My life was a fairytale woven from silk and silver spoons. As a child, I was my father and brother’s cherished doll; as a woman, I became Rich Blackwood’s treasured possession. I was a beautiful ornament drifting through my twenties without a care, surrounded by couture and curated perfection. Nothing more was expected of me. I never questioned this life—until my estranged mother returned from Europe with my sister, Aurora. Aurora was everything I wasn’t: brilliant, poised, a force of nature. She dove into the family business, planning its future with Rich in conversations full of ambition I couldn’t grasp. One evening, drawn by a painful curiosity, I crept into the corporate headquarters and overheard them. A woman’s sharp voice asked, “Still here, Mr. Blackwood? Won’t the little lady at home get jealous?” Rich’s reply was cold and dismissive: “Jealous? What could she do? Without me, Katie is nothing—a pretty canary in the gilded cage I built. A broken, useless thing.” My world shattered. Then I saw my brother, Ethan, standing beside him, his expression cold and detached. “Katie has always been spoiled,” he said without warmth. “A little hardship will do her good.” 1 The morning sun filtered through my silk curtains, but it was Mrs. Gable, our housekeeper, who gently woke me. I drifted into the master bathroom where a steaming bath already awaited, the water infused with lavender oils. Even my toothbrush was prepared, a perfect ribbon of mint paste squeezed onto the bristles. “Call if you need anything, Miss Katie,” Mrs. Gable’s voice came softly from outside the door. After my bath, I sat at my vanity, applying a light, dewy makeup. Mrs. Gable then escorted me to the breakfast solarium. Rich was already there, impeccably dressed, his eyes fixed on a tablet. He didn’t even look up as I sat down. “I won’t be back tonight,” he announced to the air. “Things are busy at the office.” I bit my lip, a familiar knot of resentment tightening in my chest. “Busy at the office, or busy with Aurora? You’re with her constantly these days.” His fingers stilled on the screen. Rich finally lifted his gaze, his gray eyes cold and sharp. “She is your sister, Katie. And a brilliant business partner. Aurora is not someone whose name you get to drag through the mud with petty gossip.” The rebuke stung like a slap. Tears pricked my eyes. “Am I wrong? She’s been back for two months, and you’ve spent more time with her than with me. Have you been home on time even once in those two months?” A flash of pure annoyance crossed his face. He dabbed his lips with a linen napkin, the gesture precise and final. “This is childish.” He rose, slipped on his tailored coat, and left without another word. My appetite vanished. I fled back to my room and let the tears come, a storm of frustration that ruined my carefully applied makeup. “Am I not beautiful anymore, Mrs. Gable?” I asked her later, my voice thick with misery. “Why does he treat me like this?” She hesitated, her kind eyes filled with a pity I hated. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Miss Katie.” And she was right. How could I not be? Beauty was my life’s work. Skincare regimens, cosmetic artists, personal stylists, photographers—every waking moment was dedicated to crafting an image of flawless perfection. I was exquisite, a living work of art. Rich used to love this part of me. He used to adore his perfect doll. But since Aurora arrived, everything had changed. Aurora was my half-sister. When my parents’ bitter divorce tore our family apart years ago, my mother chose her. She took Aurora to Europe, and I was left with my father. I had screamed and cried, but my father and my brother, Ethan, smothered my grief with affection. They built a world for me where no shadow could touch me, a gilded cage I never knew I was in. I never had to lift a finger for anything. Private cars whisked me from one high-end boutique to another, my passport stamped with luxury destinations before I was twenty. Then came the arranged marriage. I was introduced to Rich Blackwood, and after a year of meticulously orchestrated courtship, we wed. Our marriage had been a merger, a contract sealing the Sterling and Blackwood empires. Rich continued where my father and brother left off. He sheltered me, pampered me, and never burdened me with the details of his world. All he asked was for me to be his beautiful, cheerful wife, waiting for him at home. I’d fill the silence of our massive house with my chatter about a new dress I’d bought, a disastrous makeup attempt, or which photo filter made me look best. He would listen, or at least pretend to, his patience a form of condescension I was too naive to recognize. Everyone envied me. At twenty-eight, I was still a princess, insulated from reality. First by my family, then by my husband. The truth was, I was useless. I had no skills, no ambitions. Without a team of staff, I couldn’t even manage a day on my own. I never thought this was a problem. Not until Aurora came back. When my mother and Aurora walked through the arrivals gate at the airport, they were a vision of power. My mother, elegant in a camel trench coat, was a force of nature, already taking calls, her voice crisp with authority. Aurora stood by her side, a younger, sharper reflection—poised, vibrant, exuding a confidence that was utterly foreign to me. They were a power duo, straight out of a business magazine. My father, there to greet them, was as stunned as I was. My mother’s eyes landed on me, and a small frown creased her brow. For the first time in my life, I looked down at my frilly princess dress and felt a hot wave of shame. I felt childish and flimsy. That was the moment the panic set in. A deep, primal sense of crisis. From that day on, everything shifted. Aurora’s brilliance captivated everyone. My father, Ethan, and even Rich looked at her with an admiration they never showed me. Suddenly, my carefully constructed world of beauty and leisure seemed shallow and pathetic. I, the pampered daughter, was a footnote in my own family’s story. Jealousy, sharp and ugly, took root in my heart. And it bloomed into a raging inferno the moment I realized Rich was just as captivated by her as everyone else. 2 After Rich left, a gray mood settled over me for the rest of the day. By evening, I couldn’t stand it anymore. I had to see him. I had to know. The driver dropped me at the gleaming Blackwood Corp tower. I rode the private elevator up, my heels clicking ominously on the marble floor. The main offices were dark and silent, but a sliver of light escaped from under Rich’s office door. I slipped out of my shoes and crept closer, my heart pounding. Through the narrow gap where the door was slightly ajar, I could see them. Rich and Aurora, sitting across from each other, smiling, their rapport easy and intimate. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. Then I heard Aurora’s voice, smooth as silk. “Still here, Mr. Blackwood? Won’t the little lady at home get jealous?” Rich’s brow furrowed slightly. “Don’t worry about her.” Aurora laughed, a light, musical sound. “I heard from Mrs. Gable that Katie’s been quite upset lately. Maybe you should head home.” Rich let out a short, cold huff of air. His voice was a low, dismissive drawl laced with a scorn that cut me to the bone. “Jealous? What could she possibly do? Without me, Katie is nothing. Just a pretty canary in a gilded cage I built for her. A broken, useless thing.” My blood ran cold. Rich… did he really see me that way? Just as a surge of furious tears burned my eyes, another voice chimed in, calm and familiar. “Katie’s always been spoiled. A little hardship will do her good.” My head snapped up. Through the crack in the door, I saw him. My brother. Ethan. Standing right there, his expression placid, as if discussing the weather. “She’s not a child anymore,” he continued. “If she throws a tantrum over something this small, who could stand it? It’s time her rough edges were smoothed out.” My hand flew to my mouth to stifle a gasp, my body trembling so violently I thought I would collapse. My movement must have made a sound, because Rich’s head shot up, his eyes narrowing on the door. “Who’s there?” Panic seized me. I scrambled backward, grabbing my shoes and running. Pride, the only thing I had left, wouldn’t let me stay. I couldn’t bear the thought of Aurora seeing me like this, her eyes filled with the same pity I saw in everyone else’s. I fled, tears streaming down my face. In the back of the car, I sobbed uncontrollably. Rich despised me. And Ethan, my protector, my beloved brother, had betrayed me. He’d thrown me to the wolves. They didn’t love me anymore. It was nearly midnight when Rich finally came home. I was waiting for him in the dark, sitting ramrod straight on the living room sofa. He entered silently, shrugging off his coat and hanging it with detached precision. My eyes were swollen and red. Before I could even speak, he broke the silence. “You came to the office today.” It wasn’t a question. His voice was cold. I gritted my teeth. “Yes. I did.” He sighed, a sound of profound weariness, rubbing his temples. “That was you at the door, wasn’t it?” “What if it was, Rich?” My voice shook with rage. “If I hadn’t gone, I never would have known what you really think of me! If you despise me so much, why did you marry me? You never loved me, did you?” The tears started again, hot trails of humiliation and anger. He looked at me with open frustration. “Katie, I’m exhausted. I don’t have the energy for this drama. Things are incredibly stressful right now, and I can’t deal with these petty games. Can you please just stop?” The air left my lungs. “Petty games…” I whispered, incredulous. “This is a ‘petty game’ to you? The fact that my husband thinks I’m worthless is a petty game? Do you even care about me at all?” He just stared at me as if I were a hysterical child. “I’m going to bed. If you’re still in a mood, go shopping tomorrow. Book a spa day. I’ll have my assistant arrange it.” He turned to leave. “Rich,” I called out, my voice dangerously quiet. “I want a divorce. Is that also a petty game?” He froze, his back rigid. Slowly, he turned around. A cold, humorless smile touched his lips. “Divorce me? Are you sure about that?” He took a step closer. “Was anything I said untrue? You’ve lived off my money, off your father’s money, your entire life. Tell me, Katie, without me, what are you? What could you possibly do?” I stood there, speechless and shattered. He softened his voice then, but his eyes were devoid of warmth. It was the tone one uses to soothe a frightened pet. “Katie. Be a good girl. Once this project is over, I’ll take you on a trip. Anywhere you want to go.” He disappeared into the bedroom. I remained on the sofa, sitting in the darkness all night long, as the last remnants of my love for him turned to ash. 3 The next day, I drove to my father’s house. When I walked into his study, my mother was there, deep in conversation with him. Dad looked up, surprised. “Katie, honey. What brings you here?” I glanced at my mother, suddenly unsure of how to begin. Sensing my hesitation, she stood up gracefully. “You two talk. I’ll go rest for a bit.” My father watched her leave, a flicker of disappointment in his eyes. As soon as the door closed, the words tumbled out of me. “I want to divorce Rich.” His expression shifted from surprise to weary disbelief. I told him everything, my voice breaking as I recounted the previous night, the tears I’d tried so hard to suppress finally falling. My father had always been helpless against my tears. When I finished, his jaw was tight with anger. “I know, honey, I know. I’ll have a serious talk with Rich. He went way too far this time.” I shook my head fiercely. “No. I don’t want you to talk to him. I want a divorce. He despises me, Dad.” He fell silent. Under my pleading gaze, he finally sighed, the fight draining out of him. “Katie, don’t be dramatic. It’s a small argument. It’s not worth ending a marriage over. Rich is under a lot of pressure with this new project. A scene like this will only distract him.” A chill went through me. “You think I’m being dramatic, too?” “Katie,” he said, his voice taking on a patronizing tone. “You’re a grown woman now, not a little girl. You may not be able to help run a company like your sister, but you can be a supportive partner to your husband. This kind of behavior will only push him away.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. Why was no one on my side? “Ever since Aurora came back, all of you have changed! In your eyes, she’s the perfect daughter, and I’m just the stupid, useless one. You look down on me just like he does, don’t you?” His eyes were filled with a weary helplessness. “Don’t be difficult, Katie. Of course I don’t look down on you. But this is reality. You’re an adult now. You can’t expect everyone to cater to your moods like when you were a child.” “But you promised!” I cried out. “You and Ethan promised you would protect me forever, that you’d never let me be unhappy!” He had no answer for that. He just changed the subject. “I’ll have Rich over for dinner tonight. I’ll make sure he apologizes. We’ll put this whole thing behind us.” I stood up, trembling. “Whether you approve or not, I’m getting this divorce. I don’t need your permission.” As I stormed out, I saw my mother coming down the stairs. I heard my father’s voice, heavy with disappointment, drift from the study. “You were right. I ruined her. She’s spoiled, selfish, thinks only of herself…” The floor fell out from beneath me. They were the ones who had made me this way. They were the ones who told me my only job was to be happy. And now, they despised me for it. If they felt that way, why did they ever make those promises? I went back to the house and started packing, but after a lifetime of being waited on, I didn’t even know where most of my things were. Mrs. Gable watched me with a pained expression. “Miss Katie, Mr. Blackwood gave orders that you are not to leave. And that we are not to assist you.” Gritting my teeth, I wrestled my clothes into a suitcase. Just as I was about to drag it out the door, Ethan’s car pulled into the driveway. His face darkened the moment he saw the luggage. He strode over, snatched the suitcase from my hand, and threw it to the ground. The clasps burst open, spilling my dresses across the pristine floor. “Katie, have you lost your mind? Stop this ridiculous tantrum!” My eyes burned, but I held his gaze. “I’m not throwing a tantrum. You’re the ones who are wrong! I am divorcing Rich.” A mocking sneer twisted his lips. “You’re twenty-eight, Katie, not eighteen. Do you really think these histrionics are helping? We spoiled you so badly you can’t even see how pathetic you look. This behavior is just… repulsive.” His words hit me like a physical blow. I dropped to my knees and began stuffing my clothes back into the broken suitcase, my voice a stubborn whisper. “Fine. Then you can all hate me. I don’t need any of you.” I managed to close the lid. Ethan laughed coldly. “And where will you go? Dad won’t welcome you home, and he certainly won’t be giving you any more money. Let’s see how long your little rebellion lasts when you’re cut off.” I froze. He was right. I had no money of my own. I didn’t even know how to rent an apartment. The world outside my gilded cage was a terrifying mystery. Just then, Rich arrived. He saw me on the floor, clutching my suitcase. He strode over and pulled me to my feet, his grip like iron. His voice was cold as he addressed the staff. “Take my wife back to her room. Watch her. Don’t let her cause any more trouble.” “Yes, sir.” I was being dragged away, a prisoner in my own home. My mind reeled. “Ethan…” I pleaded, looking back at my brother. He just stared at me, his face a mask of indifference. “It’s time you grew up, Katie. If you were half as sensible as Aurora, my life would be so much easier.” Tears streamed down my face. “Ethan, please! Don’t let them lock me up! Please!” My cries echoed in the hall as the bedroom door clicked shut behind me. For three days, they kept me there. No one came. My father and brother had handed me over to another man, letting him do as he pleased, condoning this… imprisonment. It was in that silent room that I finally understood. If I wanted to be free, I had to rely on myself. On the third day, when Rich finally opened the door, the tears were gone. I looked at him, my voice steady and clear. “Rich, I want to start a business.”

