic. “Where is my Stella?” she demanded, her voice frantic. “You know how fragile she is! How could you both leave her to come here? Tell me where she is! If anything happens to her, I swear, I won’t go on living!” My father took the microphone from the stunned officiant. “My apologies, everyone,” he announced, his voice strained but firm. “There has been a small family emergency. The wedding is canceled for today. All gifts will be returned. I offer my sincerest apologies to all our friends and family who came to celebrate with us.” He set the microphone down and turned to Carter, his face a grim mask. “Take us to Stella. Now.” He never once glanced in my direction. The tremor in his voice betrayed a desperate anxiety he couldn’t quite conceal. Just then, the grand doors at the back of the hall burst open. A tear-choked cry echoed through the room. “Dad… Mom…” 2 Stella stood there, a vision in a simple white dress, her face a canvas of tears. She stumbled forward, her high heels clicking a frantic, sharp rhythm on the marble floor. Even in this state, she was the picture of tragic grace. The little princess the Monroe family had meticulously crafted for over twenty years. Every movement, even a panicked sob, was more refined than anything I could ever manage. She looked heartbreakingly beautiful. “Mom, Dad, please… please don’t leave me,” she cried. Every eye in the room was fixed on her. My mother was the first to move, breaking into a run, her own tears flowing freely. “Stella, my baby, don’t be scared. Mama’s here.” My father followed, his usual stoicism crumbling. The man I’d never seen show emotion had red-rimmed eyes. He reached them, wrapping his arms around my mother, who was already holding Stella, pulling them both into a tight, protective embrace. Carter watched them, a profound sigh of relief escaping his lips. The look in his eyes as he gazed at Stella was pure, undiluted love. Liam glanced back at me, a slow, disappointed shake of his head. I ignored him. Painfully, I pushed myself to my feet. A sharp pain shot through my ankle; I must have twisted it when I fell. I started to limp away, in the opposite direction of the family tableau. I didn’t get two steps before a hand grabbed my arm, yanking me back. I stumbled, turning to find myself face-to-face with Liam. “Chloe,” he said, his voice low and intense. “Tonight… you disappointed me more than I can say.” He wouldn’t let go of my arm. “I always thought you were tough, resilient. I never thought you’d resort to cheap tricks like this to get attention.” His grip tightened. “Stella has already given back everything she ever had to you. Why can’t you just leave her alone? Why did you have to push her to the edge at a time like this?” He finally let go, his final question hanging in the air like a judgment. “Chloe, what happened to you?”

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A video of my husband’s first love and a senior attending screwing in an operating room went viral. The internet exploded. Anonymized outrage demanded the hospital administration launch a full investigation into the “incident of moral decay.” To protect her, my husband, Ethan, went live on Instagram. He told the world the woman in that grainy, illicit video was me. Overnight, I became a pariah. Men catcalled me on the street, their words dripping with a grotesque blend of contempt and invitation. Everyone whispered about the slutty doctor. My mother drove to the hospital to confront Ethan, her voice shaking with a righteous fury I hadn’t heard in years. He just told her to mind her own business. So she went to the roof. To prove my innocence, she jumped from the 18th floor of the hospital’s main tower, her body hitting the pavement right in front of me. Through a haze of shock and grief, I asked him why. Why would he do this to us? Ethan’s voice was calm, almost bored. “Claire’s fragile, Anna. She couldn’t handle the online hate. You’re stronger. This kind of thing… it won’t break you.” Seven years of love, three years of marriage. All of it turned to ash in that single, chilling moment. My heart didn’t just break. It died. 1 The divorce papers felt weightless in my hand, a flimsy record of a colossal wreck. I slid them into a manila folder, my face a blank mask I had perfected over the last few weeks. When I pushed open the door to Ethan’s office, he was at his desk, the blue light of the monitor glinting off his glasses. He looked up, and a flash of irritation crossed his face—a look I’d come to know intimately. “For Christ’s sake, Anna. Are you still dragging this out? I thought you’d have learned your lesson by now.” My hand, hanging by my side, curled into a fist, nails digging into my palm. I kept my eyes down. “This is my suspension report. It needs your signature.” Just as Ethan picked up the document, his phone buzzed on the desk. I glanced over. The screen lit up with a picture of Claire. He snatched it up, his voice instantly softening. I could hear Claire’s manufactured sob through the speaker. “Ethan, he came looking for me again… I’m so scared!” Ethan shot to his feet, scribbling his name across the form without a second glance. He then shoved the papers at me, the sharp edge of the cardstock slicing my cheek. He didn’t notice. He was already gone, sprinting out of the office to rescue her. I knelt, gathering the scattered documents from the floor. His signature, usually a controlled, elegant script, was a frantic scrawl. I tucked my copy of the divorce agreement safely away and looked around the empty office, a space that once felt like a shared dream. I spoke the words to the silence. “It’s over, Ethan.” We had been together for seven years. He had loved me with a fierce, possessive passion that made me feel like the center of the universe. He once told me if I wanted the moon, he’d find a way to lasso it for me. Everyone in Northwood knew that Ethan Sterling, the golden boy of the Sterling Group, was utterly bewitched by me. No one dared say a negative word about Anna Reed in his presence. The night he proposed, he lit up the city skyline with fireworks, a spectacle designed to announce our happiness to the world. He made me a princess in a fairy tale of his own making. Then Claire came back, and he pushed me off the castle walls. I learned the truth then. The reason the heir to the Sterling fortune had even noticed me, a scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks, was because I had a face that was a seventy-percent match to Claire’s. All the devotion he’d shown me was just borrowed love, a placeholder for the real thing. I’d asked for a divorce. His answer had been cold and final: “Sterlings don’t divorce, Anna. We widow.” But that was before. Whenever Claire was involved, Ethan lost all reason. I wondered what his face would look like when he realized the paper he’d signed wasn’t a suspension report, but his freedom. A bitter laugh escaped me, so sharp it brought tears to my eyes. This is better. Ethan, I thought, I hope you live to regret this. I composed myself and went to the hospital administrator’s office to say my goodbyes. “Anna, it’s you.” Dr. Harris looked ten years older, the stress of the scandal having bleached the remaining color from his hair. “Dr. Harris, I came to say goodbye.” I placed my official resignation on his desk. “This should take the heat off the hospital. The trolls will have their sacrifice.” He sighed, his expression a mixture of pity and deep disappointment. “Anna, the investigation isn’t even finished. If you just wait, the truth might come out.” A humorless smile touched my lips. “I can’t win this fight, sir. You know that.” Dr. Harris had been my mentor, almost a father figure. He knew the whole sordid story. He also knew that Ethan Sterling was dead set on protecting Claire, and as the heir to the Sterling Group—the hospital’s largest benefactor—what Ethan wanted, Ethan got. My mentor’s hands were tied. “What will you do?” he asked, his voice heavy. “I’m thinking of going abroad. Finally take that fellowship I turned down.” His eyes lit up with genuine pleasure. In medical school, I’d been at the top of my class, fielding offers from prestigious programs across the globe. I’d turned them all down for Ethan. “That’s wonderful news, Anna! Truly. You go, you let this whole thing blow over. When you come back, your reputation will be restored.” We talked for a few more minutes, then I stood and bowed my head slightly. “Thank you, Dr. Harris. For everything you’ve taught me.” 2 Leaving the administrator’s office, a sliver of the crushing weight on my chest seemed to lift. I went back to the office I once shared with Ethan to pack up my personal belongings. Just as I was taping up the last box, the door opened. Ethan walked in, his arm wrapped protectively around a weeping Claire. His brow furrowed when he saw me. “What are you doing here?” Claire’s head snapped up. She broke away from Ethan, her voice a hysterical shriek. “Was it you? Did you let him in? Ethan promised he’d never be allowed in the hospital again! Why would you bring him here?” Ethan’s gaze turned to ice as it landed on me. “I thought you were done making trouble. It seems your mother’s death didn’t teach you a damn thing.” “Apologize to Claire.” His words were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. Ever since Claire had reappeared, everything was my fault. She was consistently late for her shifts? I had created an unreasonable schedule that disrupted her “circadian rhythm.” She prescribed double the normal dose of blood pressure medication to a patient? She claimed I wrote the order and forged her name. She misdiagnosed a gallbladder attack as gastritis, nearly killing a patient? She blamed me for not double-checking her ultrasound reading. Anyone else could see through her clumsy, pathetic lies. But not Ethan. The moment Claire’s eyes welled with tears, I was the villain. Time and time again, he forced me to apologize, grinding my pride into the dirt until there was nothing left. So, when her affair with the chief resident was exposed, and she called Ethan crying, claiming the man had assaulted her on my orders, Ethan believed her without hesitation. He demanded I go online and confess that I was the woman in the video. When I refused, he used his credentials as Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery to start a livestream and publicly name me himself. But this time, I didn’t apologize. I looked at Claire, my voice flat. “You know exactly why he’s looking for you. You should stop pretending you actually believe that woman in the video is me.” Her eyes flared with rage. “You sent him to ruin my life!” She took a step forward, her body starting to crumple as if she were about to kneel. “I’m begging you! Please, just stop torturing me!” Ethan caught her instantly, pulling her back against his chest. “Anna, I warned you not to play these games. Now get on your knees and apologize to Claire. Beg for her forgiveness, or I’ll make sure you are never reinstated.” Before I could respond, the office door slammed open. The chief resident’s wife, a large, furious woman, stormed in, clutching a small bucket. “You fucking homewrecker!” she screamed, her eyes locked on me. “Can’t you survive without a man in your bed?” She lunged, throwing the contents of the bucket at me. I didn’t have time to react. A wave of rancid, stinking filth—what smelled like garbage and dirty mop water—drenched my face and scrubs. Ethan’s first instinct was to shield Claire, spinning her around and covering her with his own body. “It’s okay,” he murmured into her hair. “I’m here. No one will hurt you.” The image burned itself into my mind. I remembered a night years ago when he took me to a dive bar, wanting to show me a different side of the city. A drunk guy had tried to grope me. Ethan didn’t hesitate. He smashed a beer bottle over the man’s head. His father had to bail us out of the police station, slapping Ethan hard across the face in the process. It was the first time I’d met Mr. Sterling, the first time I’d seen Ethan look vulnerable. It only made me love him more. As he got older, he grew colder, more distant, his Sterling entitlement hardening into a shell. I never thought I’d see that reckless, protective fire in him again. And now I had. It just wasn’t for me anymore. The woman turned her rage entirely on me. She had a small wooden stick—maybe a broken mop handle—and she started hitting me with it. I tried to fight back, to shield myself, but she was strong, fueled by a righteous