I walked in late to the college reunion, just in time to catch my husband, Charlton, in a game of Truth or Dare. “If you could go back seven years, what’s the one thing you’d do differently?” Charlton’s arm was wrapped tight around his new flame, a smile of pure bliss on his face. “I’d go back to her campus and ask her out sooner,” he said, his voice warm. “That way, we could have been together all this time.” The girl, Una, gazed up at him, her expression a mask of adoration. “I wish you had come for me sooner, too.” A chorus of “Awws” and whistles erupted from our old classmates. So sweet. So romantic. But none of them knew I was Charlton’s wife. That we’d been secretly married for five years. And none of them knew that seven years ago, to the day, was our wedding anniversary. A fact Charlton had clearly forgotten. Later, when the bottle spun to me, it was my turn for a truth. “I wish,” I said, my voice steady, “that seven years ago, I had never met, and certainly never married, Charlton.” A friend, filming for her Instagram story, caught the whole thing. When Charlton saw the post, the color drained from his face. 1 The day I finally decided to file for divorce, I called Charlton. It rang three times before a woman picked up. Una. It was an open secret in our circle that she was his mistress. “Charlton’s busy right now,” she chirped, her tone breezy. “You can tell me, and I’ll pass it along when he’s free.” She said it as if she owned the number herself. My knuckles turned white around my phone. It had been like this for six months. Every call to my husband was intercepted by Una. I knew none of my messages ever reached him, but I had a feeling she’d be very interested in this one. This time, instead of hanging up or screaming at her like I usually did, I spoke with cold precision. “Do me a favor and tell Charlton I’ve decided to divorce him.” The line went silent for two long seconds, then I heard the scrape of a chair against the floor. “Don’t hang up,” she said, the casual arrogance gone from her voice, replaced by a flicker of panic. “I’ll go get him.” During the few dozen seconds I waited, I could hear her hurried footsteps echoing through the receiver. “Charlton, it’s for you.” His response was a muffled grumble, annoyed at the interruption. “What is it now?” Charlton’s voice, crackling with static and impatience, finally came through. “I told you, I’m swamped with this project launch…” He must have thought I was calling to nag him about coming home again. His words were cut short by a light, playful laugh—Una, no doubt, teasing him at his side. “Stop it…” he chided softly, a smile in his voice, before turning his attention back to the phone. “What do you want? Just say it.” I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. When I opened them again, the last ripple of emotion in my heart had settled into a dead calm. “Charlton,” I said, my voice as flat as a still lake. “Let’s get a divorce.” The playful sounds on his end stopped cold. A heavy silence stretched on before he finally spoke, his voice laced with disbelief. “What did you say?” “I said, I want a divorce.” 2 It wasn’t always like this with Charlton and me. We’d been married for seven years. I used to laugh at the whole “seven-year itch” cliché, convinced we were the exception, that we were endgame. That conviction shattered last winter. I’d gone to his office to bring him a hot meal, but as I approached the building, I saw him holding a car door open for Una. He was tall, and as he bent down, he instinctively shielded her head with his hand, a gesture so natural, so intimate, it made my stomach clench. Una laughed at something he said, reaching up to playfully ruffle his hair. The tenderness in his eyes as he looked at her was a look I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. I stood frozen behind a tree, my hands crushing the insulated lunch bag. A bitter wind snaked its way into my collar, but it was nothing compared to the ice forming in my heart. From that day on, something broke. I couldn’t accept it. I became obsessed, a woman possessed. I hired people to track his movements. I even followed him myself, crouching in the shadows across from his office late at night, watching him and Una emerge together. I saw her wrap her scarf around his neck as he tilted his head back, smiling at her under the orange glow of a streetlight that stretched their two shadows into one. My grief curdled into rage. Every time he bothered to come home, I’d throw the photos in his face, my eyes red-rimmed as I screamed at him, calling him a “shameless,” “ungrateful bastard.” But Charlton’s reaction was always the same: a profound, chilling indifference. He would simply crouch down, gather the scattered photos one by one, and place them in a neat pile on the table. He’d look at me, his eyes as still and lifeless as a stagnant pond. “If this makes you feel better,” he’d say quietly, “then go on.” He never explained, never argued. It was as if he had surgically removed himself from our relationship, leaving me to rage against a ghost. It was as if we had never been in love at all. We had started out like any other couple. He was building his company from the ground up, and to support him, I became the perfect supportive wife. His startup was a relentless grind, and seeing him run himself into the ground, I quit my own promising career to manage our home, our life, so he could focus entirely on his dream. Friends would joke that I was his glorified maid. At parties, someone would always make a snide comment. I’d just smile and make excuses for him. “He’s just so busy. It’s only right that I pick up the slack.” What was wrong with being the bedrock for the man I loved? In any partnership, one person always has to sacrifice a little more, right? And every time he came home, utterly exhausted, and his face would soften as he ate the hot meal I’d prepared, I felt a quiet, profound satisfaction. That was enough for me. 3 The real moment my heart died was at that reunion. In another fit of irrational jealousy, I had followed Charlton to the hotel. I stood outside the private room, listening. They were reminiscing about the past when someone asked him, “Charlton, if you could go back seven years, what’s the one thing you’d do?” Before Charlton could even answer, Una jumped in. “I’d want my man to come find me sooner.” The room erupted in teasing and laughter about how sweet they were. Charlton, his arm firmly around Una’s waist, just smiled. “I’d go back to her campus and ask her out,” he said, his voice laced with a honeyed affection. “That way, we could have been together all this time.” No one in that room knew that seven years ago today, Charlton and I had stood outside City Hall, our marriage license in hand. He was wearing a crisp white shirt, his palm sweating as he clutched my hand. “We’re a family now,” he’d whispered, his voice thick with nerves and joy. Now, he didn’t even remember the date. He was casually rewriting our history, erasing me from the timeline he now wished he’d spent with her. In that instant, something inside me didn’t just break; it turned to dust. Charlton’s grand romantic declaration spread like wildfire through our social circle. Everyone praised them, calling it true love. They marveled at how an old soul like Charlton could burn so brightly for someone. They gushed about how perfect Una was for him. It seemed no one remembered that I was his wife. That seven years ago was our beginning. I thought I would storm in, screaming, just like all the times before. But as my hand hovered over the door handle, a strange clarity washed over me. The tracking, the screaming, the hysterical fits… it wasn’t about love anymore. It was about pride. It was about not wanting to lose. But looking at the genuine happiness on his face as he looked at her, I finally understood. He hadn’t loved me for a long time. There was no point in clinging to this. It was just mutual torture. It was better to just let go. 4 Charlton texted me, telling me to come to his office the following week to discuss the divorce. I stared at the cold, impersonal message for a long time, the belated realization dawning on me that he hadn’t initiated contact in months. I scrolled up through our chat history. It was a monologue. A stream of my messages, unanswered. There were angry, desperate accusations, but mostly, there were messages steeped in a longing I was now ashamed of. 【Made your favorite braised short ribs. Are you coming home for dinner?】 【It’s getting cold out. Don’t forget a jacket.】 【When are you coming home?】 After each one, a vast, echoing silence. I saw the pathetic pattern. I’d lash out, screaming that I never wanted to see him again, only to find myself texting him an hour later to remind him to eat on time. Looking back at it now, it was just… sad. Utterly, laughably sad. The following Monday afternoon, I went to his office at the agreed-upon time. But I couldn’t even get in the building. My key card, the one I’d used for seven years, had been deactivated. Security in this high-rise was notoriously tight; without access, you were stuck. I pulled out my phone and called Charlton. It rang and rang, then went to voicemail. I tried again. Same result. The sun beat down relentlessly, and within minutes, my back was soaked with sweat. I waited from two o’clock until four, unable to reach him. A slow, simmering frustration began to crawl up my spine. Just as my patience wore thin and I was about to turn and leave, the elevator doors slid open. Out walked Charlton, holding Una’s hand. They were murmuring to each other, and he had a relaxed smile on his face. I took a deep breath and stepped forward. “Charlton.” He heard my voice and looked up, the smile vanishing. A flicker of surprise crossed his face. “Elara? What are you doing here?” “You texted me to come discuss the divorce,” I said, my voice flat. “I’ve been calling you. I’ve been waiting out here all afternoon.” Just like always. Anything to do with me was a casual afterthought. Charlton frowned, a hint of confusion in his eyes. “The meeting was rescheduled. Didn’t anyone tell you? I have a client meeting this afternoon.” Before he finished, Una let out an exaggerated gasp. “Oh, my god,” she said, plastering an apologetic look on her face. “I am so sorry. Charlton asked me to let you know before he went into his meeting, but I got so busy it completely slipped my mind.” I looked at her phony performance, knowing full well she’d “forgotten” on purpose. But I couldn’t be bothered to care anymore. We were getting divorced. These petty games were meaningless. Una continued, her voice dripping with faux sympathy. “But Elara, you’re so silly. You should have just gone home if you couldn’t reach him. You’re so stubborn. Or… were you just that eager to get this divorce over with?” Her eyes glinted with a clear challenge. Charlton’s frown deepened. He gave Una a gentle nudge. “Don’t talk nonsense.” He then turned to me. “Come on in. We can talk.” Inside his office, he pulled a document from a drawer. A divorce agreement. “Financially, I can offer you a generous settlement,” he said, pushing it across the desk. I took a sip of the water he’d offered. It was lukewarm and did nothing to warm the chill in my chest. “Of course, you will,” I replied coolly. “After all, you’re the at-fault party.” Charlton’s expression soured. He clearly hadn’t expected me to be so blunt. In his world, he was the hero of a grand love story with Una. He’d likely forgotten that in the eyes of the law, and reality, he was just a man cheating on his wife. My words had shattered the thin veneer of respectability he was clinging to. He was silent for a few seconds before sliding a pen toward me. “Just look over the agreement. If there are no issues, sign it.” I skimmed the pages. The terms were as he’d said. I picked up the pen and signed my name on the final page with a firm, steady hand. Then I pushed the document back to him and stood up to leave. “Is that it?” Charlton’s voice stopped me at the door. It sounded strange, laced with an emotion I couldn’t quite place. “You have nothing else to say?” I didn’t stop walking. “To you?” I said, my back still to him. “No. There’s nothing left to say.” Just as I reached the door, he spoke again, his voice low, almost guilty. “I’ll continue to cover all of your brother’s medical expenses. I promise.” 5 My brother, Leo, was Charlton’s classmate. He was the one who introduced us. Leo had told me Charlton was just like us—parents gone too soon, fighting for everything he had. He said Charlton was kind and resilient, and that we would be perfect for each other. I still remember the first time I saw Charlton. He was wearing a faded pair of jeans, but his face shone with a confidence and optimism that was magnetic. After we got together, no one was happier than Leo. He would grab both our hands and say, “The three of us orphans, we finally have a real family.” Those early days were lean. Charlton’s company was just a dream, and my salary, combined with Leo’s, was stretched thin. We poured every spare dollar we had into his business. Charlton would take the cash we pressed into his hands, his eyes welling up with tears. “When this company takes off,” he’d promise, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ll give you both the world.” And it did take off. We thought our struggles were finally over. But then, disaster struck without warning. Leo was rushing to deliver an urgent document for Charlton when a reckless driver ran a red light and slammed into him. The driver was a deadbeat with no insurance and no money, choosing jail time over paying the medical bills. But Leo was in the ICU, and every breath he took depended on a machine. I watched Charlton pace the hospital corridors, his eyes bloodshot, torn between his fledgling company and his best friend lying comatose. In the end, I made the choice for us. I gritted my teeth, quit my job, and dedicated myself to taking care of them both. The day I left my job, a former colleague clapped me on the shoulder. “Well, Elara,” she’d said with a grin, “time to enjoy the good life as Mrs. Charlton.” Only I knew that from that day forward, my life became a relentless, spinning gyroscope. I’d wake at five, go to the hospital to clean and care for Leo, then rush home to make Charlton breakfast and deliver it to his office. I’d time my lunch break to go back to the hospital, give Leo his physical therapy, then race back to make Charlton his favorite lunch. In the evening, I’d wait for Charlton to finish his late nights at the office, hand him a warm bowl of soup, and then return to the hospital to sit by Leo’s bedside through the night. Sometimes, after a sleepless night at the hospital, I’d go straight to the market to buy groceries before heading back to Charlton’s office. Three meals a day. A relentless triangle between the hospital, the office, and our empty home. But seeing Charlton smile over a successful contract, or seeing Leo’s finger twitch ever so slightly, made it all feel worth it. In the beginning, Charlton was devoted to Leo. Every Wednesday, without fail, he’d visit. He’d bring fresh lilies and sit by Leo’s bed, quietly telling him about the company’s progress. “When you wake up,” he’d whisper, “I’ll take you to see the ocean.” That all started to change when he met Una. She was the liaison from a partner company. On their first project, she completely botched the proposal. Charlton came home complaining, “This new girl from the client’s side is a complete idiot. She can’t even get the numbers right.” But it wasn’t long before the “idiot” became “a bit young, just needs some guidance,” and then, “she’s actually got a really cute personality.” 6 The first time I felt the ground truly shift beneath me was on my birthday last year. I’d cooked an elaborate dinner: Charlton’s favorite braised short ribs and a special mac and cheese, the way Leo used to love it. He had just sat down when his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and immediately stood up, grabbing his jacket. “Una’s drunk at some bar and causing a scene. I have to go check on her.” I grabbed his wrist, my voice tight. It was the first time I’d ever really challenged him. “It’s my birthday, Charlton.” He pulled his arm away, his tone sharp with annoyance. “I’ll just be a little while. She’s just a kid, all alone out there. What if something happens?” From that day on, Charlton came home later and later. Sometimes I’d be at the hospital until the early hours of the morning and text him to ask if he was coming home. His only reply would be a curt, “Busy.” His Wednesday visits to Leo dwindled from two hours to one, and then to nothing at all. He always had an excuse—a big meeting, a client dinner. It wasn’t until I ran into his assistant at the hospital that I learned the truth. He’d been blocking out his Wednesday afternoons for months… to take Una to art galleries. Now, hearing him bring up my brother, it felt like he was twisting a knife in a wound I didn’t know was still open. I turned back to face him, my voice quiet but firm. “Thank you, but that won’t be necessary.” He froze, a flicker of shock in his eyes. I wanted nothing more from him. No ties, no obligations. I just wanted to walk away clean, as if this whole mess had never dragged me through the mud. I left his office and was heading for the elevator when I saw her. Una, leaning against the wall, a smug, triumphant smirk on her face. “All signed and sealed?” she purred. “Did he slip you a little extra cash for your troubles?” She looked like a cat who’d not only gotten the cream but had drowned the mouse in it, too. I stopped and looked at her—at her young, pretty face, already etched with a casual cruelty. I almost laughed. “You really think he loves you?” I asked, my voice dangerously soft. “You must not have been there for the part where he was complaining to me about how you were ‘as dumb as a box of rocks’ at your job.” The color flared in Una’s cheeks. “You’re lying! He told me I was his soulmate.” “Soulmate?” I scoffed, letting the full weight of my contempt show. “Honey, you’re a novelty. A fun new toy for a man bored with a stable life. The day he wakes up and realizes what he’s lost, your ending will be a hundred times worse than mine.” Una was speechless, her mouth opening and closing like a fish. Finally, she managed to stammer, “At least he’s with me now.” “Then you’d better pray he never looks back.” I turned away from her and pressed the elevator button. The doors slid open, and I stepped inside, my back straight, my shoulders squared. And I wasn’t going to look back, either.