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The day my wife Ginnifer—the legendary undercover cop—vowed to quit, she promised a new start at a country safe house. I believed our seven years of fear were finally over. But the remote ranch was an ambush. Vengeance struck brutally: my parents beaten to death, my five-year-old daughter struck with a shovel as she cried for her mother. We were thrown into a pit and buried alive. In the suffocating dark, with my dying phone, I called her. She was at a gala, celebrated as a hero beside the cartel kingpin’s son—the man she’d turned. “You used us as bait,” I choked out. Her voice was cold. “So what if I did? Alex’s father was a monster. Protecting him is my duty.” A champagne flute clinked. “You knew the risks. Now lie low—I have a celebration to return to.” 1 The line went dead. The last of the air was crushed from my lungs, and the darkness consumed me. I don’t know how long I was gone. When consciousness returned, I was a weightless, transparent specter, a ghost adrift on the currents of memory. I floated back to the home Ginnifer and I had shared. I saw her pulling up to the house, helping Alex out of the passenger side of her car. His arm was wrapped in a crisp white bandage. “Ginnifer,” he murmured, his voice a low thrum of feigned pain. “It hurts so much. Do you think it’ll heal properly? How will I be able to help you with your files… or go on missions with you?” Ginnifer squeezed his hand, her voice softer and more tender than I had ever heard it. “Don’t worry. It’s just a scratch. You just focus on resting. I’ll have Leo take care of you when he gets back. He’s good at that sort of thing.” I hovered in the entryway, watching as she knelt and slipped my house slippers onto Alex’s feet. A hollow ache emanated from where my heart used to be. This was our home. The home we’d built over seven years of a fractured, dangerous marriage. And now, she’d brought the son of my family’s murderer into it, intending for me to serve him like a butler. In the living room, she settled Alex on the sofa and went straight to my study. She pulled a debit card from my desk drawer and pressed it into his hand. “Leo’s been messing around with some online shop. Made a little money,” she said dismissively. “It’s not much, but take it. Buy yourself something nice.” Alex made a show of refusing. “I can’t, Ginnifer. This is Leo’s money.” Ginnifer’s brow furrowed with impatience. “What’s his is mine. Hell, he’s mine. What’s the big deal?” She forced the card into his hand, then picked up her phone, muttering in frustration. “I’ve called him a thousand times. Is he dead, or did he run off with someone?” She sighed dramatically. “I swear, what’s the point of having a husband? The second my gala is over, I have to come home and play nurse, and there isn’t even a hot meal waiting for me.” Alex let out a low, magnetic chuckle. “Don’t be mad at him, Ginnifer. He’s probably just sulking. You know, because you chose to protect me instead of going to his little ranch getaway.” The anger in Ginnifer’s face melted away. She sat beside him, resting her head on his shoulder. “You’re too kind, Alex. He’s not sulking. He’s being a child. When he gets back, I’m making him shut down that stupid online store and stay home to take care of you full-time.” She dialed my number again. The call went straight to voicemail. Her expression darkened. “So he’s hiding from me. Fine. Two can play at that game.” She found the number for my daughter’s preschool director and barked into the phone the second it was answered. “Put Daisy on the phone. Now.” The teacher’s polite, confused voice came through the speaker. “Mrs. Reed? I think you might be mistaken. Daisy hasn’t been to school in over two weeks. We couldn’t get in touch with Mr. Sterling, so we just assumed you’d all gone on vacation.” Ginnifer froze. “Two weeks?” “Yes. We haven’t seen her since the fifteenth of last month.” Ginnifer hung up, her face pale. The fifteenth. The day before she told me about the ranch. Alex wrapped his arms around her, his tone deceptively casual. “See, Ginnifer? Don’t worry. Leo’s just hiding her to get back at you. He knows how much you adore Daisy. He’s using your own daughter to make you beg.” The flicker of fear in Ginnifer’s eyes was instantly consumed by rage. “That useless bastard. He wouldn’t dare.” She found my best friend Mark’s number and lit into him the moment he picked up. “You tell Leo he has one hour to get his ass back here! If he doesn’t, I’ll find Daisy a new father so fast he’ll never see his daughter again for the rest of his life!” I trembled with a fury so immense it felt like it could tear my ghostly form apart. She was using our daughter to threaten me. Our Daisy. Her own flesh and blood. Daisy, who had cried for her mommy with her last breath. Daisy, who was so proud that her mother was a police officer, only to be left to die in a cold, dark pit. This monster wasn’t fit to be a mother. She wasn’t fit to be human. Mark’s voice exploded through the phone. “Are you out of your goddamn mind, Ginnifer?! Leo, Daisy, and his parents have been missing for over two weeks! We’ve been searching everywhere! How could you say something like that?!” Ginnifer just scoffed. “Don’t play these stupid games with me. If he’s not here in one hour, he can expect divorce papers.” She slammed the phone down, then turned to Alex, her voice instantly sweetening. “Come on. I’ll take you out for a real meal. I cancelled the after-party. Your health is more important.” Alex grinned, pulling her closer. “I knew you cared about me most, Ginnifer.” Watching them leave together, an unbearable tightness seized my chest. It wasn’t that she was too busy with work to come home. It was that I was never the one worth coming home for. No need for divorce papers, Ginnifer. You’ve been free for two weeks already. 2 Ginnifer and Alex settled into a private booth at an upscale steakhouse. As they sat down, her phone buzzed. Her eyes lit up, thinking it was me. The light died just as quickly when she saw the caller ID. She answered with an annoyed sigh. It was a rookie from her precinct, his voice frantic. “Captain Reed! We’ve got a scene out at the old dumping grounds west of the city. Four unidentified bodies in a shallow grave. One adult male, two older adults, one child. ME estimates time of death at least two weeks ago…” Ginnifer’s hand, holding a steak knife, paused mid-air. Her expression grew serious. “What are the details?” “They were buried, Captain. Decomposition is advanced, making visual ID impossible. The ME’s preliminary report says the victims were subjected to extreme violence before death. Multiple comminuted fractures on all three adults. The child… God, Captain, the kid can’t be more than five. The skull was crushed by a heavy, blunt object. It’s… it’s sevage.” A sharp, unpleasant pang shot through Ginnifer’s chest. A five-year-old child… a crushed skull… Her fingers tightened on the silverware. Alex immediately covered her hand with his, his face a mask of concern. “Ginnifer? What is it? A case?” She looked into his worried eyes, and her features softened instantly. She spoke into the phone, her voice now a low, professional command. “I understand. Have the forensics team sweep the site thoroughly. Report any findings to me immediately.” She ended the call. In the dim, intimate lighting of the booth, Alex devoured his steak, his eyes never leaving Ginnifer. “You were so serious just now, Ginnifer. So powerful. I feel so safe when I’m with you.” His flattery soothed her, but a sliver of unease remained. A family of four, slaughtered, a child tortured… Even for a seasoned homicide detective like her, the brutality was shocking. Worse, there was a chilling familiarity to the MO. It was the signature of vengeful cartel enforcers. Suddenly, Alex let out a pained groan. “Ah… Ginnifer, I feel dizzy…” Her thoughts snapped back to him. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?” “I think… maybe it’s the blood loss from my arm. The room is spinning…” He slumped against her, his voice weak and pleading. Ginnifer immediately helped him up, grabbing her coat. The mass grave, the slaughtered family—all of it vanished from her mind. Nothing was more important than the man in her arms, the man who had “risked everything for her.” Her phone buzzed again. A call from the precinct. Without a second thought, she silenced it. “Do you need to go to the hospital?” she asked softly. Alex shook his head, leaning into her more heavily. “No. Just… take me home. Stay with me.” … Meanwhile, the lights of the city morgue burned bright. Harris, a young forensic intern, fought back a wave of nausea as he examined the body of the adult male. The bones in the victim’s hands were almost completely shattered, but on his ring finger, a simple wedding band remained. It glinted under the harsh examination lamp. Acting on instinct, Harris carefully worked the ring off with a pair of tweezers to get a closer look. Under the light, a tiny inscription on the inner band became visible: A.R. & L.S. Ginnifer Reed & Leo Sterling. The intern’s heart hammered against his ribs. He knew Captain Reed’s husband was named Leo. It couldn’t be. But professional duty compelled him. He dialed Ginnifer’s number immediately. The phone rang for a long time before someone picked up. But the voice that answered was not Ginnifer’s. It was a man’s, lazy and tinged with post-coital satisfaction. “Yeah? Who’s this?” Harris, new to the department, didn’t recognize Alex’s voice. “Hello? Is this Mr. Sterling? I need to speak with Captain Reed. I have an extremely urgent lead that I must report to her personally.” “Oh, she’s a little… occupied right now,” Alex chuckled, glancing at the silhouette of a woman showering in the bathroom. “She’s got her hands full. Whatever it is, just follow standard procedure. Don’t bother her with every little thing.” “But this is critical!” Harris insisted. “It might be personally related to the captain—” “I don’t care if it’s about the goddamn mayor,” Alex cut him off smoothly. “Your captain’s orders were clear. Don’t disturb her tonight, even if the sky is falling. Got it?” Before Harris could reply, Alex hung up. He then casually deleted the call from Ginnifer’s log and placed the phone back on the nightstand, a faint smirk playing on his lips. 3 Under Alex’s constant, cloying persuasion, Ginnifer actually took an extended leave of absence. This was once unthinkable. The department couldn’t function without her, she’d always said. Every second counted in the war on drugs; lives were on the line. In seven years, she had never missed a single minute of work for a family matter—not for my emergency surgery, not for our daughter’s late-night trips to the ER. But for Alex, she was willing to break all her own rules. I floated in the air, watching her clumsily tie on an apron I’d bought her, trying to follow a recipe to make soup for him. Every time her work phone rang, her voice was laced with irritation. “Didn’t I say my deputy is handling everything? Are you deaf? I’m on leave! Don’t call me unless the world is ending!” The irony was a physical pain. How I had yearned for her to be present like this, just for one day. I remembered Daisy’s second birthday. She had a raging fever, crying for her mommy. I called Ginnifer over and over, from midnight until dawn. When she finally answered, her voice was a whip crack of fury. “Leo, can you for once try to be an adult? I am in the middle of an operation! Your constant calls could get me killed! If the child is sick, take her to a hospital! You knew I was busy when you married me! If you can’t handle one simple thing, what good are you?” Back then, I had believed her. I was consumed with guilt. Now, I saw only the pathetic, gullible fool I had been. After dinner, Alex lounged on the sofa, letting Ginnifer feed him pieces of fruit. He spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him. “Ginnifer, Leo still hasn’t come back… You don’t think… he ran off with another woman, do you?” Ginnifer’s face went rigid. “He wouldn’t dare! Who else would want a useless, spineless man like him?” Then, as if struck by a thought, she found my parents’ landline and dialed. It rang and rang, unanswered. She tried my father’s cell. Unanswered. “What the hell?” Ginnifer stood up, pacing the living room, a storm brewing in her eyes. That ominous feeling crept over her again. Alex came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist. “Don’t worry, Ginnifer. Maybe his parents are mad at you too. Just ignoring your calls to make a point. Why don’t you just drive over there and ask them in person?” It seemed logical. She grabbed her car keys and stormed out. I followed her, watching her speed through the city toward my parents’ house. It was a place she rarely visited. My parents, knowing the sacrifices I made for our secret marriage, always treated her with overwhelming warmth. They would cook all her favorite dishes, fussing over her, terrified she might feel unwelcome. “Leo,” my mom used to say, “Ginnifer’s work is important. You have to be understanding. We’re here to help.” But now, the old apartment they had lived in for thirty years was dark and silent. The door was locked. Ginnifer pounded on the cold metal. “Mom! Dad! Open up! Leo! I know you’re in there! Open the damn door!” Her shouts echoed in the empty hallway, laced with a tremor she herself didn’t recognize. The next-door neighbor, Mrs. Gable, poked her head out. “Oh, Ginnifer, dear. Stop knocking. No one’s been home at the Sterlings’ for over two weeks! I thought I smelled something strange a few days ago, but no one answered. Figured they went on a long trip.” Ginnifer stumbled back, staring at the closed door, her eyes wide with a dawning horror. Over two weeks. There it was again. The bodies in the shallow grave. Her daughter’s school. And now, her in-laws. All the timelines were converging into a single, terrifying point. That chilling sense of familiarity seized her again. For the first time, she felt it—the terrifying realization that something had spun completely, irrevocably out of her control. 4 Ginnifer returned home, her face ashen. The moment Alex saw her, a flash of vindictive satisfaction crossed his face before he masked it with concern. He rushed to her, his voice a soothing balm. “Ginnifer, don’t work yourself up. I bet this is all just part of Leo’s plan to make you worry, to make you regret how you’ve treated him. He knows you have a soft heart.” “What do you know?!” she snapped, shoving him away. She collapsed onto the sofa, burying her face in her hands. “He’s hidden the baby and his parents. He won’t answer his phone. What the hell does he want from me?” An idea formed in Alex’s mind. He picked up his phone and showed her a photo. “Ginnifer, don’t be angry, but… I think I saw Leo a few days ago. He was with some woman at the mall… they looked very close. I didn’t want to upset you, so I didn’t say anything. I even took a picture.” It was a blurry, grainy photo, taken from a distance. You couldn’t even make out the faces, just the vague outlines of a man and a woman. But for Ginnifer, it was the final confirmation she needed. “That bastard! Leo! You son of a bitch!” she screamed, her body shaking with rage. “So that’s it! You’ve been crawling into some other woman’s bed!” She hurled her phone against the wall, where it shattered. “What is he trying to do?! Run away with our child, his parents, and his whore?! Does he think this will force my hand?!” “In his dreams! He can stay gone forever for all I care!” I almost laughed. Seven years of marriage, and this was the extent of her trust in me. A single sentence from a manipulative snake and one blurry photo were all it took to sentence me to death in her mind. Alex’s voice was a seductive poison. “Ginnifer, I might have an idea. If we can’t find him privately, why don’t we make it public?” She looked at him, her eyes wild. “The power of the media is immense,” he said, his expression earnest. “You’re a national hero. A hero who has just been betrayed and abandoned by her husband. If we file for divorce and leak the story, the whole city will be looking for him, condemning him. He can’t hide a child and two elderly people forever. The second he shows his face, you’ll have him.” Ginnifer was silent, her chest heaving. The suggestion was a perfect match for her own bruised ego. She could not stand being played, being made a fool of by a man she considered beneath her. She would show him who was in control. The last trace of doubt in her eyes vanished, replaced by cold resolve. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.” A week later, the city courthouse was swarmed with reporters. A legion of cameras was aimed at the entrance, a forest of lenses and microphones. It was the city’s first-ever live-streamed divorce trial of a public hero. Millions were watching online. The live chat was a river of vitriol directed at me. [THAT KIND OF TRASH HUSBAND SHOULD BE DRAWN AND QUARTERED!] [My heart breaks for our hero, Ginnifer. Stuck with such a thankless, cheating bastard.] [I heard he cleaned out their bank accounts and ran off with their kid and his mistress! Scum of the earth!] I floated above the courtroom, the vicious words feeling like phantom knives in my soul. Ginnifer sat at the plaintiff’s table. She had deliberately worn her dress uniform, the one from her award ceremony, her chest glittering with medals. She looked stoic, brave, and deeply wounded—the perfect image of a betrayed hero. The defendant’s chair was empty. My friend Mark sat beside it as my legal representative, his eyes red with fury. Alex sat in the front row of the gallery, labeled an “important witness,” a triumphant smirk playing on his lips. The judge’s gavel struck. The trial began. “Ms. Ginnifer Reed, you accuse your husband, Leo Sterling, of infidelity, malicious transfer of assets, and the concealment of family members. Are these charges correct?” Ginnifer took a deep breath and stood. Her voice, amplified by the microphone, filled the courtroom and flowed out across the internet. It was heavy with pain and a perfectly calibrated quiver of emotion. “Your Honor, Leo and I have been married for seven years. For most of that time, the nature of my work forced me to be away, to live a life of secrets. I know I was not the wife or mother I should have been. I had hoped that once my final mission was over, I could finally make it all up to him, to our family.” She paused, her eyes reddening. “But I never imagined… I never imagined he had already found someone else. He didn’t just take our life savings. He took his own elderly parents… and our five-year-old daughter.” Her voice broke. “I can’t find them. Your Honor, I am going out of my mind with worry.” She pressed a hand to her chest, tears streaming down her face. “I am not here today to condemn him. I am here to beg him—to beg all of you—to help me find him! If he would just come back, if he would just bring our daughter and his parents home, I would forgive everything! Because I love him… I can’t live without him…” The performance was masterful. The courtroom erupted in murmurs of sympathy. The live chat exploded with support for the heartbroken hero. Ginnifer, satisfied, sat back down, a predator waiting for her trap to spring. But in the next second, the large doors at the back of the courtroom burst open. Everyone turned. Several uniformed officers marched in, led by Ginnifer’s direct superior, Chief Miller of the City Police Department. His face was a granite mask. He ignored Ginnifer completely, walking straight to the judge’s bench. “Your Honor, regarding the disappearance of the defendant, Mr. Leo Sterling, the police have just obtained a piece of critical video evidence. I request permission to play it for the court.”

