I got tired of being an NPC in a horror game. The jump scares lose their novelty after the thousandth time. So I slipped out. Broke the code and went looking for a real life, and maybe, a real love. A year later, my boyfriend Caleb’s childhood sweetheart dragged us both back into the game. And to save her, he shoved me into a sacrificial coffin. “Chloe,” he’d said, his voice tight with a pathetic excuse for regret. “Ashley’s not built for this. Just… take her place for a little while. I promise I’ll come back for you.” Before I could even scream, a low, contemptuous chuckle echoed from the darkness above me. “Seriously? This is the man you picked out in the human world? What a fucking animal.” 1 It started because Caleb’s precious Ashley got tagged by the game. She came to him, naturally, a mess of perfectly orchestrated tears and trembling lips, begging him to save her. What she wanted was for me to give her my Mercy Pass. “Caleb, please,” she whimpered, her wide, innocent eyes flicking toward me. “I know her pass is for a low-mortality instance. Please.” She turned the full force of that gaze on me. “Chloe… you wouldn’t just let me go in there to die, would you?” Caleb ran a hand through his hair, the picture of tormented nobility. “Chloe, just give the pass to Ashley. She’s slated to go in tonight.” I stared at him, my own expression unreadable. “Give it to her? And what about me? I only have one. What happens the next time I get chosen? How do I know I won’t get thrown into a death match?” His patience snapped, the noble facade cracking. He yanked at the collar of his shirt. “And what if Ashley gets thrown into a death match?! God, Chloe, why are you being so vicious all of a sudden? You just can’t stand that she’s sweeter and kinder than you, can you? You’d rather see her die.” Right on cue, Ashley’s waterworks started up again. “Caleb, don’t say that. Chloe’s just… scared. I’m not afraid to die.” She bit her lip, her face so pale it looked like it might shatter. “I just… the thought of never seeing you again… it hurts.” Caleb’s jaw clenched, his heart practically breaking for her. “Ash, don’t worry. I won’t let anything happen to you.” Without another word to me, he dragged her into my bedroom. He pulled the Mercy Pass from under my pillow and scribbled Ashley’s name on it. She shot me a triumphant, venomous little smirk over his shoulder, sticking her tongue out. “Sorry, Chloe. I’ll be sure to thank you properly when I get back. I’ll even buy you dinner. And I’ll be cheering for you when it’s your turn to go in!” Caleb shot me a glare, though his voice softened slightly. “Why are you looking at her like that? She said she’d buy you dinner. Stop being so dramatic. I’ll get you another pass when I get the chance, okay?” I just folded my arms, a humorless smile playing on my lips. For a normal person, getting a Mercy Pass was harder than winning the Powerball. I’d had to claw my way out of a nightmare to earn this one. I was done with them. I grabbed my bag and walked out. I hadn’t even made it to the end of the block when a searing pain flared in the palm of my hand. The binding mark. A line of blood-red text flashed in my mind. 【FABLEGATE – 10-PLAYER INSTANCE. LEVEL: UNKNOWN.】 Damn it. This was my instance. My pass. I sprinted back to the apartment. Ashley was curled up in Caleb’s arms, cooing at him. Caleb had the decency to look guilty, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Ashley was too scared to go alone, so we’re all going in to help her. It’s a ten-person instance anyway. Better to be bound with people you know than with strangers.” He squared his shoulders, trying to sound reasonable. “Chloe, you’re both women. You should be supporting each other, not being so petty.” Rage, pure and hot, flooded my system. I wanted to tear them both apart. I was an NPC, yes, but I was AWOL. The Boss was probably going to kill me for this… The thought of the Boss, angry, sent a genuine shiver of fear down my spine. Adrenaline surged. I lunged, my hands closing around Ashley’s throat. “Are you insane? Why would you write my name down?!” Caleb tried to pull me off, and I spun, slapping him hard across the face. “You pathetic bastard! You want to protect your little princess? Fine! But what the hell does that have to do with me?!” 2 That night, I was pulled into the game. I scanned my surroundings, a small, unimpressed frown on my face. A year away, and Fablegate looked exactly the same. So much for the Boss’s promises of a complete overhaul. Just as I was thinking that, a familiar, saccharine voice squealed from behind me. “Wow! A fairytale instance is so different! It’s so beautiful!” Ashley cooed. “Caleb, after we clear this, can we stay and explore for a bit? Like a little vacation?” A bald, heavily muscled guy nearby snorted. “A vacation? You think this is a f—ing theme park? What kind of idiot newbies did we get matched with?” Caleb puffed up his chest to argue, then seemed to think better of it when he saw the sheer size of the other man. Ashley just stomped her foot, pouting. A moment later, two more people materialized. Caleb’s friends, Mark and Liam. Ashley’s loyal guard dogs. They were already puffing out their chests, promising they’d see her through to the end. 【All players have arrived. Please proceed to the town square to receive your objective.】 It was only then that the group seemed to notice me standing apart from them. Ashley trotted over, grabbing my arm. “Chloe, why are you walking so fast? Don’t worry, these guys are super strong. They’ll make sure we all get through this. You can stop sulking now.” I ignored her. Caleb, predictably, got annoyed. “We’re already here, Chloe. Can you drop the attitude? We’re a team now. We have to help each other.” The bald guy—I decided to call him Brock—stepped forward. “Alright, cut the crap. I’ve cleared three instances. You all know this one, right? The mortality rate is practically zero. You want to live? You listen to me.” Since no one else seemed to have his track record, he quickly became the de facto leader. Caleb tugged on my sleeve. “Stop messing around, Chloe. The most important thing is helping Ashley get through this. And what’s with the getup? You trying to hide your face because you’re embarrassed?” 3 To avoid being recognized by any of my old colleagues, I’d wrapped a scarf around the lower half of my face and put on a pair of dark sunglasses. When we reached the assembly point, the town’s “Mayor” kept glancing at me, his eyes lingering just a little too long. It made the hairs on my arms stand up. Finally, he cleared his throat and began the mission briefing. “Welcome, travelers, to the lovely town of Fablegate! Your tour will last for seven days. Please, enjoy yourselves! Our residents are all so very… hospitable. Today’s special attraction is the town’s most famous landmark, Blackwood Castle!” He went on for a while before pressing a single finger to his lips, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “A word of advice. When you sleep tonight, you must remain perfectly silent. The master of the castle despises the sound of conversation.” After the Mayor shuffled away, everyone stood frozen. “What the hell was that?!” Brock muttered, looking like he wanted to spit but didn’t dare. “When did the instance change?!” Behind my sunglasses, my eyes were wide. So the Boss really had been overhauling the game. That must be why the level was listed as ‘Unknown.’ But I hadn’t heard any whispers of this over the past year. This instance used to be a three-day cakewalk. The castle was the final night. You just had to survive one evening, and as long as you didn’t break any rules, you were golden. But now… there were barely any rules at all, just one vague warning about being quiet. And the final destination was now the first. Ashley’s bravado vanished. She clung to Caleb’s arm, her knuckles white. “Caleb… d-don’t tell me the difficulty increased. I’m so scared.” Caleb’s own face was as pale as parchment, but he managed to pat her hand. “It’s okay, Ash. Maybe they just changed the location. The core difficulty probably hasn’t changed.” His words seemed to soothe the group, a collective sigh of relief rippling through them. Ashley was no longer in the mood for sightseeing, her fingers clutching Caleb’s sleeve. I pulled my scarf up a little higher. I really hoped I wouldn’t run into the Boss. The doors of Blackwood Castle creaked open, releasing a wave of bone-deep cold that washed over us. Ashley’s knees buckled, and she nearly collapsed. Brock shot her a look of pure disgust. “Alright, if the Mayor didn’t give us any rules, that means we have to find them. It’s not dark yet, so we should be safe. Pair up. Don’t wander around in a big clump.” Caleb supported the whimpering