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1 In my second life, I didn’t go to the vet with my best friend. Instead, I stayed up all night, chugged two bottles of a potent herbal liqueur known for its high alcohol content, and got on the highway. When the flashing lights pulled me over, I blew hard into the breathalyzer until it screamed. Then, smiling, I climbed into the back of the police cruiser. In my past life, my best friend, Serena, had called me, frantic. Her cat was sick, and she begged me to drive her to the emergency vet. But on the way, her normally placid cat had suddenly launched itself at my face, a feral blur of claws and teeth. I lost control of the car and slammed into a massive Tibetan Mastiff. The dog’s owner demanded a million dollars in compensation. My parents bankrupted themselves trying to save me, selling their home and cashing out their retirement. My fiancé’s reputation was dragged through the mud alongside mine. In the end, after I had nothing left, I was cornered by a mob of animal rights vigilantes, beaten to death, and my body left in a ditch. This time would be different. 2 “Your blood alcohol is over the limit. Ma’am, please step out of the vehicle immediately.” The officer’s voice was firm as he stared at the flashing breathalyzer in his hand. The moment I stepped onto the pavement, my phone buzzed. A text from Serena. “Aria, my poor kitty has diarrhea, he’s so weak. Can you please, please drive us to the vet?” The exact same message as before. The words hit me like a physical blow. A cold dread washed over me, and my body began to tremble. “Scared now, are we? Should have thought of that before you started drinking.” The officer clapped a hand on my shoulder. I snapped out of my trance and beamed at him, practically skipping towards the cruiser. “Let’s go, officer! Take me away!” “Alright, at least you’re cooperating.” He muttered under his breath, “What’s with the smile? This is a police station, not a party.” A couple of other drunk guys in the back of the car stared at me like I had two heads. At the station, a nurse prepared to draw my blood for a more accurate test. I held out my arm, a look of triumph on my face. The nurse frowned, her grip tightening on the needle. “Aria, are you okay?” “Honey, the police said you were driving under the influence. What on earth is going on?” The door to the small medical room burst open. My parents and my fiancé, Leo, rushed in, their faces etched with worry. “Hey, we’re in the middle of a procedure, you can’t just come in here!” the nurse snapped. “My fiancée would never drink and drive,” Leo insisted, his voice tight with anger. “There must be a mistake!” My parents just looked at me, their eyes filled with a familiar, heart-wrenching concern. Seeing them all there, ready to defend me, made my eyes burn. It was okay. Everything was going to be okay this time. In this life, my parents wouldn’t lose everything for me. My fiancé wouldn’t have his career destroyed because of me. “We’ll know if there was a mistake when the results come back. Now please, wait outside!” An officer stepped in. He squinted at my face under the harsh fluorescent lights, then sniffed the air around me. “You haven’t been drinking, have you?” he asked, his voice low. A flicker of panic shot through me, but I crushed it down. I put on my best indignant act. “Of course not! I have no idea why that machine went off. It’s probably broken, right?” The officer gave a slightly embarrassed nod and walked off to check on the others. I glanced at my phone. Another message from Serena. “Did you fall asleep? Why aren’t you answering? I booked the vet appointment. See you at nine a.m. sharp.” 3 In my last life, I had agreed. I drove her and her cat to the vet myself. On the road, that “sick,” gentle little cat had exploded from her lap and clawed at my face. I’d flailed, trying to push it off, and the car had swerved, hitting the Tibetan Mastiff that had darted out from the side of the road. The dog was thrown fifteen feet, landing in a bloody heap. It was gone in seconds. The owner went berserk. He dragged me from my car and beat me right there on the pavement next to his dog’s body. “My Apollo was a prize-winner from Sotheby’s! I paid over a million dollars for him, and you killed him! Are you blind?!” he screamed, his face purple with rage. “I don’t care what happens, you will pay me back every single cent!” Bystanders gathered, but no one intervened. They just pointed and whispered. “The road is wide open. How do you even manage to hit a dog? She must have done it on purpose.” “Probably just got dumped and decided to take it out on the world.” I tried to explain about the cat, that it startled me, that it was an accident. But Serena, stroking the creature in her arms, immediately shot me down. “What are you talking about? You swerved on purpose. Don’t you dare blame my poor, sick cat for your recklessness!” There were no security cameras on that stretch of road. With Serena and the dog owner both pointing the finger at me, I was doomed. My family and Leo were ruined along with me. And even after we’d scraped together the money, even after the transfer went through, I was ambushed by those vigilantes. The blood and the pain of my last life were a scar on my soul. But this time, I had an airtight alibi. I was at a police station, surrounded by cops, cameras, and medical staff. No one could frame me now. After the blood test, I spent the night in a holding cell. It was cold and damp, but I felt a warmth spreading through my chest. The next morning, an officer came to my cell with a report. “Your blood alcohol content was below the legal limit. You’re free to go.” I checked my phone. It was already noon. I had successfully missed the 9 a.m. appointment from hell. Just to be safe, I put on a sheepish face and told the officer my car was out of gas, begging for a ride home. The moment I hopped off the back of his motorcycle, I saw it: a swarm of police cars and officers in front of my apartment building. Suddenly, Serena burst out of the crowd, her eyes red-rimmed. She grabbed my hand. “Aria! I know how much you love animals! Why would you deliberately run over that man’s dog this morning?” My eyes went wide. “What?” The officer beside me looked just as confused. I’d been at the station since last night. How could she still be trying to pin this on me? I yanked my hand away. “I was at the police station all night, being held on suspicion of a DUI—” “So you were drinking!” Serena cut me off, her voice rising dramatically. “No wonder you crashed, even with your skills! But Aria, if you knew you were drinking, why did you still insist on driving me? Don’t you know that causing an accident while drunk is an even worse crime?” A crowd of onlookers pressed in, their murmurs turning hostile at Serena’s words. Some were holding their own pets, and the looks they gave me were filled with pure fury. Before I knew it, I felt shoves and punches from the crowd. Muddy footprints appeared on the back of my shirt. The officers nearby saw the commotion and rushed over to break it up. Finally able to breathe, I screamed at Serena, “I wasn’t drinking, I didn’t drive anywhere, and I sure as hell didn’t kill anyone’s dog! Stop spreading lies! If you have proof, then show it!” A flash of venom crossed Serena’s face before she masked it with performative grief, shouting to the crowd, “Officers, please! My friend is clearly not in her right mind! She was drunk, she didn’t kill the dog on purpose! Can’t you talk to the owner? Maybe he’ll settle for nine hundred thousand instead of a full million?” She grabbed my arm again, trying to drag me toward a police car. I struggled, her nails digging into my skin. Just then, the officer who drove me home stepped in, his hand clamping down on Serena’s wrist like a vice. “This woman has been at the police station with me since last night. I just dropped her off.” He stared Serena down. “You claim she killed a dog. Where is your evidence?” 4 At the officer’s challenge, Serena froze. She finally let go of my arm, but her arrogance remained. “Who are you? I’m assisting the police with their investigation. Uninvolved parties should stay out of it.” “I’m a police officer.” He flashed his badge. “Ma’am,” he said, his voice hard as steel, “I don’t know why you’re so agitated. But I suggest you explain why you’re accusing someone who has a perfect alibi.” Panic flickered in Serena’s eyes. Her mouth opened and closed, but no words came out. Just then, a man pushed his way out of the crowd. The dog owner. He pointed a trembling finger at my face. “I can prove it! She’s the one who killed my Apollo!” Seeing the man who had helped ruin my life, I felt a surge of cold fury. In my past life, yes, I had killed his dog. It was an accident, but I accepted the blame. But this life? I hadn’t been anywhere near a car. We had never even met. On what grounds was he so certain it was me? I glared at him. “Sir, you can’t just throw accusations around. We are complete strangers. Why are you trying to frame me?” “I have a video from the traffic department! It’s all the proof I need!” he roared, pulling out his phone. The crowd surged forward to see. On the screen, a woman in a white dress, baseball cap, and sunglasses slammed a car into a Tibetan Mastiff. The car’s make, model, and even the license plate were identical to mine. The woman’s face was obscured, but her build was eerily similar to mine. After the crash, she got out, glanced at the dog, then jumped back in the car and sped away. 5 A wave of shocked gasps went through the crowd. I was just as stunned as they were. I hadn’t driven anywhere near that vet clinic. How could this video exist? Angry shouts erupted. “That’s her! It has to be!” “You can’t see her face, but the clothes, the car… it’s a perfect match.” “Tibetan Mastiffs are such intelligent dogs. That woman is a monster!” The accusations rained down on me. Serena seized the moment, her voice dripping with venomous pity. “Aria, I know you have a habit of being cruel to small animals, but this is too much! And to think you’d bribe a police officer to lie for you… you’ve really gone too far!” Her words whipped the crowd into a frenzy. Rotten eggs and wilted vegetables started flying through the air, splattering against my clothes and hair. The officer who brought me home roared, “Everybody calm down! I have proof that this woman is innocent!” He retrieved his body camera from his motorcycle. “She was under constant surveillance from the moment she left the station this morning. This is her alibi.” Two videos, two completely different stories. Now everyone was confused. The crowd, the other officers, even the dog owner. One of the cops got on his radio, calling the station to verify my whereabouts over the last twenty-four hours. The dog owner was muttering to himself, “I couldn’t have been mistaken…” Serena was starting to look genuinely panicked, her mask of concern finally dropping. I met her glare with a cold smile. “Once the police confirm my alibi, this will all be over. You must be so disappointed.” Her tense face suddenly relaxed into a sickeningly sweet smile. “What are you talking about? We’re best friends. I couldn’t be happier that you’re innocent.” I turned away from her in disgust. The crowd was still agitated, their eyes burning with suspicion. Just then, another car pulled up. The officer who’d been on the radio had called for backup. The nurse from the station stepped out. She looked me over carefully and nodded. “That’s right. This woman was at the station all night. She didn’t leave until noon today. I even have her official blood test results.” She held up the stamped document. A new wave of confusion washed over the crowd. “Wait a minute. The cop and the nurse both say she wasn’t there. But what about the video the dog owner showed us? That was clearly her car, and it looked just like her!” “Either the video is fake, or the cops are lying for her. There’s no other explanation.” Serena shrieked, pointing a finger at me. “I get it now! You bribed them! You paid off the cop and the nurse to create a fake alibi for you!” She grabbed my arm again, tears streaming down her face. “Aria, how many times have I told you to be an honest person? I can’t believe you’d not only kill a dog but also bribe public officials to cover it up! You’re hopeless!” Her performance was convincing. The crowd’s anger turned back on me, hotter than before. “Her own best friend is saying it! It must be true!” “You monster! You bribed them!” “Killer! You’re the killer!” A man holding a Border Collie suddenly let go of the leash. The dog barked ferociously and lunged at me. I tried to dodge, but its teeth sank into my calf, a searing pain shooting up my leg. I cried out and instinctively kicked the dog away. It yelped and scrambled back to its owner, who scooped it up protectively. Serena pounced. “You see? Look how cruel she is! She even attacks a sweet, innocent Border Collie! And you still expect us to believe you didn’t kill that Mastiff on purpose? Not even a ghost would believe you!” Her eyes gleamed with a triumphant, “you’re finished” look. She held my arm in a death grip. Just then, the officer and the nurse finally pushed their way through the mob. “Ma’am,” the officer said, his voice booming with authority, “I had never met this woman before last night. There was no bribery. I demand you stop slandering a police officer, or you will face legal consequences.” Serena went pale and her hand immediately fell away from my arm. Finally, I could breathe. The police formed a protective circle around me. But before they could disperse the crowd, a new commotion erupted from the edge of the street. The dog owner was grabbing a young woman who had just been watching from the sidelines. “There you are!” he bellowed. “You killed my Apollo, and now you’re trying to sneak away!”

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1 During my second year as CEO of Sterling Corp, my high school group chat suddenly blew up. Class president Jason spammed me: “Helen Sterling, Vivian was just joking back then. How can you miss her reunion? Trying to make her feel guilty?” I checked the history. Vivian Vanderbilt, my former bully, had found her biological parents and was celebrating. “Not interested,” I replied. My refusal sparked wild guesses: “Stuck in a dead-end job with no days off?” “I’ll lend you $300—that’s like two days’ pay for you, right?” Vivian jumped in, fake-sweet: “It was just a joke. I dropped out anyway. Can’t you let it go?” I replied coldly: “Only scum call bullying a joke.” The chat erupted: “How dare you? She’s an heiress now. You’re not in her league. Poor people are so petty.” Vivian played victim: “It’s fine. Today’s my new beginning—I want you there, Helen. We were classmates. I won’t blame you for making me drop out. Need money? I’ll ask my dad to hire you.” She posted a screenshot with her father. I instantly recognized the profile picture: my mother’s greedy ex-husband, Edward. But I’m my mother’s twin, and Vivian’s two months younger. A cold smile spread on my face. “Alright. I’ll be there.” … She sent the address moments later. It was sickeningly familiar. Hillcrest Manor, one of the eighteenth birthday gifts my mother had given me. Edward had “borrowed” it last month for an “event.” If I’d only been suspicious before, I was certain now. Vivian was my father’s illegitimate daughter. Just a few days ago, Edward had sent me a gushing text: “Sweetheart, good news! Your mother’s finally agreed to remarry me tomorrow! We’re going to be a happy family again.” My parents had divorced when I was in elementary school. For years, he’d played the part of the devoted ex, constantly trying to win my mother back, showering me with gifts and messages of fatherly concern. I had actually believed he loved my mother, that their split was just a tragic incompatibility. Now I saw the truth. He never gave a damn about either of us. Using a gift from my mother to me, to throw a lavish party for his bastard daughter. Classy. I delegated my work for the evening and drove to the manor. The elegant cream façade had been slathered in a nauseating shade of Pepto-Bismol pink that I despised. Stepping inside, I saw Vivian standing center stage, holding court in my favorite couture gown, one I’d left in the manor’s closet. She was surrounded by a fawning crowd of our old high school classmates and a polished, middle-aged woman who must have been her mother. “I always knew you were special, Vivian,” someone gushed. “I can’t believe you’re a real-life heiress!” “Yeah! I heard the man who bought this estate said it was a coming-of-age gift for his daughter. Your dad must adore you, thinking of you all those years even when he couldn’t find you.” “Vivian, you’re set for life now! Don’t forget about us little people!” Even Chris, the star quarterback who’d barely given Vivian