fury, and I was her target. She only stopped when she was exhausted, spitting on my crumpled form on the floor. “Fucking whore. If I ever see you near my husband again, this will be nothing. You hear me?” 3 She left, slamming the door behind her. I was curled on the floor, every part of my body screaming in pain. Ethan took a step toward me, his hand outstretched, but then he saw the filth clinging to me and recoiled. A flicker of guilt crossed his face, quickly replaced by his usual weary frustration. “You’ve been suspended. Just go home and rest. Stay out of sight. Once this blows over, I’ll talk to the board about getting you reinstated.” Before the words were even fully out of his mouth, Claire started sobbing again. “Ethan, she’s a monster! If she finds out the video was really me, what if she does this to me? What if she sends that woman after me?” “Ethan, I can’t live like this! I might as well be dead!” She covered her face and ran out of the office. Ethan shot me one last conflicted look before chasing after her, his voice calling her name down the hall. He never looked back. I slowly, painfully, pulled myself to my feet and walked out of the hospital, a ghost in my own life, covered in someone else’s grime. There’s a thirty-day cooling-off period for a divorce. I still had to arrange my travel documents for the fellowship. I dragged my bruised body back to the penthouse we shared, ignoring the horrified and disgusted stares of people on the street. We bought this place because it was close to the hospital. I had designed every inch of it myself, from the custom bookshelves to the color of the tiles in the master bath. It was filled with memories, echoes of a life I no longer recognized. Now, every beautiful detail felt like a mockery. I pulled out a suitcase and began to pack. My belongings were pathetically few—mostly things I’d bought with my own salary. Everything Ethan had ever given me, every lavish gift the Sterling family sent over on holidays, I left behind. My eyes landed on two small, hand-knitted dolls sitting on the dresser in our walk-in closet. When Ethan proposed, he didn’t have a ring. Instead, he’d spent weeks learning to crochet, presenting me with these two figures, their yarn hands stitched together. He’d said, “This is us. We’re like these dolls, tied together forever. Nothing can ever pull us apart.” I took a pair of scissors from my sewing kit and snipped the thread connecting their hands. I tossed the female doll into the trash. “Everything in this house should have been mine.” I spun around. Claire was standing in the doorway of the closet, wearing a fire-engine red slip dress. On her feet were the matching pair of slippers I’d bought for Ethan and me. “What are you doing here?” I demanded. She sauntered into the bedroom, her eyes greedily scanning the rows of designer bags and jewelry. “Ethan brought me, of course. He wanted me to get a feel for the place, pick out which room I liked best.” She perched on the edge of the bed, running her hand over the silk duvet. “I think the master suite is perfect. Great view, and I bet it’s soundproof. Don’t you think?” My fingers clenched. I couldn’t believe he would bring her here. Into our home. “If I hadn’t left back then, you never would have had a chance to be Mrs. Sterling,” she said, her voice laced with a venomous resentment. “I was his first, Anna. And he has never, ever loved anyone but me.” I already knew this. Hearing it again just felt… dull. The pain had cauterized itself. I ignored her and went back to packing. Seeing she wasn’t getting a rise out of me, she pouted and started to wander around the room, touching everything. When I turned back, she was standing at my vanity, admiring a silver locket on her wrist. My blood ran cold. It was the only thing I had left of my mother’s. “Take it off.” Claire jumped, startled. “What’s your problem? Everything here is going to be mine soon enough anyway.” “I said, take it off!” I lunged for her, trying to pry the locket from her wrist. It was caught, the delicate chain snagged. She shrieked in pain. “Let go! You’re hurting me!” I grabbed a fistful of her hair, my vision tunneling. “Give it back to me.” 4 Ethan burst in from the living room, shoving me away so hard I stumbled backward. He immediately gathered Claire into his arms. “What’s wrong? Where does it hurt?” “It’s nothing,” Claire whimpered, pressing her face into his chest. “I just thought the locket was pretty, so I tried it on. And then she just… she went crazy. She attacked me, called me a slut who stole you away.” That look of pure adoration and concern on Ethan’s face as he looked at her… it made my stomach churn. Seven years of love, three years of devotion, all for this. To be trampled on, lied about, and discarded. “Ethan.” I pointed a trembling finger at the locket on Claire’s wrist. “Get it back for me.” He glanced down, his expression dismissive. “It’s just a piece of jewelry. If Claire likes it, let her have it.” “It was my mother’s!” My voice cracked with fury. “Have you forgotten how she died?” “Ah!” Claire screamed as if she’d been burned. She ripped the locket off her wrist and hurled it at me. “Why didn’t you say so! It’s bad luck!” I scrambled to catch it, but it was too late. The delicate silver hit the hardwood floor with a sickening crack. Time stopped. I stared at the three shattered pieces on the floor. I hadn’t been able to protect my mother, letting her fall to her death from that rooftop. And now, the last piece of her I had was destroyed. “Oops, my bad,” Claire said, covering her mouth with her hand, her eyes devoid of any real apology. “You should have told me it belonged to a dead person. You can’t have things like that around. What if it brings Ethan bad luck?” At her words, Ethan’s expression softened as he looked at her. He then turned to me, his tone sharp with annoyance. “Anna, remember that you are a Sterling now. Stop acting like you crawled out of a gutter. I don’t want things like that in this house.” I knelt, my fingers carefully picking up the broken pieces of the locket, their sharp edges biting into my skin. Ethan had the grace to look momentarily ashamed. “Look, it’s not like it was worth anything. I’ll buy you something better.” He wrapped his arm around Claire and started leading her downstairs. A surge of pure rage propelled me forward. I shot up, grabbed Claire’s arm, and spun her around. The slap echoed in the silent room. “Apologize. Apologize to my mother.” “Aah!” Claire shrieked, her body suddenly going limp. Before Ethan could even react, she threw herself backward, tumbling dramatically down the staircase. “Claire!” Ethan roared. He turned on me, his hand flying, and slapped me hard across the face. I staggered back, the imprint of his fingers burning on my cheek. I watched him race down the stairs, gathering Claire’s supposedly injured body into his arms, murmuring questions about her pain. It was all a lie. I had been holding her arm. She had wrenched herself free and thrown herself down those stairs. “We’re going to the hospital,” he snarled, glaring up at me. “And you better pray to God that Claire is okay. Because if she’s not, you can forget about ever practicing medicine again.” The front door slammed shut, plunging the penthouse into silence. I let out a dry, rasping laugh. I turned, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out without a backward glance. I checked into a hotel. As soon as I got to my room, a text from Ethan came through. [Clear out the master bedroom. Claire sprained her ankle because of you. She needs a comfortable place to recover.] [You will apologize to her, and you will take care of her until she is fully healed.] [If you don’t, I will never forgive you.] 5 It took a month in that anonymous hotel room for the bruises to fade and the cuts to heal. During that time, Ethan was relentless. His calls and texts moved through a predictable cycle: from furious threats to worried questions. The last few days, though, there had been nothing. Silence. Today, I had to go back to the hospital to tie up some loose ends. My fellowship papers were approved. I could leave anytime. At the main nurses’ station, a group of nurses was huddled together, whispering. I approached the desk, my face hidden behind a mask. Their hushed conversation became clear. “I’m sorry, but there is no way Dr. Evans has the brains to get invited to the International Medical Forum. No way.” “Someone had to have written that paper for her. Probably one of her many… admirers.” “I heard her reputation in med school was a joke. She slept her way through every single rotation.” “It’s just sick. A good person like Dr. Reed gets forced out, and that viper gets everything.” One of the younger nurses saw me and her eyes went wide. “Dr. Reed! You’re here!” “I’m not a doctor here anymore. Please, just Anna,” I said, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. “What are you all talking about? What paper?” They exchanged nervous glances, no one willing to speak. Suddenly, the volume on the large TV in the waiting area blared to life. Ethan’s voice, smooth and confident, filled the space. “It is my distinct honor to introduce my fiancée and research partner, Dr. Claire Evans, who will be presenting a groundbreaking new theory in cardiac surgery.” Claire glided to his side, taking the microphone from his hand. They shared a smile, a look of intimate partnership. The patients watching erupted in soft murmurs of approval. “Dr. Sterling and Dr. Evans are such a perfect couple! I hope they get married soon.” “I had no idea she was so brilliant! She’ll probably be the next department head after this.” Ethan and I had kept our marriage private. Only our closest circle knew. The forum had ended a few days ago, but the hospital had been replaying this clip on a loop. To any outsider, Ethan and Claire were the hospital’s golden couple. It didn’t matter. The divorce would be final soon. He could marry whomever he wanted. But then, Claire began to speak. She outlined her “new theory,” and the blood in my veins turned to ice. The slides appearing on the screen behind her… the data, the charts, the methodology… I had created every single one of them. It was the culmination of two years of my research. When I’d left our home, I’d only packed my clothes and personal documents. I’d forgotten about the backup drive in the study. I never imagined, not in my darkest nightmares, that Ethan would take my life’s work—work I kept locked in our home safe—and hand it to Claire to pass off as her own. Three years of sleepless nights, of chasing down data points, of pushing my body to the brink until I developed a chronic stomach condition… all to solve this one complex medical problem. A bitter smile twisted my lips. I just hoped Claire was prepared to deal with the consequences of taking a shortcut to the top. “Dr. Reed…” I turned. A young intern was standing there, looking terrified. She quickly pressed a small flash drive into my hand. “I filmed this,” she whispered, her head down, nervously twisting the hem of her scrubs. “I was so scared. I didn’t want them to do to me what they did to you. But you were always so kind to me…” 6 I remembered her. A few months ago, Claire had been on call and prescribed a dangerous medication to a patient. The intern had caught the error and pointed it out. From that day on, Claire made the young woman’s life a living hell. I’d stepped in a few times to defend her, and Claire, like a rabid dog, had simply transferred her obsessive harassment from the intern to me. “It was the night of the… incident. A month ago. I came back to the hospital to get something I forgot, and I saw them. I filmed it. I’ve been too scared to show anyone.” Her voice dropped to a choked whisper. “When your mother came to the nurses’ station that day… asking if anyone could help prove your innocence… I was so afraid. I said nothing.” “If I could do it again, I would have given this to you right away.” “I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry.” She gave me a deep, formal bow, her eyes filled with tears, and then she ran off. My hand closed around the flash drive, its sharp edges digging into my palm. How could I blame her? I couldn’t stand up to them. How could I expect a terrified intern to? The people who killed my mother were Claire and Ethan. But this wasn’t the time to use this. I would wait. I would wait until they were at their absolute peak, basking in their stolen glory. And then I would burn their world to the ground.