Ashley, then looked at me hesitantly. “Ashley’s too scared to be alone. I’ll team up with her. It’s a ten-person instance, you’ll find a partner.” I gave him a cold smile. Ten people, sure. But one group was a family of three who were sticking together. I was the odd one out. I didn’t bother replying, just turned and headed up the grand staircase. I checked the rooms where the rules used to be hidden, searching every nook and cranny. Nothing. Half an hour later, we regrouped in the main hall. Every face was pale. No one had found a single rule. Caleb took a deep breath, trying to be the voice of reason. “The first day is always the easiest. Maybe the only rule really is to be quiet while we sleep.” Brock snorted. “Shut up, you clueless idiot. Go comfort your crybaby girlfriend.” Ashley’s face flushed. “I’m not his girlfriend,” she mumbled, but no one was listening. The light outside was fading fast. Brock suggested everyone go to their rooms and stay put for the night. But no one had noticed the woman who had appeared at the foot of the stairs. Her makeup was exaggerated, theatrical, like a porcelain doll cracked down the middle. She pressed her fingers to her lips, her voice a high, sharp trill. “Oh, my! We have guests!” She counted us with a long, manicured finger. “One, two, three, four… ten! Exactly ten! What a delightful coincidence! Now, everyone, come and choose your number card!” She curtsied. “By the way, you may call me Corinne. I am the castle’s housekeeper. If you have any questions at all, please don’t hesitate to ask.” With that, she became a statue, a standard NPC waiting for players to approach. My temple throbbed. Wasn’t she the Boss’s older sister? What was she doing playing housekeeper? Brock glanced at one of Caleb’s friends, Liam, and jerked his chin. “You. Go get a card. And see what you can find out.” Liam didn’t dare refuse. He went up and, to everyone’s surprise, struck up a lively conversation with Corinne. Ashley clasped her hands together. “Wow, Liam is so amazing. He’s such a charmer, he can even flirt with an NPC.” Five minutes later, Liam returned, beaming. “The number cards are fine. They’re for a prize drawing tomorrow. And the lady is super nice. I asked about the rules, and she confirmed the only one for tonight is no talking.” “A prize drawing?” Brock asked. “What’s the prize?” Liam shrugged. “She wouldn’t say.” With the immediate danger seemingly gone, everyone went up to get their cards. They all came back with the same information as Liam. No one could figure out what the prize was. When it was my turn, Corinne didn’t even give me a second glance. I let out a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. Corinne had the sharpest eyes of anyone. If she didn’t recognize me, no one would. There were ten rooms. Nine were on the right side of the staircase. Only one was on the left. And its number, 4, was painted a sickening, visceral blood-red. 4 Corinne leaned against the newel post, a malicious grin stretching her painted lips. “My dear guests, all of our rooms must be occupied. The master of the house gets so upset when he finds an empty room, and believe me, you do not want to see him when he’s upset.” She gestured gracefully. “As for how you choose… well, that’s up to you. But I should mention, the room on the left can only accommodate a single guest.” Brock stroked his chin. “All the other rooms are on the right. In these games, the majority path is usually the safe one. The left…” A heavy silence fell over the group. Everyone understood. Whoever stayed in that room was probably going to die. A blood-red room number was a universal sign for death in these instances. He flexed a bicep. “To be fair, we’ll draw lots. The nine of you. Whoever draws ‘Left’ gets that room.” Caleb bristled. “What about you? You should be in the draw, too. How is that fair?” Brock actually laughed, a harsh, ugly sound. He shot forward, grabbing Caleb by the collar and lifting him slightly off the ground. “How is it fair, you little shit? You want to know how it’s fair?” He jabbed a thumb at his own chest. “I’ve cleared three of these goddamn games. How many have you amateurs cleared? None? That’s what I thought. You want to live, you do what I say. Otherwise, you can f— off and die on your own.” He dropped Caleb in a heap and spat on the floor near his head. “Any other objections?” Heads shook like a field of bobbleheads in an earthquake. Ashley helped her fallen hero up, whispering reproachfully, “Caleb, why did you have to say anything? It’s a one-in-nine chance. It probably won’t be one of us. It’ll be some other unlucky person.” Her eyes flickered in my direction. Caleb glared at me. “Chloe, you’re not even going to help me up? Ashley’s a better friend to me than you are. Why didn’t you back me up just now? I’m your boyfriend! You just stood there and watched him humiliate me?” I shrugged. “I agree with Brock. Why would I back you up?” Besides, I had a feeling I wasn’t going to be the unlucky one. And even if I was… so what? I wasn’t afraid. Okay, that was a lie. I was terrified. I had a horrible suspicion that the Boss himself was staying in that room. The draw began. Every hand holding a slip of paper was slick with sweat. I opened mine. Right. I let out a long, slow breath. A moment later, a sharp gasp cut through the silence. The unlucky one was Ashley. The paper fluttered from her grasp as fat, silent tears began to fall. “H-how… how could it be me? Caleb…” She turned to him, her face a mask of despair. “Caleb, you won’t let them do this to me, will you?” The color drained from Caleb’s face. His lips moved, but no sound came out. Brock just sneered and turned to leave, claiming what he deemed the best room on the right. The others quickly followed suit, scurrying away. Ashley’s silent tears turned into gut-wrenching sobs. “Caleb, I’m going to die tonight! I know it! You all said you’d protect me! Are you just going to stand there and watch me die?” Caleb looked away. His friends, Mark and Liam, suddenly found the floorboards and the ceiling fascinating. Then Mark’s eyes landed on me. “Chloe,” he said, his voice wheedling. “You’ve always been the brave one. Why don’t you switch with Ashley?” My eyes narrowed. I laughed. “What, the three of you big, strong men are less brave than me? Why don’t you switch with her?” His face tightened. “You know how dangerous the castle is at night,” he said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “We need to stay in the rooms next to hers to protect her.” He turned to Caleb. “Caleb, talk to her. It’s just the first night. Nothing serious ever happens on the first night.” Caleb’s expression was grim. He looked at me, then back at the sobbing Ashley. He sighed. “Chloe, just switch with her. She’s not strong like you. If she starts crying in the middle of the night, it’s over. It’s probably just a guess that the room is dangerous anyway. Go on. It’ll be fine.” 5 I laughed, a cold, sharp sound that echoed in the hall. I looked my boyfriend of one year up and down. “Caleb, who exactly is your girlfriend here?” I asked. “If it’s ‘just a guess,’ why don’t you switch with her? You piece of shit.” He wouldn’t meet my eyes, scratching the back of his head guiltily. “I can’t. Ashley will be too scared without me nearby. What if she has a panic attack? Chloe, you’ve always been the reasonable one. Look, when we get out of here, I’ll take you to meet my parents. We can finally get engaged. Isn’t that what you’ve always wanted?” A smile touched my lips, but it didn’t reach my eyes. “Let me make this perfectly clear, Caleb. First, I am not giving my room to Ashley. Second, I would rather die than marry you. We’re done. Go protect your useless, crying waste of space.” As the last word left my mouth, a deep bell chimed through the hall. Eight o’clock. Corinne’s red lips stretched into an impossibly wide grin, her voice trembling with barely concealed excitement. “Eight o’clock! The master of the house is getting hungry! Any guests not in their rooms in five minutes will be considered… part of the menu.” The color drained from their faces. I didn’t hesitate. I spun and ran for an empty room on the right. A powerful hand clamped down on my arm, yanking me back. The world spun. When it stopped, Caleb had me pinned against the door of the blood-red room on the left. “Quick! Get Ashley to her room!” he yelled to his friends, his voice shaking. He turned back to me, his face close to mine. “Chloe, stop it. I know you don’t want to break up. You’re just angry. I swear, when we get out, I’ll take you home to meet my parents. Please, just be good. It’s only for one night. Nothing is going to happen.” To prove his sincerity, he leaned in to kiss me. A wave of nausea washed over me. I twisted my head away, and in that split second, Caleb wrenched the door open and shoved me inside. “Chloe,” he gasped, his voice full of false sincerity. “You have to survive.” Click. The door slammed shut. A few seconds later, I heard the sound of another door locking from the other end of the hallway. Hilarious. They were afraid I’d come out and fight them for their rooms.