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The first time my mother looked at me, her eyes were filled with sorrow. She wouldn’t hold me, wouldn’t feed me. She just let me wail until my throat was raw. I was born with all my memories, so I knew that in my last life, she had loved me more than life itself. But when I was three, I died in a fall from our balcony. The tragedy shattered her mind, and she lived out the rest of her days in a fog of pain. Reborn, my mother had chosen a different path. A quick, sharp pain now was better than a long, drawn-out agony later. She was going to let “fate” take me, just as it had before, before I could become the flesh and blood she couldn’t bear to lose again. But she didn’t know the truth. My fall wasn’t an accident. I was pushed by our nanny. And in this life, that same nanny was about to walk through our door. 1 I was born in the dead of winter. The delivery room was heated, but I was cold. A chill that seeped into my very bones. It came from my mother, Rachel. The look she gave me was a mask of grief and despair. A nurse cleaned me, swaddled me up like a tiny burrito, and presented me to her, beaming. “Congratulations, she’s a beautiful little princess! Here, hold your daughter.” My mother flinched as if she’d been burned, snatching her hand back and turning her head away. “I don’t have the strength,” she whispered, her voice weary and hoarse. The nurse’s smile faltered for a second before she quickly recovered. “Of course, you must be exhausted after everything.” She turned her attention to the man waiting anxiously at the door—my father, Jacob. He rushed in, a goofy grin plastered on his face. He took me from the nurse’s arms with a clumsy reverence, as if he were holding the most precious thing in the world. “Rachel, you did it! You were amazing,” he breathed. “Look at her, she’s the spitting image of you! Especially her eyes.” He held me up for my mother to see, his face glowing with pure joy, waiting for her to share it. But Rachel only gave me a fleeting glance before shutting her eyes. A single tear escaped and traced a path down her temple, so fast you could have missed it. The smile vanished from my father’s face, replaced by a look of helpless confusion. He looked from me to my mother, his voice dropping to a concerned whisper. “Rachel, what is it? Are you in pain?” “Just tired. I need to sleep,” she replied, her voice utterly flat. Dad didn’t press her, but I felt his arms tighten around me. Cradled in his embrace, I looked at the woman on the bed. I knew she wasn’t just tired. Her heart was already dead. In my last life, her love for me was a force of nature. She’d given up a flourishing career to be a full-time mom, to be there for every moment. She told the best bedtime stories, made my baby food into tiny works of art, and would celebrate my smallest milestones as if I’d conquered the world. Her love was an all-consuming fire, a promise to give me everything. Then came that sunny afternoon when I was three. I fell from our apartment balcony and died on impact. That day marked the beginning of my mother’s tragedy. She stopped eating, stopped sleeping. She’d spend entire nights clutching my old clothes, her sobs echoing in the silent apartment. Her world had crumbled into dust. My father and grandmother took her to countless doctors, tried endless medications, but nothing could piece her back together. She withered away, consumed by a grief that finally stole her life. And now, she had returned to the day of my birth, dragging all those memories with her. She was terrified. She was terrified of feeling that soul-crushing grief again, of pouring all her love into me only to watch me walk toward my “destined” end. But Mom, you don’t understand. My death wasn’t an accident. I was pushed. Pushed by the nanny who had seemed so simple and trustworthy. 2 “Waaaaah!” I let out my first cry, pouring every ounce of my strength into it. It was a long, loud wail, thick with desperation and a sense of betrayal. Dad immediately went into a panic, patting my back awkwardly. “Rachel, she must be hungry. Is it time to feed her?” My mother’s body tensed, but she still didn’t turn around. “I don’t have any milk,” she said. “How can that be? The doctor said…” Dad started, but he was cut off by an older, eager voice. “Jacob, let me hold my sweet granddaughter!” Grandma was here. She wore a dark blue quilted jacket, her hair neatly pinned up, her face radiating pure joy. She took me from my father’s arms, cooing “my precious girl,” and “little darling.” Grandma’s embrace was warm and soft, smelling of sunshine and soap. It was a small comfort, and my tiny, tense body relaxed a little. “Oh, listen to you cry! My poor baby must be starving,” she said, her voice full of sympathy. She looked at my mother. “Rachel, dear, you should feed her. That first milk is liquid gold.” My mother slowly turned over. Her face was pale, her eyes hollow as she looked at me, as if I were a complete stranger. “Mom, I told you, I don’t have any.” “Nonsense! What mother doesn’t have milk?” Grandma’s brow furrowed, her tone sharpening. “Or is it that you don’t want to? Let me tell you, Rachel, this child is your own flesh and blood. You can’t just—” “Mom!” Dad cut in, placing a gentle hand on Grandma’s shoulder. “Rachel just gave birth. She’s exhausted. Let’s not pressure her. I’ll go mix up some formula.” He hurried out with a bottle and a can of formula. The room fell silent, the only sound my soft, hiccuping sobs. Grandma sighed, her voice softening as she looked at my mother. “Rachel, I know this is hard. But the baby is innocent. Look at her, she’s so tiny, so helpless.” My mother’s lips parted as if to speak, but she said nothing. She just turned her head back toward the wall. I knew she had milk. She just refused to create that bond with me. Nursing is the most intimate connection between a mother and child. Once it’s forged, it’s nearly impossible to break. She was afraid of a love she couldn’t sever. Soon, Dad returned with a warm bottle. The formula trickled down my throat, and I slowly stopped crying, my hunger overriding everything else. Full and exhausted, I drifted into a hazy sleep. For the rest of our time in the hospital, my mother barely touched me. Feeding, changing, and soothing me were all handled by Dad and Grandma. She would only watch me from a distance, her eyes shadowed with that same sad detachment. Sometimes I’d wake to find her sitting by my bassinet, staring at me with a turbulent, unreadable expression. But the moment our eyes met, or if I made the slightest sound, she would recoil like a startled animal, looking away as if the sight of me physically pained her. Things didn’t get any better when we went home. We lived in a modest two-bedroom apartment. To make sure my mother could rest, Dad set up my crib in Grandma’s room. At night, my cries were always answered by Grandma, never my mother. The door to the master bedroom remained firmly shut. I knew that behind that door, my mother was lying awake, just like me. Her attempt to find peace was just another form of self-torture. A few days later, Grandma’s old back injury flared up, a slipped disc from the strain of caring for me. She was in so much pain she couldn’t get out of bed. As if on cue, Dad was called away on an urgent, week-long business trip. Suddenly, our home was in crisis. Before he left, Dad looked at Mom, his face etched with worry. “Rachel, it’s all on you for a few days. The baby…” “Hire a nanny,” she said, cutting him off before he could finish. Her voice was calm, but there was an undercurrent of urgency I couldn’t miss. Dad was taken aback for a second, then nodded. “Okay, that’s a good idea. It’ll be easier on you and Mom. I’ll call an agency right now.” My heart sank like a stone. She was coming. 3 The next afternoon, a woman in her forties appeared at our door. She wore a plain gray coat and had an anxious, eager-to-please smile on her face. “Hello, the agency sent me. My name is Brenda.” It was her. In my last life, this woman, Brenda, had been our nanny for three years. She was efficient and quiet, with a harmless, salt-of-the-earth look. Dad and Grandma sang her praises, and Mom trusted her like family. No one could have ever guessed what a venomous heart beat beneath that unassuming exterior. A tremor of fear shot through my body, and I let out a terrified wail. From her bed, Grandma heard me and called out, “Rachel, is that the nanny? Let her in, the baby’s probably hungry.” My mother stepped aside to let Brenda in, never once looking her in the eye. She gestured vaguely toward Grandma’s room. “The baby and my mother-in-law both need care. She’ll give you the details.” With that, she turned to go back to her room. “Excuse me, ma’am,” Brenda called out, her smile fixed in place. “I’m here for the interview. Don’t you want to see my ID and health certificate? Or ask me any questions?” “If my mother-in-law is happy, that’s all that matters,” Mom said, and shut her bedroom door. Brenda’s smile twitched. A flicker of something dark—annoyance? malice?—crossed her eyes before it was replaced again by her folksy demeanor. She walked into Grandma’s room and expertly took me from her arms, patting my back and humming a tuneless lullaby. “There, there, little one. Auntie Brenda’s got you. No more crying now.” Her voice was gentle, but the moment I was in her arms, I was hit by that familiar, nauseating smell of cheap soap. The terror of my final moments from my past life seized me, and I screamed even louder, thrashing my arms and legs, trying to escape the devil’s embrace. “Oh dear, she’s a bit shy with strangers,” Grandma said apologetically. Brenda just chuckled. “Don’t you worry, ma’am. All babies are like this. We’ll be best friends in a few days. I’ve cared for babies much fussier than this little one.” Her easy confidence soothed Grandma’s concerns. She mixed my formula, tested the temperature on her wrist, and placed the nipple in my mouth. I fought back, pushing it away with my tongue and turning my head, my cries my only form of protest. “Well now,” Brenda said, her voice taking on a strange, theatrical tone of concern. “The little thing won’t even eat. Do you think… do you think she might have some kind of developmental issue?” 4 Brenda’s words were like a shard of poisoned ice, stabbing straight into my infant heart. Fear and despair washed over me, and I started screaming again, a raw, gut-wrenching sound of pure agony this time. But the harder I cried, the wider her smile became. She held me, rocking me gently, murmuring empty words of comfort while her eyes remained as cold and hard as a snake’s. “Go on, cry it out,” she whispered, for my ears only. “You’ll tire yourself out soon enough.” She placed me in my crib and left me there, turning to start dinner in the kitchen. My cries woke Grandma in the next room. “Brenda?” she called out weakly. “What’s wrong with the baby?” Brenda’s head popped out of the kitchen, her voice pitched with just the right amount of helplessness. “I’ve tried everything, ma’am! But her mother won’t hold her, and she just won’t stop crying.” Grandma sighed and fell silent. I cried until my throat was hoarse, until my whole body was trembling and my hands and feet were ice-cold. This couldn’t go on. My tears wouldn’t earn me any sympathy; they only delighted my enemy. I had to find another way. After dinner, Brenda came to feed me again. I was exhausted and starving after my afternoon of hysterics. This time, I didn’t fight. I drank the milk quietly. Brenda seemed surprised but didn’t think much of it, assuming I had simply worn myself out. When I finished, she lifted me to her shoulder to burp me. And that’s when I saw my chance. With my face pressed against her shoulder, I summoned every ounce of strength I had, opened my toothless mouth, and clamped down on the soft flesh of her shoulder. I had no teeth, but I used all my might, grinding my gums into her skin with the same desperate force I used to nurse. “Ah!” Brenda shrieked in pain, her immediate instinct to throw me off her. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the impact. It would hurt, but it was a risk I had to take. I had to create evidence that she was a danger to me. But just as I felt myself falling, a pair of strong, trembling hands caught me, securing me in a steady grip. My eyes flew open. I was staring up into the frantic, worried face of my father. He was back. He had come home early. “Jacob? What are you doing home?” Grandma called out in surprise. My father’s expression was grim. He held me tightly, his gaze fixed like a laser on the terrified nanny. “The project wrapped up early. I walk in the door and I see you about to drop my daughter! Brenda, what the hell are you doing?!” Brenda’s face went white as a sheet. She clutched her shoulder, stammering. “Mr. Miller, no, it’s a misunderstanding! It was the baby… she bit me, out of nowhere! It hurt so much, my hand just slipped… I didn’t mean to!” She was already tearing up, putting on a masterful performance of a wrongly accused victim. “She bit you?” Dad frowned, looking down at me. I immediately played my part, opening my mouth to give him a gummy, innocent, and completely harmless smile. What kind of damage could a newborn possibly do? Dad was clearly thinking the same thing, and his suspicion of Brenda deepened. “Let me see the wound.” Brenda’s face grew even paler. “It’s nothing, Mr. Miller, really. Just a little red mark, it’s fine…” she stammered, covering her shoulder. Her reluctance only made my father more determined. He took a step forward, his voice leaving no room for argument. “Move your hand.” Terrified, Brenda flinched and dropped her hand. Dad pulled back the collar of her shirt. There on her shoulder was a clear, angry red mark, already starting to purple at the edges. It looked… exactly like a bite mark. A vicious one. How was that possible? I didn’t have any teeth. My heart sank. I knew instantly what had happened. In my past life, Brenda had a strange habit of drinking a specific herbal tea, claiming it was for her “health.” I remembered knocking her cup over once, and she had completely panicked. That tea. It had to be the cause. It must have made her skin hypersensitive, so fragile that the slightest pressure would leave a terrible bruise. She had been planning this all along. 5 Dad’s brow was furrowed in a deep line, the anger in his eyes slowly giving way to confusion. He looked down at me, a helpless infant. How could I have possibly caused an injury like that? Seeing his hesitation, Brenda burst into a flood of tears, sobbing as if her heart would break. “Mr. Miller, I swear I didn’t do it on purpose. This baby… I don’t know what it is, but she’s been hostile to me from the moment I arrived. Nothing I do can soothe her; she just cries and fusses. Just now, after her bottle, I was burping her and she just… she lunged at me, like she was trying to hurt me. It was such a shock, I almost lost my grip.” She punctuated her story with sobs, sneaking glances at my father’s face. “Her grandmother can vouch for me! I’ve been working so hard these past few days. I would never, ever do anything to harm a child!” From her bed, Grandma chimed in. “She’s right, Jacob. Brenda has been wonderful. It’s the baby who’s been unusually difficult. Maybe… maybe she and Brenda just don’t get along.” My father stood there, holding me, trapped in silence. On one side was the seemingly honest, deeply wronged nanny. On the other was his own daughter, who was indeed acting strangely. He couldn’t make sense of it. Just then, the master bedroom door opened again. My mother emerged, drawn out by the argument. Her gaze swept over the scene—Brenda’s tear-streaked face, me in my father’s arms, his own conflicted expression. “What’s going on?” she asked. Dad quickly explained what had happened. Rachel listened without a flicker of emotion on her face. When he was done, she gave Brenda a cool, appraising look. Brenda immediately saw her as a potential ally. “Ma’am, I’m so sorry. Maybe… maybe it’s best if you just let me go. I’m so afraid I might accidentally hurt the baby if I stay.” There it was again: her signature move, feigning retreat to gain ground. Everyone looked at my mother. As the lady of the house and my mother, her word was final. I watched her, my tiny heart pounding in my chest. Who would she believe? In our last life, she had trusted Brenda implicitly. In this one, she treated me with nothing but cold indifference. The answer seemed painfully obvious. My mother was silent for a long moment. Just as I braced myself for her to agree with Grandma and ask Brenda to stay, she said something that stunned everyone. “Since it’s not working out, she can leave.” Her voice was quiet, but it was laced with steel. The room fell silent. Brenda’s tears froze on her cheeks. She stared at my mother, utterly baffled. “Ma’am, you…”

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My mother was the mistress of a man who’d married into the Sterling dynasty. Which, of course, made me the mistress’s child. But she didn’t know the man was married until after I was born. The second his wife found out, the coward cut my mother off completely. After years of scraping by on scraps, my mother stormed the gates of the Sterling estate, brandishing a paternity test and causing a scene. To protect their precious reputation, the Sterlings took me in, passing me off as an adopted daughter. Then, when I was fifteen, the patriarch of the Pierce family came to visit. Grandpa Pierce took one look at me and decided I would be his granddaughter-in-law. And so, at twenty, I married Kael Pierce, a man with severe autism. I found myself on the same dead-end road as my mother. Only my situation was worse. I didn’t have my mother-in-law’s power or status; I had no way to fight back against my husband’s new infatuation. All I could do was watch him fawn over another woman, right in front of me. But recently, I’ve decided to break free from it all. I’m sorry, Grandpa Pierce. Cora Sterling is done being your pawn. 1 The day I was sent to the Sterling estate was the day I lost my mother forever. She was crying, but she was smiling. “Cora, my sweet girl,” she’d said, “you’ll never have to go hungry again.” She was so naive. My father saw me as a stain on his reputation. Mrs. Sterling despised me. The staff, ever the opportunists, followed their lead, treating me with cold indifference. As for my half-sisters, they invented new ways to torment me daily. But my mother would never know. Our meeting at the Sterling gates was the last time I ever saw her. She had late-stage cancer and couldn’t afford the treatment. After handing me over to my father, she threw herself from a bridge. I grew up in the Sterling house as the “adopted” daughter, walking on eggshells every moment of every day. When I was fifteen, I met a boy on the estate grounds. A rose thorn had sliced his arm open, and blood was trickling down his skin, but he seemed completely oblivious, lost in the music playing through his headphones. I hesitated for a moment, then ran to get an antiseptic wipe and a Band-Aid for his wound. Later, I learned his name was Kael Pierce. He was visiting the Sterlings with his grandfather. For reasons I’ll never understand, Grandpa Pierce took a liking to me. He wanted me to be his grandson’s wife. The Pierces were old money, a dynasty in their own right, so my father eagerly agreed. When my sisters heard the news, they cornered me, their laughter sharp as glass. “You really think you’ve hit the jackpot? If he were such a great catch, do you think they’d ever let him go to you?” “That Kael Pierce has been autistic since he was a kid. He has violent mood swings. He’s not even normal.” But because of the engagement, Mrs. Sterling finally started treating me with a sliver of decency. Life at the Sterling estate became bearable. At least the daily torment stopped. I often thought about that quiet, slender boy in the garden. He had no idea that, in his own silent way, he had saved me. I was truly grateful to him. I started reading everything I could about his condition, trying to learn how I would one day be a good wife to him. And then, when I turned twenty, our families arranged the wedding, and I married Kael Pierce. 