the time of day in high school, was now speaking to her with a gentle, honeyed tone. “Vivian, you’ve finally gotten what you deserve. We all saw how much you suffered back then.” He shot a venomous glare in my direction as I approached. “So when Helen gets here, we’ll make sure you get the justice you deserve. I can’t believe I was ever fooled by her innocent act. I never knew she was so vicious she’d force you to drop out of school.” Vivian lowered her head, a mask of perfect, calculated sorrow on her face. Her eyes, however, glinted with malice as she “defended” me. “Back then… even the principal…” She sighed dramatically. “Oh, let’s just forget it. I can take it. We’re all classmates, after all.” Her unfinished sentence was a masterstroke, letting their imaginations run wild. Immediately, someone piped up, indignant on her behalf. “Helen Sterling is so shameless, using her family’s influence to bully our Vivian.” “Influence? What influence could she have?” another scoffed. “She wore off-brand trash all through high school.” “Then why would the principal help her bully Vivian? Unless…” “Ew, that’s disgusting. Doing that stuff in high school? She probably said she was ‘busy’ tonight because she’s with some sugar daddy.” My arrival silenced them, but only for a moment. They exchanged smirks and looks of disgust. A few even covered their noses as if I were something foul that had crawled in from the gutter. Jason eyed my outfit, a simple but impeccably tailored suit, and sneered. “Helen, I know times are tough, but you could’ve at least worn something decent.” A wave of laughter rippled through the group. “Hilarious. To think I was in the same class as trash like you. I’d rather die than wear something so cheap.” “Wait a second,” someone else chimed in, squinting. “My boss has a suit like that. I think it’s custom-made.” “You’re dreaming,” another shot back. “It’s probably a knock-off from some cheap website.” “Or maybe she stole it from her employer to look important. How pathetic, trying to punch above your weight.” I ignored their jeers, my voice flat and calm. “I don’t wear other people’s clothes. And this suit is bespoke, not some ‘off-brand trash’.” As the words left my mouth, Vivian’s mother, Eleanor, stormed toward me. Her fingers, like claws, snatched the necklace from my throat. The chain bit into my skin, cold and sharp, leaving a fiery sting. CRACK. A vicious slap cracked across my face. “Of course it’s custom-made,” she spat, her voice laced with venom. “It was paid for with my husband’s money!” She held up my necklace for everyone to see. “Your homewrecker mother has been bleeding my husband dry for years, and now you, her bastard child, have the nerve to bully my daughter? You vile creature! How dare you show your face at my daughter’s party? Wasn’t it enough to steal her identity for all these years? Now you’ve come to provoke us? You’re just like your mother—a common whore!” Eleanor’s words were like gasoline on a fire. “Ma’am, are you saying Helen is… illegitimate? Seriously?” someone asked. Eleanor’s face was a mask of fury. She fumbled with the pendant on my necklace, popping open a hidden locket. Inside was a tiny family photo—of me as a child with my parents. “Here’s the proof! Do you think I’m lying?” she shrieked. “I always knew he had a bastard child somewhere, but I never imagined she’d have the audacity to show up on my doorstep!” “This suit,” she continued, gesturing wildly at me, “was Vivian’s! She tried it on once, said it was a little big, and left it at home. I was cleaning a few days ago and noticed it was gone. I thought it was lost, but he gave it to her!” She pulled out her phone, showing everyone a picture of Vivian wearing a suit that was, admittedly, very similar. But in her photo, the details and the unique cuff monogram were crystal clear—it obviously wasn’t the same garment I was wearing. No one noticed. A chorus of gasps went through the crowd. “Wow, they look identical! It really must be Vivian’s suit. No wonder the craftsmanship is so amazing.” Vivian, feeding off her mother’s rage, sneered at me. “So that’s why your mother never came to parent-teacher conferences. She was afraid someone would recognize her as the other woman.” The floodgates opened. “A homewrecker mother probably raised a homewrecker daughter,” one of them said. “I never liked her in high school. So what if she got good grades? She always had that sour look on her face, like everyone owed her money.” “Exactly! She had boys from the class next door fighting over her. I used to think she was some kind of siren. Turns out she just inherited her mother’s slutty genes.” “Don’t you know? Helen looks all prim and proper, but she’s a total slut in private. I heard she used to check into hotels every day after school. I even saw her slip a room key to some middle-aged guy once!” “Oh my god, seriously? She was that wild in high school? Figures. If she was already bullying the legitimate daughter back then, there’s nothing she wouldn’t do.” Even Hannah, my desk mate, the one person I’d considered a friend, looked at me with pure disgust. “Helen, you’re morally bankrupt. I hate cheaters and their bastards more than anything in the world. I can’t believe you’re both.” Her voice dripped with loathing. “Don’t you ever say we were friends. The thought of what you’ve done makes me sick.” The commotion drew more guests over. Soon, I was surrounded, a spectacle for a pointing, whispering crowd. I scanned the faces. Not a single person I recognized. Was Edward’s social circle really this pathetic? Then it hit me—he’d intentionally invited nobodies. He was terrified my mother would find out about his dirty little secret. The crowd pressed in, a sea of glowing phone screens. Flashes popped in my eyes, sharp and blinding. I raised a hand to shield my face and walked straight up to Eleanor. “First you slander my mother, then you assault me without a shred of proof. Do you think the law is a joke?” Seeing me challenge her mother, Vivian lost it. She shoved me hard, sending me stumbling to the floor. Her voice was high and arrogant. “So what if my mom slapped you? My family’s name is all the justification I need. Who would dare touch me?” She loomed over me. “You think I’m still that same girl you forced out of school? Today, I could beat you to a pulp, and your homewrecker mother wouldn’t be able to say a single word.” She snatched a glass of red wine from a passing waiter’s tray and poured it directly over my head. “In fact, she’d probably have to get on her knees and beg my father for money to pay your medical bills. This is expensive stuff,” she added with a smirk. “Consider it a free wash for the dress.” Vivian’s little crony cackled. “One glass isn’t enough! Who knows how filthy she is? We should all help clean her up!” She grabbed another glass and flung its contents at me. It became a free-for-all. “Hahaha, yeah, wash that tramp stench off her!” “Look at her! She’s probably loving this. This much wine is probably worth a few nights’ work for her and her mom.” Chris, wanting to impress everyone, grabbed a full bottle of champagne. He shook it violently, foam erupting, and aimed the neck right at my face. “Here, here! Open wide and drink up! Let’s give you a good cleaning from the inside out! Hahaha!” My ankle had twisted when I fell; I could barely move. As the bottle flew toward my face, I threw up my hands to protect myself. It smashed against the back of my hand, sending a shockwave of pain up my arm and leaving a dark, swelling bruise. “Alright, that’s enough,” Vivian finally said, her voice bored. “This is my party, after all. We can’t have a real scene.” She looked down at me, a queen surveying a peasant. “Helen, as your former classmate, I’m willing to forgive you for everything you’ve done—and for what you are. But remember this: after today, whenever you see me, you will lower your head.” I pushed myself up, my body aching. I tore off my drenched jacket and roughly wiped the sticky wine from my face. My gaze, ice-cold, swept over every single person who had laid a hand on me. Then, I pulled out my phone and dialed my mother. “Mom,” I said, my voice shaking slightly. “I’m at Hillcrest Manor. I’m in trouble.” Before I could say another word, Eleanor snatched the phone from my hand. She held it to her ear and shrieked into it, “Well, as the real wife, I’m very curious to see what kind of homewrecker raises such a promiscuous, whorish daughter!” Then she threw my phone to the ground, where it shattered on the marble floor. “Look how confident she is,” someone snickered. “Maybe her mom has a whole stable of sugar daddies.” “Let her mom come! There are plenty of wealthy wives here tonight. It’ll be a great show when her mom and her clients all end up in the same room.” “What a joke. Does she think her mom is some kind of superhero? Vivian is a true heiress now, a legitimate daughter. Why would she be afraid of some mistress?” “Ooooh, I’m so scared,” another mocked in a high-pitched voice. Their words were a vicious, baseless assault. I looked at the ugly, sneering faces of my old classmates and the other guests, and my voice was deadly calm. “I hope you’re all still laughing at the end of this.” My words spurred Vivian into another rage. She lunged, trying to grab my hair. I sidestepped and shoved her away with all my strength. My eyes locked onto Eleanor, the woman who had orchestrated this whole thing. “You keep calling me a bastard and my mother a homewrecker. But the only proof you have is a childhood photo of me.” My voice grew sharper. “I have a question for you. Do you have a marriage certificate? Or was there ever a proper wedding?” I took a step closer. “Or could it be that you know perfectly well who the real mistress is, and you’re just using me to vent your own pathetic frustration on me and my mother?” With every word I spoke, the color drained from Eleanor’s face. Vivian sensed something was wrong and grabbed me by the collar. “You bitch! You still dare to provoke us? Where in the world is there an illegitimate child as lawless as you?” She shook me. “I would know if my mother was the rightful wife or not! And if you’re not the bastard, why isn’t your last name Vanderbilt?” Her last point swayed the wavering crowd. It was a fair question. Most children took their father’s name. “Vivian’s right. I almost fell for her bluff.” “Helen is so malicious. It’s bad enough her mom wrecked a family, but now she’s questioning the real wife’s status.” As they murmured, Hannah suddenly stepped forward. “Oh, Helen! I remember you wore that earring all through high school. It must be very expensive, right?” At her words, Vivian’s gaze fell on the delicate diamond stud in my left ear. “That earring looks pricey,” Vivian said, her eyes narrowing. “Your mother couldn’t have afforded that. Did you use my father’s money for this, too?” A chill went down my spine. I instinctively reached up to cover my ear. Seeing my protective gesture, a vicious light gleamed in Vivian’s eyes. “Nervous? Did I hit the nail on the head?” she purred. “Since my father paid for it, then as his rightful daughter, I have the right to take it back.” I slapped her hand away as she reached for me. “My mother had this custom-made to protect me.” My voice was a low warning. “If this earring is removed, it automatically sends an alert to the police. I suggest you back off.” After a kidnapping attempt when I was younger, my mother had commissioned it. The moment it was forcibly removed from my ear, it would trigger a silent alarm and transmit my exact location. The only way to disable it was through an app on my phone—my phone, which was now in pieces on the floor. Vivian let out a short, ugly laugh. “You really think I’d believe that? And what does a bastard like you need protection from? Besides, even if it is as magical as you say, it still belongs to me. All of your mother’s money came from my father.” Seeing that reasoning with her was pointless, I decided to take it off myself. But Vivian saw my movement and barked an order to the jocks in the crowd. “Hold her down! I’m going to take it off her myself.” Instantly, several guys grabbed my arms and legs. I was dragged before Vivian like a prisoner, helpless. The disgust in her eyes was raw and undisguised, far more blatant than it had ever been in high school. Her fingers closed around the stud, twisting it hard. The sharp edges of the setting dug into my earlobe, sending a spike of agony through me. She was trying to rip it straight out of the piercing. I have a bleeding disorder. If she did this, the consequences could be life-threatening. “Vivian, stop!” I gasped. “You know I have a bleeding disorder!” A sharp slap answered me, the force of it snapping my head back. “You used that lie to get me expelled in high school, Helen,” Vivian hissed. “You really think I’m going to fall for it again? I’m going to expose your pathetic lies once and for all.” Before I could react, she gave one final, brutal yank. “Ah!” A searing pain, as if my very bone was being carved out, exploded in my ear. My earlobe felt swollen and on fire, and a hot, slick stream of blood began to run down my neck. Vivian casually tossed the bloody earring to the floor and ground it under her heel. Her voice was pure arrogance. “Let’s just see,” she sneered, “if our delicate little bastard really bleeds to death.” I could feel the blood soaking into my collar, a terrifying, unstoppable flow. Panic and fury surged through me. “You’re insane,” I choked out. I lunged at her, intent on tearing her apart, but someone stepped in front of me, blocking my path. It was Hannah. My only friend from high school. Seeing who had stopped me, Vivian’s face split into a triumphant, mocking grin. “Want to hit me? Hahaha, look around, Helen. Who here is on your side?” She stepped forward deliberately, tapping her own cheek. “I’m a real heiress now. Go on, I dare you to touch me, you worthless piece of trash.” I gritted my teeth, staring at Hannah, who couldn’t even meet my eyes. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “You’re all cut from the same cloth!” I seethed. “You will all regret this.” “Regret? That’s hilarious. I’ll never have regrets. But you? That’s another story.” Vivian waved a hand at our former classmates, her tone playful and cruel. “Beat her. Whoever does the best job, I’ll have my dad give them a business opportunity.” A wicked smile played on her lips. “Oh, and by the way, our little princess here has a bleeding disorder. I’ll give ten thousand dollars to anyone who makes her bleed.” That was all it took. Instantly, they were on me, a pack of wolves, regardless of whether we’d ever spoken before. Fists and feet rained down on me. “You thought you could hit Vivian for taking one earring? She’s the real daughter, you bastard! You don’t deserve to breathe the same air!” “A bleeding disorder? Good! I hope you don’t die too quickly. A vicious bitch like you should have been strangled at birth.” “Trash is trash. Hit her harder, guys! Look, she’s still glaring at us!” “Hahaha, look at her! Pathetic! Someone get a video! Post it online! ‘Rightful Family Teaches Homewrecker’s Bastard a Lesson!’ This is so satisfying!” Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hannah pull out a small, sharp nail tool. She plunged it into my thigh, pulled it out, and stabbed again. “You can’t blame me, Helen,” she whispered, her voice frantic. “I need the money to get an in at Sterling Corp. You understand, right? You have to understand.” Vivian stood to the side, watching the brutal spectacle with an air of detached superiority. “Do you regret it now? Tsk, tsk. So pathetic. Like a stray dog.” She leaned in close. “Remember this, Helen. This is the difference between us. Some people are just born better. You should have known not to cross me.” Her words were met with a chorus of agreement. “Stray dogs at least have a home to be stray from. She’s just a dirty secret who shouldn’t exist.” “Exactly. I heard even illegitimate children have inheritance rights now. I hope she dies right here, right now, so she can’t steal from Vivian’s family later.” “Don’t worry about that,” Chris chimed in with a lewd grin. “My neighbor just divorced his wife. After the party, I’ll ‘gift’ her to him. I hear the guy’s got some… special tastes.” “Hahahaha! Great idea, Chris! Trash belongs with trash!” “You know, you gotta admit, for a bitch, Helen’s got a pretty good…” Their foul words swirled in my head as darkness began to creep in at the edges of my vision. The blood loss was making me weak. Vivian’s high heel clicked on the blood-slicked floor. She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her. Her voice was a cold whisper. “How does it feel? You said your earring would call the police, that it had GPS. So where is everyone? Where are the heroes coming to save you?” Just as her words faded, the roar of engines shattered the night.