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My cheapskate boyfriend hit the lottery when a billionaire showed up and claimed him as his long-lost son. Suddenly, he was a prince with a bottomless bank account. At the exact same time, my grandfather—the man who raised me by collecting cans and bottles—fell deathly ill. My new, wealthy boyfriend generously offered to pay for every last medical bill. But he used it as a leash. Every few days, he’d bring home a new woman. They treated me like the hired help, ordering me to cook their meals, do their chores, and give them massages. I wasn’t just washing his clothes; I was washing his mistresses’ lingerie. When I finally broke and stormed out, he went straight to the hospital and tormented my grandfather until the old man’s heart gave out. After the funeral, I walked right back to that mansion, clutching my grandfather’s memorial portrait. I brought the billionaire’s real son with me. “Your free trial of the good life is over,” I told him. “Now get out.” 1 The look on Leo’s face when he picked me up from the mall was the one he reserved for finding a moth in his wallet. “More shopping, Claire? You think my money grows on trees?” I ducked my head and said nothing. His money hadn’t grown on trees. It had fallen out of the sky and landed squarely on his head. It happened just after Memorial Day weekend. We were at a cheap ramen bar downtown when Leo got a call from a number he didn’t recognize. The man on the other end claimed to be his long-lost father and wanted to meet. Leo scoffed. “Get a life,” he muttered, and hung up. He poked at the bowl of noodles between us with his chopsticks, his brow furrowed in annoyance. After a moment of surgical searching, he managed to extract a slice of fatty pork belly and drop it into my bowl. “You love this stuff,” he said, a grand gesture. “Eat up.” The phone rang again. Same number. This time, Leo snatched it up, his voice tight with irritation. “Are you kidding me? There’s a limit to these scams, you asshole!” I kept my eyes on my bowl, but when the silence from his side of the table stretched on, I looked up. His expression was transforming, the anger melting away like ice on a hot skillet, replaced by a wide-eyed, slack-jawed awe. His entire posture shifted. “Oh,” he said, his voice suddenly slick and accommodating. “I see… Well, in that case, yes. Absolutely. We don’t have to wait for the weekend. I can be there tomorrow.” I found it strange. Leo’s father had passed away last fall, right after Labor Day. Where had this “long-lost” dad suddenly materialized from? I would learn later that Leo’s sudden change of heart was due to one critical detail: the man on the phone was a fifty-something, bona fide tycoon. The next day, after visiting my grandfather at the hospital, I went with him to the address he’d been given. It was the Sterling Tower, a gleaming monument of glass and steel that housed one of the city’s most prestigious corporations. To even get an entry-level job here, you needed an Ivy League degree and a miracle. It was the kind of place people bled for a chance to get into. Leo used to joke that if he ever landed a job at Sterling Corp, he’d go to his dad’s grave and thank him personally. A man in a perfectly tailored suit was waiting by the revolving doors. He approached us with a polite, practiced smile. “Mr. Leo Vance?” he asked, his voice smooth. “I am Mr. Sterling’s assistant.” Leo’s eyes were practically vibrating with excitement. “Yes, yes! That’s me!” The man gestured for him to follow, leading him toward the entrance. But as I moved to go with them, a security guard stepped in front of me, blocking my path. “Ma’am, access is restricted to employees and scheduled appointments. Are you on the list?” A flush of panic washed over me. I pointed a shaky finger at Leo’s retreating back. “I’m with him.” But Leo was already completely absorbed, hanging on the assistant’s every word, oblivious to my predicament. I called his name, once, then twice. He didn’t even glance back. I could only watch as the two of them stepped into a waiting elevator, the polished brass doors sliding shut. It was the middle of the morning rush, and I could feel the curious, pitying stares of employees hurrying past. The guard remained planted in front of me, his expression unyielding. Outside, the summer sun was beating down, turning the sidewalk into a furnace. I had no choice but to find a sliver of shade on a nearby planter and wait. Three hours passed. Finally, Leo emerged, flanked by a phalanx of security guards. The assistant was right behind him. I stood up, about to call out, when a gleaming Rolls-Royce Phantom purred to a stop at the curb. Leo’s eyes went wide, his jaw agape. One of the guards opened the rear door for him. “Leo,” I called, my voice thin in the city air. He turned and saw me, a flicker of something—annoyance? inconvenience?—crossing his face before being replaced by a manic grin. I started toward him, but he just held up a hand, a dismissive gesture. “Hey, you should just head home,” he said, already sliding into the plush leather interior. “Something’s come up. I’ll call you later.” And with that, he was gone, the silent, powerful car pulling away from the curb, leaving me alone under the oppressive glare of the midday sun. 2 Leo stumbled in after midnight, drunk and laden with shopping bags from every high-end designer on Fifth Avenue. He dropped them unceremoniously at my feet. “Your man is rich now, Claire!” he slurred, beaming. “It’s all for you!” I sighed, looking at the pile of logos and tissue paper on the floor before helping him to the sofa. I handed him a glass of water, but he waved it away. “What, you don’t like it? Not expensive enough for you?” he demanded, his words thick. “What happened today, Leo? After you left the tower?” A goofy, triumphant grin spread across his face. “The birthmark on my back—it matched his description perfectly. I’m the son of a billionaire, Claire. I’m his heir!” A cold knot formed in my stomach. “And what about your dad? What about Mr. Vance?” He shrugged, a dismissive flick of his hand. “He must have been my adoptive father. He’s dead and gone, who cares?” Mr. Vance had worked himself to the bone, saving every penny to put Leo through college. He’d passed away from a sudden illness before he ever had a chance to enjoy a moment of rest. And now, he was just… an adoptive father. I kept my voice level. “Did you do a DNA test?” “A DNA test? Why would I need that? They saw the birthmark. His whole team saw it. I’m the Sterling heir!” He was high on the fantasy, and nothing I said was going to bring him down. I quietly gathered the designer bags from the floor, stacked them against the wall, and went to my room. A week later, Leo was moved into a sprawling mansion the Sterlings had purchased just for him. Before he left, he promised he’d scope things out and come back for me once he was settled. That night, I got a call from the hospital. My grandfather’s condition had taken a sharp turn for the worse. He needed immediate, intensive treatment, and the cost was staggering. I felt the world tilt under my feet. I pulled out my life’s savings, counting the bills over and over, the number falling desperately, painfully short. With no other options, I thought of Leo, living his new life of unimaginable luxury. My hands were trembling as I dialed his number. I cried as it rang, once, twice, thirteen times before he finally picked up. “Leo,” I choked out, “Grandpa… he needs over two hundred thousand dollars for treatment, right away. I don’t have it. Can you… can you please help me?” To my shock, he agreed without a moment’s hesitation. He told me not to worry, that he would cover all of my grandfather’s subsequent medical expenses. Relief washed over me, so powerful it made me dizzy. Just as I was about to thank him, he added, “I’ll send a car to pick you up in three days. You’re moving in with me.” After we hung up, a wave of guilt hit me. Maybe I had been too quick to judge him, too cynical. Maybe this new life hadn’t corrupted him after all. For the next three days, I spent every moment I wasn’t at my job by my grandfather’s bedside. The third day came. At seven in the morning, I was waiting at the corner with my suitcases packed. An hour passed. Then two. The sun climbed higher, beating down on the pavement. Finally, a sleek black Bentley pulled up. Leo didn’t get