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I have liver cancer. For three years, I waited for the man I loved to bring back the only woman in the world who could save me. He finally returned to my deathbed today. But he stood in front of her, shielding her from my gaze, and pleaded with me, “She’s scared of the pain. Can we just… not have her do it?” 1 Seven years. I’ve been living with liver cancer for seven years. And, of course, I have the kind of rare, Rh-negative blood that makes a transplant a statistical nightmare. A ghost orchid in a field of daisies. So when they found a match, a one-in-a-million shot, Leo booked a flight. He went to chase her down himself, wherever she was. He swore to me, one hand on his heart, the other clutching his passport. “One week, Anna. I’ll bring her back in one week.” But one week bled into a year. Then two. Then three. I didn’t see Leo again until the hospital had issued my ninth critical condition notice. He finally stood before me, but he wasn’t alone. He was shielding a girl behind him, his voice rough with a feeling I couldn’t place. “Anna,” he said, his throat tight. “She’s scared of the pain. Can we… can we just not have her do it?” “What the hell, Leo? Are you even human?” The voice was Mia’s, my best friend, sharp enough to cut glass. She looked ready to launch herself across the room and tear him apart. But Leo’s eyes were locked on me. “Anna. Please?” I blinked, pulling the cashmere blanket tighter around my shoulders, a frail shield against his words. So this was it. This was the result I’d been waiting for. It was, I decided with a sudden, hollow clarity, a bit anticlimactic. “It’s okay, Leo,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady. “I forgot to tell you. My family found another donor. The surgery was a little while ago.” I gestured vaguely around the pristine, white room. “See? I’m here now. Recovering in Switzerland.” Mia’s eyes went wide. “Anna, what are you talking ab—” Her words were swallowed by the sudden, racking cough that seized my body. She was at my side in an instant, her hand patting my back, her eyes turning red with unshed tears. From behind Leo’s shoulder, the girl, the donor, finally peeked out. A smile bloomed on her face, revealing two slightly pointed canines that were, I had to admit, quite charming. This was her. Chloe. The girl who held my life in her hands, and who had apparently captured Leo’s soul on the way to delivering it. Leo thought I was in the dark. But I knew. Of course, I knew. The boy I’d grown up with, the one who was an extension of my own heart, had changed. He’d fallen in love on the road to saving my life. In the beginning, he’d been ruthless in his mission. He’d thrown money at her, leveraged every resource the family name could offer, everything. When she’d refused, he’d gotten ugly. He’d threatened to have her deported, to ruin the new life she was so proud of. But even when backed into a corner, Chloe had been defiant, her chin held high. “In your dreams,” she’d spat at him. “I’m not selling off parts of my body for your money. I’d rather we both go down in flames.” After that, their dynamic shifted. They became infamous rivals in their small corner of the world. Then, somehow, that fire had turned into a different kind of heat. They’d ended up in the same bed and hadn’t left for three days. And now, here they were. Three years later. Their hands were tightly clasped in front of me. He seemed to have forgotten the time we played dress-up as kids, how he’d stolen his mother’s wedding veil and placed it on my head, whispering that one day, he would marry me for real. The man in front of me now just stared, his brow furrowed in suspicion. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” Mia let out a short, bitter laugh. “Tell you? We figured you wouldn’t bother coming back until Anna was already in the ground.” Three years had curdled all the love Mia ever had for Leo into pure hatred. His face darkened instantly. “Chloe has a life of her own. She worked her ass off to get where she is in the States. You think she should just drop everything, her entire future, because you call and say you’re not feeling well?” He pulled Chloe forward slightly, a protective gesture. “She gave up a major research conference to come here for you. And for what? To find out you’re already fine? That you’ve been lying to me, wasting our time.” He took a step closer, his voice dropping. “Don’t you think you owe us an apology, Anna?” My head snapped up. There wasn’t a trace of guilt in his eyes. Only a deep, chilling annoyance. I was too tired for this. Too tired to fight. “Okay,” I whispered. “I’m sorry. Leo. Miss… Chloe. I’m sorry for the trouble.” I tried to dip my head, a pathetic attempt at a bow, but Mia’s hand shot out, her grip trembling with rage as she stopped me. “Are you insane?” she hissed under her breath. “What are you apologizing for?” Leo froze, and the anger in his eyes intensified. “You two,” he said, his voice dripping with disdain. “After all these years, you’re both still so goddamn selfish.” “Unbelievable.” He turned, pulling Chloe with him, and slammed the door shut with a deafening crack. The sound broke something in Mia. She finally let out a choked sob. “Anna, there is no other liver! You’re dying!” she cried, her voice ragged. “Why are you still protecting that bastard?” I had made my peace with death long ago. But hearing the word spoken so brutally, so final, sent a sharp, echoing pain through my chest. It woke the deeper, gnawing ache of the cancer that had, for a brief moment, been dormant. “Leo’s not an idiot, Mia. He can see it.” Look at me. I was practically a skeleton in a blanket, a breath away from the grave. A ghost haunting her own life. “…He just doesn’t want to save me anymore,” I finished quietly. “Besides, there’s no point. It’s too late for a transplant. Another surgery would just be… more pain. More torture.” I sighed. “Just let it go.” Mia stopped, her sobs growing louder. She knew I was right. Seven years of liver cancer had become ten. I’d slipped from early stage to terminal while I waited. I was living in a hell of constant, grinding pain, where every breath felt like a punishment. One more day was just one more day in hell. My hand, thin and brittle as a dried leaf, reached up to touch her tear-streaked face. “Hey,” I whispered. “Mia, remember what you promised me before we came to Switzerland?” “We were going to be happy. We were going to laugh. What’s with all the crying?” She turned her head away, her shoulders shaking. “I’ll cry if I want to,” she mumbled petulantly. “Maybe you’ll get so annoyed you’ll come back to life just to shut me up.” The door creaked open again. Leo stood there, back from wherever he’d stormed off to. He glanced at Mia’s red nose with a strange look, then his eyes landed on me, a flicker of something unreadable in their depths. He took a few deep breaths, as if steeling himself. “Anna, there’s something I forgot to tell you.” He paused. “Chloe is my girlfriend now. I have to… I have a responsibility to her.” Another pause, this one heavier. “So… all that stuff from when we were kids, the promises… we have to just call it what it was. A joke. I’m sorry.” I tried to process the words. A joke. His confession of love, all those years ago, had been a joke. A signed, blank check appeared in front of my face. He reached out and ruffled my hair, just like he used to when we were kids. “Fill in any number you want,” he said, his voice trying for kindness and failing. “I hope you feel better soon.” I stared blankly for a long moment, until a dull ache in the back of my hand brought me back. I must have blacked out. Cool fluid was dripping into my veins from an IV. This drug was a miracle. For a little while, nothing hurt. Not my body, and not my heart. When I was fully lucid again, the only people left in the room were a grim-faced doctor and Mia, who was tearing a lab report into tiny, furious pieces. She was still trying to hide it from me. But I’d already seen the numbers. I always snuck a look. They were getting worse. Sharply worse. It was really over. The end stages are ugly for patients like me. You lose control of everything. There’s no dignity. I didn’t want that. Not while Leo was here. A bitter sting filled my eyes, but I forced a smile onto my face. “Mia,” I said softly. “I kind of miss Mom and Dad. And I don’t think I can hold on much longer.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “My birthday is in two days. Let me go then, okay? As a birthday present.”