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My father was cheating. The woman he was keeping on the side was a full fifteen years younger than my mother—a college girl with an angelic face. Men don’t remember the lean years you starved through with them. Once they make it, all they remember is how to screw you over. When it was finally time to divide the assets, my mother discovered that every cent, every property, had been transferred to his company’s name. My father’s official salary was one dollar a month. My mother screamed that he was less than human, but as she hurled every curse she knew, his face remained a mask of indifference. He wasn’t guilty; he was triumphant. To twist the knife, he turned to me with a gloating smirk. “Sweetheart, Mommy and Daddy are getting a divorce. Are you going to live like a princess with me, or go beg on the streets with her?” Without a second’s hesitation, I threw myself into his arms. “Daddy, I will always be your only daughter!” He roared with laughter, absolutely delighted. But he hadn’t understood. The emphasis wasn’t on “daughter.” It was on “only.” 1 My father’s laughter echoed through the house, a booming sound of pure victory. “That’s my girl! Just like her old man. You’re my pride and joy, Stella.” He must have felt like a king. My mother had sacrificed her own career to build his, choosing to become a stay-at-home wife who dedicated her entire existence to her husband and child. Without her, my father’s stomach would have been corroded by alcohol years ago. She was the one who brewed the hangover remedies, laid out the stomach medicine, and waited in a chair for him until the dead of night. When he was sick in the hospital, she never left his bedside, staying awake for nights on end. He walked out of the hospital recovered; she walked out with her own health in ruins. But he didn’t see any of that. All he could see now was the college girl with the innocent face who wore slutty lingerie underneath to seduce him. My mother had cried, fought, and begged. But his brain had been sucked dry by that tramp’s two sets of lips. He couldn’t hear my mother’s words, and he certainly didn’t care about their decade-plus of marriage. When he grew tired of her questions, he brought the woman home, forcing my mother to watch as he pinned her down on their bed, a final, brutal act to extinguish any last spark of hope. He didn’t love me, either. I was just a pawn in his game, a tool to shatter my mother’s spirit completely. If I chose him, his victory over her would be absolute. At my declaration, the color drained from my mother’s face. She stumbled toward me, grabbing my arm, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Stella, what did you just say? Say it again!” “It’ll be the same no matter how many times I say it.” I pushed her hand away. “I’m staying with Dad.” A tear traced a path down her cheek, and it felt like a knife twisting in my gut. “Stella… you don’t want your mommy anymore?” “What’s the use in wanting you?” I gestured wildly around the spacious villa. “Can you give me a house this big? My middle school finals are coming up. Can you afford my one-on-one tutors? I’m a growing girl—how are you going to feed me? With wilted vegetables from the farmer’s market?” I stared at her, my voice cold and hard. “Mom, you couldn’t keep Dad happy. You can’t drag me down with your sinking ship. Why would I choose a life of misery with you when I can have all of this?” My voice rose, each word a calculated blow. “Dad can give me a better life with the loose change in his pocket. Could you make in ten jobs what he makes in an hour?” She crumpled. Her legs gave out and she sank to the floor, her eyes hollow. “You really don’t want me?” I let a flicker of annoyance cross my face. “Mom, this isn’t about me not wanting you. It’s about you not being able to afford me. You can’t give me the life I want. Instead of wasting time trying to win me back, you should be out looking for a job so you can feed yourself.” I shook her hand off and walked toward my room, ignoring the desperate sound of her calling my name. I didn’t dare look back. I knew if I did, the tears would betray me, and the entire act I’d put on for my father would be for nothing. Just before I closed the door, I saw him wrap his arm around the other woman, beaming like a conquering general. “Get out!” he snarled at my mother. “Don’t just lie there. You’ll stain the new carpet, and you sure as hell can’t afford to replace it.” My mother had a little money saved, so I wasn’t worried about her immediate survival. Besides, I had my own problems to deal with. My father had already started laying down the new rules. “From now on, Aunt Bianca is your new mother. You will treat her with the same respect you showed your own mom, understand?” I looked at Bianca. She had the face of an ice queen, but I knew in private she was a whore for my father. I plastered a sycophantic grin on my face, baring my teeth in what I hoped was a winning smile, and gave the bitch a perfect, ninety-degree bow. “Hello, Mom!” My father was stunned by how quickly I’d adapted. After a beat, he clapped me on the shoulder, beaming. “Good! That’s my girl!” Bianca, however, was unimpressed. She rolled her eyes. “I don’t have a daughter that ugly. What a mess.” She was the new queen of the castle, so my father just waved me away, telling me to go back to my room. The second my door clicked shut, my phone buzzed. A fifty-thousand-dollar transfer. He might not love my mother anymore, but I was still his blood, his only heir in the world for now. He wouldn’t turn on me for Bianca just yet. More importantly, he was drowning in money; he wouldn’t care if I spent a little. To avoid raising suspicion, I went about my days as usual—school, homework, repeat. No one would have guessed I was a middle schooler whose family had just imploded. But the rumors started anyway. Whispers in the hallways that I’d ditched my poor mom for my rich dad. Classmates started pointing and staring. My teachers pulled me aside for “talks.” That evening, after school, I went straight to my mother. When she opened the door to her small rental apartment, I saw the flicker of hope in her eyes, a hope she was desperately trying to suppress. “What are you doing here?” I pushed her inside, shut the door behind me, and collapsed into her arms, sobbing silently. Her own composure shattered. She held me tight, her own tears soaking my shoulder. It was pathetic. I had to sneak around just to see my own mother, afraid to be seen, afraid to even cry out loud. When we were both cried out, I pulled four thick wads of cash from my backpack. “It’s my allowance from Dad. Take it.” She refused instantly. “I don’t want his money!” I forced the cash into her hands. “Why not? You have to take it!” “Stella, please… come back and live with me…” “And how would you support me? Forget it. I’m not coming back.” Fresh tears welled in her eyes. “You’re right. I’m useless. I’m just a burden…” I gripped her hands. “Mom, you are not a burden. Dad has so much money. If I go with you, what happens when he has another kid with her? Am I supposed to just let some stranger’s child inherit everything?” My voice dropped to a fierce whisper. “Everything he has will be mine. Bianca, Shmianca… let’s see if she can even produce a child. That’s the real test.” My mother’s eyes were wide with alarm. “Stella, what are you planning?” “Don’t worry, Mom. I won’t do anything reckless. But you need to get back on your feet. If Dad kicks me out one day, I need to know you’ll be there to catch me.” That was all the motivation she needed. Her spine straightened. “Okay. You just wait. I won’t let you suffer, I swear.” When I got home that night, my father was waiting. The second I stepped through the door, he lunged forward and slapped me across the face, hard. “You little bitch! Did you give my money to your mother?” The force of the blow was staggering. It sent me sprawling to the floor. The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth. I deliberately let a trickle of it run from the corner of my lips. Seeing the blood, my father flinched, but his face was still a mask of pure rage. I looked past him. Bianca was perched on the sofa, legs crossed, wearing a miniskirt that barely covered her ass. She watched me with an expression of pure, mocking contempt. Her look said it all: You think I don’t know exactly what game you’re playing? When I didn’t answer, my father kicked me in the ribs. “Answer me! Did you give my money to that old hag?” I pushed myself to my feet and answered without a shred of hesitation. “Yes.” CRACK! Another slap, even harder this time. I hadn’t even found my balance before I was sent flying again. I let the momentum carry me, and slammed my head into the corner of a nearby cabinet. THUD. The sound was dull and final. The impact sent a shockwave through my skull, and the world swam before my eyes. A searing pain erupted on my forehead. I touched it and my fingers came away sticky with blood. The sight of a head wound seemed to stop him. He stood over me, panting heavily, his chest heaving like an exhausted animal’s—half from rage, half from fear. “Dad,” I sobbed, “if I didn’t give her the money, they were going to kill me at school.” “The kids at school… they all say I’m a motherless child,” I wailed, smearing the blood across my face to make it look worse. I pulled up my sleeves to reveal a crosshatch of older, fading bruises and scratches. “They call me a bad seed for choosing you over her.” “They beat me up every day. Even the teachers look down on me. They say I have bad character, that I’m morally corrupt.” I scrambled to my knees, my bloody face turned up to his. “I couldn’t stand it anymore. I just wanted to see her, give her some money so they would stop laughing at me, stop hurting me.” I started bawling, loud and theatrical. “Dad, I know Mom Bianca doesn’t like me. I know you don’t want me here either. Please, just stop hitting me. I’ll leave right now.” I grabbed my backpack and bolted for the door. I was several steps outside before Bianca’s shrill voice cut through the air. “What are you standing there for, you idiot? Get her back here now!” Her voice was laced with panic. “Do you want the neighbors to see her like that and start gossiping about me?” My father knew she was right. Kicking me out right after taking me in would look terrible. But that split second of hesitation was all it took. Several neighbors out for an evening stroll had already seen me—a teenage girl, face covered in blood, fleeing her own home. By the time my father dragged me back inside, at least a dozen people had witnessed the entire scene. Ten minutes later, there was a sharp knock at the door. My father opened it to find two police officers standing on the porch. “Sir, we received a report of child abuse at this address. We need you to cooperate with our investigation.” Trapped, my father had no choice but to let them in. The first thing they saw was me, standing meekly in the living room with a fresh bandage wrapped around my head. The officer’s gaze shifted to my father. “What happened here? Care to explain?” Bianca watched my father squirm, not with sympathy, but with cold detachment. She offered a lazy, unconvincing excuse. “Who knows how she did it. Probably ran into something. She’s clumsy.” The officer turned to her. “And you are?” Bianca admired her manicure, then gestured at my father with her chin. “I’m his wife.” The officer nodded slowly. “Ah, I see. The stepmother.” The word “stepmother” was a lit match on gasoline. Bianca shot to her feet. “Who are you calling a stepmother? I have nothing to do with this brat. It’s his daughter. If she misbehaves, it’s his right to discipline her. What business is it of yours?” The officer ignored her and focused on my father again. “Is this your child? Where did those injuries come from? We received a call that someone here was beating a child, that her head was bleeding. Is that true?” Before my father could stammer out a lie, I stepped forward. “No, officer. It was my fault. I fell and hit my head. My dad didn’t hit me.” I took the blame for him. “I did badly on a test, and he yelled at me a little. But he didn’t hit me. Really.” With the supposed victim denying the abuse, and after confirming I wasn’t being coerced, the police had little to go on. They asked a few more questions and left. As we saw them to the door, the lead officer turned back and leveled a stern finger at my father. “Assaulting a child is a crime. Even if it wasn’t you this time, you’d better watch yourself.” My father nodded and smiled until they were gone. The moment the door closed, his face twisted back into a snarl. “Because you’re getting bullied at school, I’ll let it slide this time,” he hissed, his finger jabbing at my face. “But if I ever find out you’ve given that woman my money again, I swear to God I will beat you to death.” He didn’t give me any more money, and I didn’t ask. He’d given me fifty thousand. I’d given my mother forty. That left me with ten. As long as I was careful, it would last me until my finals. My mother used the money to rent a second-floor apartment near my school and started an after-school meal service for students. She had spent over a decade catering to my father’s every culinary whim, even getting a chef’s certificate for him. Cooking for kids was second nature. With a little promotion from me at school, her service filled up in days. The school cafeteria food was slop, and my mother’s cooking quickly won over parents, who complained that she didn’t have enough spots. I knew she wasn’t just doing it for the money. She wanted to be close to me, to see me every day. But the peace didn’t last. After two weeks of eating my mother’s delicious meals, the health department showed up for a surprise inspection. Though her licenses were all in order, they nitpicked every little thing, claiming her cooking zones for raw and cooked food weren’t compliant. They ordered her to shut down for “rectification,” citing an anonymous tip from a “concerned citizen.” The image of Bianca’s face, a mask of petty malice, flashed in my mind. I was sure she was the one who had snitched about the money, too. So annoying. I had already humbled myself, called her “Mom.” And still, she wouldn’t leave us alone. That night, as usual, I brought her a glass of warm milk. “Aunt Bianca, your milk.” Ever since my mother was kicked out, this had become my daily chore. If the milk was too hot or too cold, I’d get a lecture from her, which would earn me a beating from my father. The police warning had done nothing to deter him. I stood beside her, watching her sip the milk. She handed me the empty glass. “If you have something to say, spit it out. I don’t have patience for your games.” I kept my expression innocent and harmless. “Aunt Bianca, was it you who reported my mom’s business?” She raised an eyebrow, a taunting smile playing on her lips. “Oh? You figured it out?” “You’ve already driven my mother away. My father worships you now. Why can’t you just leave her alone?” “Why? Why do you kick a chained dog? Why do you burn ants with a magnifying glass? Why do you swat a mosquito?” A look of profound contempt crossed her face. “It’s the same principle. I’m not happy until she’s completely destroyed. And you,” she added, her eyes narrowing, “don’t think for a second that you’re safe just because you chose your father. Not a chance.” Her hand drifted down to rest on her flat stomach. “Your father’s money will all go to my child. You, the bastard of his ex-wife, won’t get a single penny. So if you know what’s good for you, get out of this house and go find your pathetic mother. Otherwise, don’t blame me for being a cruel stepmother. I’m not—” She stopped mid-sentence. Her body swayed, her legs turning to jelly, and she collapsed back onto the sofa. She reached for the armrest, but her limbs wouldn’t obey. She was completely paralyzed. Her eyes, wide and unfocused, darted to me in terror. “You… you drugged me?” I knelt beside her, stroking her cheek, making sure she could see the manic, ecstatic glee on my face. “Mommy,” I whispered, “you’re pregnant? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

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I ran into my husband’s first love at a job fair. She was clutching a resume with a five-year gap, a ghost from a life she’d left behind. She looked lost, wilting under the sharp questions of our company’s HR rep. And I was the hiring director for the day. I asked her a few standard questions. Her eyes darted past me, searching for Alex, who was sitting by my side. He gave her a placid, reassuring smile. “Just answer the questions. Our hiring director is very professional.” But the moment we left the event floor, he turned on me. “What was that? Why all the questions? Were you trying to prove something?” 1. I honestly didn’t see it coming. The second the words left his mouth, he seemed to realize his mistake. He shot me a cautious look, then added awkwardly, “I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I don’t think we need to make things harder for a woman who’s been a stay-at-home mom for five years.” If he hadn’t added that last part, I might have let it go. An old flame shows up, things get a little weird—for people our age, it should have been a non-event. But that little addendum, that clumsy justification, left a sour taste in my mouth. Because I replayed the entire conversation in my head, and I couldn’t find a single moment where I’d been out of line. My questions had been perfectly ordinary. “Could you explain the five-year gap on your resume?” “Why are you looking for a position outside of your academic field?” “What interests you about our company specifically?” Her answers had been halting, evasive, each pause a small window into a life of quiet hardship. I looked at him, my expression flat. “So you think I was giving her a hard time? Did a single one of my questions fall outside the scope of my job?” “No,” he mumbled, his anger deflating into something else. “I overreacted. I’m sorry. It’s not a big deal. It just feels like… like one of life’s little ironies, you know? It’s just a lot to take in.” An irony. Yeah, you could call it that. No one ever thought the kid from the wrong side of the tracks, Alex Zhou, would become a successful entrepreneur. Just like no one ever thought the golden girl of our high school, Leah, would end up a cautionary tale. And absolutely no one, least of all me, ever thought Alex would end up marrying me—the girl who couldn’t stand her. 2. It should have been a cliché story. But when you’re the one living in it, the plot twists still feel breathtaking. Alex and I grew up together. I had a silent, hopeless crush on him for years. But he fell for Leah Xiang, the daughter my father’s new trophy wife brought with her into our home. Leah had her mother’s eyes—the kind that could charm a snake or a man with equal ease. Those years were a blur of misery. I lost my father’s affection and any hope of Alex’s, all in one fell swoop. Eventually, my father and her mother divorced. Alex and Leah broke up. And Alex and I lost touch completely. Years later, a headhunter set up a meeting. The role was at a promising startup. The founder, they said, was a man named Alex Zhou. We met again. This time, it was different. We worked together, side-by-side, building something from nothing. A new kind of affection grew, something steadier and more real than a teenage crush. One day, we decided to spend the rest of our lives together. It was the fastest, and surest, decision I’d ever made. Our marriage had been smooth sailing, a constant affirmation that I’d made the right choice. Until now. The silence in the car was thick and uncomfortable. He kept glancing at me, but I refused to speak. I hadn’t created this awkwardness; I wasn’t going to be the one to fix it. Alex knows me too well. He tried again. “Nina, I’m really sorry,” he said, his voice soft. “It was a stupid thing to say. Can you forgive me? I promise I’ll never speak to you like that again.” It was an easy promise to make. Alex probably didn’t realize then how many times he would break it, again and again, until I finally had nothing left to give. But in that moment, I let it go. I’ve never been one to hold a grudge. It’s probably one of the things he’s always liked about me—how comfortable I am to be around. 3. A few days later, I was in my office, sorting through the final candidates for the open position. Somehow, Leah’s resume was in the pile. I was sure I had filtered it out in the initial screening. It was still the same unimpressive document, practically useless. Her degree and her scant work experience were completely irrelevant to any of the roles we were hiring for. I called in my assistant, Sarah. “Did anyone come into my office today?” She looked confused. “I didn’t see anyone, Nina. Is something wrong? Is something missing?” I shook my head, holding up Leah’s resume. “Something was added. You did the initial screening, right?” “Yes.” “I remember we discarded this one. Leah Xiang. Why is it back on my desk?” Sarah’s brow furrowed. “Oh, that one. Mr. Zhou brought it by. He said to make sure she gets an interview.” My silence was a question she felt compelled to answer. “He said he wouldn’t interfere with the final decision, but that we had to at least give her a chance in the process.” I didn’t say anything. Sarah mumbled, more to herself than to me, “He said that, but we can’t actually just go through the motions, can we? The thing is, her resume doesn’t fit any of the department openings. I have no idea where to even place her for an interview.” A cool, thin smile touched my lips. “Then do exactly what Alex said. We follow the normal process. Send her resume to all the department heads. If someone picks her, she gets an interview. If not…” Sarah’s eyes lit up. “If no one chooses her, the resume just goes back into the general pool. It’s all by the book, and no one has to make a difficult decision.” She gave me a thumbs-up. “That’s why you’re the boss.” That night, Alex was restless. He kept pacing, starting sentences he didn’t finish. Finally, he couldn’t hold it in any longer. “I put Leah’s resume back in the pile. Did you see it?” “I did,” I said, my voice even. “Can I ask why? You know she isn’t qualified for any of our openings. You’re interfering with my work, Alex.” 4. He hesitated, gathering his thoughts. “Look, I wasn’t going to. But she’s in a really bad place, Nina. I thought we could find some small, unimportant role for her. Something to help her get by.” My laugh was short and sharp. “I had no idea you were such a philanthropist. When did you two get back in touch? Before the job fair, or after?” “After,” he said immediately. “I swear. We haven’t spoken in years. Running into her that day was a complete shock to us both.” “We?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Who’s we?” He corrected himself. “I mean, it was a shock for me. And for you. For us to see her there. It was just a coincidence.” He took a breath. “She came by the office to see you a couple of times, but you were out. I ran into her one of those times.” “She came to see me?” I asked, skeptical. “I never got a message. Sarah never scheduled a meeting. Are you sure she was there to see me? Or was she just waiting for the right person to show up?” Alex was quick to defend her. “She’s not like that, Nina. She’s not a schemer. She wouldn’t do something so roundabout.” “And if she really wanted to see me,” he added, a little too quickly, “she could have just made an appointment. Why go to all that trouble?” “So what is it you want to talk about tonight, Alex? Let’s just get to the point.” He seemed to have rehearsed this part. The words tumbled out. “Put her in the finance department. She told me she’s studying for her accounting certification. She can start as a cashier.” I almost laughed out loud. “And that’s what you call an ‘unimportant role’?” My sarcasm must have stung. His tone hardened. “So what are you saying? That I don’t have the right to hire a single person in my own company?” 5. I just stood there, staring at him. He looked like my husband, but a stranger was looking out of his eyes. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. Finally, I gave him the answer he was waiting for. “You win.” Relief washed over his face. He smiled, pulling me into a hug and whispering into my hair. “Look, your dad called me about it, too. Said she was your stepsister once, after all. If I didn’t do something, it would look cold.” The mention of my father sent a familiar chill down my spine. You always trip over the same stone. It was true for my father. Maybe it was true for Alex, too. “Why didn’t you just lead with that? That my father asked you to?” He chuckled, stroking my hair. “I was trying not to. I know how you two get. You’d just end up in another fight, and let’s be honest, he’s sent a lot of business our way over the years. You can afford to hold a grudge. I can’t.” He pulled back to look me in the eye, his expression serious. “Now that you’ve agreed, don’t start anything with him. Let’s just let this go. I promise you, she’ll stay in that entry-level job and that’s it. No promotions. This is our company, Nina. I would never let anyone threaten that.” His words were firm, absolute. They reminded me of the promises my father made at my mother’s bedside as she was dying. He’d sworn to God he would never remarry. That he would spend the rest of his life taking care of me, his only daughter. When men make vows, they always believe they mean them. My father’s vow lasted less than four years. Two years after my mother’s death, his business started to take off. There were always women around, but he kept his promise not to marry. Until Leah’s mother appeared. He practically stumbled over himself to welcome her into his life, to share everything he had with her. She moved in on the fourth anniversary of my mother’s death. So, what about Alex? How long would his promise last? Could I really trust him? 6. For a long time after that, Alex was the perfect husband. He was even more attentive than usual, as if trying to soothe a guilty conscience I hadn’t accused him of having. We fell into a rhythm that felt like a second honeymoon, and he seemed happier, more vibrant than he had in years. To avoid any appearance of impropriety, Alex stopped visiting the finance department entirely. Any issues were handled through his assistant. But the human mind is a strange thing. The more he went out of his way to avoid her, the more I felt a creeping sense of unease beneath all the renewed affection. A man who has truly let go of the past doesn’t need to work so hard to prove it. One afternoon, I had a proposal that needed his signature. It was almost the end of the day, so I went up to his office to catch him before he left. He wasn’t there. His assistant stammered, saying he was “out on an errand.” “An errand?” I asked, puzzled. “Why didn’t you go with him? Did he drive himself? He didn’t say anything to me.” We usually commuted together, sharing a car. If one of us had a change of plans, we always let the other know. But my phone was silent. The assistant suddenly looked more confident. “He’s generally back before closing. Why don’t you wait for him in your office?” As I walked down the stairs, her words echoed in my head. Generally? That meant this wasn’t the first time. Our company didn’t have many external matters that required the CEO’s personal attention. And he had certainly never mentioned any of them to me. I glanced at my watch, and an idea sparked. I walked straight to the parking garage. It was 5:10 PM, twenty minutes before most of the offices in our building let out. The garage was full, but still. One car stood out. It was a large SUV. A common model, but the color was a custom order. It had been my birthday gift to him. Its headlights were on, illuminating the two people sitting very close inside. They were so absorbed in their conversation that they didn’t even notice me as I walked past the passenger-side window. The car’s soundproofing was good, but I could hear snippets of their voices, fragmented and low. Urgent. And intimate. 7. I didn’t really need to hear what they were saying. Or maybe I just didn’t care anymore. But when he reached out and pulled her into a hug, I felt it. Heartbreak, it turns out, actually makes a sound. It’s like the shattering of glass on a tile floor. A sharp, clear crack, and by the time you look down to find the source, the pieces are already scattered and unrecognizable. But I am not the kind of woman who curls up and disappears. If I was going to be in pain, I wasn’t going to suffer alone. I walked to the driver’s side and tapped my knuckles sharply on the window. I had the satisfaction of watching two figures spring apart as if electrocuted.