out to help me with my bags. He just lowered the passenger-side window and tossed two tubes of designer lipstick into my lap. “For you,” he said. In that moment, it didn’t feel like a gift. It felt like a handout. A cold, unsettling feeling coiled in my gut. When we arrived at the suburban mansion, he strode ahead, leaving me to struggle with my luggage. The security guards at the gate, already informed of my status as his girlfriend, rushed over to help. For a while, life was strangely surreal. A private driver took me to and from work every day. Leo, meanwhile, had quit his job selling tea and spent his days lounging around the mansion. That weekend, he took me to a high-end restaurant for the first time. As I sat there, mentally calculating how I could ever begin to pay him back, a notification popped up on my phone from my company’s HR department. I opened it. The bold, stark headline made my head spin. NOTICE OF EMPLOYMENT TERMINATION I struggled to keep my composure. “Leo,” I said, my voice barely a whisper. “I’ve been laid off.” He was busy taking a picture of his wine glass, the light glinting off the expensive crystal. “So what?” he said, not even looking at me. “It was a dead-end job anyway. Once we’re married, all you need to worry about is giving me a few sons.” A little later, a text came through from a friendly colleague. Hey, are you pregnant? I stared at the message, confused. Why would you ask that? Her reply came back instantly. I saw your boyfriend at the office handling your termination paperwork. Just figured you were leaving to start a family. My fingers tightened around my phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. 3 Leo was out again, drinking with the new, sycophantic friends his money had bought him. I sat in the vast, silent living room and waited. He’d never been this late before. It was nearly three in the morning when I heard a car door slam in the driveway. I pulled open the front door, ready to confront him, and froze. He wasn’t alone. A woman in a skin-tight tube dress was pressed against him, her arms wrapped around his neck. The collar of Leo’s shirt was wide open, revealing two faint scratch marks on his chest and the garish, smudged imprint of bright red lipstick. His hands were roaming freely over her body. The woman’s eyes widened slightly when she saw me. I clenched my jaw, stepped forward, and pulled Leo away from her, intending to shut the door in her face. But she was too fast, wedging her foot in the doorway. She looked me up and down with a smirk. “You must be the maid,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “You can go. The young master only needs me tonight.” I ignored her, letting go of Leo and fixing my gaze on him. “Why did you get me fired?” He wasn’t completely drunk. He could still think. “I told you. Your only job is to stay home and have my children. You don’t need to worry about anything else.” I fought to keep the rage from my voice. I pointed at the woman draped over him. “Then what is this?” His next words struck me like a physical blow. “I’m the heir to the Sterling fortune now, Claire. What’s the big deal if I have a few women on the side?” I started to shout, but he just pulled the woman closer, his voice a low, menacing slur. “Your grandfather is still in the hospital, Claire. Don’t make me angry. I’m not sure the old man’s heart could take the stress.” The threat hung in the air, sharp and poisonous. I froze, a chill seeping deep into my bones. He had taken the one thing I had begged him for—my grandfather’s life—and twisted it into a leash. Pleased with my stunned silence, he and his lover stumbled past me and up the stairs. If I fought back, if I left, the hospital would stop the treatment. I dug my fingernails into my palms, telling myself over and over again to endure it. Just endure it. I didn’t sleep a wink. At nine the next morning, Leo came downstairs, showered and dressed. He addressed the household staff with an air of authority. “I’m not used to being waited on. All of you can go back to the main estate and take care of my father.” Once they had gone, the mansion fell silent. He started up the stairs, then paused halfway and spoke without turning around. “Go buy a box of morning-after pills.” I stared at his back. From the bedroom above, I heard the woman’s cloying voice. “Leo, honey, where did you go?” I left without a word and took a taxi to the nearest pharmacy. I grabbed a box of Plan B and was paying at the counter when I heard a familiar voice. “Claire? What are you doing here?” It was my former colleague. I forced a smile, staying silent. Her eyes lit up with the insatiable curiosity of a gossip. “Oh my god, I heard your boyfriend is a billionaire’s son! Are you marrying into the family? Hey, what’d you buy?” Her questions felt like nails hammering into my skull. As soon as the clerk handed me the bag, I fled the pharmacy. Back at the mansion, the sounds of their laughter and flirtation echoed from the second floor. I walked up the stairs, my legs feeling like lead. The bedroom door was ajar. The woman was lying in his arms, her clothes in disarray, a look of sultry satisfaction on her face. When she saw me, a flicker of amusement crossed her features. I tossed the bag onto the bed. The woman saw the box of pills and immediately turned to Leo, her voice a childish whine. “But Leo, I don’t want to take this. I want to have your baby…” 4 I backed out of the room, my hand pressed against the cool wall for support. As I reached the top of the stairs, the world swam before my eyes and I nearly pitched forward. Footsteps approached from behind. It was Leo. He threw a pile of dirty clothes at me. They hit my chest with a soft thud, reeking of stale alcohol and a woman’s cheap, cloying perfume. “Wash these,” he commanded. My lips were pressed into a thin, white line. I carried the bundle to the laundry room downstairs. Mixed in with his clothes were her things. Her dress, her lace underwear. A wave of nausea churned in my stomach, and I had to fight the urge to vomit. After that day, Leo took my phone, cutting me off from the outside world. Every three days, like clockwork, he brought a new woman home. They used my old bedroom, the master suite, forcing me to move into a small guest room down the hall. And after they were finished, he would make me wash their clothes by hand. One evening, he took me to the main Sterling estate for dinner with the old tycoon. For my grandfather’s sake, I plastered on a smile and played the part of the devoted girlfriend. After the meal, everyone began to leave. The old man went for a walk in the garden. I was waiting by the front door, but Leo was nowhere to be seen. I went back inside to look for him and found him in the corner of the grand staircase, cornering a new housemaid. She was young, maybe twenty, with a curvy figure and a blush that was spreading rapidly across her cheeks. Leo was leaning in close, murmuring the kind of sweet nothings that cost him nothing. The girl, far from resisting, seemed to be pressing herself closer to him. I turned away in silence. Ten minutes later, I saw her emerge from the house, nestled shyly against Leo’s side as she followed him to the car and slid into the passenger seat. The entire drive back to the mansion, their laughter filled the car. I sat in the back, invisible, a ghost in my own life. They were all over each other the moment they stepped through the front door, barely making it to the sofa. I retreated to the second-floor study like a rat scurrying back to its hole. I closed the door, but I could still hear the sounds of their passion from the living room below. I sat at the large mahogany desk, listening to their moans, my hands clenching a book so tightly the cover began to wrinkle and tear. I must have fallen asleep there, because the next thing I knew, Leo was shouting my name, his voice sharp with impatience. Fearing another outburst, I rushed out of the study. He pointed toward the laundry room, where a new pile of dirty clothes sat waiting. Then he turned, scooped the girl from the sofa into his arms, and kissed her forehead. “Be good, baby. I’ve got to run an errand. I’ll be back soon.” After he left, it was just me and the girl. Her sweet, shy demeanor vanished instantly. She lounged on the sofa and barked at me. “What are you looking at? The young master told you to take care of me.” I gritted my teeth. “I have to do the laundry.” She leaned back, stretching like a cat. “After a night like that, my whole body is sore. Come here and give me a massage.” I stopped in my tracks. Her eyes met mine, glinting with challenge. I walked over to her, but as I reached out, she scoffed. “What, you think a servant gets to stand? Kneel. Rub my legs.” My jaw ached from clenching it so hard. I sank to my knees on the cold marble floor. As I began to massage her calves, she suddenly kicked out, her heel digging hard into my stomach. I gasped, stumbling backward and collapsing onto the floor, clutching my abdomen as pain radiated through me. She looked down at me, her face a mask of triumph. “So what if you’re his girlfriend in name? Whoever the master wants is the real mistress of this house.