2 I had no idea how much Kael loathed the idea of marrying me. From the moment I moved in, he never gave me anything but icy glares. He couldn’t stand my touch, let alone share a bed with me. On our wedding night, he exploded in our bridal suite. “Get away.” “Don’t be in my room.” “Get out. Just get out!” I stood there, humiliated, my head bowed as a wave of shame washed over me. Later that night, Grandpa Pierce found me. He explained that Kael had always been withdrawn, that he struggled with human contact. His long-time nanny had just passed away, and his condition had worsened. He asked me to be patient, to give Kael time. I nodded and agreed. From that day on, I took over his care, juggling my college classes with my new duties at home. I made sure he took his medication on time, drove him to his doctor’s appointments, planned his meals, and laid out his clothes. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, Kael began to respond. He wasn’t a block of wood, after all. He stopped telling me to “get out.” He’d find me asleep on the couch and awkwardly drape a blanket over me. Once, when I had terrible cramps, he even made me a warm mug of tea. But he never, ever shared a bed with me. The Pierce family line was thin; Kael was the only male heir of his generation. Grandpa Pierce was desperate for a great-grandchild and pressured me constantly. But what could I do? He didn’t want me. Finally, after five years of this, Grandpa Pierce lost his patience. Without my knowledge, he drugged Kael’s drink. Then he led him to my bedroom, locked the door, and trapped us inside. I will never forget that night. The pain. It was a tearing, brutal pain. Drugged and disoriented, Kael moved on pure instinct, his eyes glazed over. He had no idea what he was doing, his movements clumsy and violent. I felt like I was being ripped apart, hot tears streaming down my face. Just before dawn, I finally blacked out from the pain. The next day, around noon, I woke to the sound of shattering glass. 3 Kael was in a blind rage. He’d smashed my phone, shattered the TV on the wall, and overturned tables and chairs. The room was a disaster zone. When he saw I was awake, he stalked over to me, holding a shard of a mirror. It reflected my own image back at me—I was still naked, my body covered in angry red marks and deep purple bruises. He pointed the mirror at me, his eyes filled with undisguised disgust. “You’re so dirty. You’re disgusting.” “I hate you.” “I never want to see you again.” My body ached so badly that I could barely walk straight. But Kael had vanished in the middle of his episode. I had no choice but to go find him. I didn’t stop to eat. I searched from noon until after midnight, checking every place he usually went. My legs were trembling uncontrollably, but I couldn’t find him anywhere. Finally, defeated, I collapsed against our front door to catch my breath. At one in the morning, Kael finally returned. He wasn’t alone. A girl stood beside him. A sweet dimple appeared in her cheek when she smiled. “I’ve never met anyone who gets me like you do,” she said, looking up at him. “Meeting you was the best part of the concert.” That’s when I realized he’d gone to a concert by himself. His phone had died, and he couldn’t remember the way home. The girl had brought him back. Kael walked slowly, stretching the short distance from the gate to the door. They talked about music, about composers and performers I’d never heard of. Music had always been Kael’s passion. He’d studied under world-renowned masters and had composed several famous pieces in his own studio. I stood by the door, listening in silence. They talked for a full thirty minutes, and Kael never once noticed I was there. Finally, our butler couldn’t take it anymore. “Young Master,” he said gently, “it’s very late. You should go to bed. The missus has been waiting up for you.” The girl’s eyes followed the sound of his voice and landed on me. She looked surprised. “Is this your wife?” she asked Kael. A flicker of shame crossed Kael’s face. He hesitated, then gave a stiff nod. Then he quickly added, “It was arranged. I don’t like her. I hate her.” In that moment, I froze. A profound, inexplicable humiliation washed over me, and I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. The girl’s name was Sylvia. She tugged on Kael’s sleeve, her eyes curving into crescents. “Well, it is getting late. I’ll see you next time.” From that day on, my relationship with Kael plunged back into the abyss. He refused to speak a single word to me. For his birthday, I gave him a new pair of high-end studio headphones. I’d heard the sound quality was phenomenal, and they were constantly sold out. I had to preorder them six months in advance. But Kael just took a lighter and, right in front of me, melted them into a mangled, plastic wreck. “I don’t like you,” he spat. “And I don’t like your gifts. This is trash. I don’t want it.” He spent his birthday with Sylvia. They’d stayed in touch ever since they met. A few weeks ago, Sylvia had even started an internship at his studio. When he came home that night, he was wearing a simple silver ring on his finger. A birthday gift from her. I stared at the melted remains of the headphones scattered on the floor, an endless exhaustion settling deep in my bones. The next day, Grandpa Pierce called me to his study. He asked me to find a file and give it to his assistant, who was waiting at the door. But Kael had forbidden me from ever entering his study. I hesitated. Grandpa Pierce insisted. The file was urgent. Reluctantly, I went in, found the document, and made sure to leave everything exactly as I had found it. But Kael found out anyway. His phone was connected to the security camera in the study. He rushed home from his studio, his brow dark with a familiar, stormy rage. “You can’t go in there! You’re not allowed!” His anger was a palpable force, a hurricane contained within the room. Because I had stepped inside to grab a single file, he had the entire study professionally deep-cleaned from top to bottom. I stared at him, bewildered, and finally voiced the question that had been eating at me. “Why can’t I go in?” Lately, Kael often invited Sylvia over. They would spend entire days in the study, discussing music. Why was she allowed, but not me? “And why have it cleaned? I’m not dirty.” His face grew colder. “She’s different from you. She understands music. She’s a kindred spirit. You don’t. Your presence… it taints the space.” After all these years, I was used to his blunt, clipped way of speaking. I understood him perfectly. Normally, when he got like this, my first instinct was to soothe him. But that day, even knowing he was on the verge of an outburst, I couldn’t bring myself to placate him. I closed my eyes. “Kael, that’s a really cruel thing to say.” Just then, my blood sugar plummeted, and I stumbled backward a step. But I was standing right in the doorway. The door was open. My foot landed just inside the study. Kael saw it as a direct challenge. His eyes were cold fire, the veins on his forehead pulsing. He unleashed a torrent of hateful words, which all boiled down to three sentences: “Get away from me!” “This is my house, not yours! Get the hell out!” “Don’t ever show your face in my home again!” I’d heard those words before. My half-sisters used to say them to me when I first moved into the Sterling house. Back then, I’d just hide under my covers and cry, dreaming of a day I’d have a home of my own, a place no one could ever kick me out of. After getting married, I mistakenly believed this villa was my home. It wasn’t a shelter from the storm, but at least it was a place I belonged. But today, he screamed at me, reminding me that the house was in his name, bought with his family’s money. This was not my home. He wanted me gone. A wave of helplessness threatened to drown me. I lowered my head and did the math. It had been ten years since I first met Kael at fifteen. His engagement gave me five years of peace. In return, I gave him five years of my life, caring for him. Five years for five years. My debt to the Pierce family was paid. I was so tired of this life. I wanted a divorce. 4 Once the idea of divorce took root, it was like a seed that had finally broken through the soil, growing wild and unstoppable. A week later, I went to see Grandpa Pierce. I met him at the old family mansion and told him I wanted a divorce. He sat on the plush sofa, tapping his index finger on the polished wood of the coffee table. “Why?” I told him Kael was in love with someone else. A woman who could soothe his temper, who made him want to be gentle and kind. A woman he wrote songs for, bought gifts for, and stubbornly tried to please. With Sylvia around, Kael’s moods were more stable. By any measure, she was a better fit for him than I was. Grandpa Pierce listened without a word. After a long silence, he cleared his throat and looked at me seriously. “Cora, do you know why I chose you to be Kael’s wife all those years ago?” “Because I gave him a Band-Aid?” I guessed. He shook his head. “No. I had you investigated. I knew you had a good heart, and I knew about your… difficult situation at the Sterling house. You needed this marriage. With the Pierce name behind you, your life would become easier.” “And because of that,” he continued, “I knew you would cling to Kael like a lifeline. You would be grateful to him, patient with him, and you would tolerate his every whim.” “When I heard you’d chosen to major in psychology in college, I knew I hadn’t misjudged you. You did exactly as I expected.” He sighed. “A boy from a family like ours, if he weren’t ill, would be the most sought-after bachelor in the country. But he is ill.” “He’s my only grandson. Of course, I had to plan for his future, to find him a wife who would be absolutely loyal, who would take care of him for the rest of his life.” “This Sylvia you speak of… I don’t know her. I can’t entrust Kael to a stranger.” He looked me straight in the eye, laying his cards on the table. “Cora, you grew up around the Sterlings. You know what wealthy men are like. One woman on the side is nothing; ten is hardly surprising. Kael, by comparison, is fundamentally innocent. He doesn’t fool around like other men. In that regard, you’re quite lucky.” “Besides,” he added, “as long as I’m alive, no woman will ever threaten your position as Mrs. Pierce. What more could you possibly want?” I understood his logic, but I couldn’t bear the thought of spending the rest of my days trapped in that house, tending to a broken man, a life I could see stretched out before me, empty and unchanging. “Kael kicked me out,” I told him, my voice firm. “My presence only agitates him now. His episodes are getting more and more frequent.” At this, Grandpa Pierce’s expression finally grew somber. He began to seriously reconsider our situation. After a long pause, he relented slightly. “Cora, let me think about this divorce. You can go home for now. And remember, Kael is still your husband. We’ll need his consent on this matter as well.” I nodded and stood to leave. Kael would never disagree. He’d probably jump at the chance to sign the divorce papers. A light spring rain had started to fall, and a cold wind whipped through the air. As I was leaving the mansion, I saw him. He was standing by the half-open gate, dressed in a crisp white shirt, holding an umbrella. Rainwater pooled at the tip, dripping onto the ground. I had no idea how long he’d been standing there, or how much he’d heard. The moment he saw me, his lips pressed into a thin line, and the color drained from his face. “You’re… divorcing me?” 5 When I confirmed it, Kael fell silent, his mind clearly racing. After a moment, he asked, “If we get divorced, will you still take care of me?” I was taken aback, then let out a hollow laugh. “Kael, that’s what divorce means. We become strangers. I won’t be your wife anymore, and I won’t have any obligation to take care of you.” “I see.” The rain intensified, slanting sideways and soaking one of his shoulders. He looked me straight in the eye and shook his head. “No divorce.” I honestly hadn’t expected him to refuse. “Why?” “If we divorce, there’s no one to take care of me.” “You have Sylvia, don’t you? She can look after you.” But Kael just shook his head again, stubborn. “No. She’s busy. She has her music. She can’t be stuck at home all the time.” He looked at me pointedly. “You’re not busy. You can take care of me.” I stared down at a puddle forming at my feet, a chilling cold spreading through my chest. In his mind, Sylvia had ambitions, and he couldn’t bear to confine her. But me? The boring, uninspired woman he was saddled with? I was born to orbit around him. “Kael, if you need a caretaker, you can hire one. Mrs. Gable took good care of you before I came along, didn’t she?” I tried to reason with him. But he was resolute. It had to be me. As we spoke, his hands clenched into tight fists, his nails digging so deep into his palms that they drew blood. It was the first sign of an episode. I didn’t want to argue anymore. I turned and walked toward the house. He followed me, repeating the same two words over and over. “No divorce. No divorce.” When I didn’t respond, he started digging his nails deeper into his skin, his hands slick with blood. The Pierce family was wealthy beyond measure; hiring a caretaker was nothing. I couldn’t understand his obsession. When I asked him why, he mumbled a single word. “Habit.” “Habits can be changed,” I told him. “You weren’t used to me at first either, were you? Everything takes time. You’ll get used to someone new.” But when he got stubborn, he was worse than a mule. Seeing my refusal, he started shouting. “No! I said no! You have to listen to me!” I knew there was no point in arguing when he was like this, so I simply fell silent. He took my silence as agreement, and the tense lines of his brow finally softened. The moment he saw Sylvia waiting by the front door, his eyes lit up, and the issue of divorce was completely forgotten. He and Sylvia disappeared into the study. Before closing the door, Kael made a point of locking it, as if to keep intruders out. Soon, the sound of a piano drifted from the room, mingling with the bright, clear sound of a girl’s laughter. It sounded so full of life. It was ten o’clock at night when Sylvia finally emerged. A torrential downpour was raging outside. Kael glanced at the storm and called out to her. “It’s raining. You’ll get sick.” “Stay here tonight.” Sylvia blinked, then smiled at him. “Silly, I don’t have any pajamas. How can I stay?” Kael pointed at me. “She has some.” “Well, we’ll have to ask your wife if she’s okay with me staying the night, and if she’s willing to lend me her clothes,” Sylvia said, her gaze shifting to me with a playful smile. But before I could answer, Kael spoke for me. “She’s willing.” A dimple appeared in Sylvia’s cheek as she feigned a pout. “How can you answer for someone else like that?” Kael gestured around the villa. “This is my house, not hers.” Then he pointed toward the master closet. “Her clothes were bought with my family’s money.” “I have the final say.” And so, Sylvia turned to me with a saccharine smile. “Well then, Mrs. Pierce, looks like I’m staying the night. I hope I won’t be interrupting anything between you two?” At her words, Kael reacted more strongly than I did, waving his hands in frantic denial. “We don’t do that. That kind of thing is disgusting.” I listened quietly, my eyes fixed on my phone, not looking up. Kael was right. This wasn’t my home. It was time for me to move out. 6 Finding a suitable apartment wasn’t easy. Living with the Sterlings, I never had an allowance. If I needed something, I had to ask the butler, who would grant any “reasonable” request. At the Pierce estate, Grandpa Pierce gave me fifty thousand dollars a month. It sounded like a lot, but it had to cover Kael’s medical bills, therapy sessions, specialized diet, and the salaries and expenses for the entire household staff. After meticulous budgeting, I usually had a few thousand left over each month. My savings were modest. After a couple of days of searching, I found a reasonably priced apartment. I was packing my clothes when Kael came home. Since I’d brought up divorce, he had softened his attitude toward me slightly. Very occasionally, he would even initiate a conversation. Like now. “Are you throwing those out?” he asked, nodding at the pile of clothes. I shook my head. “No.” He pointed at the stack. “You should. They’re ugly. You have no artistic sense, no idea how to dress. All these clothes are awful.” I stopped what I was doing and looked at him. “Then what’s considered beautiful?” He thought for a moment. “The way Sylvia dresses. That’s beautiful. You should learn from her. I have money. I can buy you new things.” My eyes fell on a white dress at the top of the pile. My heart gave a little pang. Kael himself had picked it out for me a year ago when we were out shopping. I still remembered his reaction when I stepped out of the fitting room. He had stuttered, repeating the same word over and over. “Beautiful.” The dress hadn’t changed, but he had. Or had his perception of me changed? I lowered my gaze and continued packing. “No, thank you. I like my own style.” A flicker of anger flared in his eyes. “Suit yourself,” he snapped, turning and storming out of the room. The door slammed shut with a deafening bang that made my ears ring. He didn’t leave his room for the rest of the night. So he never knew that I left the villa. When I first arrived at the Pierce estate, I had a single 24-inch suitcase and a blue backpack. When I left, I had the exact same things. Kael was right. This wasn’t my home, so very little of what was inside it was actually mine. I stayed in the apartment for just one night before leaving for Clearwater. When I was little, my mother always told me that things would get better. Once she saved up enough money, she promised, she would take me traveling. After she was gone, I told myself the same thing. Once I saved up enough money, I would go traveling on my own. But life never works out the way you plan. I had only escaped one cage to be locked in another. Kael couldn’t be left alone, so I could never go far. I had tried taking him with me once. But he had spent his entire life in this city and couldn’t handle the change in environment. Stripped of his security, he became agitated and anxious on the train. He couldn’t even eat. I had no choice but to get off at the next stop and take him home. The crushing disappointment I felt stepping off that train was as intense as the excitement I’d felt planning the trip. It turned out that even with enough money, travel wasn’t guaranteed. Not when you were tied down. Not when you had no time. But now, finally, I was standing at the foot of the Cascade Peaks. The wind wrinkled the surface of Greywater Lake and sculpted the clouds above. I put on my headphones and cycled down a narrow path, the world unfolding around me. Fields of wheat, open plains, the shattered reflection of the sun on the water, and the mountains cradling the drifting clouds. In that moment, the rigid, suffocating rhythm of my life shattered against the sound of the waves. Life became fluid, spontaneous. I became useless and vibrantly alive. I found a community of kindred spirits, people weary of the daily grind, who had set up small stalls selling their crafts. We sat on the ground under a canopy of stars, sharing our stories. A medical student who had quit her job on the verge of a breakdown told me that here, for the first time, her life wasn’t chopped into tiny, fragmented pieces of vacation time. A man recovering from an illness said that while the future was unknown, at least in this present moment, he felt himself growing again. We came together for a brief, beautiful time, touching the softest, most hidden corners of each other’s hearts. Then, like the eighteen streams of the Cascades, we each flowed onward, following our own winding paths. Later, I went to Sunrise Point by myself to watch the dawn. The ripples on the lake broke the sunlight into a thousand dancing silver coins. I didn’t cry when I was struggling to survive at the Sterling estate. I didn’t cry when Kael hurled insults at me and kicked me out of his house. But in that moment, watching the sunrise, I covered my face and my shoulders shook with silent, uncontrollable sobs. I had never felt freedom so acutely. There were no alarms, no endless to-do lists in my planner. I answered the call of the distant mountains and could spend an entire day just daydreaming. After two weeks, I finally put my SIM card back in my phone. I had sent Grandpa Pierce a short text when I left, but that was it. Now, my phone flooded with notifications for missed calls. My father, Grandpa Pierce, and even Kael. I sat on the bus heading back and dialed Grandpa Pierce’s number. “Cora,” he said, his voice thick with a weariness that went bone-deep. “You need to come home.” “It’s Kael… he’s not well.”