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Before the System erased me for failing my mission, I asked it, “Can I tell him who I really am?” “You may.” I stood in front of Caleb Davenport and slowly peeled off my shirt. “I’m sorry I lied to you,” I said. “The truth is, I’m a girl.” Caleb’s eyes widened, his jaw slack. The poor guy. After years of locking horns with his fiercest rival, he was only now discovering that his sworn enemy wasn’t a guy at all. As his shock washed over me, I closed my eyes, ready for the sweet release of oblivion. But I didn’t die. I woke up, back in this world. The System’s voice was apologetic in my head. “After your death, your mission progress inexplicably shot to one hundred percent. As a compensation package, you have been granted a second chance at life.” A pause. “Your new identity is Ava Miller, the wife of a wealthy man who is never home and whose fortune is yours to spend.” I nodded slowly, processing. “Okay. Sounds good. My dream life, actually. So, what’s the name of this husband who’s never home?” “Caleb Davenport.” 1 “Who?!” I sat bolt upright. “Ahem,” the System cleared its throat, the audio file crackling with digital guilt. “In any case, we hope the host enjoys her new life. Goodbye!” It vanished faster than a guilty conscience. I was left reeling in the silence. “Ma’am, please, you have to calm down! Don’t do anything rash!” A voice beside me pulled me back to reality. I blinked, taking in the scene for the first time. Chaos. Utter chaos. The apartment was enormous, the kind of sprawling penthouse that screamed eight figures. But there was barely a place to stand. Everything from porcelain plates to the curated collectibles in the display cabinets had been smashed to pieces. “It’s one thing to break a few dishes when you’re upset, but this… ma’am, what if you’d cut your hand?” the assistant fretted, wringing his hands. His concern, I noted, was less for my well-being and more for the expensive shrapnel littering the floor. A cleaning lady knelt, cautiously starting to gather the larger pieces. She paused, her eyes fixed on a pile of shattered clay fragments. “Oh, no,” she whispered. “What is it?” the assistant asked. “I think… I think this was Mr. Finn’s.” The assistant sucked in a sharp breath. The air in the room, already thick with tension, solidified into a dreadful, silent dread that gripped the half-dozen staff members present. “Quickly, quickly, clean it up!” the assistant hissed, his voice trembling. “Forget everything else, get Finn’s… get that sculpture out of sight! Mr. Davenport must not see this!” He turned to me, his face pale with terror. “This is a disaster. Mr. Finn’s things are absolutely off-limits. No one is allowed to touch them! Ma’am, of all the things to smash, why this?” I raised an eyebrow. “Finn?” “Shh!” he panicked. “Don’t say his full name! The boss will lose his mind if he hears it!” As if on cue, a tall, lean figure stepped through the front door. “Whose name?” Caleb Davenport’s voice, low and cold, sliced through the silence and landed like a shard of ice in my ear. 2 I was eighteen when I died as Finn. Caleb was only seventeen then. A decade had passed. At twenty-seven, Caleb was taller, his boyish features sharpened into the hard, commanding lines of a man who was used to getting his way. He carried an oppressive aura of power. His gaze swept across the wreckage, finally landing on the pile of broken clay. His eyes turned dangerously cold. The assistant’s legs buckled, and he looked seconds away from dropping to his knees and begging for forgiveness. “Finn?” I spoke first, my voice clear and steady. “I broke it. It has nothing to do with them. The guy’s been dead for ten years. Having his stuff around felt… morbid. If you have a problem, take it up with me. Leave the hired help out of it.” Every head in the room bowed, every breath was held. Caleb’s gaze shifted slowly, deliberately, until it locked onto my face. “Do you have any idea what you’re saying?” he asked, a faint, chilling smile playing on his lips. It held no warmth. I spread my hands. “Finn. I know who he was. Your stepbrother, right? The one you weren’t related to by blood. Wait, don’t tell me you actually miss him? That’s hilarious. Everyone knew you two hated each other’s guts. You couldn’t wait to be rid of him.” “That’s true,” Caleb said, the curve of his lips deepening, his eyes crinkling in a parody of good humor. “So,” I pressed, my voice more confident than I felt, “you won’t be mad that I broke his last remaining keepsake, right?” I’d inherited this mess from the body’s previous owner, Ava. She’d thrown the tantrum that led to a fatal brain hemorrhage and heart attack, which was my cue to enter stage left. The mess wasn’t my doing, but the consequences were all mine. “Mad? Of course not,” Caleb said, his tone surprisingly agreeable. “You’re right. He’s been dead ten years. It’s bad luck to keep it around.” The cleaning crew, taking this as their cue, scurried to clear the debris and then vanished. Just as I thought I was in the clear, Caleb’s hand shot out and clamped around my neck. “Ava,” he snarled, his voice dropping to a terrifying whisper. “I told you. You can throw any tantrum you want. You can break anything in this house. But you do not touch Finn’s things.” His eyes were like chips of frost, a deep, primal coldness in them that sent a shiver down my spine. His grip tightened, constricting, cutting off my air. I started to choke. “Today,” he breathed, his face inches from mine, “you and I are going to settle this score.” 3 I thought he was going to kill me. But he didn’t. Tears of asphyxiation welled in my eyes. I managed to squeeze a sound from my crushed throat. “Hurts-hurts-hurts-hurts-hurts-hurts-hurts!” Caleb’s grip vanished instantly. He stared at me, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Who told you to say it like that?” I coughed violently, dragging air into my starving lungs. “Say what like what? What the hell is wrong with you?” “Seven times. Exactly seven. ‘Hurts’… When did you pick up that habit?” “What habit? That’s just… a thing people say!” “I’ve never heard anyone say it like that,” he said, his eyes scanning my face, searching. “Except for Finn.” “Then you haven’t met enough people.” He studied me for a long moment, his gaze intense and unnervingly perceptive. Finally, as if confirming to himself that I was, in fact, still just Ava, a wave of profound weariness washed over his expression. “This sham marriage is over,” he said, his voice flat. “I’ll have my assistant draw up the divorce papers and send them to you.” Without another glance at my coughing, sputtering form, he turned and left. Ten years, and Caleb hadn’t changed a bit. I cursed the System a thousand times over. I knew it was unreliable from the start. Back when it first recruited me, it took weeks to realize it had mistaken me, a girl, for the “villainous male supporting character” it was supposed to bind to. I spent the next six years of my life pretending to be a boy. Going to the bathroom felt like a covert spy operation. The missions it gave me were absurd. “The male protagonist has deviated from his destined path. Your job is to guide him back to becoming the exceptional man he’s meant to be, while maintaining your persona as his evil arch-nemesis.” Seriously? It was a miracle that thing was a System and not a paperweight. Still, I had a strategic advantage. After Caleb’s parents divorced, his father remarried. My mother. She was a gold-digger who saw her new stepson as a threat to her inheritance, and she’d abuse him whenever her husband wasn’t looking. I was the son she brought with her. To make my backstory seamless, the System concocted a premise: my mother, obsessed with having a son, couldn’t accept that she’d given birth to a daughter, and so she raised me, her child Finn, as a boy. What could I say? I leaned into the role. When Caleb skipped school, I’d sneer, “Can’t even handle a classroom? You’ll end up a drain on society.” When his grades improved, I’d scoff, “Is that it? No wonder your parents don’t give a damn about you. You’re pathetic.” When he rode his bike to school, I’d slash his tires. “Why are you riding? Run! You’re built like a damn string bean!” Caleb hated me. He had to. No one could endure six years of relentless torment without developing a deep-seated loathing. One time, a group of local thugs cornered me in an alley, trying to shake me down for cash. Caleb saw it happen. He met my eyes, then turned and walked away without breaking stride. When I got home, I asked him, “Why’d you just walk away like you didn’t know me?” He looked at me with those dark, unreadable eyes. “Didn’t you tell me never to acknowledge you in public? Bro?” He rarely called me that. Only when the sarcasm was meant to sting. In the end, I failed my mission anyway. As the six-year deadline approached, Caleb suddenly dropped out of high school. He had no intention of taking the SATs or going to college. Panic set in. I went to confront him (i.e., start a fight). We fought. Caleb won, of course. No matter how convincing my disguise, I was still a girl underneath, and I was no match for his strength. The System’s voice was already announcing my failure in my head, a cold, robotic countdown to my demise. But I had to know. “Why did you quit?” “Because of you.” “What the hell does that have to do with me?” “My dad said you’re a genius,” he said, a bitter, mocking smile twisting his lips. “He said that after you get into a good college, I have to apply to the same one next year. And if I don’t get in, he’ll beat my ass.” He let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “But he doesn’t know that there is no one on this planet I hate more than you. I’d rather not go to college at all than go to the same one as you.” I sighed. It was over. After getting the System’s permission, I showed Caleb the truth. The bruises blooming on my skin were fresh from his fists. I gave him a small, sad smile as he stared, speechless and utterly bewildered. “You get to be yourself, Caleb. How great is that?” The next day, I left that world. The System staged a fatal car accident. I never expected that my death would be the catalyst. With me gone, Caleb went into overdrive. He threw himself into his studies and, against all odds, got into the very university I had always dreamed of attending. The one he was destined for all along. And so, I was revived, granted a life of freedom I had inadvertently earned. Except I’d almost died again within the first five minutes. Damn you, Caleb Davenport. This rich-wife gig was more dangerous than it looked. Divorce was the only way to guarantee my survival. 4 The marriage between Ava and Caleb was a sham from the start. A contract signed for mutual benefit. But Ava, the original, had broken the terms, catching feelings along the way. I couldn’t blame her. With Caleb’s face and physique, few could resist. She wanted a real marriage. Caleb, however, wouldn’t even give her the time of day. He’d even staged a PR stunt with another woman just to piss her off. The day I arrived, Ava’s rage had been triggered by a paparazzi photo of Caleb with that woman. None of this was my problem. Until that afternoon, when my—or rather, Ava’s—assistant burst in, frantic. “Ma’am, it’s terrible news! Mr. Davenport, he’s—!” “Dead?” I asked, hopeful. “No, not that.” “Then why are you yelling?” I rolled over on the couch and went back to my nap. “He’s been set up! Ma’am, you wanted to make this marriage real, right? This is your chance!” He practically dragged me out the door and into a car. On the way, he gave me the rundown. A few days ago, to infuriate Ava, Caleb had arranged a photo op with a B-list actress. The deal was simple: one photo, which the actress would then “leak” to Ava to provoke her. The plan had worked perfectly. Too perfectly. Today, the actress had backstabbed him. She was holding a press conference, sobbing to the media that Caleb had cheated on his wife with her, then callously dumped her. When I arrived, the scene was a zoo. Caleb was surrounded by a swarm of reporters. “Sources claim you’ve been cheating on your wife and seeing multiple other women!” “Mr. Davenport, do you have a comment?” Caleb’s face was a mask of cold fury. “If you believe lies that transparent, you should all get your heads checked.” Classic Caleb. Maximum condescension. But that attitude would only feed the sharks. The flashing of cameras was blinding, a storm of light with him at its center. He stood alone, an island in a sea of vultures. Dammit. The big brother in me couldn’t just stand by and watch. I pushed my way through the crowd. Before Caleb could say another word, I curled my index finger and gave him a sharp rap on the back of his head. “Be nice!” I snapped. “Stop acting like a spoiled brat!” 5 Caleb froze. The cacophony of reporters died down, replaced by a stunned silence as they all stared at us. I put a hand on Caleb’s back and pushed, forcing him into a slight bow. “I apologize on his behalf,” I announced to the press. “That was rude. But let me be clear: we will not stand for baseless slander. The burden of proof lies with the accuser. If you have questions, go find the person who made the claim and ask for evidence.” I planted my hands on my hips, standing in front of him like a shield. “But if you’re going to try and convict him without a shred of proof, then you don’t need your heads checked… you need to see a proctologist, and see if you can find your heads up your own asses!” I railed at them for a solid five minutes. Out-argued and out-shouted, the reporters finally began to retreat. When I turned back to Caleb, expecting a thank you, I found him just staring at me, a strange, dazed look on his face. “Finn…” he whispered. “What?” “Nothing.” He lowered his eyes, his expression a complex storm of emotions I couldn’t begin to decipher. The woman standing before him was Ava. Not anyone else. I clapped him on the shoulder. “Alright, I know you’re grateful. You can show me by buying me dinner.” He didn’t refuse. He asked what I wanted, lobster or caviar. “BBQ,” I said without hesitation. I gave the driver an address, an old haunt of mine. It used to be a roadside shack. Now, ten years later, it was a proper restaurant, bright and clean, but the air was still thick with the same glorious smell of woodsmoke and charred meat. The moment we walked in, the owner recognized him. “Hey, kid! Haven’t seen you in a long time.” I was surprised. “He comes here often?” In my memory, Caleb despised the smell of BBQ. He hated everything I loved. The owner nodded. “Used to. Right after his brother passed, he’d come in a lot. Wouldn’t eat anything. Just sat at that table by the window for hours. On his way out, he’d leave me five hundred bucks and say it was for taking up the space…” “Let’s go in,” Caleb cut him off abruptly. The owner slapped his own forehead. “Right, listen to me rambling. This way, please.” When we ordered, I rattled off all the old classics I remembered. But I deliberately skipped the gristly rib tips. “The rib tips get great reviews here,” Caleb noted. “No thanks. Too much work to eat.” He glanced up at me, a flicker of something in his eyes, but said nothing more. I had been dreaming of this for a decade. Cold beer, smoky ribs—this was happiness. Caleb, as usual, barely touched his food. Dressed in a pristine suit, he looked completely out of place. I hadn’t counted on how little tolerance this new body had for alcohol. My consciousness started to fray at the edges pretty quickly. Caleb frowned, a look of distaste on his face. “We should go.” “Nooo, I can still drink more.” “Ava, you reek of beer.” “Tch. Why do you always use my full name? It’s so formal.” “What should I call you, then?” he asked, his voice flat and detached. I grinned, my inhibitions washed away by the alcohol. “Attaboy,” I slurred, a ghost of an old smirk on my face. “Call me ‘bro.’”