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “He brings home a different woman every week. What makes you think you’re anything special?” Her face contorted with rage. She stood up to strike me, the sudden movement causing the sofa to shift slightly. With a soft clatter, a small, rectangular object fell from between the cushions. We both looked down. It was my phone. After being cut off for so long, I had no idea what was happening with Grandpa. I scrambled for it, my fingers fumbling as I pressed the power button. The screen flickered to life, displaying a low battery warning: less than 10%. Immediately, the screen was flooded with notifications. More than twenty missed calls and a cascade of text messages. The number… it was the hospital. All of them. My heart hammering against my ribs, I dialed back. It rang several times before someone picked up. A doctor began speaking, his voice a calm, professional drone, but I only heard the final sentence clearly. “…Ms. Evans, we regret to inform you that due to a failure to receive timely treatment, your grandfather passed away one week ago.” The words hit me like a physical blow. Then, the doctor added one more thing. “His condition deteriorated rapidly right after the funding for his treatment was unexpectedly terminated…” The phone slipped from my numb fingers and clattered onto the marble floor. My eyes were burning, but I couldn’t process it. It couldn’t be real. The girl, seeing my state, let out a cruel laugh. “What’s wrong? Let me guess. Did something happen to your precious old man?” Those last words sliced through the fog of my shock and grief. A white-hot rage erupted inside me. I lunged forward, shoving her so hard she tumbled back onto the sofa. She stared at me, stunned. “You—” Just then, the front door opened. Leo’s voice, cheerful and sickeningly familiar, filled the entryway.

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For twelve years, we were the perfect couple. Then my wife, with her seven-figure income, fell in love with the new guy at the front desk. He was nearly forty, not as handsome as me, not in as good of shape. But in the space of six short months, he had apparently given her something I no longer could. Claire’s voice was hollowed out by exhaustion when she finally said it. “You can have the house, the cars. Everything. Leo… can you just let me go?” I looked down, my gaze falling on the polished floorboards we’d picked out together. “Okay,” I said, my voice even. The next day, I bought a desk calendar and circled that date in red ink. The divorce countdown: 30 days. 1 I slid the divorce agreement across the polished mahogany table toward Claire exactly forty minutes after she’d asked for it. As she’d offered, everything went to me: the house, the cars, and primary custody of our daughter, Chloe. She would pay a one-time settlement of two million dollars, covering alimony and child support. After that, we were done. Chloe and I would never bother her again. Claire was on a conference call, her head bowed. When she saw the words “Divorce Agreement” at the top of the page, there was a flicker, a barely perceptible tightening in her jaw. She gave a short, sharp nod, acknowledging it without breaking the flow of her meeting. I left her office and went back to our bedroom. To save us both the trouble later, I packed everything that was hers. It filled three large suitcases. I was meticulous, afraid to miss anything. I even climbed into the attic to retrieve a dusty box of her childhood photos. The last thing I saw was our wedding picture on the nightstand. Claire, her eyes bright and clear. Me, with a wide, easy grin, holding her in the afternoon sun. That was from the time when she would curl up against me at night and whisper, “I love you so much, Leo. I’m so lucky I married you.” We met in college. She was the girl in washed-out canvas sneakers, brilliant and driven, but with a quiet poverty clinging to her. Plenty of women were interested in me back then, but from the moment I saw Claire, I was done for. She was poised, kind, beautiful—a list of virtues I could spend a lifetime counting. We married right after graduation. She and a friend started a tech company from their garage. After Chloe was born, I made the decision to step back from my own career. I became the stay-at-home dad, the supportive husband. I took care of our home, our daughter, and Claire. I created the stable foundation upon which she could build her empire. And she did. As the company grew, so did the late-night meetings, the business dinners, the conferences. Through it all, I kept myself in shape. I learned about fashion, stayed current, made sure I was a man she’d be proud to have on her arm. To her credit, no matter how exhausted she was, she always came home and made time for Chloe, helped with chores, and played her part. To the outside world, we were the dream. The power couple who had it all figured out. I don’t know when it started to crack. The meetings began running later, sometimes stretching through the night. Friends would joke, “You better keep an eye on her, man.” I’d laugh it off, tell them I trusted her completely, but a cold knot of anxiety would tighten in my stomach. I started bringing late-night snacks to the office. Coffee and pastries. A morale boost for the team. There was never anything out of the ordinary. Just a group of people huddled in a conference room, and him—the new guy—waiting patiently at the front desk. His name was Mark. Early forties, average height, thin build, with a generic haircut. He was utterly unremarkable until he spoke; his voice was surprisingly gentle, a stark contrast to his plain appearance. He’d always smile and greet me warmly. For years, I’d braced myself for this possibility. I’d pictured a handsome, sharp-witted colleague. A brilliant young intern, hungry and ambitious. Maybe even a powerful, charismatic CEO she was partnering with. I never, not once, considered the guy at the front desk. I’d heard his story. A messy divorce—his ex-wife had cheated on him. This was his first job since the split, and he was grateful for it. He’d show up early, memorize everyone’s coffee order, and occasionally bring in homemade baked goods. Some of her employees even paid him to make their lunches, just to help him out. I remember telling Claire he seemed like a good guy going through a tough time, that she should look out for him. Her response was always cool and professional. “The office isn’t the place for charity, Leo. I’ve already told the staff to stop placing personal orders with him.” I teased her then, calling her a heartless CEO. Looking back, I realize it wasn’t a lack of compassion. She was probably just jealous that he was spending his evenings cooking for other people instead of for her. As for why she chose today to tell me? It was simple. This morning, she’d woken up with a crushing hangover. I’d made her my special hangover-cure omelet, just as I always did. She stared at the plate, sighed, and pushed it slightly away. After a long silence, she looked up at me, her eyes clouded with a fatigue that went bone-deep, and asked if we could get a divorce. She confessed everything. The affair had been going on for six months. On the nights she claimed to be working late, they were slipping away to hotel rooms. My heart felt like it was shattering inside a birdcage. I fought to keep my voice steady. I asked who it was. When she said his name—Mark—I was sure I’d misheard. A wave of helplessness, cold and absolute, washed over me. It felt like defeat. 