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The ballroom was humming, a low thrum of self-congratulation set to the clinking of champagne flutes. It was our company’s victory gala, and Melanie Pierce, the VP’s fiancée, drifted toward me like a shimmering, smiling shark. “There you are,” she said, her voice a little too bright. “You must be the special assistant Ryan’s been telling me about. So loyal. And so… capable.” She let the word capable hang in the air between us, weighted with a meaning that had nothing to do with my job description. Yes, I was the VP’s special assistant. But I was also the Director of Project Management for the Sterling Group. I’d been with the company since the beginning, helping our CEO, Arthur Sterling, build it from nothing. By rights of history and sheer sweat, his own son, Ryan, should have been calling me “Aunt Claire.” So why, at our biggest celebration of the year, did I suddenly feel like I was being branded my own nephew’s mistress? 1 Every word Melanie had spoken was, on its own, perfectly innocent. But woven together, delivered with that saccharine smile and the knowing glint in her eyes, they curdled into a potent poison. I saw the expressions on the faces of those around us shift—a flicker of gossip-fueled comprehension, a shared, silent understanding. A hot buzz started behind my ears. I tightened my grip on my glass, fighting to keep my composure. “You must be mistaken, Ms. Pierce. I’m the Director of Project Management. My work speaks for itself. I…” “Oh, Claire, don’t be so formal,” she interrupted smoothly, her smile never faltering. “I get it. A jack-of-all-trades. It must be such a comfort for Arthur, knowing Ryan has one of his own people helping him out. Isn’t that right?” Ryan finally seemed to sense the undertone, the sheer voltage of the current passing between us. He gently touched her arm. “Mel, let’s not. Claire is a vital part of this company.” Melanie immediately melted against him, her voice turning into a playful pout. “What did I say? I was just complimenting her on being so talented and trusted. Are you going to scold me for that?” She looked up at him with wide, wounded eyes. Ryan’s resolve vanished. He shot me a helpless, apologetic glance. Nearby, Arthur Sterling’s face had hardened. But his position as CEO held him in check; he couldn’t very well start a public argument with his son’s fiancée over an ambiguous “joke.” He cleared his throat, a sound like gravel hitting a wall. “Alright, everyone. Let’s find our tables.” The moment was over, but the damage was done. The way people looked at me had changed. The next Monday morning, I headed to the kitchenette for coffee. I wasn’t even at the door when I heard the low, conspiratorial giggles. “Are you serious? No wonder she shot up the ladder so fast.” “I always said Arthur treated her a little too well. Turns out he was just grooming her for the prince.” “‘Special assistant.’ That’s a nice way of putting it. On the clock during the day, on her back at…” The sentence was punctuated by a wave of knowing, sleazy laughter. “You heard what Melanie said at the gala, right? Loyal and capable. Tsk. That’s an evaluation with a hell of a benefits package.” My feet froze to the floor. I thought I’d been prepared, but hearing the filth spoken so casually, so carelessly, felt like a thousand tiny needles piercing my heart. The small kindnesses of office life vanished. Colleagues who used to pull me into their lunch orders now fell silent when I approached, offering strained, overly bright smiles. The junior admin who used to call me Claire now averted her eyes, flinching her hand back as she passed me a file as if I were carrying a disease. I couldn’t let this fester. I had to do something. I knocked on Ryan’s office door. He was staring at his monitor, a deep crease between his brows. “Ryan? Got a minute?” He looked up and gestured to the chair across from his desk. “Yeah, sit down. Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Have you heard some of the… chatter… going around the office?” 2 I took a deep breath and met his gaze directly. “I have. And that’s what I’m here to talk about. Ryan, those rumors are completely baseless. I need you to know that.” He leaned back in his chair, the picture of discomfort. “Look, Mel… sometimes she just speaks without thinking. She’s been a little spoiled, you know? But she doesn’t have a malicious bone in her body.” “Ryan, that ‘joke’ has made it impossible for me to do my job! Everyone in this office now thinks I slept my way to the top. This is a catastrophic blow to my professional reputation!” “Isn’t that a little dramatic?” he countered, his brow furrowing. “The truth will out. People know your work ethic. My father’s opinion of you isn’t going to change over a few whispers. You’re being too sensitive.” My heart sank. He didn’t get it. He had no concept of the malice behind that comment, of the unique and devastating damage it could do to a woman’s career. He was taking the easy way out: placate me and excuse his fiancée. Perhaps Ryan said something to her, because that afternoon, Melanie Pierce herself deigned to visit my desk. She sauntered over, Birkin bag swinging, with the regal air of a visiting monarch. “Claire, busy?” she asked, her voice just loud enough for the entire department to hear. I looked up. “Can I help you, Melanie?” She produced a smile that was laced with apology. “I came to say I’m sorry. At the gala, I might have been a bit thoughtless. It was just a silly joke, and I never imagined it would cause all this gossip. I feel terrible.” Before I could respond, she leaned in closer, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “You’ve been sleeping with him for a while now, haven’t you? I mean, why else would Arthur and Ryan protect you so fiercely? All this ‘hard-working career woman’ act… who do you think you’re fooling?” A wave of nausea and fury washed over me. I leaned back sharply, putting space between us. “Melanie,” I said, my voice dripping with scorn, “is your mind capable of thinking about anything that isn’t disgusting?” “For the record, my conduct is, and always has been, unimpeachable. My relationship with Arthur and with Ryan is purely professional.” I leaned forward again. “And if we’re talking about old family connections, Ryan Sterling should be calling me ‘Aunt Claire.’ So you just came over here to ask me if I’m sleeping with my own godson? Because if you’re not disgusted by that idea, I sure as hell am.” When Arthur’s company was on the verge of collapse years ago, my father risked everything, injecting the capital that saved it. Arthur, half-joking and half-deadly serious, had said, “I can never repay you. Let me make Claire my goddaughter. In my family, she will be treated like a princess. Everyone will show her respect.” To this day, my family’s investment still accounted for twenty percent of the Sterling Group. The color drained from Melanie’s face. She clearly had no idea about the depth of our families’ history. For a second, I thought that would be the end of it. Then she sneered. “Godmother? That’s not a real title. It doesn’t mean anything.” “It’s a name, a convenient little cover story, isn’t it?” she hissed. “Makes it all the more thrilling, doesn’t it? Hiding in plain sight, a little forbidden spice to keep things interesting.” I was shaking with rage. It was as if she couldn’t form a sentence without a smear of filth. I took a breath, forcing myself into a state of icy calm. “Melanie, I accept your apology. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Unlike some people,” I added, looking her directly in the eye, “I don’t have time to invent drama and spread malicious lies.” 3 She pressed on, her voice a low, venomous hiss. “Did I strike a nerve?” “Don’t you dare try to use that ridiculous ‘godmother’ title to intimidate me. Let me be clear, Claire. There is only room for one woman at the top of this company. And in my eyes, you’re nothing but a pathetic social climber, clinging to your father’s old favors and desperately trying to marry up.” I’d had enough. I picked up the glass of water on my desk and threw its contents directly in her face. She shrieked and lunged at me. “What is all this shouting about?” The furious roar of Arthur Sterling’s voice stopped her in her tracks. He and Ryan were standing not ten feet away, their faces dark with anger. They had clearly heard the end of her tirade. Melanie’s expression shifted in an instant, from vicious anger to tearful panic. She grabbed Ryan’s arm. “I don’t know what I did! I just came to apologize for the gala, but she wouldn’t accept it, and she started insulting me, and… and I defended myself, and then she threw water on me!” Ryan reflexively wrapped an arm around her shoulders. His gaze on me was filled with reproach. “Melanie can be blunt, Claire, but she’s not a bad person. Did you really have to escalate it like this? Why can’t you just let it go?” “Ryan! You have no idea the vile things she just said to me!” I shot back, my voice trembling with rage. “Enough!” Arthur boomed. He turned to his son. “Ryan, have you lost your mind? You’ve known Claire your entire life. Do you honestly believe she would attack someone without provocation?” Ryan flinched under his father’s glare but didn’t release his hold on Melanie. “Dad, that’s not what I’m saying. I just think this whole thing has gotten blown out of proportion.” “This discussion is over. The rumors stop now,” Arthur declared, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Everyone, get back to work.” The drama was over, but I knew, with chilling certainty, that the war between me and Melanie Pierce had just begun. My proof arrived the next day via an all-staff email. An HR announcement: Ms. Melanie Pierce has been appointed Special Advisor to the Office of the CEO, effective immediately. Now she could walk into my office, interfere with my work, and do it all under the guise of official business. My team and I were in the middle of a frantic prep session for a new project launch when my door swung open. Melanie strolled in and planted herself in front of the projector screen. “Arthur wants me to get up to speed on company operations. This new project of yours seems interesting. I have some notes.” She scrolled through a tablet. “I’ve reviewed the team roster. This one, Pete… wasn’t he responsible for that data breach on the last project? And Sarah just got back from maternity leave. Do we really think she’s up to the task? I think we should swap them out for more experienced personnel.” A fire ignited in my chest. Pete’s “breach” was proven to be the fault of a third-party vendor, and Sarah was one of our most brilliant strategists. “Ms. Pierce, my team was selected after a rigorous evaluation process. They are the best people for the job. Changing personnel now would jeopardize the entire project timeline.” “I’m just trying to help,” she said, her face a mask of innocence. “Mitigating risk. As an advisor, it’s my duty to offer my professional opinion. Right?” 4 She paused on the vendor list. “I see Starlight Innovations isn’t on the list of potential partners. Why is that?” The audacity. Starlight was her family’s company, a dinosaur with a terrible reputation, running on fumes for the last five years. “They don’t meet our technical requirements for this partnership,” I said evenly. “That seems shortsighted,” she countered. “Starlight has been in this business for decades. There’s a deep well of experience there. Better the devil you know, right? It would certainly make communication smoother.” The shamelessness of it—trying to funnel company business to her family’s failing enterprise—was breathtaking. “All potential partners undergo a strict vetting process,” I said, my voice cold. “We don’t make decisions based on personal relationships.” After I systematically dismantled several more of her “suggestions,” she changed tactics. My project required an emergency budget allocation for a critical software purchase. The request stalled in the CEO’s office. When I went to follow up, the admin stammered, “Uh, Ms. Pierce said the cost-benefit analysis needed further review, so we’ve been told to hold off…” I went to her directly. She was sipping a latte, the picture of calm. “Claire, don’t be in such a rush. This is just due diligence. I’m simply questioning if this is the most effective use of funds. Perhaps we could use that money to get better coffee machines for the team? I’ve noticed everyone looks so tired from working all those long hours.” Her smile was pure poison. I finally understood. She didn’t care about the project. She cared about sabotaging me. She wanted to prove her power, to make my life so impossible that I would quit. I went to Ryan one last time. He looked exhausted. He knew what Melanie was doing, but he was committed to his path of least resistance. “Claire, she’s just competitive. She wants to prove herself. It’s her job as an advisor to ask questions. If you don’t agree with her suggestions, just ignore them. You don’t need to get into a fight with her every time.” I laughed, a sharp, bitter sound. “She’s blocking my budget requests and trying to dictate my staffing. How am I supposed to ‘ignore’ that? Ryan, this isn’t a personal squabble anymore. This is affecting the success of the most important project of the year! Can you please…” “Alright, Claire, that’s enough!” he snapped, his patience finally breaking. “I know you feel targeted. But she’s my fiancée. Soon, she’ll be my wife. Can’t you, for my sake, just tolerate it a little? I’ll talk to my dad. I’ll ask him to tell Melanie to tone it down.” A cold wave washed over me. It was final. I would get no support, no justice, from Ryan. My own family had a business, one I could have walked into after college. I came to the Sterling Group because my degree was a perfect fit, and because of the deep loyalty I felt to Arthur. If it weren’t for the projects I’d poured my heart and soul into, I would have walked out that door and never looked back. I closed my eyes, pushing down the rage and disappointment. As soon as this project was successfully launched, I was gone. The day of the final pitch had arrived. We were presenting to Stonegate Capital, a notoriously meticulous and demanding investment firm. Their decision would determine the fate of a nine-figure funding round. Thirty minutes before the meeting, we were in the small conference room doing a final run-through. I plugged my USB drive into the laptop and double-clicked the file: “Sterling-Stonegate_FINAL_PITCH.pptx.” The projector flared to life, and the room fell into a dead, horrified silence. There were no data charts. No sleek corporate branding. The screen was filled with the bouncing, brightly-colored image of Peppa Pig. Slide one: Peppa Pig jumping in a muddy puddle. Slide two: A massive close-up of Daddy Pig’s face. Slide three: A group of cartoon animals laughing maniacally.