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Five years on the run, and they finally caught me. The man who cuffed me was my high school boyfriend. The one who’d traded his trust fund for a badge and a gun, all in the name of justice. Across the sterile interrogation table, Ethan Hayes was a mask of professional indifference. “Five years ago,” he began, his voice flat, “did you kill Mark Peterson?” “Yes.” “And what was he to you?” “He was my father.” For the first time, his eyes lifted to meet mine. They were deep, dark pools of something I couldn’t name. “So, when you broke up with me… when you fought tooth and nail to push me away. Was it because of this?” I held his gaze, letting him see the placid surface of my calm. “No,” I said. “I just got tired of you. I’ve always hated perfect, privileged boys born with a silver spoon in their mouths.” 1 When the police found me, I was sitting on a bluff, just staring into space. Below me was a small, unmarked mound of earth. My mother’s resting place. Ethan led the charge, his team fanning out around him, weapons raised. I turned, and our eyes locked across the clearing. His were filled with ice. These were the same eyes that had once pulled me from the brink. The ones that found me when I was trapped in a hell of my father’s making, with a mother too broken to help, convinced the only way out was to end it all. He had been my rescue. Now, all I saw in them was revulsion. In the back of the cruiser, Ethan was silent, his eyes closed. The tension was so thick the other officers in the front seat kept exchanging glances in the rearview mirror. I heard one of them whisper, “What’s with Detective Hayes?” “Probably exhausted. He’s been obsessed with closing this five-year fugitive case.” “Nah, I don’t think it’s that. Heard he met his future mother-in-law yesterday. Probably just tired out from all the wedding stuff.” “He’s getting married soon, right?” “Yeah, I think so. Couple of months, maybe.” “I saw his fiancée once. She’s gorgeous. A concert pianist or something. Seriously impressive.” “Man, Hayes has it all. Hard worker, family’s loaded, and his girl is a knockout. And here we are, a couple of schmucks.” I stared at the back of his head, the familiar broad set of his shoulders framed by the metal grate. From now on, there was an ocean between us, a world of difference. There would never be an ‘us’ again. At the station, I was processed and put in a holding cell. A female officer took everything from my pockets. When she picked up my phone, I asked, “Excuse me, is there any way I can keep that? The pictures on it… they’re important to me.” She gave me a once-over. “It’s evidence. It’ll be logged and stored.” So I’d never get it back. A shame. It held the last fifty pictures of my life. But it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered anymore. I killed my own father. I wasn’t expecting to walk out of here alive. The next day, they led me to the interrogation room. Ethan was there with another detective, a man named Miller. I recognized him. He’d come to our house five years ago, after my mother died, to ask some questions. “Sadie Peterson,” Detective Miller said gently. “Do you remember me?” Of course, I remembered. Five years ago, on a night ripped apart by thunder and lightning, I lost the only person who had ever truly loved me. The next day, he was the one who wouldn’t accept the official story. He knelt down, ignoring my father’s scowl, and asked me again and again. “Hey kiddo, tell me the truth. Was your mom’s death really an accident?” I’d glanced at my father’s stony face beside me. And I nodded. Now, here he was again, just as persistent. “Sadie, did you kill your father and dispose of the body?” I looked him straight in the eye. “Yes. I killed Mark Peterson.” My fingerprints were on his clothes. The bag I’d used to dump the remains still had the knife inside. I’d used so much force the tip of the blade had bent. I saw Ethan’s fingers tighten around his pen, tapping it against his notepad. Thump. Thump. Thump. An old tell. He was agitated. Detective Miller pressed on. “Five years ago, you were the valedictorian at Northwood High. Top of your class. A full ride to Stanford was practically a sure thing.” He looked down at his file. “Your teachers… they all said the same thing. Quiet, gentle, kind. A model student. Why would a girl like that murder her own father?” I lowered my head, my voice barely a whisper. “Because I hated him.” 2 My father was the worst kind of scum on this earth. To my mother and me, he was a demon. Five years ago, I really thought I could escape the mud. That I could have a good life. Teachers were kind, my classmates were friendly, and then… I met Ethan. He was the new transfer student who seemed to have a chip on his shoulder the size of Texas, but underneath it all, he was impossibly soft-hearted. And he gave me everything he had. When I collapsed from hunger while working one of my three part-time jobs, Ethan’s eyes would get red and he’d say, “Sadie, I have money. Please, just let me help you. I hate seeing you run yourself into the ground like this.” On my birthday, he took me to his home—a place that looked like something out of a magazine—and whispered, “Baby, one day, this will be our home.” He pointed to his mother, a woman of impossible, quiet grace. “Sadie, this is my mom. One day, she’ll be your mom, too.” I looked at her kind, smiling face. I never could have imagined the complex, dark emotions swimming behind those serene eyes. I learned, eventually. And I paid a terrible price for that knowledge. Under Detective Miller’s questioning, I laid it all bare. The years of abuse, the way Mark had terrorized my mother and me. My voice broke as I got to the end. “That day… he’d been drinking. He started getting angry, and he raised his hand to hit me.” “My mom was gone. It was just him and me in the house. I was so scared. I thought he was going to kill me. In the panic… I just… I grabbed a knife and I stabbed him.” “Then, I panicked again. I was terrified someone would find out and I wouldn’t be able to go to college. It was like something out of a movie… I dismembered him, and I threw the bags under the old bridge.” I started to tremble, the fear a living thing clawing its way up my throat. “I… I didn’t mean to. I swear I didn’t mean to… I was just so scared…” Tears streamed down my face. Neither of them said a word. After Miller left, Ethan stayed behind. He asked me one last time. “Sadie. I’m only going to ask you this once more. Five years ago, was it really an accident?” “Yes.” “And you disposed of the body by yourself?” “Yes.” “And when you broke up with me… was it because of this?” His gaze was sharp, trying to bore a hole straight through me. I met it without flinching. “No,” I said, my voice steady. “I just got sick of you. I’ve always hated perfect, privileged boys born with a silver spoon in their mouths.” 3 I really did hate him. Ethan transferred to our school in the fall of our senior year. In a town like ours, a handsome guy pulling up in a Maserati was a major event. He was cocky and charming, and half the girls in school were instantly in love with him. He was popular with everyone in our class. Everyone except me. We barely spoke. It was simple, really. I was too busy. Between the endless homework and studying, every spare second was spent either stocking shelves at the grocery store or clearing trays in the cafeteria. One afternoon, I was bent over a table in the cafeteria when Ethan suddenly walked up behind me. He slipped off his own jacket, a ridiculously expensive-looking thing, and tied it around my waist. “Hey… uh, Sadie,” he mumbled, his cheeks turning a little red. “I think… you know. Your period started.” He practically ran away. My own face flushed hot. It was late this month; I hadn’t even noticed. But I’d already given my mom the cash from my last shift. Buying a box of pads meant skipping dinner. I hesitated, starting to walk toward the convenience store anyway. Just then, Ethan came jogging back, a box of Always in his hand. “The lady at the store said this is what most girls use,” he said, avoiding my eyes. “Figured it might be awkward for you right now, so… you should probably go take care of that.” He was tall, over six feet, with dark brows and a smile so earnest it could stop your heart. I heard mine skip a beat. I bit my lip and accepted his kindness. Later, when I found out that jacket cost more than my family made in three months, a knot of anxiety tightened in my stomach. I found him on the basketball court after I’d carefully hand-washed and dried it. He was drenched in sweat, laughing with his friends. He saw me and jogged over. “Hey, Sadie. What’s up?” I carefully held out the jacket. “Here. It’s yours.” “Oh, don’t worry about it. It’s just a jacket.” “No, it’s… it’s too expensive.” “Alright, well, thanks for washing it.” He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. “But seriously, how are you so busy all the time? I see you doing homework late after everyone’s left, and you’re here studying before the sun’s even up. You’re like a machine.” How could I explain to this boy, born into a world of casual luxury, that college wasn’t just an option for me? It was the only escape route I had. He didn’t seem to need an answer, though. After that brief intersection, our worlds drifted apart again. But I knew something had shifted inside me. My heart had developed a new, unsteady rhythm. I started watching him from a distance. I’d see him joking with people, listen to him talk about LeBron and his favorite food and how much he admired Lincoln. I learned he was a huge gamer, a legend online with hundreds of thousands of followers on Twitch. I learned that the SATs were just a formality for him; he already had a spot waiting at a prestigious university overseas, after which he’d slide right into an executive track at his family’s corporation. I knew his future was a brilliant, blazing star, the kind I could spend my entire life chasing and never even get close to. Still, a secret little thought took root in my mind: if I worked hard enough, if I got into Stanford, if I chose a good major… maybe, just maybe, there was a tiny chance that one day I could stand beside him and see the world from the same height. I never imagined he might feel the same way about me. It happened on a spring weekend. I was working part-time at the indoor sports complex. Ethan was there playing basketball and twisted his ankle. His friends wanted to take him to the hospital, but he waved them off. I brought the first-aid kit and knelt in front of him, gently probing his ankle. His skin was tan and warm. He hissed softly as my fingers pressed down. My heart jumped. I’d hurt him. “Does that hurt?” I asked, looking up quickly. Ethan was just staring at me, a dazed look on his face. It took him a second to answer. “No. No, it’s fine.” His breathing was heavier, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I didn’t think anything of it, just focused on carefully wrapping his ankle. From that day on, Ethan was everywhere. He’d show up during my shifts, sit with me in the library while I studied. It became so frequent that even my classmates started to notice. Then, on a day when the wildflowers were blooming all over the hillsides, he told me he was in love with me. We were so young then. We thought love could conquer anything. Until the day I murdered my father. It was two days after graduation. After I’d cleaned up the last of the mess, I went to break up with him. He was so proud, so full of life, but he got on his knees and begged me not to go. His handsome face was streaked with tears. Those eyes… they looked so much like his mother’s. And I hated him for it. I hated him so much. Why did he have to bring a sliver of light into my pitch-black world, only to have it all be a lie? Ethan had no idea what his mother had done. He just kept asking me why. Why was I leaving him? I looked down at him, my voice dripping with ice. “Because you’re not useful to me anymore, obviously.” “My family’s poor. I can barely afford to eat. I was so sick of working all the time.” “Then you showed up. The perfect sucker. Paying for my meals, buying me things… you made my life so much easier.” “Now graduation is over. You’re going overseas. You have no more value to me.” Panic flared in his eyes, his whole body trembling. “Sadie, if that’s the reason, I don’t have to go. I can stay…” A luxury car pulled up beside us. The tinted window slid down, and there was his mother, Eleanor Hayes, watching us. Her eyes were devoid of warmth, but we both knew what this was about. I looked back at Ethan, my expression cold and final. “Don’t bother. You’re terrible in bed anyway. You disgust me.” “Stop following me around, Ethan. We’re not from the same world. You and I both know that.” “Go be the little prince your mommy wants you to be. And stay the hell away from me.” Years passed. The next time we saw each other, we were a cop and a criminal. 4 They put me in the deepest part of the detention center. Inmates like me, high-risk, were kept in isolation. The days without seeing Ethan were a blur. I’d lean against the cold concrete wall and just… drift. My mind was a slideshow of two images. The brilliant, dazzling smile of an eighteen-year-old boy. And the bright, clear laughter of a little girl. She was so sweet, running through a field of grass, her voice calling out to me. Mommy, Mommy! She’d asked me once, Mommy, do people turn into stars when they die? She’d said, Mommy, I want to stay with you forever. I don’t want to be sick anymore. She’d cried, Mommy, the shots hurt so much. When will my heart get better? She’d whispered, Mommy, I don’t want to die. I traced the old, faded scar on my wrist. Murder and desecration of a corpse. That had to be a death sentence, right? I hoped my sweet girl was walking slowly on the other side. The investigation took longer than I expected. A week went by and no one came to see me. Then one evening, a female guard, the one from my intake, brought me a box of tampons. “Do you know Detective Hayes?” she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her. “He asked me to buy these for you. I was surprised.” I shook my head. “We’re not close. He’s probably just a kind person.” “I don’t think so. I’ve been at this precinct since he transferred in. I’ve never seen him do something like this for an inmate.” She paused, looking at me more closely. “You know, Sadie, I remember you. After you graduated, your score… 1550 on the SATs… you were in the newspaper. A hometown hero.” “Everyone said you were a shoo-in for the Ivy League, a real credit to Northwood. No one can believe you’d do something like this.” She lowered her voice. “We looked into your dad. He was a known lowlife, a real piece of work. If there’s something more to this story, you have to tell Detective Miller. It could help you at sentencing.” I shook my head again. “There’s no need. We’re all equal before the law. I’ll accept whatever punishment I deserve.” A few days later, Detective Miller brought some papers for me to sign. On an impulse I couldn’t explain, I asked a question. “That other detective… why isn’t he here?” Miller glanced up at me. “Detective Hayes had a family matter to attend to. He’s on leave.” The tip of my pen paused on the paper, a dark blot of ink spreading. My mind flashed back to the conversation I’d overheard in the cruiser. He’s getting married soon. The signature was a mess. My hand was shaking too much. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.” “It’s fine,” Miller said. “It’s still valid.” A few more days, and then the trial. It was for the best. His life had nothing to do with mine anymore. I never expected to see Ethan’s mother again. She’d made a special request to visit me. I was stunned when they told me. Five years hadn’t changed her. Eleanor Hayes was still the very picture of untouchable elegance. But maybe it was just me, because I thought I saw a new, sinister darkness lurking beneath the surface. When she looked at me through the glass, her eyes were filled with pure hatred. “Sadie. It’s been five years. Why didn’t you just die out there?” “It’s all your fault. Because of you, Ethan refused to go to college abroad. Because of you, his father gave up on him and started grooming that bastard son of his from another woman.” “You ruined our perfect lives. You’re a curse, a black hole. You should be in hell.” Her voice dropped to a venomous hiss. “Stop haunting him. Leave my son alone. I’m begging you. Go die, rot in jail, I don’t care. Just get as far away from him as you possibly can.” I met those eyes, so eerily similar to Ethan’s, and a bitter laugh wanted to bubble up inside me. “Eleanor,” I said softly. “You’re the one who destroyed your own son.” “You remember what you said to Mark Peterson, don’t you? I never told Ethan because I didn’t want to break his heart.” “I killed Mark. There’s a good chance I’ll get the death penalty for it. So you should probably stop visiting me. You wouldn’t want me to drag you down to hell with me, would you?”