2 By the time Claire finished her meeting, I had already eaten, cleaned the kitchen, and was sitting on the couch, watching a show on Netflix. Acting as if the world hadn’t just ended. She went to take a shower. A few minutes later, her voice, stripped of its corporate authority and instinctively familiar, called out. “Leo, honey? Where are my towels?” I didn’t turn around. “They’re in one of the suitcases,” I said, my eyes fixed on the screen. “You can use mine if you want. I’ll just throw it out after.” The silence that followed was long and heavy. When she came out, wrapped in my oversized towel, she finally noticed the three suitcases standing like sentinels by the front door. She sat down on the armchair across from me and pushed the signed agreement back with her fingertips. “About the settlement,” she began, her voice regaining its composure. “I can give you one-point-five million now, and the rest in monthly install—” “No,” I cut her off. “A clean break is better. I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to maintain contact with me.” A flicker of confusion crossed her face. “Chloe isn’t just your daughter, Leo. I have a right to be part of her life. I know this is my fault, and I’m willing to compensate you for it, but you don’t get to use our daughter as a weapon.” I paused the show and turned to face her fully. “You cheated. That’s on you. The settlement is fair compensation, and frankly, compared to your assets, it’s a bargain. As for Chloe, I’ve been her primary caregiver since she was born. She’s a highly sensitive kid who needs consistency. How much energy will you have for that while you’re in the honeymoon phase of a new relationship? Being part of her life is about more than money. It’s about time. It’s about being present.” She was speechless. After a moment, she managed, “Regardless, I’m not signing away my relationship with my daughter for two million dollars.” I reached over and tapped the document. “The two million is for alimony and child support. If you wish to provide additional ‘emotional support,’ you can wire it directly to Chloe’s trust fund. I’ll set one up for her.” A bitter, humorless laugh escaped her. “Leo, I never knew you were so obsessed with money. It’s all you can talk about.” “What else is there?” I shot back. “Is loving you worth anything anymore?” That silenced her for good. Her face hardened. She snatched a pen from the coffee table and signed her name with a sharp, angry stroke. We agreed to file the petition at the courthouse tomorrow. Then, she called her driver. I finished my show and went to bed. When I woke up, she was already gone. Chloe came running out of her room and threw her arms around my waist, babbling excitedly about a wonderful dream she’d had. As I listened, I gently tested the waters. I told her that Mommy’s company was really busy, and she might have to go on a long business trip. Usually, this would be met with a cascade of questions and demands to call her. “Mommy, when are you coming home?” But this time, Chloe just went quiet. She pursed her little lips. “Oh,” she said. “That’s okay. I have you to keep me company.” That broke me. A raw, ragged sob tore through my chest. I pretended I had to use the bathroom, locking the door behind me as the tears came, hot and fast. Agreeing to the divorce was one thing, but the guilt of breaking my daughter’s world in two was a different kind of pain. And yet, I knew this wasn’t my fault. After dropping Chloe at school, I met Claire at the county courthouse. We filed the initial petition. A mandatory 30-day cooling-off period. After that, the divorce would be final. Back in my car, I took out the new calendar and drew a circle around the day’s date. Divorce countdown: 30 days. 3 I wasn’t sure when to tell my parents. I grew up here; all our family and friends were local. My parents were retired teachers, and I was their only son. They were open-minded, but my father’s health had been fragile lately. I thought about waiting. Two days later, Claire called. It was unusual; she always texted. She preferred it because I was always available, always quick to respond. I’d deleted her number the night before. I answered. Her voice was steady, normal. “Leo, your mom just called. She’s making a big dinner tonight and wants us to come over. I was thinking, with your dad’s health… maybe we can wait to tell them about the divorce until he’s feeling stronger. What time should we head over? And his birthday is next Sunday. I should probably still go with you.” Her words solidified my decision. The hesitation vanished. “That won’t be necessary,” I said. “You don’t have to be stubborn about this, Leo. Your father’s health is what’s important.” My voice was flat. “If you really cared, you wouldn’t have chosen now to have an affair and blow up our family. My dad’s body might be weak, but his mind is sharp. And I guarantee he wouldn’t want me to stay in a marriage built on infidelity.” “Claire.” “Yes?” “Don’t call me again. If you want to see Chloe, follow the agreement. Once a week.” Her tone instantly shifted from conciliatory to combative. “Leo, I’ll say it again. Chloe is my daughter, too. My family—” “But you’re the one who gave up her family, aren’t you?” I heard a sharp thud on her end, like she’d slammed something down on her desk. I hung up and took a moment to pull myself together. Then, instead of going home, I drove to the mall. I bought new bedding, new towels, a new sofa—anything and everything Claire had picked out, I was replacing. And I wanted it all delivered today. By the time I was done, the house felt different. I cleaned it from top to bottom, then drove to my parents’ place. My mom was surprised to see me alone. “Claire busy with work?” I fell silent, my throat tight. “Mom,” I managed to say. She saw it immediately. The look on my face. She stopped what she was doing, her gaze softening with a deep, maternal understanding. She just stared at me for a second, then pulled me into her arms. I didn’t have to say a word. She could feel the hurt radiating off of me. I told her everything, my voice as calm as I could make it. She handed me a tissue. “It’s okay,” she said softly. “Divorce is common these days. If she was dishonest, if she did something like this, it’s better to know now. It’s over. Let it be over.” She paused, her eyes growing misty as she took my hand. “Leo, I only ask one thing of you.” I looked at her. “Since you’ve made this decision,” she said, her grip tightening, “no matter what happens, don’t ever go back to her.” “I won’t,” I sobbed, nodding. “I promise.” After dinner, my parents talked in their room for a long time. When my dad came out, he handed me a thick envelope. Inside was a check. “Today is a new beginning,” he said, his voice firm. “That’s something worth celebrating. I just want my son to be happy.” Leaving their house, I sat in the car and wept for what felt like an eternity. I had been so afraid of disappointing them. They’d had one of those quiet, steady marriages, a lifetime of mutual respect. When I’d decided to marry Claire, a girl with nothing to her name, they’d respected my choice against everyone else’s advice. Now, with Claire at the height of her success, when everyone envied me, they supported my decision to walk away without a moment’s hesitation. I wiped my eyes and glanced at the calendar on my dashboard. Divorce countdown: 28 days. 4 When I picked Chloe up from school, she told me her grandpa had called and invited her to stay for a week. She was bouncing with excitement. “He promised we could fly his new drone, Daddy! Can we go? Please?” I hesitated for only a second before taking her home to pack a small suitcase. Her joy was infectious. After I dropped her off, my mom walked me to the car. “Leo,” she said gently, “go do something for yourself. Get out of town.” As I drove away, I saw her in the rearview mirror, standing on the porch, watching until I was out of sight. I glanced at myself in the car’s vanity mirror. I looked pale, drawn, my eyes shadowed with grief. I took a deep breath, splashed some water on my face from a bottle, and sprayed a little cologne. Then I went home, packed a bag, and just started driving. I spent a week on the road. A blur of new faces and changing landscapes, of stories overheard in roadside diners. By the time I returned, I felt lighter. More like myself. I looked at the calendar. Divorce countdown: 21 days. 5 I got back just in time for my dad’s birthday party. They’d decided to host it at a hotel this year, a small gathering of close friends and family, about five tables in total. Naturally, everyone was asking about Claire. Chloe was at a weekend art class, thankfully. My parents gracefully deflected the questions. Just before the meal started, my dad went on stage to say a few words. That’s when Claire arrived. She was wearing a stunning designer dress, carrying several expensive-looking gift bags and a large, congratulatory card. Our relatives immediately swarmed her with greetings. She waited for my dad to step down from the stage, then approached him with a practiced smile, holding out the card. “Happy birthday, Dad.” My father’s expression was polite but distant. He glanced at the card but didn’t take it. “That’s very kind of you, Ms. He,” he said, his voice carrying in the sudden quiet of the room. “But that won’t be necessary. As you and Leo are divorcing, we couldn’t possibly accept such a generous gift.” Claire’s smile froze on her face. A collective gasp rippled through the room, followed by dead silence. “We’ve only filed the