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The moment I knew—truly knew—that Mark was keeping someone on the side came three days after I’d pressured him into getting married. He had insisted on one last night out as a “single man,” a transparent excuse to get drunk enough to force my hand, to make me back down. “Seven years together doesn’t mean you have to get married, you know?” “Do women just shrivel up and die if they don’t get a ring?” And then, the drunken whisper that gutted me: “If I marry Grace… what about Lexi? She’s only twenty-one. She can’t live without me…” After that, I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I just did exactly what he wanted and called the whole thing off. And then, he had the audacity to show up at my new apartment, banging on the door in the middle of the night. “Grace,” he slurred, his voice wrecked. “I can’t sleep without you.” 1 Mark and I had been a single entity since college. Seven years of navigating life from campus to our careers, building an empire from nothing. We were the couple everyone pointed to—a success story in love and business, a partnership of equals. He was stable, patient, a perfect partner in every way but one: he had absolutely no intention of marrying me. But I dreamed of it. I wanted the dress, the vows, the public declaration. So, at the launch party for his company’s biggest project, I took a breath, gathered all my courage, and proposed to him. In front of everyone we knew, the easy smile on Mark’s face froze. The mask of unflappable composure he wore so well cracked, just for a second. My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched him. These were our friends, people who had watched us grow together for years. If he said no, here and now, the humiliation would be absolute. He just stood there, his face a cold blank. My friend Wendy, bless her heart, saved me. She smoothly took the ring box from my trembling hands and pressed it into Mark’s. “Don’t just stand there,” she hissed playfully. He took it, but said nothing. Gave no answer. The night before our engagement party—a party he’d reluctantly agreed to—Mark insisted on his “last night of freedom.” Around midnight, my phone buzzed with his name. I answered, but it was clearly a pocket dial. I could hear the rustle of fabric, the clink of glasses. I whispered his name, got no response, and was about to hang up when I heard his voice, sharp and laced with contempt. “Who the hell does Grace think she is, pulling a stunt like that? Forcing my hand in public?” “I thought she was different,” he continued, his voice thick with alcohol. “I thought she understood me. Turns out she’s just as basic as every other woman.” I froze, the air leaving my lungs in a silent gasp. Then, another man’s voice chimed in. “But come on, man, Grace is a knockout. She was the queen of Northwood’s campus. And she’s been with you for seven years.” Mark scoffed, a bitter, ugly sound. “And that means I have to marry her? Let me tell you something, after seven years with any woman, you’d be bored too.” “She’s like my buddy now. The feeling’s gone. Honestly, if any of you guys want a shot, I’ll even set it up for you.” “I get it,” another voice slurred, followed by a wave of knowing laughter. “Grace is like a Michelin-star dinner. Amazing at first, but you can’t eat it every night. Sometimes you just want a fucking burger.” The laughter was the soundtrack to Mark’s final, soul-destroying confession. “Besides,” he slurred, his voice dropping. “If I marry Grace, what about Lexi? She’s only twenty-one. She can’t live without me…” It felt like a lightning strike, a physical blow that left my entire body buzzing and hollow. I don’t know when the call ended. But in that moment, with the silence of my apartment pressing in, I knew we were over. That night, I booked a one-way ticket to Carmel. No hesitation. No second thoughts. 2 The next time I saw Mark was at our friend Wendy’s birthday party. I pushed open the door to the private room and the scene hit me like a physical blow. Mark, lounging on a velvet banquette, with a girl nestled in his lap. She was young, her cheeks flushed as she tilted her head back, nibbling on one end of a cracker while Mark leaned in to bite the other. A stupid, intimate game. The boisterous laughter in the room died the second they saw me. The air crackled with awkwardness. Wendy jumped up, grabbing my arm and pulling me toward the table with a strained smile. “Grace! You made it! My birthday wouldn’t be complete without you.” I managed a weak smile back, handing her a gift. “Happy birthday, star.” The girl in Mark’s lap turned bright red and tried to stand up, but Mark’s arm tightened around her waist, holding her in place. “Where are you going, little one?” he murmured, his voice a low tease. Her blush deepened as she shot him a playful glare. Mark grinned, a wide, genuine smile full of an adoration I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. He was completely captivated by the girl in his arms. It was a bitter pill to swallow, remembering when I was the girl in his arms, the center of his world. The sight was a knife twisting in my gut. Wendy’s voice was ice. “Mark, that’s enough. Grace is right here.” Sam, one of Mark’s closest friends, spoke up before he could. “Who’s the one out of line here? She’s the one who canceled the engagement without a word and just disappeared. You don’t get to play games like that, Grace. If you didn’t want to marry him, why the hell did you propose?” He was right, in a way. Our engagement party was supposed to have been two weeks ago. The venue was booked, the invitations sent. But on the morning of, I’d left a single, breezy note—The world is too big, and I want to see more of it—and vanished. I’d only just returned to Seattle. To them, I was the selfish one, the villain who broke his heart. Fine. If that’s the role they’d cast for me, I’d play it. I gave a small, cool smile and slipped the engagement ring from my middle finger, placing it gently on the polished wooden table. My eyes met Mark’s, his face an unreadable mask. “Mark,” I said, my voice steady. “The engagement is off. Congratulations, you’re free.” 3 A collective gasp went through the room. “Is she kidding?” “Everyone knows she’s crazy about him. She practically gave up her career to be a stay-at-home girlfriend when Mark’s stomach issues got bad.” “She’s just trying to get a reaction.” “Grace, you’re twenty-eight. Are you really going to throw a fit over some meaningless fling? It’s just how things are.” None of them believed me. Even Mark was looking at me with a flicker of amusement, a condescending smirk playing on his lips as if he were watching a child’s tantrum. I sighed internally. I guess I really had been the doormat for too long. They’d all forgotten who I used to be. The woman who never backed down. “Mark,” I said, my smile never reaching my eyes. “I’m twenty-eight. In your eyes, that obviously can’t compete with a younger model.” The corner of his mouth ticked up in that infuriatingly smug way, daring me to lose control, to become the hysterical, crazy ex-girlfriend he wanted me to be. In the two weeks I was gone, Mark hadn’t called me once. Instead, he’d curated a perfect victim narrative on social media, posting photos of our empty apartment with captions about how quiet and lonely the house was. The comments section was a predictable sea of sympathy from his friends, all rushing to console him. It was almost funny. Men will always have each other’s backs. My smile widened, becoming brighter, sharper. “Don’t worry, I’ll survive without you. And by the way, a mature woman has something called allure. Do you even know what that is?” I leaned forward slightly. “A woman is like a fine wine; she gets better with age. And men? You peak at twenty-five and it’s all downhill from there.” I paused, letting the words hang in the air before delivering the final blow. “And Mark, a little secret? For the past few years… I’ve been faking it. Every single time. I’m done with the performance. I suggest you find a new leading lady.” I savored the look of pure shock on his face, threw him one last dismissive glance, and walked out of the room. 4 It took less than an hour to pack up my life with Mark. One suitcase. Seven years of my life, all packed into a single suitcase. It didn’t matter. I was ready to leave even that behind. I’d just dropped my bags in my new apartment when my best friend, Chloe, called, insisting I come to the grand opening of her new bar. “You’ve been cooped up for too long,” she said. “You need to get out and see the world. There are way better guys out there, and I have a whole tank of them at my place tonight.” At nine, she called again. “Get over here now. Some tech billionaire just showed up and put his card down for the whole night. Free top-shelf everything. Don’t miss this.” That was all the convincing I needed. I stood in front of the mirror, drew a perfect, sharp cat-eye, grabbed my clutch, and headed out. Chloe saw me the second I walked in, her eyes widening. “Damn, girl. Best breakup ever. Do you know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen you look this incredible? Keeping a body like that hidden at home is a criminal waste.” I just smiled. Chloe sat me in a quiet corner booth while she played host. The drinks were light, but I was drinking them one after another. Just as a pleasant buzz started to set in, a tall figure slid into the seat across from me. A long arm reached for my drink. I quickly covered the glass with my hand. “Get your own,” I said without looking up. “There’s a billionaire buying tonight. Don’t be cheap.” A low chuckle, warm and familiar, vibrated through the air. He gently tapped my hand with his finger. “You’re the one who runs off without a word, and you won’t even let me have a sip of your drink? That seems a little unfair, don’t you think?” That voice. My head snapped up, and I found myself staring into a pair of bright, familiar eyes. The man was watching me, a slow, intoxicating smile spreading across his face. My voice caught in my throat. Leo. The college student I met on my soul-searching trip in Carmel. “Leo! You know my Grace?” Chloe appeared at the table, her face alight with surprise. “This is perfect. I was worried about her getting home alone after a few drinks. Would you mind terribly giving her a ride? I’d feel so much better.” I started to protest, but Chloe shot me a look and pinched my arm under the table. She leaned in, whispering, “Grace, he’s the ‘billionaire’ I was talking about. Word is he’s been in a foul mood lately, looking for some heartbreaker who ghosted him. This is the best I can do for you, honey.” Before I could refuse, Leo answered for me. “Of course.” I met his gaze again, his eyes still dancing with that playful smile, and my own smile slowly faded. It was suddenly occurring to me… The heartbreaker he was looking for? There was a very, very good chance it was me.