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Five years. That’s how long I chased Aiden. It’s also how long his brother, Jimmy, chased Bree. Then, on New Year’s Eve, I waited at the movie theater for an Aiden who never came. And at the amusement park, Jimmy waited for a Bree who never showed. Instead, at the stroke of midnight, we both saw their social media posts, announcing to the world that they were a couple. Later, we found ourselves commiserating. He was the one who said it first. “How about we just make a go of it? We both know what we’re getting into.” I was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay.” And just like that, we were a whirlwind of activity—trying on wedding dresses, scouting venues, picking a date, writing invitations. The goal was simple: get married before they did. Weeks later, as I was drowning in a sea of venue brochures, a sharp knock echoed through my apartment. I opened the door to find Aiden standing there, his jaw clenched, the rims of his eyes red. “Are you serious?” he bit out. “Are you really going to marry Jimmy? Have you even thought this through?” 1 On New Year’s Eve, I stood in the plaza just off Central Square, watching the helium balloons float into the snowy sky, a sea of embracing couples all around me. I clutched a pair of movie tickets in my hand, the falling flakes melting on my skin. I couldn’t quite name the feeling, only that after loving Aiden for so many years, this was not the ending I had hoped for. My phone buzzed. It was Jimmy, Aiden’s younger brother. She didn’t show. The three of us—Aiden, Jimmy, and I—had grown up together. I fell for Aiden, and Jimmy fell for my roommate, Bree. We’d made a pact: he’d help me, and I’d help him. A spectacular failure. On the biggest night of the year, he was stood up by Bree, and I by Aiden. I let out a long, slow breath, a white cloud in the frigid air, and was about to leave when my phone rang. It was Jimmy. The background was a cacophony of noise, but his voice came through, clear and a little raspy. “Did you see their posts?” A cold dread washed over me. My hand hovered over the screen, my thumb refusing to tap open the app. It felt like if I did, everything would change forever. But I did it anyway. My feed was flooded with couples celebrating the new year. I only had to scroll a little before I saw it. And when I saw the photo, my numbness overshadowed the pain. It was a picture of them in their old school uniforms, standing on the athletic field, grinning and flashing peace signs at the camera. They both looked so genuinely happy. Aiden so rarely smiled in pictures with me. And Bree had always refused to take any photos with Jimmy. Bree and I were classmates in high school. I’d moved into the dorms for a while after a fight with my parents. They’d asked Aiden and Jimmy to bring me things, and through those visits, Bree got to know them both. But when had this happened? When had they fallen for each other? Jimmy and I had been such fools, moths drawn to a flame. I couldn’t speak, a lump lodged in my throat, choking me. Jimmy was still on the line, silent. Finally, he spoke. “Are you still at the theater?” “Yeah,” I managed. “Wait for me there. I’ll buy new tickets. We can still go.” “Okay,” I whispered. It was a pathetic situation, but at least I had someone to be pathetic with. That made it a little less unbearable. As I waited, I didn’t try to piece together the clues I must have missed. My mind was just… empty. I didn’t cry. It all just felt so sudden. I don’t know how long I waited, crouched by the entrance until my legs went numb. Finally, I saw him coming down the escalator. A few days ago, he’d dyed his hair a fiery red. “For a prosperous new year,” he’d said, convinced it was a sign of good things to come. I had wanted to dye mine red too, but since he beat me to it, I’d settled for a milky brown. He saw me and quickened his pace. I waved a weak hand. “Help me up. My legs are asleep.” Jimmy pulled me to my feet and studied my face. “Not bad,” he said with a half-smile. “No tears.” I punched my numb thighs, a pins-and-needles sensation shooting through them. “You either.” “Eh,” he waved a dismissive hand. “Come on, the movie’s about to start.” By unspoken agreement, we didn’t mention it again. After the movie, he drove me home. It was only after I’d showered and crawled into bed that I saw the text from Bree. Stella, Aiden and I are together. I hope you’re not mad? I closed my eyes, a wave of irritation washing over me. Lying in the dark, I typed back a single, emotionless word: No. Who she was with was her business, even if it was Aiden. But I had considered her my friend. I had giddily shared every single moment of my teenage crush on Aiden with her. And not once did she say a word. All these years I spent chasing him, only for them to end up together. Anger and heartbreak swelled in my chest. I wasn’t angry that she was with him. I was angry that she never told me she liked him too. What was she thinking all those times I confided in her? Was she laughing at me, at my pathetic, unrequited love? Suddenly, she felt like a stranger, a terrifying one. The moment my text went through, she replied, as if she’d been waiting for it. Oh, Stella, I’m so glad you’re not mad! I’m so sorry. I wanted to tell you, I just… I didn’t know how… It was a wall of text. I exited the chat and unpinned her from the top of my contacts. A moment later, another message came through. Stella, do you want to get barbecue at that place on Central tomorrow? I knew what this was. A test. To see if I was really angry. But we weren’t friends anymore. Whether I was angry or not didn’t matter. No, I’m tired. Going to sleep. She didn’t reply. Instead, a new message popped up. It was from Aiden. I was the one who went after Bree. I liked her first. Stella, I hope you won’t blame her or take your anger out on her. How could I even describe it? I used to love Aiden so much it felt like my heart would overflow. Now, in the space of a single night, the thought of him just made my stomach turn. This couldn’t have been a sudden thing. They didn’t just suddenly fall in love. All this time, they must have looked at me and Jimmy like we were a couple of clowns, enjoying the attention we showered on them, only to turn around and say, “Thanks for liking me, but I don’t like you back.” I could have accepted any outcome. What I couldn’t accept was that the person I had loved for so long was, in reality, a total piece of shit. I didn’t reply to him. I just took a screenshot of both their messages and sent it to Jimmy. You get one of these? A minute later, he sent one back. It was from Bree. A long, rambling text about how grateful she was for his years of affection… Jimmy: You’d think in five years she could have mentioned she liked my brother. Stella, we’re not that pathetic, are we? We wouldn’t have kept chasing them if we knew. I had chased him for five years, but I’d liked him for much longer. Me: I was just unlucky to meet them. But I don’t want to see them again. I bet I’ll have to tomorrow, though. And then I’ll have to say ‘It’s fine, no big deal.’ I’ll feel like such a fake, but they won’t be happy until they hear it, so they can feel better about themselves. As I typed, a surge of frustration hit me. I just wanted to delete and block them both. Jimmy: Same. My brother just knocked on my door asking if I was asleep. I didn’t answer. It’s just so exhausting. It’s not even that sad, really. I chased her for so long, I can accept it. But it just sucks. Why did it have to be those two? How could they do this to us? Suddenly, an idea sparked in my mind. A second later, my phone was ringing. It was Jimmy. We’d been a chaotic, imaginative pair since we were kids, our crazy ideas often syncing up perfectly. “What if we…” I started. “What if we…” he said at the exact same time. I pursed my lips. “You first.” He cleared his throat. “How about we just make a go of it? We both know what we’re getting into.” I was silent for only a second. I knew he couldn’t see me, but I nodded anyway. “Okay.” “And we have to get married before they do.” “Don’t worry,” I said. “Leave it to me.” 2 I never knew Jimmy could be so efficient. Last night, I couldn’t squeeze out a single tear to mourn my wasted years. I just kept wondering, numbly, if my feelings for Aiden had already died out long ago, in all those years of hopeless pursuit. Then this morning—early, like, crack-of-dawn early—my mom started banging on my bedroom door. Each knock was louder than the last, like a death march. “Mom, what is it? It’s the midd—” I threw the door open, my hair a mess, but before I could finish my complaint, she clapped a hand over my mouth. “Honey, you… you need to get washed up and come downstairs. Now.” I blinked, my eyes heavy with sleep. “What’s going on?” “Your boyfriend is here to ask for your hand!” she whispered excitedly in my ear. My mom was always nagging me to date and get married, even threatening to set me up on blind dates. Seeing Jimmy here, making a formal proposal, must have been her dream come true. “Huh?” The words shocked me fully awake. No way. I crept to the top of the stairs and peered down. The living room was filled with familiar faces, and a pile of gold bars gleamed under the crystal chandelier. I showered, did my makeup, and changed in record time. When I came downstairs, Jimmy’s mom, a warm smile on her face, beckoned me over. “Stella, come have some breakfast first. Your uncle and I picked it up from the dim sum place on our way.” Then she turned to my mom, her expression apologetic. “Sarah, I’m so sorry for showing up so unannounced. We must have startled you.” “Oh, don’t be silly!” my mom laughed. “We’ve watched these two grow up. If they want to join our families, I couldn’t be happier.” “Exactly,” my dad chimed in. “We’re practically family already. Who needs all those formalities?” Jimmy was sitting ramrod straight in a formal suit, his red hair slicked back. “You work fast,” I whispered, sitting down next to him and popping a shrimp dumpling in my mouth. He leaned in. “Well, I saw my brother was out of town. I figured if he came with us to propose, it might make you uncomfortable.” I just raised an eyebrow and said nothing. Our parents were already enthusiastically planning the wedding. “I think the fifth of next month is a great day,” Jimmy’s mom said. “The almanac says it’s auspicious for marriage.” “Yes, yes, a lucky day!” my mom agreed. “Great, then it’s settled…” Jimmy and I stared at each other, stunned. “Why are they in a bigger hurry than we are?” I mouthed. He whispered back, “They’re probably both terrified we’ll bolt.” That actually made a lot of sense. My mom was constantly sighing about how “young people these days just don’t want to get married.” 3 The following weeks were a blur of wedding prep. Jimmy and I were busy with dress fittings, venue tours, and writing invitations. Meanwhile, Aiden and Bree had gone on a trip to Seabrook, a coastal city. They posted a new photo every day, looking blissful. While waiting for Jimmy to change into another suit, I found myself staring at a picture of them with the ocean sparkling in the background. A pang of something hit me. I had actually planned a trip to Seabrook with Aiden a long time ago. I’d even told Bree about it. I’d seen a travel blogger’s video of the city and sent it to her, gushing about how I wanted to go there with him for my birthday. But then Bree sprained her ankle a few days before, and I stayed to take care of her, so the trip was postponed. I never imagined they would be the ones to go together. “What are you looking at?” Jimmy emerged in a sleek black suit, a faint smile playing on his lips. I didn’t hide it, just turned my phone so he could see. He was fastening the buttons on his jacket. As he looked up, I said, “Let me help.” Once the buttons were done, he’d seen the photo. He handed my phone back. “Do you want to go?” I shook my head, then nodded. “Yes.” Even though Jimmy and Aiden were twins, once you got to know them, they were easy to tell apart. Aiden had this air of effortless disdain, always impatient and aloof. But Jimmy had his mother’s eyes—they crinkled when he smiled, bright and warm. He was sunny and emotionally stable. “It’s not because they went,” I said, my gaze firm. “I’ve wanted to go for a long time.” Jimmy gently guided me towards the full-length mirror. “Okay,” he said softly. “I know.” In the mirror, we looked like a perfect match, a striking couple. “You two make such a handsome couple,” the sales associate offered at the perfect moment. “What do you think of this one? Do you like it?” he asked, leaning down slightly. I thought for a moment, chewing on my lip. “I don’t know… it just doesn’t feel… breathtaking.” I held my fingers up, a tiny space between them. “It’s missing that little something.” Jimmy chuckled, his eyes sparkling like diamonds under the crystal lights. The store manager approached us. “Sir, Madam, have you found a suit and gown that you like?” She noticed our hesitation and added tactfully, “We actually have a new collection of gowns arriving from Europe in a few days. Would you be able to wait? I promise you, they are absolutely exquisite. We have the designer’s sketches, and I can walk you through the concepts.” She gestured towards a private viewing area. “If you have a moment?” I looked at Jimmy, and he nodded. I smiled at the manager. “Yes, that would be wonderful.”

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For four years at university, Dean treated me like a dog. He’d pet me when he was pleased, and kick me when he was angry. Once, during a particularly painful period, he kicked me into the swimming pool. When he ordered his cronies to torment me, he’d secretly record it. Even for the morning-after pill, I had to pay for it myself. He was a cold-blooded devil who had tormented me for ten years. Yet, later, I found him on his knees in a pool of blood, choking back sobs as he begged for my forgiveness. He swore he’d make everyone who’d hurt me vanish—including himself. “I wish everyone else could see you like this, you pathetic little slut, begging for it,” Dean whispered, his voice a low growl against my collarbone. His vile words slithered into my ears. “A slut, am I? And what does that make you, who’s been chasing this ‘slut’ for ten years?” I retorted, a cold laugh escaping my lips as I met his lust-filled gaze. His strikingly handsome, rebellious face twisted instantly, the scar above his eyebrow making him look even more feral. Lust and rage mingled, erupting into a violent storm of punishment. “Watch closely,” he snarled, his voice thick with a dark promise, “this is how a dog marks its territory.” 1 The sound of running water echoed from the bathroom. Casually, I slipped two hundred dollars from Dean’s wallet and dropped it into my piggy bank. He had always been baffled by this habit, assuming it was simply greed. So, he’d tried various ways to shower me with gifts. A twenty-million-dollar deed to a house? I tore it up. A two-million-dollar diamond ring? I tossed it into a sewage drain. Only these vibrant red banknotes, accumulating to the point of overflowing, did I keep. 2 “Your first love, Sebastian Gosling, is getting married,” Dean announced, wrapped only in a towel, a mocking smirk playing on his lips. He ran his hands through his wet hair with a wild, careless gesture, droplets tracing paths down his sculpted abs, disappearing into places that stirred the imagination. “To Isabella Reed.” He paused, a calculated silence, as if expecting to pique my interest. “What do I care?” I replied, shrugging. Failing to elicit the reaction he anticipated, Dean’s dissatisfaction simmered. He leaned over me, pinning me with his intense gaze, a playful menace in his eyes. “We simply must send our blessings! After all, you once would have given your life to protect him.” He chuckled, a low, unsettling sound. “Tell me… what if I sent him those videos of you as a wedding gift?” “You psycho!” My voice trembled, a tell-tale sign of my agitation. Dean’s smile widened, an almost demonic glee in his eyes, as if his twisted prank had landed perfectly. “That’s right, glare at me just like that. In the videos, you had the same look in your eyes…” 3 Honestly, Sebastian Gosling wasn’t really my ‘first love’ in any meaningful sense. It was just a high school crush, a pink-envelope love letter slipped to the star student. The next day, Isabella had dragged me into the girls’ restroom and doused me with ice water. “Crushing on Sebastian? You? You don’t deserve him!” she’d spat, her hand rising to deliver a stinging slap across my face. It burned. That’s when Dean kicked open the door. His clothes hung loosely, his gaze sweeping over my shirt, now clinging to my skin and revealing my underwear. He let out a low whistle. “Call me ‘big brother,’ and I’ll help you get revenge.” I didn’t. And so, he and Isabella joined forces, weaving an endless tapestry of nightmares for me. Sebastian Gosling, in a twisted way, had been at the heart of it all. 4 On the day of Sebastian and Isabella’s wedding, Dean dragged me along. Isabella glowed, a vision of happiness, nestled against Sebastian. Their gazes, when they met, were brimming with affection. Seeing the boy I once adored marry the girl who had pulled my hair and slapped me—a notorious mean girl—a bitter taste settled in my heart. Dean, sensing my low spirits, tightened his arm around my waist, a silent display of his displeasure. “Keep staring and I swear I’ll take you right here, right now.” As the powerful and wealthy heir to the Sterling fortune, Dean was constantly surrounded by people eager to speak with him. “Well, well, if it isn’t ‘Two-Hundred-Bucks’!” A balding man reeking of alcohol stumbled closer. “Still not tired of her, Dean?” The familiar nickname sent a chill down my spine. Years ago, Dean had stood over my shadow, holding my love letter high above his head. “‘You are like a star in the heavens, illuminating my dull life…’” he’d mimicked, pinching his voice to a high-pitched, girlish tone, reciting every word I’d written for Sebastian. My face burned with shame. I stretched on my tiptoes, desperate to snatch the letter back, oblivious to how close we were. “So eager to throw yourself at a man? How much for a night, huh?” Dean’s words had left me frozen in humiliated silence, unsure how to react. From the crowd, someone had yelled, “Two hundred bucks for an all-nighter!” The entire class erupted in laughter. From then on, “Two-Hundred-Bucks” became my personal moniker, following me for years. 5 The memory-fueled rage manifested as a stinging slap across the bald man’s face, leaving him stunned. Snapping back to reality, his bloodshot, alcohol-hazed eyes widened. “You little slut, you dare hit me!” Just as his fist was about to descend, Dean stepped in front of me, effortlessly snapping the man’s wrist before kicking him aside. I was pulled into a warm embrace, the familiar scent of rich mahogany engulfing me. “You dare lay a hand on my woman?” Dean snarled, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. The commotion caught the attention of the wedding party. “Audrey, what in the—you’re still mixed up with Dean?” Sebastian’s concerned voice reached me from behind, tightening a knot in my chest. “Sebastian, you’ve already married my goddess. Can’t you even spare me a broken toy?” Dean’s barbed words, sharp as daggers, plunged deep into my heart. Like a cornered, panicked rabbit, I blurted out, “A broken toy? You’d still want that?” “Broken toys are more… resilient, aren’t they?” Dean challenged, his gaze fixed on Sebastian. Then, he grabbed my chin and publicly bit my lower lip. The metallic tang of blood spread through my mouth as the dazzling crystal chandeliers blurred my vision. Right. How could I compare to his goddess? I was just a plaything he’d taken to his bed. 6 After Isabella’s wedding, Dean seemed to snap. The word “marriage” was constantly on his lips. “Hey, where’s that ring I gave you? Put it on! Let’s go get hitched!” “If you want to act crazy, find someone else. The ‘friends-with-benefits-turned-spouse’ trope? Aren’t you tired of how cliché that is?” I rolled my eyes, unwilling to play along with his sudden display of deep affection. Even more ridiculously, he planned a four-person honeymoon trip. I knew perfectly well it wasn’t a honeymoon; it was just an excuse to bring a shield along to accompany his ex-lover. Seeing my indifference, Dean didn’t seem angry. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, leaning in close, his voice a soft murmur, like a lover’s whisper. “Your parents… how have they been lately?” His most practiced trick, yet still the most effective. 7 The air in Bali was light and humid, and the waves of heat made me restless. Isabella, in a lace swimsuit, kept pressing herself against Dean, her ample cleavage inviting suggestive glances. I, being afraid of water, lay on the shore, feigning illness. “Aren’t you coming to swim, Aubrey?” Isabella asked, tilting her head, feigning innocence. “Still mad about those old little things? It was just a game, you know.” She pouted, cooing to Dean, “Dean, darling, maybe I should bow to her as an apology?” I was too weary to play the spoiled princess’s game and turned to leave, but his hand clamped around my wrist like iron pliers. “Bella has graciously invited you. Don’t be so dramatic; go swim with her for a bit.” Dean tugged at my arm, forcefully dragging me to the edge of the pool. I resisted with all my might. Finally, his patience worn thin, he hoisted me onto his shoulder and tossed me directly into the water. The icy liquid instantly filled my nasal cavity, the sensation of drowning dragging me back to that past swimming lesson. Dean had done the same then, throwing me, a girl on her period, into the water like trash. Everyone had stood on the shore, hands on hips, laughing as I struggled, like a dying swan. Someone had shrieked, “Why is she bleeding?” Dean had wrinkled his nose in disgust. “You’re getting the pool dirty. So gross.” Back then, I had shivered uncontrollably, only daring to cling to the pool’s edge, forbidden to get out without his permission. But this time, I felt as if I’d lost the strength to struggle, letting my body sink deeper and deeper. Just as I was about to succumb to darkness, an arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me to the surface. “What are you doing?” The fantasized hero still hadn’t appeared. It was only Dean, his face livid, cursing me out. “What the hell is wrong with you, trying to drown yourself?!” He pinned me against the pool wall, the panic in his eyes starkly visible. “Don’t you want me dead anyway? Just doing as you wished.” My water-choked voice was hoarse. His pupils constricted sharply. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. 8 That night, Dean was exceptionally rough, tormenting me in every conceivable way. He blindfolded me with a dark blue tie, his warm, moist breath caressing my ear. “Guess what Sebastian and Isabella are doing in the next room?” The darkness heightened every sensation, and I felt his nimble fingers tracing paths across my body, eliciting shivers. I bit down hard on my lips in shame, desperate not to let any sound escape. At first, I clenched my teeth, enduring it. But eventually, instinct overwhelmed me. In my hazy state, I heard the sound of Dean’s phone unlocking, and my blood ran cold. “Are you filming again, you sick bastard?!” I screamed, panicking, struggling to tear off the tie. He pinned my struggling hand with one of his, chuckling darkly. “It’s fine, I’m just enjoying it myself. I’ll delete it after.” He’d said the same thing back then! In that filthy equipment room, Dean, with a group of his cronies, had held me down, their hands all over me. And he, unhurried, had sat before me with a camera, recording my humiliation. To this day, that video remained perfectly preserved on his computer, a chain binding me. 9 Morning light filtered through the sheer curtains. Isabella, stifling a yawn, complained to me, “Can you two be a little more considerate of your neighbors?” Embarrassed, I stirred my coffee, unable to meet her gaze. Dean walked in, rubbing his shoulder. His black silk pajama top had slipped, revealing a blood-stained bandage. Sebastian, pouring coffee, paused. “Injured?” “Got scratched by a little kitten last night. A paw-sized bloody mess, hurt like hell.” As he spoke, he peeled back a piece of gauze, revealing the wound to everyone. “That brutal?! A biting animal like that should be put down,” Isabella gasped, suggesting. “Got scratched years ago, even worse than this one,” Dean said, pointing to the faint, almost imperceptible scar above his eyebrow, then looked at me suggestively. “Tsk, just a bit temperamental, but quite entertaining. I’ll keep her around.” Sebastian, who had seemed unresponsive, suddenly looked at me, a flicker of guilt in his eyes that I couldn’t quite decipher. I kept my head down, silent. Because the “unruly kitten” Dean spoke of was me. Last night, to retaliate for his secret filming, I had bitten hard into his shoulder several times. And that old scar, years in the making, bore witness to my past of blood and tears. 10 It was my first time, and Dean’s first time. My first time resisting, his first time getting his head split open. And our first time in bed together… In the dilapidated motel room, Dean sat like a god. Before him, I knelt, tears streaming down my face, begging for mercy. “I’ll let Sebastian go, but you have to sleep with me, or… you die.” His hand gripped my hair tightly, his thin lips parting to offer me a fatal choice. At the time, I didn’t know Sebastian came from a powerful family; I only thought he was as pitiable as me. To protect him, and my laughable dignity, I unhesitatingly rushed toward the window. I chose death, but Dean didn’t give me the option. In the nick of time, he embraced me, forced himself upon me, leaving me with a wretched life. The cost: I became his pet. On call, ready for his release. Inexperienced, I trembled with fear. When Dean’s kiss fell, I instinctively fought back. Grabbing the nearest beer bottle from the nightstand, I brought it down hard on his head. Blood stained half his face, making him look like a demon from hell. Scattered shards of glass grazed his eyebrow, adding a sinister edge to his sculpted features. “You made me bleed. As compensation, you’ll have to bleed a little too…” As soon as the words left his lips, a tearing pain spread through my lower body. On the sheets, scattered drops of blood bloomed like red cherry blossoms. Dean gazed at his handiwork with satisfaction, then, in an act of twisted mercy, handed me some cash. “Buy yourself some ointment, and… don’t forget to take the pill.” I counted. It was exactly two hundred dollars.