petition…” she murmured, her voice barely a whisper. My dad shook his head slightly. “It amounts to the same thing.” With that, he turned and gestured for everyone to start eating. Claire was left standing alone, clutching the gifts. My mother quietly and politely took them from her, indicating she would have them sent back to her office. Claire didn’t linger. She turned and walked out. After she left, no one mentioned her name again. It was an unspoken agreement. She was no longer part of our lives. It was a relief. Slowly, I was healing. I was shedding the identity of ‘Claire’s husband’ and becoming just Leo again. Even the property manager in our building, who had always called me “Mr. Hayes” with a certain deference, started calling me “Leo.” I threw myself into a new project: opening a coffee shop. I found a perfect spot for lease, already built out and in a great location. I signed the papers immediately. The staff was willing to stay on, which meant I could open quickly, but I wanted to tweak the menu, upgrade the equipment, and rebrand the space. I put up a “Soft Opening” sign and got to work. After a long day of planning at the shop, I headed home, exhausted but fulfilled. I glanced at the car calendar. Divorce countdown: 15 days. 6 As I pulled into my garage, my phone rang. It was Alex, a young, cheerful guy from Claire’s company. He was one of the few people there I considered a friend. He launched right in. “Leo, man, are you busy? I gotta ask. Are you and Claire really getting a divorce?” I didn’t deny it. “Is it because of Mark?” he pressed. I stayed silent, assuming Claire had made their relationship public. “Bro, I knew it!” he exclaimed, his voice a mix of frustration and sympathy. “That’s why you haven’t been bringing us your amazing snacks! We miss you, man!” For years, I’d brought in treats for the team almost weekly as a thank-you for their hard work. It had become a running joke that they’d never quit as long as I kept the supply chain of pastries and coffee coming. “I’m actually opening my own coffee shop,” I told him. “Come by when it’s open, everything’s on the house.” Alex let out a whoop of joy and asked for the address. I promised to send it to him. “You have no idea what it’s been like with that guy, Mark,” he continued, his voice dropping. “The second you stopped coming around, he got promoted from the front desk to head of office administration. He’s a different person. He used to smile at everyone, total suck-up. Now he’s on a power trip, finding fault with everything. The smug look on his face is infuriating. And get this—he bought a suit and shoes that are almost identical to yours. It’s creepy. Everyone sees it. I don’t know what Claire is thinking.” He finished with a sigh, saying if it weren’t for his mortgage, he’d quit tomorrow. I was already at my front door. After calming him down, I said goodbye. It occurred to me that I no longer cared to understand Mark’s appeal. That initial, desperate need to know why had faded. I unlocked the door and froze. Claire’s shoes were in the entryway. She was in the living room, playing a video game with Chloe. “Daddy!” Chloe squealed, her face lighting up. “Come on, let’s team up and beat Mommy!” In the past, Claire would have laughed, scooped Chloe into her arms, and started a playful wrestling match. Now, she just coughed softly and stroked Chloe’s hair. “Daddy’s had a long day, sweetie. He’s tired. Maybe next time, okay?” “Okay,” Chloe said, her voice small. “Mommy, when are you going to be done with your business trip?” Claire paused. “Soon,” she said gently, then told Chloe it was time for bed. After a full day at the new shop, I had no energy left for pleasantries. As I walked past her toward my room, I just said, “Make sure you lock the door on your way out.” “I promised Chloe I’d sleep here tonight,” she replied. I didn’t argue. I just closed my bedroom door. A moment later, I heard her phone ring in the living room. Her voice was a low murmur, but I could hear the irritation creeping in. “I told you, I’m just here for Chloe. What are you so afraid of? We’ve already signed the papers!” A pause. “For the last time, we are not sleeping in the same room!” I heard the sharp click as she ended the call. Then, footsteps, and a soft knock on my door. “Leo? Something came up at the office. I have to go back. I’ll come see Chloe again tomorrow.” I didn’t open the door. “Okay,” I said, my voice just loud enough for her to hear. Before she was even out of the building, a notification popped up on my phone. A $5,000 transfer to Chloe’s account. The memo read: Take her out for something nice tomorrow. I ignored it and opened my laptop to work on the coffee shop plans. Just then, a message from an unknown number appeared on my screen. It was just a single smiling emoji. The profile picture was a generic photo of the ocean. The account was bare, no posts, no information. I scrolled back through our message history and my blood ran cold. The first message was from two years ago. I didn’t remember adding this person at all. As I was trying to place it, a new message came through. 【You must feel pretty smug, huh?】 It hit me in an instant. It had to be Mark. But he’d only been at Claire’s company for six months. Why was he in my contacts from two years ago? Had he been watching me, a silent observer in my digital life, for all that time? A chill went down my spine. I sent back a single question mark. The reply was immediate. 【Whatever tricks you’re using to make her stay, it won’t work. I can have her here in a heartbeat.】 It was him. And his message implied something far worse. He didn’t just meet Claire six months ago. Their affair was much, much older than that. He sent a picture. I clicked on it, my stomach churning. It was Claire, sleeping in a hotel bed, bare from the waist up. A man’s hand rested on her chest. In the bottom right corner, a red digital timestamp read: 02.16.2023. I stared at the date, a wave of nausea washing over me so violently I had to lurch for the trash can, my body convulsing as I threw up. February 16th, 2023. That was the day of my father’s first major surgery. Claire had been buried in work that entire month, constantly on business trips. She had moved heaven and earth, canceling meetings just to be back in time to be with me. She had spent the entire night before on a video call, comforting me, telling me to be strong, that everything would be okay. I hadn’t been able to sleep, and she had stayed on the line with me until dawn. She had fought to get a flight that landed at dawn on the 16th, just so she could be by my side at the hospital. And now I knew. In the middle of that frantic, impossible schedule, she had found the time to sleep with Mark.

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After years of trying to fix Cole, the story’s broken, brooding second lead, I finally had enough points to go home. I was electric with it, ready to cash them in on the spot. But the System flickered into my consciousness, blocking the path. “If you leave, what about the child? He’s the protagonist of the next story. You should stay for him.” I couldn’t stop the eye-roll. Cole and his son, Leo, were a matched set of unchecked aggression, their love language a dialect of shouting and blame. I didn’t owe them a damn thing. As if on cue, just as I was about to fight the System, Cole stormed back into the house, weaponizing guilt like he always did. “Can’t you at least try to act like a mother? Do we mean nothing to you? Absolutely nothing?” I wasn’t falling for it. Not this time. My hand snapped out, and the crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the cavernous foyer. “Get out of my way.” No one was stopping me from going home. 1 That night, I was on a video call with Jenna when the System’s notification popped up. Host, I’ve detected your point balance is sufficient. Do you wish to remain? “No! Hell no! I’m going home!” Jenna’s face lit up on the screen. “Vivi, you’re finally getting out!” I’d met Jenna after I was dropped into this world. We were both from somewhere else, both unwilling players in a cosmic game, but our targets were different. Hers was the story’s hero, the one hopelessly devoted to the memory of his high school sweetheart. Mine was the runner-up, the man who was destined to lose the girl and curdle into bitterness. No matter what I did, Cole was written to fall for the story’s female lead. My role was damage control, a thankless, soul-crushing job. Jenna had a new assignment and had to log off soon. Before she went, her expression turned serious. “Vivian, Cole is abusive. Don’t let some twisted sense of loyalty make you stay just because you put years into this.” I nodded, my throat tight. The System, however, was radiating a