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It was the third day of my business trip to Seattle when a new member joined the long-dormant parent group chat for my son’s first-grade class. A voice memo popped up. I tapped it, and a sweet, unfamiliar female voice filled the air. “Hi everyone, I’m Sarah Jenkins, the new language arts teacher. I’m also Leo Sterling’s mom. It’s so nice to meet you all!” A cold paralysis seized me. I scrolled through the member list, my thumb shaking as I compared the names. My son is Leo Sterling. She’s Leo Sterling’s mom. Then who the hell am I? My fingers fumbled as I dialed my husband’s number. “Cole? Did someone get added to Leo’s class chat by mistake?” There was a fractional pause on his end, then a breezy, unconcerned laugh. “Oh, probably just a mix-up. With so many kids in the school, you know, same names happen. Is something wrong?” “No, nothing,” I said, matching his casual tone. I ended the call, and before my bag was even packed, I was booking the first red-eye back to New York. 1 The plane touched down at JFK before dawn. I took a cab straight to Brookfield Elementary. Leo is seven. First grade. It was 1:40 in the afternoon, just after the first bell. The security guard at the front desk, a kindly older man named Arthur, was diligent. He recognized me and immediately called the main office to let them know a parent had arrived. A few minutes later, a young woman in a crisp white blouse and a black pencil skirt hurried out. She looked like she’d graduated college last week. She wasn’t beautiful, more plain than anything, but she had a gentle, soft-spoken way about her. A woman’s intuition is a brutal, unerring thing. I knew, instantly, that this was her. The moment she saw me, her composure shattered. Her face went chalk-white, and a tremor ran through her hands, as if she were staring down a category-five hurricane. “Ma’am, can I… can I help you with something?” she stammered, the words catching in her throat. She was too terrified to form a coherent sentence, yet she’d had the gall to announce herself as my son’s mother to a group of thirty parents. “I saw your message in the group chat,” I said, my voice flat and cold. I wasn’t going to play games, not here in the lobby with Arthur watching. “You said you’re Leo Sterling’s mother. I’m curious about that.” Her hands, dangling at her sides, clenched into tight fists. Her eyes darted nervously toward the security desk before she forced a brittle smile. “Oh, that! The parent-teacher conferences are coming up, you see. Leo’s father mentioned that he and his wife are just so busy, they wouldn’t have time to come.” She took a shaky breath, trying to sell the lie. “He asked me to… to pretend, just so Leo wouldn’t feel left out or sad. I am so sorry if it caused any confusion!” It was a seamless explanation. It absolved her of any wrongdoing and, with a subtle twist of the knife, painted me as the absentee mother, too consumed by her career to show up for her own child. If I hadn’t spent the flight meticulously scrolling through her public Instagram profile, I might have actually believed her. Wednesday, 8:00 PM. The Lincoln Center. A photo of a man’s back as he bought a bouquet of roses from a street vendor. Her caption: He’s not a prince, he’s my king. The next day, I was in an urgent care clinic in Seattle with a severe allergic reaction to a bouquet of lilies my hotel had left in my room. Friday, 6:00 PM. A torrential downpour over the city. A selfie of her, looking doe-eyed and forlorn under the school’s awning. Her caption: Waiting for my king to rescue me from this downpour. Three minutes later, a text from Cole had come through. Hey, honey. Going to be stuck late at the office tonight. Can’t pick up Leo. You’ve got it, right? Thanks, you’re a lifesaver. I was dozing in a hospital bed, an IV dripping antihistamines into my arm. By the time I saw his text, two hours had passed. My son had waited in the school’s office, watching the storm, for two solid hours. He spiked a fever of 103 that night. On the way to the emergency room, Cole sighed heavily, his every word a veiled accusation about my failure to check my phone. I believed him. I thought I was a terrible mother. I spent the whole night stroking Leo’s flushed face, whispering apologies he couldn’t hear. But it turns out I wasn’t the one who needed to be sorry. My grip on my purse tightened until my knuckles were white. My gaze drifted from her pale, guilty face down to her earlobes, where a flash of brilliant blue caught the light. I let a small, sharp smile touch my lips. “Those are beautiful earrings, Ms. Jenkins. Did your boyfriend get them for you? They look expensive.” Last Valentine’s Day, I’d seen the charge on Cole’s credit card statement. A diamond tennis bracelet. A pair of sapphire earrings. The bracelet, worth four thousand dollars, was on my wrist. The earrings, worth twenty-five thousand, were dangling from the ears of the woman standing in front of me.

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My mom sent me on an errand to my brother’s place, to drop something off for his girlfriend. So I did what any sister would do: I barged right in. And was greeted by the sight of a half-naked god with abs so sharp they could cut glass. My brain short-circuited. But, hey, love is love. With a quavering voice and tears welling in my eyes, I managed to stammer, “So… you’re the lucky lady? Hi!” My brother’s voice, dripping with venom, echoed from behind me. “Full points for politeness, Ellie. But my actual girlfriend is standing right behind you.” Me: ??? 1. Oh. My. God. I whipped around to meet the gaze of my brother’s actual girlfriend—a woman with stunningly beautiful eyes. My face instantly went supernova-hot. I wanted the floor to swallow me whole, to randomly teleport me to another dimension. Anywhere but here. My brother, Ethan, grabbed me by the collar of my shirt, his voice a furious whisper in my ear. “Ellie, what in the hell is going on inside that head of yours?” Then he bent down, snatched a white T-shirt from the sofa, and chucked it at the guy. “Put this on, man. My girlfriend can’t stop staring.” A pang of grief shot through my heart. I couldn’t speak for his girlfriend, but my eyes were definitely glued. And I hadn’t gotten a good enough look yet! The man just let out a low, amused chuckle. He casually pulled the shirt over his head, and a few drops of water from his damp hair flicked onto the back of my hand. They felt cool against my skin. “What are you doing back so early?” he asked Ethan. Ethan shot him a glare. “Mom called and said my little sister was on her way. I was worried her overactive imagination would conjure up some home invasion scenario, so I came back to make sure you were safe.” He paused, his voice dropping an octave. “Turns out, she imagined a boyfriend-in-law instead.” The last words were ground out between clenched teeth. I was being publicly shamed and didn’t dare utter a single word in my defense. The guy, however, looked completely relaxed. He sized Ethan up with narrowed eyes. “Ethan, buddy,” he said, his tone laced with amusement. “Even if my tastes suddenly took a sharp left turn, you’re not exactly the kind of prize I’d be after.” “So, relax.” 2. Clearly, this was just their normal brand of banter. I’d actually heard about this Adonis before. He was my brother’s best friend and roommate from all four years of college—Raymond. After graduation, Ethan had proudly joined the 9-to-5 grind, while Raymond, thanks to his stellar academic record, landed a coveted spot in the graduate program at Bridgewater University, the top-ranked school in our state, which just happened to be near our home. Originally, Raymond had just asked Ethan to help him apartment-hunt. But then, as they were passing a coffee shop, some girl apparently “accidentally” twisted her ankle and stumbled right into Raymond’s arms, spilling her latte all over his jacket. She’d looked up at him, all apologies. “Oh my god, I’m so sorry about your jacket! Let me get your number, I’ll totally pay for the dry cleaning.” Her intentions were as transparent as glass. But Raymond was a walking, talking heart-shredder. He’d deadpanned, pulled out his phone, and opened his Venmo QR code. “That’ll be eight hundred and fifty-seven dollars.” The girl’s face went pale. “For a jacket? Are you kidding me? That’s robbery!” So Raymond simply pulled up the online receipt. After confirming the price, the girl decided to play dumb, turned on her heel, and practically sprinted away. Ethan recounted the story with theatrical flair, clearly enjoying every second of Raymond’s romantic misfortune. “The guy’s a total clean freak, so he was losing his mind over the coffee stain. My apartment was close, so I brought him up to take a shower. I even generously offered him one of my own shirts,” he said, puffing out his chest. I shook my head with a sigh. “That was a close one. He almost got a girlfriend.” It just goes to show, when God builds a man that perfect, he’s got to leave a screw loose somewhere. It was so obvious the girl wanted to hit on him, not pay for damages. Ethan put on a deep, thoughtful voice. “You don’t get it. This kind of thing happened to him constantly in college.” “He’d start the semester with a full wardrobe, and by the end, half of it would be ruined by coffee, wine, you name it.” That actually made sense. There are a million ways to show someone you’re interested. Damaging their property has to be the dumbest one. I nodded in agreement and muttered under my breath, “That’s got to be the oldest trick in the book. If it were me, I’d never do something so lame.” But my quiet little comment didn’t go unheard. A glint appeared in Raymond’s eyes. His smooth voice drifted down from above me. “So how do you do it?” “Me…?” I was at a loss for words, my gaze locking with his dark, intense eyes. His expression was curious, and genuinely serious. Staring up into that perfectly sculpted face, a face without a single flaw from any angle… My heart did something funny. It skipped a beat. 3. Raymond ended up renting the apartment directly above my brother’s. It was only two miles from the university campus and two miles from my parents’ house. Despite the proximity, in all my time at school and around home, I had never once run into him. Zero times. The