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For fifteen years at the orphanage, I lived a quiet life. My younger sister was adopted by a wealthy socialite, while I was taken in by the dorm matron. The day the adoption papers were signed, a line of floating text suddenly appeared before my eyes. [The sister doesn’t know, does she? After she was taken in by the rich family, everyone looked down on her, and she ended up fighting dogs for food.] [The older sister has a better fate. Although she was adopted by the dorm matron, she met Mr. Brooks, the richest man in Port City, by chance and was later spoiled rotten by him.] [This is why it’s better to marry well than to be born well.] My sister suddenly rushed to the dorm matron, sweetly calling her “Mommy.” That’s when I knew. My sister could see the pop-up text too. 1 “Sister, you’ve always taken care of me since we were little. This time, you should go and enjoy life with the Sterling family.” My sister, still wearing the white dress she’d put on specifically to impress the wealthy Sterlings, now affectionately held the dorm matron’s hand. I watched the floating text appear before my eyes. That’s when I knew. My sister could see the pop-up text too. The sudden switch of children, both already chosen by their respective families, left the orphanage director in a difficult position as she consulted both parties. My sister, terrified that the dorm matron wouldn’t agree, sweetly called her “Mommy,” melting the matron’s expression. On the Sterling family side, Mrs. Sterling remained silent, making a phone call. Half an hour later, a young man, roughly my age, stepped out of a Rolls-Royce. He wore a casual black outfit, a brand I didn’t recognize, but it screamed expensive. His gaze darted between my sister and me, as if comparing two pieces of merchandise. I pursed my lips and smiled at the young man. He snorted. “Just her, then. She’s not as pretty as Sophie, but she looks more obedient.” The floating text above his head scrolled again. [The Sterlings just want a plaything for their son, Greg. The older sister is in for a hard time.] [The younger sister is smarter, giving up immediate temptation for a better future.] My sister smiled triumphantly. Her “Mommy” calls to the dorm matron grew even more affectionate. 2 Greg Sterling was the only heir to the Sterling family. Spoiled since childhood, his personality was notoriously difficult. The moment I stepped through the Sterling mansion doors, Greg tossed a dog collar at me and ordered me to put it on and bark. “Skylar, you only wanted to be adopted by my family because we’re rich, didn’t you?” His smile was malicious. “Bark once, I’ll give you ten thousand. How about it?” I obediently put on the collar. Under Greg’s disdainful gaze, I slowly spoke: “Then you mustn’t go back on your word, young master.” That day, I followed Greg, barking for a long time. So long, in fact, that Greg finally stopped me, his face filled with disgust. “Enough! Stop barking!” I smiled at Greg. “Understood, Young Master. That’s fifty-five thousand in total. How would you like to pay?” Greg impatiently threw a card at me. It contained sixty thousand. At dinner, it was just Greg and me. The housekeeper had still prepared a table full of food. As I was about to sit down, Greg stopped me. “Who said you could eat at the table?” Greg pointed to a new dog bowl nearby. “You like barking like a dog, don’t you? Then eat with the dog.” The food in the dog bowl was piled into a messy heap, a stark contrast to the beautifully plated dishes on the table. But compared to the leftovers at the orphanage, it was infinitely better. I ate heartily from the dog bowl. Just then, I saw my sister’s new social media post. It was a photo of her and her adoptive mother before dinner. On the simple round table sat a plate of bean sprouts and two bowls of rice. The caption read: “Though simple, it’s very happy.” After seeing it, the organic vegetables in my dog bowl tasted even better. Before bed, Greg claimed the room Mrs. Sterling had prepared for me, telling me to sleep with the dog. I looked at the 30-square-foot wooden cabin in the yard, hugged my blanket, and crawled inside. The German Shepherd was well-behaved. Seeing me, he shrank to the side, making plenty of room. It was much more spacious than the orphanage’s communal sleeping arrangements. I couldn’t help but sigh. At fifteen, I finally had a single room. It felt good. 3 A rich young master like Greg also had various lessons arranged by his parents, such as piano and golf. The next morning at 6:30, Greg dragged me out of the doghouse to accompany him on his morning run, then to his piano lesson. I thought he’d find some new way to humiliate me, but this time, he told me to join the class with him. This was only because Mr. Sterling would randomly check on his studies every weekend. “My dad only listens in passing. You can play for me when the door’s closed.” So I studied with particular seriousness. In the afternoon, Greg took me to his golf lesson. As I carried his golf bag, looking disheveled, following behind Greg, I ran into my sister, Sophie. She wore a pretty floral dress, affectionately holding her adoptive mother’s hand. “What a coincidence, Sister! I heard this golf course just opened. Mom and I are going for a walk in the fields. Want to join us?” I tucked the sweat-drenched strands of hair behind my ear and shook my head. “No, I have to stay with Young Master Sterling.” Sophie feigned surprise. “So the Sterlings adopted you just to have a free maid? They’re so mean!” “Skylar, come here.” Greg emerged from the pro shop and beckoned me over. “You’re adopted by the Sterlings, at least. Don’t talk to riff-raff.” His voice wasn’t particularly loud, but it was just enough for Sophie to hear. Sophie’s face paled for a moment. She tugged her adoptive mother’s hand and headed towards the fields but was stopped by a staff member. “Miss, please show your membership card.” Greg sneered, then walked through another gate with me. Sophie and her adoptive mother’s faces grew darker and darker. The floating text appeared again. [Skylar doesn’t think Young Master Sterling is taking her to play, does she?] [Greg is very good at training dogs. The field is huge here. Soon, he’ll be walking Skylar like a dog.] [Sophie is still lucky. Her family is so happy. Although they’re poor now, she’ll have endless money once she’s with Mr. Brooks, the richest man in Port City.] Sophie’s expression brightened at this. She pulled her adoptive mother’s hand, smiling ingratiatingly. “Mommy, don’t worry. When I’m with Mr. Brooks, the richest man in Port City, I’ll have him give this entire golf course to you!” 4 The entire afternoon, Greg certainly didn’t let me rest. To torment me, he deliberately cleared the field. He would stand at the tee, hitting balls, and I had to retrieve them within a minute. If I failed, he’d use me as a moving target, pelting me with balls. Greg was thoroughly entertained. Until one ball hit me directly on the bridge of my nose. The sharp ache made my eyes water, and then a warm liquid began to flow from my nose. I haphazardly wiped it away, then rushed back to Greg. My hands respectfully held up the ball. “Young Master, your ball.” Greg’s smile froze. He used his golf club to lift my chin. “Skylar, are you an idiot? Didn’t you think to dodge?” My eyes were red, but I smiled at Greg. He tossed a handkerchief at my face, annoyed. “Go wipe that off somewhere else. Don’t be disgusting.” After that, Greg didn’t boss me around as much. Not long after, he lost interest and took me home. Perhaps I had behaved well today. On the way back, Greg tossed me a mint. I grinned, saying, “Thank you, Young Master.” Greg seemed to be in a good mood. At dinner, he allowed me to sit at the table and even let me take a nice shower in the bathroom before making me return to the doghouse. He said it was because he didn’t want me to get the doghouse dirty. I continued to smile at Greg. An aunt at the orphanage once told me that while I wasn’t particularly beautiful, my smile was very endearing. And now, my primary goal was to survive in the Sterling household. And to thrive even more. 5 The next day, my transfer procedures were completed. To continue assisting Greg, I enrolled in the International Exchange Program. Students in this class were all wealthy and influential, each belonging to their own small circles. Most followed Greg because the Sterling family held significant sway in Port City. Perhaps Greg had given instructions beforehand, as most of my classmates looked at me with ill intent. They would mock my English pronunciation and deliberately misplace my homework, leading to me being punished by the teacher. For group projects, I was always the odd one out. Whenever I was in the most awkward situations, Greg would finally step in, extending his “helping hand.” [Greg Sterling is disgusting. If I were Skylar, I’d resist.] [Yes, you can’t just go along with these rich young masters. The more you resist, the more you pique their interest.] I looked at the lines of floating text. I gratefully accepted Greg’s help, then smiled and said, “Thank you, Young Master.” I knew that given my current circumstances, defying Greg would bring me no benefit whatsoever. Until one day, my painstakingly organized notebook was tossed into a bucket of dirty water. By the time I discovered it, the writing was already smudged beyond recognition. I held the notebook, looked at the gloating classmates behind me, and turned back to ask, “Who did this?” One of Greg’s most trusted cronies stepped forward, challenging me. “I did it, what are you going to do about it? You study all day, but you’re still not getting first place? Are you retarded or something?” More floating text appeared. [Greg is watching! Skylar must endure, that’s how she’ll get his pity.] [Rich young masters love strong, yet secretly enduring, innocent girls.] [Is this why Greg will eventually fall for Sophie?] [Sophie isn’t just likable, she’s also beautiful. Skylar probably doesn’t know that while she’s being bullied here, Sophie is being spoiled rotten in the regular classes.] Amidst the surrounding laughter, I picked up the bucket of dirty water and dumped it over his head. “Damn it!” The crony cursed, pushing me to the ground. The other lackeys swarmed me, kicking and punching. I lay on the ground, turning my head to look at Greg. He leaned against the window, watching me with an amused expression, showing no signs of helping. I covered my head and yelled, “You can bully me, but you can’t ruin the notes I prepared for Young Master!” “What did you say?” Greg frowned, stopping those who were hitting me. “Who told you to do those things?” he asked me. I looked into his eyes and replied, “Everything I have is from the Sterling family, so my things are Young Master’s things.” Greg laughed. “You think by sucking up to me, I’ll protect you?” After that, Greg allowed his cronies to continue bullying me, even more severely than before. The other classmates remained indifferent. The teachers paid no mind to the minor scuffles among these rich young masters. At that moment, I suddenly understood: to avoid being bullied in this circle, I had to make myself more valuable. So I began to plead: “Young Master! Young Master! They’re stepping on my hands! If my hands and arms get hurt, I won’t be able to help you this weekend! Young Master, if my legs get hurt, I won’t be able to retrieve the balls for you this weekend!” That night, Greg uncharacteristically threw me a bottle of pain relief spray. He asked, “You’re quite a fighter, aren’t you? Why didn’t you fight back when they hit you earlier?” I shook my head. “That’s different. I fought back because they ruined what I prepared for you, Young Master. But when they hit me, it was because you instructed them to. Since it was your wish, I would never resist.” My gaze was sincere. Greg, however, scoffed. “Skylar, are you actually retarded?” He suddenly leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. “Then if I told you to die, would you?” 6 No, I wouldn’t. But very soon, I proved that I wasn’t an idiot. When Greg’s crony forgot to help him with his group project, I secretly slipped him a USB drive. That time, Greg’s group project took first place. After class, Greg found me. Before he could speak, I smiled at him. “Young Master, others can help you, and so can I.” Greg smiled back. “You want to help me that badly? Alright then.” After that, Greg dumped all his homework on me, including exams. Greg wanted me to help him with his final exams. “What’s wrong, Skylar? Don’t you want to help me?” I nodded obediently. “No problem, Young Master.” The final exams for the essay-based courses were easy. Only the last one was a written, closed-book exam. Greg and I weren’t even in the same testing room. So, I made a deal with Greg. Forty minutes into the exam, I would slip a note with the answers behind the fire hydrant. Just then, more floating text appeared. [Skylar usually seems so timid, I never thought she’d be so bold.] [If she’s caught cheating on the final, she’ll be expelled, right?] On the day of the final exam, as agreed, forty minutes in, I slipped the note with the answers behind the fire hydrant. However, at that moment, someone grabbed my wrist. “Sister, what are you doing?” Sophie pulled out the note and opened it, feigning surprise. “This is… exam answers, isn’t it?” I frowned. In my habit of ignoring the floating text, I had forgotten that Sophie could also see it. The regular classes and the International Exchange Program weren’t in the same building. Sophie’s appearance here was clearly a deliberate attempt to catch me. But she overlooked one thing. I asked her, “It’s exam period. What are you doing in the International Exchange building?” Sophie choked. Just then, the teacher arrived. Sophie handed my answer sheet to the teacher. “Teacher, I want to report a student for cheating.”