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For ten years, Arthur Sterling taught me everything I know about mechanical engineering. He treated me like a son. But when Sterling Motors was on the brink of collapse, I walked away without a backward glance. I even watched, cold and distant, as creditors circled and the family lost everything, eventually ending up on the street. I did it because, in another life, I’d already lived this nightmare. In that life, Ava’s childhood sweetheart, Caleb, in a desperate bid to beat me out for a partnership with a German tech firm, rushed a new battery prototype into live testing. He hid it from everyone. The battery exploded, the lab went up in flames, and Sterling Motors was ruined overnight. I, stupidly, unconditionally, married Ava and took on the disaster Caleb had left behind. I poured my soul into developing a new generation of electric vehicles, dragging Sterling Motors back from the abyss and onto the peak of the industry. And on the day of our IPO, at the bell-ringing ceremony, Ava stood before the world and publicly accused me of murdering Caleb and stealing his technology. The entire Sterling family called me a heartless, ungrateful monster. Ava had me thrown in prison, where she let me rot, watching from afar as I was tormented to death. When I opened my eyes again, I was back. Back on the day Arthur Sterling was set to announce the new project lead. At the head of the long boardroom table, Arthur’s brow was deeply furrowed. “Leo,” he said, his voice heavy. “You and Caleb… I’ve watched you both grow up.” He sighed, his gaze sweeping over the tense faces in the room. “But there can only be one lead for the new project.” I rose slightly from my chair, a gesture of polite refusal. “Mr. Sterling,” I began, my voice even. “With all due respect, I don’t believe I have the capabilities to handle a project of this magnitude. Caleb, however, is one of a kind. He has the vision to lead this company out of its current difficulties.” 1 A flush of anger colored Arthur’s face. He raised his voice, a rare occurrence. “Leo, do you have any idea what you’re saying?” I stood up fully, my gaze finding Ava’s across the table. “Mr. Sterling,” I repeated calmly. “I’m not the right person to lead Project Velocity. Caleb is brilliant, his concepts are ahead of their time. He’s a better fit than I am.” I paused, letting my eyes linger on Ava. “And I’m sure Ava would agree with me.” Seeing me fold so easily, her expression remained glacial, but a flicker of something—relief? triumph?—passed through her eyes. “It’s about time you recognized your own limits,” she said, her voice sharp. Everyone in that room knew it was a lie. In terms of technical skill, experience, and sheer dedication, I was the obvious choice. Before today, it had been a foregone conclusion: I would lead the project, and my engagement to Ava would be officially announced. But in that moment, as Ava’s cold stare bore into me, I understood everything. She was back, too. A bitter smile threatened to form on my lips. So, you want to save your precious childhood sweetheart? Fine. I won’t stand in your way. Without another word, Ava pushed her chair back and strode out of the conference room. I knew exactly where she was going. At this time of day, Caleb would be in the auxiliary lab, running his reckless tests on the battery prototype. The explosion that would have killed him was imminent. She was going to save him. There was still time. I remained where I was, a frozen calm spreading through my chest. Ten years of marriage in another life, all of it worthless against the ghost of the boy she grew up with. “Leo, what in God’s name are you thinking?” Arthur’s cane slammed against the floor, the sound echoing in the silent room. I met his disappointed gaze. This man, who had personally mentored me, who had shaped my entire career, was looking at me as if I were a stranger. “Mr. Sterling,” I said softly, “Ava’s heart is with Caleb. I won’t fight a battle I can’t win.” Arthur exchanged a look with his wife, Ava’s mother. The fight went out of him. He remembered the fierce, determined look on his daughter’s face as she’d left, and the words of reprimand died on his lips. I silently excused myself and went back to my room in the Sterling estate. I packed only a few changes of clothes and a single external hard drive—the one containing the true core of the project. The next morning, an all-company email announced the new appointment. Caleb Thorne was officially the head of Project Velocity. The email included a photo of him, beaming with ambition. I slipped the hard drive into my backpack, my face a mask of indifference. Just before noon, a shouting match erupted from the office downstairs. I stood at the end of the hallway, listening to Caleb’s enraged voice. “Ava! You promised me! You said as soon as I was project lead, you’d hand over the Bosch partnership!” he roared. “So why the hell is Leo’s name still on all the primary documents?” Ava’s voice was strained, placating. “Caleb, Leo handled all the preliminary technical briefings. We can’t just swap him out now. Bosch will have questions, they’ll object!” “I don’t care!” Caleb shot back. “I’m the future of this company! Are you telling me you trust an outsider more than you trust me, Ava?” The Bosch partnership was everything. It was the key to acquiring their next-generation battery management system, the very technology that, in my previous life, I had optimized to make Sterling’s new car a monumental success. Ava knew this. She knew it down to her bones. A few minutes later, my phone rang. It was Arthur. He was sitting in his office, looking a decade older. “Leo,” he said, his voice ragged with fatigue. “About this… I’m sorry. I owe you an apology.” The truth hit me. She’d done it. Ava had gone over her own father’s head and forced him to give the Bosch liaison position to Caleb. “Mr. Sterling, you don’t have to say anything,” I said, my tone flat. “I understand.” He looked up at me, his eyes a complex mixture of guilt and regret. He had always treated me like a grandson. But faced with a choice between his actual granddaughter and his chosen successor, he had folded. I pulled the hard drive from my backpack. It was my entire life’s work. I placed it on the polished mahogany desk in front of him. “This drive has all the data and technical schematics for Project Velocity,” I explained. “Including all the handover materials for the Bosch integration.” Every file on that drive represented countless sleepless nights, a piece of my very soul. Arthur’s lips parted, but no words came out. He just stared at the small black rectangle, then at my impassive face. I stood and gave him a deep, formal bow. “Mr. Sterling, for your years of guidance, I will be forever grateful.” Just then, the door swung open and Ava and Caleb walked in. “Did he agree?” Ava asked, her eyes fixed on her grandfather, completely ignoring my presence. Arthur gave a slow, defeated nod. Caleb’s face lit up as he reached for the hard drive. But I spoke first. “Wait a second.” Caleb’s hand froze. He eyed me with suspicion. “What is it now, Leo? What other tricks do you have up your sleeve?” I shook my head and pulled a folded document from my pocket. “This is the most critical component of the Bosch deal. The Battery Safety Protocol. I finished collating the final data yesterday. It’s not on the drive yet.” Caleb snatched the document from my hand. As he scanned the brutally strict technical requirements and performance benchmarks, the color drained from his face. “These standards are incredibly high,” I said plainly. “If any single parameter isn’t met, Bosch will revoke their technical license immediately. We’ll be on the hook for the tens of millions we’ve already invested.” My gaze was steady. “But with your design, meeting these standards shouldn’t be a problem for you, right?” Caleb’s face turned crimson, but his arrogance wouldn’t let him back down. He scoffed. “Stop trying to scare me. It’s a safety protocol, not rocket science. I’ll have it handled in five minutes.” I said nothing more. He had no idea. His entire design philosophy—sacrificing safety for performance—was a ticking time bomb. 2 Ava’s voice cut through the tension, cold and final. “You can go now.” She looked at me, her eyes devoid of any warmth. “From this day forward, Sterling Motors and you, Leo, have nothing to do with each other.” I was about to turn and leave, but Caleb stopped me. “Hold on a minute!” He wore a smug, triumphant grin. “Since Leo is no longer the project lead, he’s not really part of the family, is he?” He gestured around the opulent office. “By my count, everything he has, everything he is, came from the Sterlings. Before he leaves, shouldn’t he leave all that behind?” He turned his charming smile on Ava. “Right, Ava?” I turned back, ignoring Caleb’s gloating face, and looked directly at Ava. “Is that what you want?” She stood there, her gaze faltering for just a fraction of a second. But in the end, her silence was my answer. A crash echoed through the room. Arthur, his face purple with rage, had swept his porcelain teacup to the floor. “You little bastard!” he roared at Caleb. “Leo has been in this family for eight years! If he’s not my grandson-in-law, he’s still half a grandson to me!” “Grandpa!” Ava finally spoke, but it was to defend Caleb. “Caleb’s right. If he’s leaving, it’s better to make a clean break. It avoids complications down the road.” I looked at her, and a humorless laugh escaped my lips. “Mr. Sterling, if that’s Ava’s decision, I’ll respect it.” I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “But if we’re settling accounts, then let’s settle all of them.” “I came to the Sterling family when I was twenty years old. I studied under you, learned from you, for eight years.” Caleb let out a dismissive snort. “And you think that gives you some kind of claim?” I shot him a brief, cutting glance before continuing. “In my second year with the company, I redesigned the production line workflow. The cost savings to the group, per year, exceeded three million dollars.” “In my fourth year, the chassis tuning solution I developed won Sterling Motors its largest-ever municipal contract.” “In my sixth year, to solve the engine overheating issue…” I listed them out, one by one. Milestone after milestone. With every achievement I named, Ava’s face grew paler. “All told,” I concluded, “over eight years, the profit I generated for Sterling Motors far exceeds the value of anything the family has given me.” Ava’s lips were pressed into a thin, white line. She knew the weight of my words. In our past life, it was this foundation, this legacy of my work, that allowed the company to rise from the ashes under my leadership. “The Sterlings gave me a home for eight years, and I gave Sterling Motors eight years of my life.” My voice was devoid of emotion. “The work I’ve done, the blood and sweat I’ve poured into this company, is more than enough to repay Mr. Sterling’s kindness.” “From this day forward, we owe each other nothing.” Caleb, however, couldn’t resist twisting the knife. He laughed, a nasty, grating sound. “Nice speech. But the car you drive, the roof over your head… which one of those is actually yours?” He stepped forward, pointing at the key fob peeking out of my pocket. “That Mercedes. Company car, isn’t it?” He then pointed to my wrist. “That Vacheron Constantin… worth a pretty penny, right? Close to a hundred grand? Could a poor kid like you ever afford that?” Finally, his finger jabbed towards the documents on the desk. “And that condo in the Marina… a gift from Grandpa, wasn’t it?” He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper. “Which of these things doesn’t belong to the Sterlings?” I let his taunts wash over me, my eyes fixed on Ava. She remained silent, a statue carved from ice. “Ava,” I finally asked, my voice strained. “That promise you whispered to me on your birthday last year… have you forgotten it already?” Her answer was forced through clenched teeth, two small, devastating words. “I forgot.” I thought, coming back to this life, that my heart had already died. I was wrong. Those two words were a shard of ice in my chest, finding a place that could still feel pain. I forced down the dull ache and began to unclasp the watch from my wrist. Arthur shot to his feet. “Leo! Don’t!” “Mr. Sterling,” I interrupted him gently, placing the heavy timepiece on the desk. “Rules are rules.” The car key. The condo key. One by one, I pulled them from my pockets and laid them next to the watch. Finally, I slipped off the expensive, custom-tailored suit jacket, folded it neatly, and placed it on the desk. I was left in a simple, thin white button-down shirt. Caleb’s face was alight with the pure, ugly joy of revenge. Ava finally broke. “That’s enough! Stop it!” I looked at her, my expression serene. “From now on, I am only myself.” “I am Leo. Not the Sterlings’ kept man. Not the son-in-law in waiting.” I shouldered my backpack and walked out of the office. The hallway was crowded with employees, drawn by the commotion. They were all pretending to work, but their eyes followed me. On the company’s internal forum, the news of my dismissal was already the top post. Their whispers were like needles on my skin. “Look, it’s him. They finally kicked the freeloader out.” “Did he really think he could marry into the family? He should have looked in a mirror.” “Without the Sterlings, what is he? He’s nothing.” I walked through the gauntlet, my steps heavy, each one an effort. As I stepped out of the main entrance of the Sterling Motors headquarters, a black Lincoln Navigator pulled up silently to the curb in front of me. The tinted rear window slid down, revealing the serious face of a middle-aged man in a suit. “Are you Mr. Leo Vance?” he asked, his tone formal. My name wasn’t Vance. That was a small, intentional error to confirm my identity without being overheard. I gave a slight nod. “We’re from the National Automotive Research Institute,” he said. “Our director would like to have a word with you.”

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The day I found out I was pregnant was the day Cole Harrison dumped me. He slid a black Amex across the polished marble of his kitchen island. “There’s three million dollars on this,” he said, his voice as cool and hard as the stone. “Take it and go.” I picked it up, testing its weight in my palm. I let out a low whistle. “Is that all?” This might not even last until the kid’s fifth birthday, I thought. His hand, which had been reaching for a pack of cigarettes, froze mid-air. “I’ll wire another two million in a couple of days.” I knew when to quit while I was ahead. A bright, meaningless smile spread across my face as I gathered my things and walked out of his life. A month later, I was cruising down Fifth Avenue in my BMW when I saw him. He was wearing a DoorDash uniform, wrestling a flimsy paper bag out of an insulated backpack on the back of an e-bike. “Cole? What is this, some kind of reality show?” I pulled over, not caring if I embarrassed him. He scanned me from head to toe, my new dress, my perfect blowout, and sighed. The sound seemed to come from the very soles of his worn-out sneakers. “The truth is, Lena,” he said, his voice raspy, “I went broke. About a month ago.” He finally met my eyes. “I couldn’t support you anymore. I figured it was better to push you away than to have you leave me out of disgust.” I blinked, my brain struggling to process this. “But… what about Clara? The one that got away?” A flicker of something—pride? relief?—crossed his face. “She came back. Found me. Said she didn’t care about the money. She’s willing to stick it out with me, help me rebuild.” I immediately slid on my oversized sunglasses, creating a shield between my face and his. “Well. Wishing you two all the best.” Then I was back in my car, hitting the gas and leaving the new, broke, noble version of Cole Harrison standing in a cloud of exhaust. 1 I have three fundamental fears in life. One: being broke. Two: being dead. Three: being alive, but broke. I pushed the BMW up to eighty on the West Side Highway, the city blurring past me. In my rearview mirror, a tiny light bobbed and weaved through traffic, getting closer. It was Cole, on that pathetic little e-bike. “What the hell do you want?” I yelled, pulling over and rolling down my window as he caught up. “Don’t tell me you want the money back!” His handsome face, slick with sweat under the flimsy helmet, looked genuinely confused. He was breathing hard. “No, of course not.” He hesitated, his expression shifting into something tentative, almost vulnerable. “I just… I wanted to ask… is it enough? For now?” My defensive posture softened just a fraction. “It’ll do.” For two years with Cole, my life had been a whirlwind of limitless spending. Five million used to be my budget for six months of fun, not a lifetime. “It’ll do?” he repeated, a frown creasing his brow. “So… does that mean you’ll be looking for… someone else?” I stared up at the roof of my car and rolled my eyes so hard I felt it in my skull. “Cole, instead of worrying about my love life, maybe you should worry about your delivery ETA.” I rolled up the window and drove away. This time, he didn’t follow. Back in my apartment, a text from my best friend, Maya, lit up my phone. MAYA:【OH MY GOD!!!!】 MAYA:【You will not BELIEVE who just delivered my lunch. COLE HARRISON.】 MAYA:【Like, ‘buy you a wall of Birkins for your birthday’ Cole Harrison???】 MAYA:【Is he doing some billionaire ‘undercover boss’ thing?】 I typed back. ME:【He’s broke. We split up last month. He’s delivering pad thai to support his long-lost love now.】 MAYA:【…】 MAYA:【Wow. What a man of character, I guess.】 Maya’s dad died young, her mom’s disabled, and with no college degree, she’d been scraping by working at a bubble tea shop. I’d helped her out a lot over the past couple of years. As we finished texting, I wired her fifty thousand dollars. She sent it right back. MAYA:【No, seriously, Lena, I’m good! I got that sales job, remember? I start next month, and the commission is insane. I’ll be making six figures!】 I smiled and didn’t push it. From now on, I had to be careful. I had a little one in my belly to think about. 2 I didn’t see Cole after that. Using the money I’d saved during my two years as a kept woman, I bought a sprawling condo in a luxury high-rise overlooking Central Park. The rest of the five million I handed over to a financial advisor who specialized in making rich people richer. My life became quiet. I stayed home. I rarely ordered in. Then one day, leaving an OB-GYN appointment on the Upper East Side, I saw her. Clara. Cole’s great lost love. She was stepping into the back of a black Maybach. My inner gossip columnist took over. I followed them. I watched the Maybach glide through the gates of a ridiculously opulent private community in Greenwich, Connecticut. Holy shit. Was Cole, in his quest for noble poverty, getting cheated on? The question was so juicy I couldn’t leave. I parked down the street and waited. It wasn’t until well after dark that the Maybach reappeared. I followed it again. This time, it stopped in midtown Manhattan. Clara got out and hailed a cab. So I followed the cab. It took me to a shabby, pre-war walk-up in a forgotten corner of Queens. The kind of place that perpetually smelled of mildew and old city damp. This, I was certain, was the new love nest she shared with Cole. A universe away from his former penthouse. I leaned against my car and waited. At half-past midnight, a lone e-bike pulled up to the curb. “Cole,” I called out. “Lena?” He squinted, then walked over, his surprise obvious. “How did you know I live here?” I ignored the question. “You should probably be a little nicer to Clara,” I said, hinting at what I’d seen. He clearly didn’t get it. He held up a plastic bag. “I’m great to her. Whenever there’s a canceled order at the end of my shift, I bring it home for her.” My gaze dropped to the bag. Inside was a container of what looked like soggy, lukewarm wontons. I looked back up at his earnest face. The expression I gave him was the one you reserve for people who tell you the earth is flat. “Never mind. My mistake,” I said with a tight smile, and got the hell out of there. I was starting to think poverty had done more than just change Cole’s circumstances; it had broken his brain. I needed to stay far away, for the sake of my unborn child’s sanity. But I should have known it wouldn’t be that simple. A few days later, my doorbell rang. It was Clara. She was here to demand I give the money back. “So you’re living pretty well,” she said, breezing past me into the foyer, not bothering to take off her shoes. She surveyed my apartment with a look of undisguised contempt. “While Cole is drowning in debt.” She plopped down on my velvet sofa. “He gave you five million dollars before he went bankrupt, didn’t he?” she accused. “Do you have any idea how much that would help him right now? If you had a shred of decency, you’d give it back.” Without a word, I pulled out my phone and called Cole. “Cole,” I said the moment he answered. “Did you send Clara over here to shake me down for money?” 