new semester started with a chaotic whirlwind of activities that left my head spinning. Among them was the soul-crushing news that I had not only flunked Calculus last semester but had just flunked the makeup exam as well. I wasn’t sure whether to question my own intelligence or blame my terrible luck. Seeing me sobbing like my life was over, my roommate, Chloe, had to physically restrain herself from laughing. To lift my spirits and pull me out of my academic death spiral, Chloe dragged me to a party her friends were throwing. It was a mix of students from all the universities in the area, a big crowd of people our age, and everyone was having a blast. Everyone except me. After losing three out of four rounds of party games and being forced to take shots, I was nearing my alcohol limit. I wisely waved the white flag and opted for a dare on the next round. One of the senior girls pointed a lazy finger toward a dark figure sitting at a corner table. “See that guy over there? The hot one. Go ask him if he wants to make out.” The dare was insane. And the atmosphere instantly exploded with excitement. I followed her finger, peering through the dim, shifting lights and hazy smoke. From this distance, surrounded by a sea of people, I couldn’t make out his face. But I could tell from his broad shoulders and the elegant, long-fingered hand wrapped around a glass that he had an… undeniable presence. Dozens of expectant eyes were on me. My stomach churned with a mix of dread and desperation. I didn’t want to be a buzzkill. It’s not like we were actually going to kiss. Steeling myself, I stood up. To hide my terror and not ruin the mood, I threw my shoulders back and marched over, my stride so determined that I could see the reflection of a soldier heading into battle on the glass cabinets. I reached his side, shut my eyes, and blurted it all out in one breath. “Hey, you’re really cute. Wanna make out?” Before he could even answer, I spoke again, my words tumbling out at twice the normal speed. “No? Okay, never mind then.” I spun around to leave. But just then, someone completely wasted stumbled past, bumping hard into my back. I lost my balance. My entire body pitched forward, and I landed, with impeccable, mortifying accuracy, right in the man’s lap. In a panic, I looked up and met a pair of eyes that were both achingly familiar and impossibly handsome. My lipstick brushed against the side of his face, leaving a faint, shimmering red mark. The dim lights swirled around us, casting his gaze in shadow as he looked down at me. We were so close I could feel the warmth of his breath mingling with mine. My heart went into overdrive. It wasn’t until a large, warm hand settled on the small of my back to steady me that reality crashed back in. My heart plummeted into a black hole of despair. My face felt like stone. I was ready to say goodbye to this beautiful world. I screwed up. I screwed up big time. I just hit on my brother’s best friend. 4. Every cell in my body went rigid. The embarrassment was so total, so absolute, I just wanted to cease existing. But Raymond, it seemed, had no intention of letting me play dead. “Ellie,” he asked, his voice a low murmur. “Who exactly were you planning on kissing?” That simple question jolted me back to my senses. I shot up from his lap like a spring, pressing my palms together in a desperate plea. “Raymond, please! It was just a dare, I swear! Don’t tell my brother, okay? Please?” His eyes scanned me, his cool expression unreadable as he considered my request. But his reply had nothing to do with it. “You shouldn’t throw a word like ‘brother’ around so carelessly.” “Got it?” In the dim light of the bar, his deep voice seemed to take on a seductive, mesmerizing quality. The air around me suddenly felt thin. My heart was a chaotic mess. I nodded dumbly, but when I opened my mouth, the same stupid word came out. “But, bro, can you just…” I caught myself halfway through, cutting the word off. He turned his head slightly, extinguishing the half-smoked cigarette between his fingers. I couldn’t see his expression clearly in the shadows, but I heard it. A soft, almost imperceptible laugh. The alcohol must have been starting to really kick in, because my head was spinning faster. “You’ve been drinking,” Raymond stated. It wasn’t a question. Terrified he would report my drunken antics to Ethan, I tried to sound tough. “Just a little. Nothing I can’t handle.” He didn’t seem to get my underlying plea. “Just sit for a minute. Your brother’s on his way over anyway. You can have him take you back to your dorm or go home with him.” “My brother?” Every ounce of dizziness and that strange flutter in my chest vanished instantly. I was starting to think Raymond was threatening me. Blackmailing me. He was going to wait for Ethan to get here and then rat me out. He’d tell him how I behaved when I was drunk. How I’d shamelessly hit on him. My voice trembled. “He can’t know I’m here. I have to go, before he arrives.” I was in such a rush that I slammed my shin hard against the corner of the table. His hand shot out and closed around my wrist. A steady warmth seeped into my skin. “Don’t panic,” he said, his voice low and soothing. But then, a hint of amusement crept into his tone, the sound of someone enjoying the show. “I think you’re a little too late for that, Ellie-gator.” And right on cue, a familiar voice growled from behind me, each word dripping with menace. “Ellie. You’ve got some nerve. How is it that I run into you everywhere I go?” Oh, no. My life is over. Again. And again. And again. 5. I think I’m sick. Ever since that night, I can’t get Raymond out of my head. The ghost of his smirk, the way the light played in his dark eyes, the feeling of my lips brushing against his cheek… it all replays in my mind like an endless loop of pop-up ads. And with those memories comes this strange, electric current that zips through my chest. A wild, terrifying thought surfaced: Am I… developing a thing for my brother’s best friend? The realization sent another wave of horror through me. I was snapped out of my trance by my roommate, Chloe, grabbing my arm, her voice buzzing with excitement. “Ellie! The game’s over!” she squealed. “See that guy in the blue jersey? Number 9? That’s my crush. Isn’t he gorgeous?” She sighed dramatically. “I’m so bummed we missed him playing. I bet he looks amazing on the court.” Today was the Bridgewater University intramural basketball championship. Chloe had scored us passes to get onto campus, put on a full face of makeup, and dragged me along to be her personal cheerleader. But my Calculus professor had scheduled a last-minute review session, making us miss the entire game. By the time we rushed over, it was already ending. Chloe, a lovesick smile on her face, pulled out her phone. She was trying to zoom in on her crush’s face when the frame froze on another figure. She gasped. “Oh my god, it’s Raymond!” Her voice was a whirlwind of teenage angst and awe. All my distracted thoughts immediately evaporated, replaced by a sudden, sharp anxiety. “Wh-what?” Chloe didn’t notice my strange reaction. She excitedly shoved the phone into my hand. On the screen, a guy with perfectly messy hair stood bathed in the afternoon sun. His features were flawless, his tall frame lean and muscular under a white jersey. The golden hour light seemed to set him apart from the world, making him glow. My heart hammered against my ribs. Chloe was still babbling in my ear. “You seriously don’t know who he is? He’s basically a campus legend at Bridgewater. The hottest guy in the grad program. But he’s super aloof. They say the line of girls he’s rejected could circle the track three times. He’s the definition of ‘look but don’t touch’…” “Oh! My crush sees me! I gotta go give him his water! Talk later!” The power of love. This was a girl who acted like she was dying after running a hundred meters in gym class, yet in the blink of an eye, she had vanished into the throng of people on the court. She’d even forgotten her phone. My eyes fell back to the screen. Just as the phone was about to go dark, my finger tapped it awake. I zoomed in on the picture, my thumb swiping unconsciously. His eyes, the kind that seemed full of soul even when looking at a stray dog, filled the entire screen. It was almost like he was looking right at me. And in the next second, those very eyes were right in front of me. “Taking my picture?” I spun around in a panic. My hand jerked, and Chloe’s phone went flying. Time seemed to slow down as it tumbled through the air. I lunged for it. But it landed securely in a hand with long, elegant fingers. And my hand… …had latched onto the strong, steady wrist connected to that hand. His skin was warm beneath my palm. He tilted his head down, his eyelids slightly lowered. For a second, I thought I saw the corner of his mouth twitch into a smile. “Ellie, were you trying to destroy the evidence?” The slight curve of his lips sent my head spinning. “No, that’s not it.” Chloe’s phone was the newest model, top of the line, worth more than my tuition. I was just relieved. “I would never.” The words were out of my mouth before I realized how they sounded. I bit my lip. “I wasn’t taking a picture of you.” “Oh,” he said, his tone perfectly calm. But the amused glimmer in his eyes told me he didn’t believe a word of it. “Well then—” Raymond drew the word out, his expression deceptively pleasant. “—are you planning on letting go of my wrist anytime soon?” Me: !!! Seriously. I’m done. This is the end for me. I snatched the phone back like it was a hostage and bolted, my feet moving faster than they ever had. As I fled, one of Raymond’s friends squeezed out of the crowd, a water bottle in hand. He nudged Raymond, watching my frantic escape with a look of bored familiarity. “Another one bites the dust? Seriously, man, you’re a one-man heartbreak machine.” Raymond’s reply was quiet. “She wasn’t.” His friend laughed. “What, is the world ending? Did hell freeze over?” “Or did the great Raymond finally decide to show off for someone?” From a short distance away, I heard Raymond’s casual, almost lazy response. “You never know.” My frantic footsteps faltered, as if my shoes were suddenly glued to the ground. A firework of hope exploded in my once-dead heart. He didn’t deny it. He! What did that mean!?