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My cool, impossibly reserved husband has been acting strange lately. He insists on going out in a full disguise—hoodie, sunglasses, the whole nine yards. The moment the doorbell rings, he dives into the nearest closet. And I catch him, day after day, staring at the ring on my finger with a look of pure, grinding agony. Then one day, I stumbled upon an encrypted memo on his phone: “Woke up and I’ve time-traveled from eighteen to twenty-eight.” “Good news: I actually ended up with the girl I’ve been secretly in love with for years.” “Bad news: There are no wedding photos in the house, I’m not wearing a wedding ring, and the suits in the closet aren’t my size.” “…I’m screwed. I’m the other man.” Me: ? 1 The day after we moved into our new home, my husband, Liam, was in a horrific car accident. He spent a day and a night unconscious in the hospital. The doctors said that apart from losing the last ten years of his memory, all his vitals were perfectly normal. But I had a growing suspicion that it wasn’t just his memory that was gone. The man who came home with me was a stranger in more ways than one. His behavior was… bizarre. Take right now, for instance. It’s been three hours since we got back from the hospital, and Liam hasn’t stopped moving. He’s been pacing the house relentlessly, his eyes darting everywhere. First, he examined the freshly painted walls with the intensity of a crime scene investigator. Then, he pulled an old suit from the back of the wardrobe—the one he wore to his college graduation—and held it against himself over and over again, a frown deepening on his face. Finally, his gaze fell on his left hand. He squeezed his bare ring finger, where a faint, pale band of skin marked the spot a ring had occupied for years. It had been lost in the crash. When he finished his inspection, all the strength seemed to drain out of him. He collapsed onto the sofa, his face a ghostly white. “Nina,” he said, his voice trembling. I looked over, and his eyes flickered to the ring on my own hand before he swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “How long… have we been like this?” I followed his gaze to my ring, and a warm blush crept up my neck. “Two years.” It was a strange and wonderful story, really. In high school, we were bitter rivals, fighting tooth and nail to be top of the class. But a chance reunion in a new city during college transformed our animosity into a surprising, fierce friendship. After graduation, we became an unbeatable team at work, a perfect partnership in every sense. It was like we just clicked. And just like that, a decade had flown by. The two people everyone at school swore would kill each other before they’d ever date were now two years into a marriage so perfect, so in sync—from the boardroom to the bedroom—it felt like we were made for each other. 2 I was still lost in the warm, fuzzy memories of my favorite enemy-turned-lover story when Liam’s voice shattered the quiet. “T-Two years?!” He clutched his chest as if he’d been shot, his voice ragged with hysteria. “Two years… and I’m still not the official one?” His outburst startled me. “Liam, what are you yelling about? The ‘official one’? What are you trying to be the official one of?” He stared at me for a moment, a look of profound sorrow in his eyes. He slowly tightened his grip on the teacup in his hand. “So… you’re the one who won’t let go of him.” I frowned, completely bewildered, my gaze dropping to the cup. And then it clicked. “That’s right,” I said, a wave of relief washing over me. “I won’t let you.” He’s always under so much pressure at work, and insomnia is his constant companion. So, I have a strict no-caffeine-after-noon rule for him. I was glad he remembered that little detail, even if nothing else. He, however, did not look glad at all. His eyes were red-rimmed, and he stared at me like a tragic lover, used and then cruelly cast aside, every strand of his hair radiating betrayal. “Nina,” he choked out, “I never thought… I never thought this is what we’d become.” I couldn’t help but smile shyly. “I never thought so either. It just goes to show you, fate is a funny thing.” “…Fate?” Liam’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer. “Is this fate? This? This is… this is an outrage, it’s—” He broke off, turning away to rub furiously at the corner of his eye. A flicker of disappointment went through me; for a second, I thought he was about to say something sweet. But then again, this was Liam. He was an unshakeable ice king in high school, and his career as a ruthless CEO had only made him more concise. Which is why, for the past two years, my favorite pastime was coaxing dirty talk out of him in bed. I lived for the sight of that blush creeping up his neck as he lost himself to me, his composure shattering. And if I really put in the effort… I could wring a few low, desperate gasps from between those clenched teeth. 3 The memory sent a jolt of heat through me. I patted my flushed cheeks and quickly changed the subject. “Anyway, Liam, are you hungry? I’ll go see what we have for dinner.” Liam let out a long, shaky breath, his eyes following me as I walked to the kitchen. He seemed to have reached some sort of terrible resolution. “Nina,” he began, his voice heavy. “I don’t know what’s happened between then and now, or why I’m… like this. Maybe you have some kind of leverage over me, I don’t know.” “But I will not allow myself to be this person. I can’t do these… shady, underhanded things. I’m not cut out for the drama, the jealousy, the backstabbing.” “I have to cut this toxic tie, now. I have to end this chaotic mess—especially this relationship, which is a violation of the law, of morality, of every principle I hold dear.” “I’m telling you right now, I would rather die than be a—” I pulled open the refrigerator door and waved a container at him. “Dinner is pizza and the chicken soup my mom sent over. Sound good, honey?” The word hung in the air. Liam’s expression of tortured indignation vanished. He blinked, his eyes wide, as if savoring the sound. Three long seconds passed. A dark blush crept up to the tips of his ears. “O-Okay,” he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. For the next half hour, Liam stood as still as a statue, a storm of conflicting emotions warring on his face. He looked utterly defeated. The white bandage on his forehead only added to the tragic, broken-beauty effect. The accident hadn’t marred his handsome features in the slightest. If anything, it had softened the sharp, ruthless edge he’d honed over years in the corporate world, making him seem younger, more vulnerable. “Nina, I have to be clear,” he started again, his brow furrowed with grim determination. “I can’t—I won’t—engage in any more of this clandestine…” His voice was cut short by the sharp ring of the doorbell. Ding-dong. The pizza had arrived, right on time. At my side, Liam went rigid, instantly on high alert. He fumbled for the remote and clicked off the TV, his eyes wide with panic as he looked at me. I bit my lip, remembering the doctor’s warning. Post-accident, Liam might be sensitive to sudden, loud noises. Doorbells, car horns, anything startling. I reached out and gently stroked his jaw, my voice soft. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. You just stay here, you don’t have to go to the door.” His shoulders trembled slightly at my touch. He flinched away, his lips pressed into a thin, white line, but he didn’t say anything. I paid for the pizza and signed for a package that had also arrived, then walked back into the living room. But when I stepped inside, Liam was gone. The only evidence he’d been there was the deep impression his body had left on the sofa cushion and the faint, clean scent of cedarwood that hung in the air. If not for those traces, I would have thought I’d imagined him entirely. I scanned the empty room, a knot of confusion tightening in my stomach. “Liam?” Silence. I thought for a moment, then headed upstairs. The bedroom was dark, with no sign of him. I flipped on the light. My eyes were immediately drawn to the wardrobe. A familiar sliver of fabric was caught in the door, trembling faintly. 4 I rushed over and threw open the closet doors. And there he was, huddled behind a row of my dresses. Liam, all six-foot-two of him, was crammed into the tiny space, the hem of my skirt clenched between his teeth. His face was pale, his jaw trembling. I was stunned. “Liam! What in the world are you doing in there?” His head shot up. The first thing he did was peer cautiously past my shoulder. “Is… is he gone?” he whispered. I glanced back. The delivery guy’s car was already pulling out of the driveway. “Yeah, he’s gone.” Liam’s eyes lit up for a second, then immediately dimmed. “He… he didn’t stay?” “Stay for what? He has other deliveries to make. Come on, get out of there. He’s long gone.” Liam’s tense shoulders finally relaxed, and he let out a huge sigh of relief. He hesitated, then added, his tone sly and conspiratorial, “…You know, a workaholic like that, someone who only thinks about their job… they must be incredibly boring. It must be exhausting, being with a person like that. But, just saying, I’m not that kind of workaholic…” I nodded along. “You’re right. That’s why I like you so much better.” A small, smug smile touched his lips, and he lifted his chin with a hint of pride. But just as quickly, his expression froze. The light in his eyes vanished, replaced by a look of self-loathing. He muttered something under his breath, then scrambled out of the closet and hurried past me, storming downstairs without another word. 5 After dinner, I suggested a walk in the park. Liam’s knuckles went white as he gripped his spoon. “There will be too many people at the park. What if someone sees us…?” I knew he’d been anxious around people since the accident, so I nodded understandingly. “You have a point. Okay, then let’s just go to the supermarket to pick up some essentials. It should be pretty empty this time of night.” Liam’s lashes fluttered down, and he didn’t refuse this time. “…Nina, have we… always been like this? For the past two years?” “We have.” His back went ramrod straight. “Will you… will you divorce him?” he asked, his voice strained. I was taken aback. “Divorce? Why would I get a divorce? I don’t ever want a divorce.” CRACK. The fork in his hand snapped in two. “You really want to keep going on like this?” he demanded, his voice dangerously low. I nodded firmly. “Of course.” Liam shot to his feet, the sound of his teeth grinding together filling the silence. “Nina, how could you… How can you—?” He choked on the words, a look of pure despair on his face, then spun around. “I’m done eating.” I blinked. “Hey, Liam, aren’t you coming to the supermarket with me?” His retreating figure looked fragile, on the verge of collapse. He gave no sign that he’d heard me as he mounted the stairs, not even a backward glance. I huffed in annoyance, deliberately pitching my voice to carry. “Fine, be that way! I’ll just ask someone else. See how you like being replaced!” At the top of the stairs, Liam’s footsteps faltered. 6 Ten minutes later, I came downstairs in a more comfortable outfit, only to find Liam standing rigidly by the door. He was dressed head-to-toe in black, bundled up as if preparing for a blizzard. I walked over and tugged his mask down. “Liam, aren’t you hot in that? Besides, the doctor said you need fresh air.” He glanced nervously out the window at the people walking by, then pulled a pair of enormous sunglasses from his bag—the kind that covers half your face. I put my hand over his, utterly baffled. “Liam, you’ll look ridiculous wearing those in a supermarket.” He paused for a second, then produced a black baseball cap. Me: ? His bizarre behavior was starting to give me the distinct impression that we were about to go rob the place. I rubbed my temples, trying to stave off a headache. “Liam, we are just going to the supermarket to buy toilet paper and milk. We are not planning a heist…” His eyes widened in horror. He clapped a hand over my mouth, his voice a frantic whisper. “Keep your voice down! Is that something to be proud of?” Me: ? Just as I was about to argue, my phone buzzed with a message from my best friend, whose profile picture was, as always, some new pop star. “Babe, I’m so sorry, I’m stuck at the office. I have to go out of town for work tomorrow, so I can’t make it shopping tonight.” 7 I let go of Liam to type out a quick reply. 【No worries!】 The second I hit send, Liam’s voice, dripping with sarcasm, cut through the air above me. “So busy that you can’t even spare twenty minutes for a trip to the supermarket…” “Wow. Must be making, what, a billion dollars a month at that job?” I shot him a sideways glance, about to defend my friend, but he barrelled on, his tone one of mock surprise. “What? It’s not a billion? You mean you’re that busy for a measly three thousand a month?” “Sigh. Well, Nina, don’t overthink it.” “What could it possibly mean? I mean, not having time to go to the store with you can only mean that you’re not a priority. That’s all. Nothing more to it.” “It’s not like there’s someone else, of course. That would be impossible…” “Nina, whatever you do… don’t… overthink… it…” He bit down on the last few words, his voice heavy with insinuation. A vein throbbed in my temple. I jabbed him with my elbow. “What is all this nonsense? I know her, I understand her, and she would never do that. Stop talking trash about my friend. We were supposed to meet tonight, and I was going to go with her on her business trip for a week…” The smug look on Liam’s face instantly dissolved. It was as if all his strength, all his clever manipulations, had evaporated in an instant. He staggered back a few steps, looking like a lost dog that had just been kicked by its owner, and curled in on himself, a tremor running through his body. 8 I knew immediately that something was wrong. I dropped my phone and rushed to his side. “Liam? What is it? Are you not feeling well?” He didn’t speak, just clutched his chest and sank onto the sofa. Panicked, I started to get up to call his doctor. But he shot out a hand and grabbed my wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. “Yes,” he gasped. I was completely lost. “Yes, what?” Liam tilted his head back to look at me, a fragile, crimson blush blooming at the corners of his eyes. His lips parted, stopping a mere inch from mine. “I… I don’t feel well, Nina. I feel really, really awful…” I studied the bandage on his forehead, my heart pounding with worry. “Is it your head? Or somewhere else?” He squeezed my hand tighter, his voice trembling. “Just… listen. Can you feel how fast my heart is beating…?” “…?” For a second, I was sure I’d misheard him. 9 Liam said his heart was racing. And as he said it, he leaned into me, a picture of delicate fragility, resting his head in the crook of my neck. “Just hold me,” he murmured. “If you hold me, it’ll stop…” I froze, my body rigid. I’d seen him ruthlessly tear apart opponents in the boardroom without breaking a sweat. I’d seen him lose control, his eyes blazing as he pinned me against a wall. But I had never, ever seen this Liam. For a moment, I had no idea what to do. My hands hovered awkwardly in the air. But I couldn’t bring myself to push him away. “Nina, if you leave me alone tonight… I think I’ll just die of a broken heart. I really will…” Liam looked up, and a single, perfect teardrop clung to his lashes, shimmering like a shattered diamond in the soft light. “So, Nina, are you really going to leave me for her…? Are you going to watch me die? Do you have the heart? Can you really stand by and watch me die?” Looking at his tear-streaked, pitiful face, I felt my heart clench into a tight knot. I wanted to swear an oath to the heavens. “No, no, I won’t! I won’t leave you! I promise, I’ll stay with you all night. Even if she gets mad at me, I’m staying here with you tonight.” …Sorry, bestie. My priorities were embarrassingly clear.