3 There was a beat of silence on the other end of the line. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low rumble. “Clara is at your place? I had no idea.” A pause. “Where are you? I’m coming to get her right now.” When Cole arrived, he was still in his DoorDash uniform. He actually stopped at the door and asked if I had any of those disposable shoe covers. “Don’t bother,” I said. “Just take her and go.” “You have a thing about cleanliness,” he insisted. “I should put them on.” From the living room, Clara let out a cold, bitter laugh. “You don’t have to come in, Cole. I’m leaving.” She grabbed her purse and stormed towards the door. As she passed him, her voice cracked with a hurt I hadn’t expected. “At home, you’re so exhausted you collapse into bed without even taking your shoes off. You leave your sweaty socks everywhere. Do you ever think about me the way you still think about her, Cole? Do you?!” With that, she ran down the hall, choking back a sob. I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, as Cole and I stood there in the awkward silence. Finally, I sighed. “You know, for what it’s worth, you really should try to be a little neater.” Cole’s gaze drifted back from the empty hallway to me, a complex, unreadable smile playing on his lips. “I’ve just been so tired lately, Lena. I can’t keep up with the details anymore.” I let out another long breath. This is what I was talking about. This is why I was afraid of being broke. It had taken Cole, a man who was once the epitome of refined elegance, and turned him into a slob. But still… something about his behavior felt off. A weird, unsettling performance. It’s probably just the pregnancy hormones, I told myself. Making me paranoid. The next day, I wired two hundred thousand dollars to the account Cole had given me. In the notes, I wrote: Don’t make this a habit. The price of a soft heart was too damn high. If I spent my life feeling sorry for everyone else, who was going to feel sorry for me, a single mom-to-be? Staring at my reduced bank balance, I finally felt calm enough to take a nap. But a new problem arose. Now that Cole knew where I lived, things started appearing at my door. Unordered deliveries. Sometimes it was groceries from Whole Foods—fresh vegetables, fruit, fish, organic milk. Sometimes it was a cake from my favorite bakery. Sometimes lattes and pastries. And sometimes, full-on feasts: sushi platters, barbecue ribs, a hot pot setup from Haidilao. They weren’t extravagant, but they were all my favorites. If Cole hadn’t texted me each time to let me know it was from him, I would have assumed someone was trying to poison me. I knew he was probably just thanking me for the two hundred grand. So, I graciously accepted. Every time I ate, I’d rub my belly and whisper. “This is from your dad, sweetie.” “What’s that? You don’t like it?” “Don’t be a snob. This is all he can afford right now.” “You just make do. Mommy will take you to a Michelin-starred restaurant tomorrow.” But as I sat in that Michelin-starred restaurant the next day, the chef meticulously preparing a tasting menu just for me, my mind kept drifting. I saw Cole sitting across from me, not in a delivery uniform, but in a Tom Ford suit. I saw him sliding a velvet box across the table, revealing a ruby necklace, his eyes sparkling with the same pride as the gems inside. 4 When we first got together, I knew about Clara. She was the one that got away, the goddess he’d worshipped in college. He never got the girl. So he got busy, built an empire instead. And then he got me, with a ruby necklace. I thought I was just terrified of being poor. I’d clawed my way out of a forgotten town at the foot of a mountain, a place so small it wasn’t on any map. I’d come to the big city and nearly gotten sold to some sleazy club owner before I knew what was happening. I’d hit wall after wall trying to find a real job, learning just how complicated and cruel people could be. So when Cole opened that velvet box and said, “Lena, just be with me,” I didn’t hesitate. And when I later found that old, treasured photo of Clara tucked away in his desk drawer, it didn’t even hurt that much. We didn’t look alike, not really. We were just the same type. What was I really losing? Nothing. In return, I got money, designer bags, and a closet full of beautiful clothes. My handsome, generous benefactor was good to me. What more could I ask for? So when I heard his long-lost love was coming back, I took the five million and walked. You can’t be too greedy in this life. I’d already been given more than I’d ever dreamed of in my first twenty-four years. True love? I’d leave that for other people. I sniffled, stuffing a ridiculously expensive piece of foie gras into my mouth. I waved at the chef shaving black truffles over my plate. “Keep ‘em coming,” I mumbled. Just as I finished, my phone rang. An unknown number. “Hello? I’m calling about your boyfriend, a Mr. Cole Harrison? He was in an accident on his delivery route. Can you come to Mount Sinai Hospital right away?” By the time I got there, Cole was lying in a hospital bed, looking perfectly fine and fully conscious. When he saw me, his brow unfurrowed into a relieved smile. “Lena, you’re here.” I scanned him from head to toe. The only visible injury was a patch of gauze on his ankle, no wider than the palm of my hand. “If I’d gotten here any later, would it have already healed?” He had the grace to look embarrassed. “Sorry. I guess I passed out for a minute. The paramedics used face ID to unlock my phone and called you. It was my emergency contact.” I put my hands on my hips. “Why didn’t they call Clara? She’s your girlfriend now, isn’t she?” I was furious. I’d been stuffed from dinner, and I’d rushed over here, running through the hospital, getting a stitch in my side. I was pregnant, for god’s sake! The smile vanished from his face, replaced by a flicker of something sad. “Because in my phone,” he explained softly, “you’re still listed as ‘Baby’.” I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. I didn’t say another word. As I turned to leave, I nearly collided with Clara, who was just arriving. She shot me a cold glare but, surprisingly, didn’t say anything nasty. She even walked me to the hospital entrance. I pulled open my car door. She stood on the curb above me, looking down with a strange intensity. “Lena, I have to ask you something,” she said, her voice low. “Cole… is he… bad in bed?”

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It all started with half a stale bagel. I split it with a little girl who looked even hungrier than I did, and ever since that day, I had a shadow. Two kids with no one else in the world. We were a fortress of two. When she was sixteen, some local thugs cornered Ava in an alley. I grabbed the first thing I could find—a loose brick—and took down four of them before their leader and his crew beat me so badly I spent two weeks staring at a ceiling, unable to move. Ava loved music. For her seventeenth birthday, I broke into a music store and stole a professional-grade keyboard. I wanted to see her face light up. Instead, I got handcuffs. I spent two weeks in a holding cell. When I got out, she was waiting for me, her eyes red and puffy. She made me promise I’d never do anything that stupid for her again. At nineteen, Ava got her acceptance letter to Juilliard. A life like that was never in the cards for me. I held that letter in my hand like it was a sacred text, and then I went out and got three jobs. I worked construction from dawn till dusk, washed dishes until my hands were raw, and hauled kegs on weekends. I sent every dime I made to her in New York City. By twenty-four, Ava was a rising star in the classical music world. We moved into a sleek, modern house she rented on the outskirts of the city. She turned twenty-six a few days after winning a major international piano competition. She was no longer just a rising star; she was a supernova. I’d been saving for months, working a side gig hauling cinder blocks on a construction site. I used the cash to buy her a new digital piano—nothing fancy, but it had weighted keys. I was going to set it up, play the one song I’d taught myself, and finally tell her how I felt. I waited all night for her to come home. She never did. The next morning, I saw it on a news alert. “Piano Virtuoso Ava Sloane and Harrison Croft, Heir to Musical Dynasty, Make It Official?” The photo showed Ava leaning into him, a man I recognized from the way she’d talk about him. Harrison Croft. Impeccable family, a world away from mine. The look in her eyes was one of pure, unguarded tenderness. It was a look I had never seen her give me. I sat down at the little digital piano. I pressed a key. It was unplugged. No sound came out at all. I knew, then. It was time for me to leave. 1 “Cole, are you serious? You’re really coming back?” “After all these years you and Ava scraped by… she’s finally made it. Why would you leave now?” “Is Ava coming with you?” Leo’s rapid-fire questions made me let out a dry, humorless laugh. I picked at a loose thread on my jeans, trying to keep my voice light. “Just me. Her career’s taking off. She needs to be in New York.” His voice on the other end was laced with concern. “Did something happen between you two?” How could I even begin to explain it? The bond between Ava and me, forged over fifteen years, had become like a pot of water left on the stove too long. It had boiled away, little by little, in a thousand tiny moments until there was nothing left but steam and a scorched bottom. It looked the same from a distance, but it was ruined. “There was never anything to happen,” I lied. “Aren’t you happy I’m coming home?” “Of course, man! You know I am. You’re my brother. The door’s always open.” After we hung up, I stared around the sterile, minimalist house we’d lived in for two years. A hollow ache spread through my chest. Fifteen years. We had woven ourselves into the fabric of each other’s lives. Cutting myself out now felt like tearing my own skin. I couldn’t just let go in an instant. I was an orphan, bouncing from one couch to another, surviving on handouts. People in our small town took pity on me, slipping me an extra slice of pizza or a few bucks. Then I met Ava. There’d been a gas leak in her apartment. She’d come home from school to find her building blackened and cordoned off, her parents gone. She had nothing. When she saw me, it was like she recognized a fellow stray. The hunger finally won, and she started following me from a distance. I felt a pang of pity. I broke the bagel I’d been given in half and gave her the larger piece. From that moment on, we were tethered together. I didn’t just raise her. I gave her a second life. When high school bullies held her head under the icy water of the local river, I was the one who dove in and pulled her out, breathing life back into her blue lips. A third life. And when Juilliard sent that acceptance letter, with a tuition bill that looked like a telephone number, I called in every favor I had, worked until I collapsed, and made sure she could go. I’ll never forget how she cried that day, clinging to me. “I’ll make this worth it, Cole,” she’d sobbed into my shoulder. “I promise.” And she did. She was brilliant, driven. She became a world-renowned pianist and brought me with her into this big, beautiful house. But the chasm between us grew with every success. She was a celebrated artist. I was a high-school dropout with a minor criminal record. The math just didn’t add up. Especially not after she met Harrison Croft. Someone who spoke her language. His name started punctuating our conversations. “Harrison has such a deep understanding of the phrasing. He hears the smallest details in my performance.” “Harrison and I are thinking of doing a duet concert. His violin with my piano… it would be sublime.” “He is so kind, Cole. The vintage piano at the studio was out of tune, and he fixed it himself. He’s even an expert at that.” A few days ago, she’d texted me. Her award celebration party was that night, and she was going with Harrison. Don’t wait up. Suddenly, I had to see him for myself. I had to see the man who was so effortlessly taking up residence in her heart. 2 Walking into Lincoln Center felt like stepping onto another planet. The air itself seemed to hum with elegance and quiet money. In my faded denim jacket, I was a smudge on a pristine canvas, a clown who had wandered into the king’s court. “Excuse me, sir. Are you here for Ms. Sloane’s rehearsal? Can I help you find your way?” The voice was smooth, cultured. The man in front of me wore a perfectly tailored suit, his smile warm and easy. It was the kind of smile that comes from a lifetime of never having to worry about a single thing. It was Harrison Croft. “I’m looking for Ava,” I said. “Could you point me in the right direction?” His smile tightened, just a fraction. “The pianist, Ava Sloane? I’m afraid I can’t let you in. She’s rehearsing. She can’t be disturbed.” Then, his eyes narrowed slightly. “Who are you to her?” I forced a smile of my own. “I’m her brother.” The word tasted like ash in my mouth. A dull pain throbbed behind my ribs. I never wanted to be just her brother, but standing in front of this man, I felt a chasm of inadequacy open up beneath my feet. Hearing the word “brother,” Harrison’s smile returned, warmer this time. “Oh, of course! Well, I was just heading to her practice room myself. You can come with me.” I followed him through the labyrinthine halls, feeling more out of place with every step. People greeted him by name, and he responded to each one with a polite nod and a charming word. We reached the rehearsal room just as Ava was stepping out. She saw me standing with Harrison and froze. A flicker of something—was it alarm? vigilance?—crossed her face. “Cole? What are you doing here? And with Harrison?” Her tone stung. Did she think I was here to cause trouble? That I might hurt him? My mouth opened, but the words I wanted to say—I wanted to see the man you’re choosing over me—lodged in my throat. What right did I have to say that? Sensing the tension, Harrison stepped in smoothly. “Now that your brother’s here, let me treat you both to dinner.” At the restaurant, I was a foreigner listening to a language I couldn’t comprehend. “The rubato in this sonata needs to be more delicate.” “You have to keep the left hand’s legato suppressed to bring out the melody.” I knew the words, but strung together they were gibberish. “It’s perfectly normal that you don’t understand,” Harrison said, not unkindly. “It’s all technical jargon. Ava is a master of it. It’s what we talk about most of the time.” He and Ava shared a look then, a small, knowing smile that was both intimate and exclusionary. They were inside a world with invisible walls, and I was on the outside looking in. I spent the rest of the meal in a fog of anxiety, pushing food around my plate, unable to contribute a single word. After dinner, Harrison suggested a walk around the theater grounds. I trailed behind them like a third wheel, an awkward shadow. I could hear the whispers of passing staff members, their voices low but their words clear as glass. “Ava Sloane and Harrison Croft look so perfect together. A piano prodigy and the heir of a musical family. It’s like a fairytale.” “They’re like a painting come to life. I ship them, hard.” “Ms. Sloane is usually so reserved, you know? But she just lights up around him.” “Who’s that guy with them? His clothes are so… worn. He totally ruins the picture. Doesn’t belong in their world.” I heard them. And I knew they were right. That night, I went online and bought a bus ticket home. It left in two days. 3 I purged the house of every trace of myself. Our first photo together. We never had money for pictures when we were kids, so we didn’t take one until we came to New York. In the photo, Ava was looking at me with an expression of complete, unwavering trust. The Ava of today was an icon, poised and distant, even with me. She saved her warmth for Harrison. I took a pair of scissors and cut the photo into tiny pieces, then let them fall into the trash. Everything else I owned fit into one suitcase. What I couldn’t take, I arranged for a junk removal service to pick up. The last thing left was the ring. The one I had bought to propose to her. It was useless now. But it was also worth money, so I took it to the jewelry store to see if I could return it. The clerk confirmed they could process the refund. I placed the small box on the glass counter. Just as I did, a cheerful voice sounded behind me. “Ava’s brother! What a coincidence!” I turned. It was Harrison, his face lit up with that same easy smile. “You like this place too?” I knew nothing about jewelry. I’d only come here because I’d heard women liked the brand. It had cost me nearly half of everything I’d saved over the years. Harrison pulled me over to another counter. “You’re just the person I need. Can you give me some advice? I’m getting Ava a Steinway grand, and I want to give her this when I officially ask her to be with me.” He grinned. “Don’t worry, you’ll have a seat of honor at the wedding.” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vise. I numbly pointed to a classic, elegant ring, one I thought Ava might like, hoping only that after I was gone, she would find real happiness. “Excellent taste,” Harrison beamed. “I think she’ll love it.” We walked out of the store just as movers were loading a massive, gleaming black Steinway onto the back of a truck. Someone lost their grip. The massive instrument tilted, swaying precariously before crashing down onto Harrison, who had stepped forward to inspect it. I rushed over, helping the movers lift the crushing weight. Harrison’s face was pale with sweat, his jaw clenched in agony. I knelt beside him. “I’m calling 911. Just hang on.” I had just dialed the number when a sharp, stinging impact exploded against my cheek. “Cole! How could you?” It was Ava, breathless, her face a mask of fury. The first thing she did when she arrived was slap me. “I never thought you’d become this kind of person. Harrison is the most important partner in my life. No one is allowed to hurt him. Not even you!” In her eyes, it was simple. I had done this. I had hurt Harrison on purpose. He was in too much pain to speak. When the ambulance arrived, Ava helped him onto the gurney and climbed in beside him, never once looking back at me. I stood on the sidewalk, my hand pressed to my swelling cheek. The tears came, hot and silent, and I let the city wind dry them on my face.

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