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The moment my new neighbor found out I was Chief of Obstetrics at City General, the harassment started. “Dr. Hayes, open up! Something’s wrong—you have to check!” “Are you dead? This baby is special! If anything happens, can you even pay for it?” Three in the morning. My door was hammered so hard the walls shook. It was the sixteenth time this month I’d been woken like this. At first, I thought it was an emergency. I let her in, examined her—only to find her perfectly healthy, just bloated from overeating. But to her, she’d found a free, on-call private doctor. She started demanding nightly check-ups. Between my demanding job and no sleep, I nearly passed out in the OR more than once. I began refusing her. But she was relentless. Every night, without fail, she’d pound on my door—the noise earning complaints from the whole floor. I was at my wit’s end when a post on the community board caught my eye: “Seeking new apartment. Severe insomnia, emotionally unstable. Just beat up my neighbor. Need to move ASAP.” My eyes lit up. I contacted him immediately. 1. He replied almost instantly. We settled on a price, and he said he’d move in next month. I let out a long, slow breath. Finally, someone who could handle my neighbor. When I continued to ignore her, the pregnant woman, Brenda, became even more unhinged. She started shrieking in the hallway. “Lillian Hayes, are you trying to murder me and my baby?” “They say doctors are supposed to be compassionate. You call yourself a doctor?” “I am ordering you to come out and examine me right now, or I’m calling the cops and telling them you’re letting a patient die!” Her screaming was so loud it woke up half the building. The residents’ group chat started blowing up. “Seriously? Again? When is this going to end? Why is there always screaming at this hour?” “Apartments 301 and 302, whatever your issue is, please handle it privately. The rest of us are trying to sleep.” “To the pregnant woman in 302: Have you ever heard of common decency? My son has his SATs coming up, he needs his rest. Could you please be quiet?” Brenda, still lurking outside my door, must have seen the message. Her voice ripped through the hallway again. “What kind of idiot is your son that he’s not pulling all-nighters to study for his SATs? He probably won’t even get into community college.” “The baby I’m carrying is a golden child, a once-in-a-generation miracle! A psychic told me he’s destined for greatness, to be a senator or something.” “If anything happens to him, the worthless lives of everyone in this building couldn’t pay for it!” Her words were so vicious that the parent who had posted the message was furious. They tagged the building management. “Are you people going to do anything about this? Do we pay our HOA fees just to be verbally abused?” The property manager was clearly exasperated. He called me first. “Ms. Hayes, is there any way you can talk to Ms. Jones? Get her to stop the nightly disturbances.” “We’ve tried talking to her multiple times, but she just throws a tantrum every time. We’re at a loss.” I wanted to reason with her, but did Brenda sound like someone who understood reason? “You’d better come up here. I can’t communicate with her either.” I rubbed my temples, a migraine pounding behind my eyes. Just two nights ago, I’d opened the door and told Brenda she needed to go to the hospital for check-ups, not harass me. She had stormed right into my apartment, shouting indignantly. “Easy for you to say! Do you know how much a hospital visit costs?” “The co-pay alone is enough to buy me a week’s worth of groceries. I’m not rich like you.” “My husband works his fingers to the bone at a construction site out of state. Every penny he earns is precious!” Then, as if she owned the place, she’d marched to my medical supply cabinet, grabbed my fetal doppler, and shoved it into my hands, demanding I check the baby’s heartbeat. Before leaving, she’d shamelessly helped herself to a pile of my prenatal supplements. 2. I wanted to snatch them back, but she was holding that huge belly of hers like a shield. If we struggled and something happened, she’d sue me into oblivion. Remembering that, and listening to the rhythmic thump-thump-thump on my door, I wished I could just march out there and slap her. I clenched my fists, taking a deep breath to calm myself. The end of the month was coming. Once the insomniac moved in, we’d see if Brenda still dared to be so arrogant. The property manager arrived quickly. I opened the door to find Brenda, hands on her hips, in full-blown tantrum mode. “What’s it to you if I’m here to see Dr. Hayes for a medical issue?” “Now get lost before you upset my precious son!” The manager gave me a helpless look. “Dr. Hayes, maybe it would be easier if you just did a quick check-up for her. At this rate, nobody’s getting any sleep tonight.” Hearing this, a smug, triumphant look washed over Brenda’s face. “See, Dr. Hayes? You should feel honored that I’m letting you examine my son. I don’t let just anyone touch my belly, you know.” I took another deep breath, keeping my voice polite. “I’m sorry, but I am not your personal physician. I am under no obligation to perform daily check-ups for you.” “The women’s health clinic is two blocks away. You can go there if you need medical attention.” At that, Brenda’s eyebrows shot up. She jabbed a finger in my face. “You’re the Chief of Obstetrics! Why should I pay to go to a clinic?” “You doctors are all the same—heartless scammers. You won’t lift a finger to help someone for free, you just want to trick people into spending money at the hospital.” “I get it now. You must have a deal with that clinic, right? You send them patients and get a kickback!” “I’m telling you, if you don’t examine me right now, I’m putting this all over the internet. We’ll see how long you have a job after that!” I had tolerated her nonsense for weeks, but this was the last straw. “Ms. Jones, let me make myself clear one last time: I will not be examining you. Not now, not ever.” “I have a security camera right here. It recorded every slanderous word you just said. Go ahead, post it online. Let’s see who ends up in jail.” My usual demeanor was calm and professional. This was the first time I had ever lost my temper like this. Brenda was momentarily stunned. After a long pause, she hissed through clenched teeth. “Fine. You don’t have to check on me.” “I have three months left until my due date. That’s about one check-up every other day. You give me twenty thousand dollars for my medical expenses, and I’ll leave you alone.” Her demand left not just me, but the property manager, completely speechless. My breath came in short, angry bursts. “He’s not my child. Why on earth would I pay for your expenses?” Brenda’s voice dripped with entitlement. “You’re a department chief. You must make tens of thousands a month. My husband breaks his back on a construction site for a few grand. You’re rich. What’s twenty thousand dollars to you?” “They say doctors are angels in white coats. If you won’t help me, then you should pay!” Her logic was so twisted it was nauseating. I had lived for decades and never met anyone so utterly shameless. The property manager couldn’t help but intervene. “Ms. Jones, Dr. Hayes is just your neighbor. She has no obligation to pay for your prenatal care…” Before he could finish, Brenda’s shriek cut him off. “What the hell are you talking about? She’s a doctor, she’s supposed to help me!” “You’re taking her side. Are you two sleeping together?” The manager’s face darkened. “I am a married man with a family. Please do not make such baseless accusations!” 3. Brenda rolled her eyes dismissively. “So what if you’re married? Lillian Hayes dresses like a tramp every day. It’s obvious she’s trying to seduce men.” “Who knows how many married men in this building she’s already slept with.” “It’s a good thing my husband works out of state. I wouldn’t feel safe living next to her otherwise.” I work in a hospital. I spend most of my day in scrubs. When I’m not working, my clothes are perfectly normal and modest. I couldn’t fathom how she had twisted that into something so vile. I tried to stay calm, but my heart was hammering against my ribs with pure rage. “Ms. Jones, if you’re going to make accusations, you need proof. You slander me again, and we’ll settle this in court.” Brenda crossed her arms, smirking. “You know whether it’s true or not. I’ve knocked on your door plenty of times when you refused to open it. You must have been hiding a man in there.” “You act all high and mighty, but you’re just a slut.” Her insults grew more and more vulgar. I pulled out my phone and dialed 911. Seeing me actually call the police, a flicker of panic crossed Brenda’s eyes. But then she glanced down at her round belly, and her arrogant expression returned. The police arrived within half an hour. Before I could say a word, Brenda burst into tears, playing the victim. “Officers, you have to help me!” she wailed. “Lillian Hayes, a doctor, is bullying a pregnant woman! My stomach is killing me, I’m dying, and she won’t even look at me! Isn’t that attempted murder?” The officers frowned and turned to me. “What’s going on here?” I didn’t say much. I just played the security footage from my phone. “I am a doctor, but I am not obligated to be her 24/7 free clinic. She harasses me every night and verbally abuses me. I want to press charges.” After watching the video, the officers looked just as fed up as I was. The lead officer addressed Brenda sternly. “Ma’am, your behavior constitutes public disturbance and harassment. Please come with us to the station.” Brenda hadn’t expected this. She started screaming. “Why are you arresting me? Lillian is the one who refused to help a dying woman! You should be arresting her!” One of the officers took out a pair of handcuffs, but as he approached, she threw herself on the floor, clutching her stomach. “Help! The police are trying to kill me! They’re going to kill me and my baby!” She was impossible to deal with. And with the pregnancy, it was a minefield. The officer gave me an apologetic look. “Ms. Hayes, she’s pregnant. We can’t forcibly remove her.” “How about this: we’ll give her a formal warning for now. If it happens again, we’ll file for a court order.” I knew their hands were tied. I could only nod. After that incident, Brenda was quiet for a few days. I finally got some much-needed sleep. Just when I thought she had given up, I came home from work to find the window to my apartment wide open, the reinforced security screen violently torn. I thought I’d been robbed. I rushed inside, only to find Brenda sitting on my sofa, eating a durian. 4. She glanced at me, a look of disgust on her face. “This durian you bought isn’t even ripe. It’s not very good. You should pick a better one next time.” I was stunned. “What are you doing in my house?” I asked, my voice shaking. Brenda answered as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “I ran out of my vitamins. You weren’t home, so I had to pry open the window to get them.” I was so furious I could barely speak. “This is my home,” I said through clenched teeth. “This is breaking and entering!” “And what does you running out of vitamins have to do with me? Why are you stealing mine?” Brenda rolled her eyes. “So stingy. How much could this stuff possibly be worth?” “If my son is born unhealthy because he lacked nutrients, could you afford to compensate me for that?” The supplements I had were for my sister, who was trying to conceive. They were expensive, hundreds of dollars a box. I had let the previous thefts slide, but this batch was special. I’d had a friend buy them for me from abroad. There was no way I was letting her take them. I moved toward her to grab the vitamins, but she clutched them to her chest and shrieked. “What are you doing?” “I’m not even asking you for that twenty grand anymore, and you can’t even spare a few boxes of vitamins? You are such a cheap bitch!” She was screaming like a maniac. I couldn’t get near her. My only option was to call the police again. When the officers arrived and saw the scene, they looked exhausted. But this time, it was breaking and entering and theft. They were finally able to haul her down to the station to make a statement. It didn’t matter. As soon as she was released, she was back to her old tricks. She even posted a twisted version of the events online. The headline read: “Chief Physician at City General Hospital, Dr. Lillian Hayes, Refuses to Help Pregnant Woman, Repeatedly Conspires with Police and HOA to Bully Her.” The post gained a lot of traction. My hospital’s administration contacted me, demanding to know what was going on and telling me to handle it immediately. I explained the situation to my superiors, then, seething with a rage I could barely contain, I knocked on Brenda’s door. She took her time answering. When she saw me, a triumphant smile spread across her face. “What’s this? Finally decided to come and give me my check-up?” “You’re pathetic. Have to be beaten into submission before you do the right thing.” I shoved my phone in her face. “Did you write this?” I gritted out. Brenda’s lips curled into a smirk. “I did. This is what you get for calling the cops on me. This is your punishment.” Looking at her arrogant, gloating face, I dug my nails into my palms, trying to keep my anger in check. “Take the post down. Now.” She scoffed. “Why should I? Everything I wrote is the truth. Go ahead, sue me!” “It won’t matter. I won’t go to jail, and you’ll be the one whose reputation is ruined.” Conventional methods were useless against a person like this. I gave her one last, cold glare and went back to my apartment. I endured it for three more days. Then, finally, the day my new tenant was scheduled to move in arrived. I hired a moving company and quietly, without a word to anyone, moved out. I had my lawyer handle the online post, and then I threw myself back into my work. Less than a week later, my upstairs neighbor added me on a messaging app, her text urgent. “Dr. Hayes, something terrible happened! That pregnant woman from 302 is in the community courtyard with a huge banner, saying she’s going to sue you for murder!” “What do you mean?” I typed back, a knot of dread forming in my stomach. My neighbor’s reply came back instantly. “You moved out, right? Well, Brenda went over to your place in the middle of the night and started banging on the door. When no one answered, she found a crowbar and started trying to break it down.” “Your new tenant opened the door, snatched the crowbar from her, and beat her with it. She lost the baby, Lillian.” My blood ran cold. “She’s too scared to go after your tenant,” the neighbor continued, “so she’s blaming you. She says you’re the one who killed her baby, and she’s demanding you pay for it!”

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