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When I married Nathan Wittrock, he was just a kid with empty pockets. Five years into our marriage, his startup took off, making him the new darling of the tech world. I thought our struggles were finally over, that we had finally made it. But then one night, I saw him walking into a hotel, his arm wrapped around his young female assistant. “Let’s get a divorce.” The words came out of my mouth before I could stop them. Nathan just stared at me, his face a mask of disbelief. “Chloe, are you out of your mind? A divorce? You worked so hard to plant this tree, and now you want to let some other woman enjoy the shade?” 1 I’d been away on a business trip for three months, and when I came home, Nathan’s welcome was nothing short of fiery. My arms were looped around his neck, his slick sweat dappling my skin as we moved together. We were lost in the moment when his phone, sitting on the nightstand, began to vibrate, a harsh buzz cutting through the quiet intimacy of the room. My eyes fluttered open, laced with annoyance. “Who in the world is calling this late?” Nathan’s expression didn’t flicker. With a practiced smoothness, he reached over and silenced the screen. “Just a spam call, probably.” But the caller was relentless. The phone buzzed again, and again. Without even a glance, Nathan kept rejecting the calls, his thumb jabbing at the screen until, with a final, exasperated sigh, he switched the phone off completely. He let out a sharp “tsk,” the sound cutting through the air, and planted a restless kiss on my cheek. “Sorry, babe,” he murmured, his voice a low hum. “That kind of killed the mood.” He propped himself up, his eyes locking with mine. “You’ve been traveling for weeks, you must be exhausted. Why don’t you get some rest? I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise.” He held me tight, his embrace as warm and familiar as ever, whispering sweet nothings just like he always did. And even though our moment was cut short, a warmth spread through my chest. We had been married for five years, and all our friends called us the perfect couple. While I was away, he had been the model husband, calling three times a day, without fail, just to report his whereabouts. Sometimes, when work was overwhelming, I’d tell him he was being clingy. He would whine playfully, accusing me of forgetting all about my poor husband the second I left town, calling me a heartless woman. It was childish and ridiculous, so unlike the composed, commanding CEO he was at work. But I always fell for it. His antics always knew how to soothe me. After cuddling for a while longer, I slipped out of bed and headed to the bathroom for a shower. When I came back, wrapped in a towel, I found Nathan dressed to go out, adjusting his hair in the mirror. “You’re not going out, are you? It’s the middle of the night,” I asked, surprise coloring my tone. “Emergency at the office,” he said, turning to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “I have to go handle it. You go to sleep, Chlo. Be good.” But I couldn’t sleep. My rest was fitful, and in the dead of night, I finally heard the front door click open. Nathan was back. He was drunk, stumbling, leaning heavily on a young woman. She was tall and slender, with sharp features softened by a sweet, gentle smile. “You must be Chloe,” she said, her voice smooth. “I’m Faye, Mr. Wittrock’s assistant. He had a bit too much to drink, so I brought him home.” She started to guide him toward the living room. “He likes to lie on the couch for a bit when he feels sick. Could you… move aside, please? I’ll help him over.” I froze. The last I knew, Nathan’s assistant was a man in his thirties—a capable professional who handled everything from driving to deflecting unwanted drinks at business dinners. He’d never let Nathan come home in this state. When had he hired a young girl? Shoving my doubts down, I helped Faye settle Nathan onto the couch. “I’m so sorry about this,” Faye said, her face a perfect picture of sincerity and guilt. “It’s my fault. I’m not a good drinker, and Mr. Wittrock was covering for me. If it weren’t for me, he wouldn’t have gotten this drunk…” I looked at her, then at Nathan, passed out on the sofa. A chill crept into my heart. Nathan was a demanding boss, known for his iron-fisted, ruthless management style. And he’d taken drinks for a junior assistant? How… considerate. I nodded curtly at Faye. “It’s late. You should get home and rest. Thank you for tonight.” She hesitated. “Chloe… I mean, Mrs. Wittrock… he must be feeling awful. His stomach will be in knots. Should I… maybe make him some honey water?” Honey water? I’m allergic to honey. There isn’t a single drop of it in this house. Before I could even speak, Faye was already heading toward the kitchen, moving with an unnerving familiarity. Interesting. I crossed my arms and waited. I was curious to see what other surprises Faye had in store for me. Sure enough, she returned holding a small jar of honey. With swift, practiced movements, she mixed the drink, walked over to the couch, and knelt down beside Nathan, her posture strikingly natural, ready to spoon-feed the honey water to him. I almost had to laugh. The girl had guts. She moved around another woman’s home as if she owned the place, more the lady of the house than I was. The spoon was just touching Nathan’s lips when Faye seemed to remember I was there. She shot up, a blush spreading across her cheeks as she looked at me with wide, apologetic eyes. “Oh my God, Chloe, I’m so sorry! I completely forgot you were here. It’s just… I’m so used to taking care of him when he’s had too much to drink. It’s second nature. Please don’t get the wrong idea.” I wasn’t about to lose my temper over a girl like her. I just smiled. “So, Nathan’s been drinking a lot on business dinners these past few months while I’ve been away?” Faye looked deeply ashamed. “I’m so sorry, it’s all my fault. I have a sensitive stomach and can’t handle alcohol, so Mr. Wittrock always steps in for me…” Right, right. I get it. Your boss is so good to you. He hired a useless assistant who can’t do her job and, in fact, needs him to cover for her. You must be his precious little darling. The whole charade was exhausting. After I finally managed to get Faye out the door, I stood there, just looking at Nathan slumped on the couch. There was no denying he was handsome. Sharp, chiseled features. The lean frame of his youth had filled out, giving him the solid, commanding presence of a successful man. The kind of man who would naturally attract attention. The broke kid nobody believed in had transformed into a dashing tech mogul. Money has always been a powerful lure, and he had the looks to go with it. It was only natural that women would want him, would fantasize about him. I sighed and began to peel off his clothes. “Chlo, my head hurts… I feel sick…” he mumbled, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling into me like a child. I gently pushed him off and pulled at his last remaining sock. My hands stopped cold. The sock was inside out. Nathan had a mild form of OCD. Everything in his life, from the way he dressed to the files on his desk, was meticulously organized, flawlessly neat. I used to tease him about being so rigid. He would just smile and say, “Rules create efficiency. They save time, save energy.” And now, this man of rules and order had put a sock on inside out. 2 The next morning, the sun rose as it always did. Except for a wine-stained suit in the laundry hamper, it was as if last night had never happened. During breakfast, Nathan was glued to his phone, a constant tap-tap-tap of his thumbs as he replied to messages. My husband, I thought with a strange sense of detachment, was in love. The smile on his face was so genuinely sweet. It was a deep, uncontainable joy—the kind I remembered from when we first fell for each other. It used to be that if I so much as glanced at my phone at the table, he would snatch it away, complaining that we were both too busy and should cherish our mornings together. Three months. That’s all it took for him to forget his own rules. I said nothing, just sat down and started eating. Breakfast was important. Someone else’s love affair wasn’t going to stop me from enjoying my meal. Perhaps sensing the charged silence, Nathan finally looked up from his screen, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. “Hey, you’re quiet today. Who got on your bad side?” I hadn’t decided how to handle this yet, but his question pushed me over the edge. I decided to just lay it all out. “Who was the girl who brought you home last night?” He didn’t even look up, just locked his phone and flipped it facedown on the table. “Oh, you mean Faye?” he said, his voice breezy. “She’s the new assistant.” “How come you never mentioned her?” He sounded almost pouty. “You’re always so busy. I can never get a word in when we talk on the phone.” A small, humorless smile touched my lips. “So you hired an assistant who can’t drink? One you have to cover for at business dinners?” “She’s just a kid,” Nathan said, a defensive edge to his voice. “Fresh out of college. What does she know about drinking?” “Exactly,” I pressed. “That’s what I’m curious about. Why hire a young girl for that role?” Nathan’s brows knitted together for a second before he broke into a laugh. “Honey, you’re not getting jealous, are you? Faye told me what happened last night. She brought me home once before when I got drunk, and that’s when she bought the honey. Don’t overthink it.” Everything he said sounded logical, reasonable. If I pushed any further, I’d be the one who was being petty and insecure. I lowered my head and focused on my oatmeal, dropping the subject. Nathan slid his chair closer, leaning in to kiss my cheek. “Sweetheart, I have to go to Chicago the day after tomorrow. Could you help me pack?” “The day after tomorrow? That’s so sudden,” I said, frowning. Thinking I was upset, he wrapped his arms around me, swaying gently. “It’s a huge client, really important. I have to be there.” “Don’t be mad, Chloe,” he cooed. “I know it’s sudden, but with a client this big, you can’t say no. When I get back, we’ll take a proper vacation, just the two of us.” I let him think he had won me over. Truthfully, I was relieved. A little space from him was exactly what I needed. Whether something was really going on with him and Faye was still uncertain. Sometimes, tearing down the veil only makes things messier. I needed time. I needed to know for sure. Later, while Nathan was showering, I found myself half-heartedly packing his suitcase. My hand brushed against a small, round bottle. I let out a hiss of pain as a sharp edge pricked my finger. Picking it up, I saw it was a bottle of stomach medication. But Nathan had always been as strong as an ox, his digestive system ironclad. Had all that drinking recently taken a toll on him? Nathan emerged from the bathroom, toweling his damp hair while casually asking me to pack a few extra pairs of underwear. “Nathan,” I said, holding up the bottle, my voice tight with manufactured concern. “What’s wrong with your stomach?” He blinked, then a grin spread across his face. “What are you thinking, you silly girl? My stomach’s fine. It’s just a precaution. Big clients mean big dinners.” I looked down, hiding the storm of emotion brewing in my eyes. Just last night, Faye had told me she had a sensitive stomach. “This is for Faye, isn’t it?” I asked, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth. He met my gaze without flinching. “Yeah. The kid can be a bit careless. I was worried she’d forget her meds and end up in trouble.” Oh, how thoughtful. Taking drinks for his assistant, packing medicine for her. What was next? Tucking her into bed? The image of the inside-out sock flashed in my mind, a sharp, stabbing pain in my chest. For all I knew, he was already tucking her into bed. “Faye’s a fresh graduate,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “No experience, no real skills to speak of. Why are you taking her to meet a major client? Wouldn’t your secretary or the director of marketing be a better choice?” My question hung in the air. “She needs to see the world, get a feel for the market. It’ll be good experience,” Nathan said, his patience wearing thin. “Everyone has to start somewhere. Chloe, why are you so hostile towards her? I already told you, we’re just colleagues.” Colleagues? I wanted to laugh. I really, really wanted to laugh. Nathan had countless brilliant, capable people working under him, and I’d never seen him be this “considerate” to any of them. He really thought I was a fool. Two years of dating, five years of marriage. Was this it? Was our seven-year itch finally here? In all our years together, I had never once checked up on Nathan. He was an open book, always telling me where he was going. I never had a reason to doubt him. I thought our bond was unbreakable. For the first time ever, late at night, while my husband was away on business, I dialed his number. I was half-expecting him not to answer. But the voice that came through the line wasn’t his. “Hello, Mrs. Wittrock.” It was Faye. Her voice was syrupy sweet, but it lacked the timidity she’d shown at my house. Now, it dripped with a newfound confidence. “Where’s Nathan? Put him on the phone,” I said, my voice shaking with a fury I could barely contain.

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The year Jocelyn hit rock bottom, her first love shattered her collarbone with a knife—all for a thousand bucks. I was the one who pulled her from the river she tried to drown herself in, giving her a second chance at life. It took her five years to claw her way up, transforming into a business prodigy the city’s elite whispered about in awe. And at the absolute peak of her career, she chose to marry me. Everyone said I was the luckiest man alive. Until our wedding day. Ryan, the ex who had abandoned her, crashed the ceremony and forcibly kissed her in front of everyone. He ripped open his collar, revealing a canvas of ugly, purplish marks. His eyes, full of provocation, locked onto mine. “Has Jocelyn ever played like this with you, Ethan? The night before your wedding, she was in my bed, begging me not to leave.” A chilling cold washed over me, plunging me into an icy abyss. I turned to look at Jocelyn. She just stood there, silent. No denial. No explanation. In that single, deafening moment, I understood everything. 1 Under the stunned gaze of every guest, I slowly withdrew the wedding ring I held in my palm. Jocelyn’s hand shot out, grabbing mine. Her voice was as unnervingly calm as ever. “What’s wrong? Aren’t we continuing the ceremony?” She paid no mind to Ryan’s taunts, nor did she deny a single word he’d said. Her reaction seemed to stun Ryan the most. He began to tremble violently, his face a mask of disbelief and rage. “Jocelyn! Have you forgotten what you said to me yesterday?” He swept his hand across a table, shattering a wine glass. Snatching a shard of glass, he pressed it against his own throat. “If you dare marry him today, I’ll die right here.” The wild movement exposed more of the dark marks blooming across his skin. My mind flashed back to the night before. Jocelyn was a lightweight, which is why I always handled the drinking at business functions. But last night, she’d come home completely wasted. The moment she walked through the door, she was on me, her kisses more desperate and passionate than ever before. “Ethan, it’s you I love, it can only be you…” she murmured against my lips. “Don’t leave me. Don’t leave me like he did.” She repeated it like a mantra, as if trying to convince me, or maybe herself. Then her phone buzzed, shattering the spell. Her face went pale when she saw the caller ID, and she instinctively pushed me away. I caught her hand, my voice hoarse. “Don’t stop.” She’d never pushed me away like that before. Never. “Our wedding is tomorrow. You need to rest,” she said, her voice suddenly distant. “Something came up at the office. I have to take care of it.” She leaned in, giving me a quick, almost chaste kiss on the corner of my mouth before hurrying out. She never came home that night. Now, I clenched my fist around the ring. The diamond bit into my flesh, the sharp sting a brutal confirmation that this was no nightmare. The old Jocelyn would have had anyone who disrupted her wedding dragged out and destroyed. But this Jocelyn simply held out her hand, stubbornly waiting for me to place the ring on her finger. “This is our wedding day. Don’t make a scene,” she whispered, her eyes flashing with a warning. “Ignore him. He doesn’t have the guts to actually do it. Let’s just finish the ceremony.” Her dismissive tone was the final straw for Ryan. He completely lost it, smashing decorations, his voice cracking as he screamed through his tears. “I won’t let you marry him! You promised me! Yesterday, you told me marrying Ethan was just your way of repaying a debt!” Jocelyn’s expression hardened. She finally shot Ryan a look, but only to signal her bodyguards to remove him. “He wants to die,” I said, my voice flat as I stepped forward, blocking the bodyguards’ path. “Why not let him?” I put the ring back in my pocket and turned to Jocelyn. “Does your promise to me still stand?” The day Ryan came back into her life, the day he found out I was her fiancé, he’d ambushed me on the street and stabbed me three times. I nearly bled out on the pavement. Jocelyn had sworn to me then, promised me that if I ever saw him again, I could settle the score myself. This time, I didn’t wait for her answer. I grabbed a steak knife from a nearby table and plunged it into Ryan’s stomach. Blood bloomed from the wound, dripping onto the pristine white floor. Gasps echoed through the hall. Jocelyn, who had been so composed, finally broke. Her face contorted in panic. She rushed to Ryan’s side, frantically checking his injury before whirling on me, her voice a venomous hiss. “Ethan! What the hell are you doing?” Her face was a thundercloud as she announced the wedding was postponed indefinitely. Then, without another glance at me, she helped Ryan out of the hall and rushed him to the hospital. The bride was gone. The wedding was a wreck. The officiant stood awkwardly on the stage. Watching her leave without a moment’s hesitation, a sharp, splintering pain pierced my heart. I let the bloody knife clatter to the floor. Jocelyn could walk away. Fine. But that meant my bride could be replaced, too. 2 Jocelyn’s assistant picked me up and drove me to the hospital. As the city lights blurred past the window, the last five years with her replayed in my mind like a phantom film. Before she met me, Jocelyn had nothing. Ryan had taken her last bit of money, breaking her collarbone in the process, all during the year she needed him most. I was the one who stood by her, who guided her to where she is today. I was the one who drank myself into stomach surgery just to land her a career-making deal. We endured five brutal years together, and she finally became the powerhouse she’d always dreamed of being. And then, Ryan came back. When I arrived at the hospital, I found Jocelyn pacing frantically outside the operating room, her hands clasped together as if in prayer. The moment she saw me, her panic vanished, replaced by a cold mask. She strode toward me, opening her mouth to speak, but then she met my gaze and lowered her voice. “Ethan, that was all in the past. I already punished him. Why can’t you just let it go?” she demanded, her voice tight with suppressed anger. “Don’t you realize that if he dies, you’ll be a murderer?” She was trying so hard to control her fury, her knuckles white as she gripped the fabric of her dress, her eyes darting back to the closed doors of the OR. A bitter smile twisted my lips. I lifted my shirt, revealing the three jagged, ugly scars that marred my abdomen. “So this is just ‘the past’ to you?” I asked, my voice dangerously quiet. “Do you have any idea how close I was to dying when he gave me these? You were the one who knelt by my hospital bed, swearing to me that if I ever saw him again, I could get my own justice.” Her promise was the only reason I’d signed the settlement, the only reason I’d agreed not to press charges. After that, Ryan had disappeared. I thought he was gone for good, but it turned out Jocelyn had been in contact with him all along. “I stabbed him once,” I said, my voice hollow. “And you’re already falling apart.” Jocelyn rubbed her temples, her frustration boiling over. “What do you want from me? I’ve finally secured my position in this city. Do you expect me to just stand by and watch you go to prison for murder?” She sighed, a long, weary sound, as if my actions today were nothing more than an inconvenience. “We’ve come so far. Can you please just stop making trouble?” “Good,” I said, my voice cold. “Since the wedding’s off anyway, this makes things simpler. If you want to rekindle things with your first love, I won’t stand in your way.” Her eyes turned to ice. The disappointment in them was a physical blow. “Is the wedding all you can think about right now? Is it that hard for you to admit you were wrong? There’s nothing going on between me and Ryan. Can’t you trust me for once? I just don’t want to see you resort to violence. If you actually killed him, what would I do?” Her words were so absurd I almost laughed. Before I could respond, the doors to the operating room swung open. A doctor pushed Ryan out on a gurney. “The wound wasn’t too deep. You got him here just in time. He’s out of danger now.” Jocelyn stared at Ryan’s pale face, her brow furrowed with worry. She reached out, her fingers gently tracing his cheek. Then, she took the knife—the same one I’d used at the wedding—from her assistant. Before I could process what was happening, she raised it to her own collarbone and slashed. Twice. Droplets of her blood spattered onto my face. I stood frozen, watching the color drain from her cheeks as crimson bloomed across the pristine white of her wedding dress. “Are you satisfied now?” she hissed, her voice trembling with pain and fury. “I’ve paid his debt with these two cuts. Now, you will leave him alone.” I closed my eyes, a dry, burning sensation behind them. “Fine,” I said, my voice devoid of all emotion. “We’re getting a divorce. From now on, we’re strangers.” 3 Jocelyn never came home after that. She stayed at the hospital, by Ryan’s side, for as long as he was there. I didn’t try to contact her. Instead, I had my lawyer deliver the divorce papers to her office. I also called the wedding planner and told them to change the bride’s name on the invitations. It was about time for my new bride to arrive, anyway. I glanced at the calendar on the wall, at the date circled in red. Today was also the anniversary of my sister’s death. “Lily,” I whispered, my fingers tracing the glass of the picture frame. “Jocelyn has changed. The person you saved… she doesn’t want me anymore.” My sister, Lily, had been Jocelyn’s best friend. When Jocelyn’s career was just taking off, a rival sabotaged them. They planted a bomb in their car. In the split second before the explosion, Lily shoved Jocelyn out of the vehicle. Lily was blown to pieces. There was nothing left to bury. After that, Jocelyn and I never spoke of her death. With the first money she ever made, Jocelyn bought her a plot in the city’s most beautiful cemetery. Every year, on this day, we would visit her together. But this year, I was alone. I held a bouquet of lavender, Lily’s favorite, and headed to the cemetery, a strange sense of dread coiling in my stomach. When I arrived, the place was swarming with men in black suits. Jocelyn’s bodyguards. My heart hammered against my ribs. I shoved my way through them, my blood running cold. The sight that greeted me almost drove me insane. “Dig faster. Get the urn out,” Jocelyn commanded her men. She stood over my sister’s grave, watching as they unearthed it with shovels. Once the urn was out, one of her men handed it to Ryan. The next second, with a triumphant, vicious smirk, Ryan smashed the urn on the ground. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!” “Jocelyn, have you lost your mind?! THIS IS LILY’S GRAVE!” My legs gave out, and I collapsed to my knees. I scrambled forward, my hands trembling as I tried to scoop up my sister’s ashes from the mud. Jocelyn hadn’t expected me. She shot an irritated glare at her assistant. “I told you to keep him away.” She reached down to help me up, but I slapped her hand away. “Lily DIED for you! How could you do this? Aren’t you afraid of the consequences?!” I roared, fighting back tears, trying desperately not to let them fall and mix with the ashes. The wind was cruel, scattering what little remained. In the end, all I had was a handful of gray dust. Beside her, Ryan draped an arm around Jocelyn’s shoulders, his expression oozing with smug satisfaction. “Joce, you promised you’d grant my wish, remember?” A tremor ran through me. I slowly, stiffly, raised my head to look at her. A year ago, she had chosen this very spot for Lily, posting guards to ensure she would never be disturbed. And now, because of a single sentence from Ryan, she had dug up her grave. Jocelyn didn’t seem to think she’d done anything wrong. She knelt in front of me, her voice soft, almost gentle. “Lily’s been gone for so long, Ethan. She’s probably been reincarnated by now.” “I’ll build her a new, better memorial later.” “Ryan promised me,” she continued, her voice pleading, “that if I did this one thing for him, he would leave me alone for good. Then I can finally be with you, with no distractions.” The veins in my temples throbbed. I stared at her, my voice a low, guttural snarl. “You are pathetic, Jocelyn. Ryan would break your bones for a thousand dollars, and you’re still obsessed with him.” “I should have let you die in that river.” My voice was raw. I pushed myself to my feet, ready to lunge at Ryan, ready to kill them both right here. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to see them both dead. But the next sound wasn’t my own scream of rage. It was the deafening crack of a gunshot echoing through the cemetery.

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