sulky disapproval, its responses sluggish. It clearly didn’t want me to leave. Just as I was mentally preparing for the transfer, the front door slammed open. It was Cole. I ended the call and went downstairs, a creature of habit. I even handed him a mug of the herbal tea he liked, my hands moving on autopilot. But today, Cole was different. A storm cloud of rage hung around him, his eyes bloodshot. When I didn’t immediately fawn over him, his hand shot out and clamped around my throat. “Vivian,” he hissed, his voice dangerously low, “don’t get any stupid ideas. You stay right here, by my side. I take care of you, don’t I?” My fingers ghosted over a faint, yellowish bruise on my forearm. A souvenir from last week, when his “taking care of me” involved throwing a ceramic mug in my direction because his deal went south. “And don’t even think about leaving,” he continued, his grip tightening for a second before he let go, trying to recalibrate. “It’s not what you think with Chloe. I just… I admire her talent. It’s purely professional.” He was already spinning his narrative, pleading his case to an empty courtroom. I just watched him, my face a mask of stone. This man was a master of feigned sincerity, an artist who painted portraits of devotion right before slashing the canvas. I learned that on our wedding day. He stood beside me at the altar, and in walked Chloe, the story’s heroine. She wore a white dress that was more bridal than my own, and she looped her arm through his, pouting playfully. “Who’s this?” she’d chirped. Cole had patted her head, a gesture of sickening intimacy. “It’s nothing. She’s no one important.” In that moment, any feeling I might have forced myself to have for my target evaporated. It was all just a job after that. 2 Just then, my son, Leo, came running down the stairs and clung to Cole’s leg. “Dad, don’t even bother with her. She’s just jealous that Aunt Chloe is more talented and way nicer than she is.” I stared at the boy, a cold wave washing over me. I hadn’t felt the physical agony of giving birth to him—that was part of the world’s setup—but I was the one who raised him. He was a sickly child, and I couldn’t count the number of nights I’d spent awake by his bedside, a cool cloth on his feverish forehead. To hear those words from him… it was a special kind of cruelty. The System informed me that my transfer required “upper-level approval” and that I’d have to wait a few more days. Fucking bureaucracy. If it weren’t for this goddamn System, I’d be back in my apartment, living my life. My life, where I had a loving family, a great degree, and a promising career in marketing that had been snatched away the day before I was supposed to start. Leo was still talking, his voice a shrill whine. “Just let her go, Dad. All she does is hang around the house all day, spending your money. She’s not amazing like Aunt Chloe.” Before I was dropped into this world, I was on my own fast track. I was ambitious. Even after marrying Cole, I kept my job until Leo was born. He was so fragile, so prone to illness, that I didn’t trust a nanny. I quit my job to care for him myself. In those early years, Cole was always chasing after Chloe, which solidified my emotional detachment. Leo’s arrival had felt like a small flicker of light in a very dark place. My hand was shaking with rage. This ungrateful child was a perfect copy of his father. Cole had clawed his way out of the foster system, a fact that fueled a vicious, deep-seated insecurity. He was never good enough for the story’s heroine, not really. If I hadn’t found him, half-frozen and delirious with fever during a blizzard years ago, he would have died. But after the wedding, after he had my family’s resources, his true nature emerged. When he was angry, he lashed out. With his words, with his fists. My thoughts snapped back to the present. I raised my hand, and without a moment of hesitation, I slapped Leo across his cherubic, sneering face. He froze, his hand flying to his cheek, his eyes wide with disbelief. Cole, who had been watching with a smirk, finally snapped out of it. “Vivian, what the hell is wrong with you?” he roared. “He’s just a kid! What did I do wrong? He just said a few words, and you react like a psycho?” He said it so casually. Just a few words. As if any son should ever speak to his mother that way. The shock wore off, and Leo burst into tears, burying his face in Cole’s waist. “Daddy, Mommy hit me! I don’t want her to be my mom anymore! My face hurts!” I let out a cold, sharp laugh. “The next time you say something like that,” I said, my voice dangerously calm, “you won’t see the sunrise.” That was the last straw for Cole. His rage boiled over, and he shoved me. Hard. We were standing at the top of the main staircase. I was off-balance, unprepared. And then I was falling. 3 The household staff at Cole’s mansion were experts at reading the room. Seeing their boss in a rage, not a single one of them moved to help me as I lay crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. I reached up to my head and my fingers came back wet and crimson. Cole’s abuse had taken a toll on my body over the years; I was weaker than I used to be. The blood loss sent the world spinning, and I blacked out. In the fuzzy haze of unconsciousness, I could still hear their voices floating down from above. “Dad, can Aunt Chloe be my new mom?” “Not yet, son. Your mother hasn’t signed over full control of the company to me.” … When I woke up, the only person by my bedside was Jenna. “That son of a bitch hit you again, didn’t he?” she said, her voice tight with anger. I nodded weakly. It wasn’t the first time I’d tried to escape, but the System always dangled the promise of “going home” to keep me in line. This time, though, how had Cole known I was about to leave? “System, stop hiding,” I projected into my thoughts. “Did you tell him?” There was a long pause, and then a pathetic, whimpering digital sigh. Host… your son is the protagonist of the next narrative arc. I’m assigned to him. If you leave, his character development will turn dark. I had no choice but to inform Cole. My relationship with the System had always been adversarial. I was living a perfectly good life in my own world. What right did it have to kidnap me, to force me into this role of “savior” for a man who didn’t deserve saving? It was disgusting. “So you sold me out.” The System didn’t answer. I felt a surge of fury. If my body in the real world had already died, like Jenna’s had, maybe I could have accepted this. But my life was waiting for me. Jenna, seeing my distress, squeezed my hand. “It’s okay, Vivi. Don’t forget the contingency plan. The one you put in place with Cole’s doctor a long time ago. He won’t be a problem for much longer.” My head throbbed. Or maybe Cole had just hired the cheapest doctor he could find. 4 That evening, Cole came to see me. “I’ve spoken with your System,” he announced, as if he were my manager. “You’re not going back. Who will take care of our son if you leave?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Our son? Funny, I thought he was only mine when it came to wiping his nose and sitting up with him all night. Your estate is massive, Cole. I’m sure you can find someone to look after him. Or better yet, why don’t you marry Chloe and let her do it?” His face contorted with rage. “What is wrong with you? All I want is for my son to have a mother! And for the last time, Chloe and I are just friends!” As if on cue, there was a soft knock on the door. Cole’s personal nutritionist entered with a tray. “Mr. Hayes, your dinner. The main course is shrimp scampi. And don’t forget your vitamin C capsule tonight.” My eyes met the nutritionist’s for a fleeting second. I mentally checked the calendar. Everything was proceeding on schedule. After Cole finished eating, a nurse came in to change my bandages. Cole took the supplies from her, preparing to play the part of the devoted husband. Just then, his bodyguard burst into the room. “Sir, Ms. Vance is reporting chest pains.” Cole’s hand jerked. The sterile gauze and medical tape clattered to the floor. “What? Get her a doctor, now!” He was gone in a flash, leaving me with Jenna. She shook her head in disgust. “What a piece of garbage. He orders you to stay, then the second his side piece has a little heartburn, he runs off without a second thought for you.” I managed a weak smile. “If you weren’t here, he wouldn’t even pretend to care. The worst part is, he genuinely believes he’s done nothing wrong. He thinks I’m the one being unreasonable.” Cole grew up in the foster system. Now that he had money, his entire existence was a desperate performance of respectability. His obsession with Chloe was simple: she came from the same background. Being with her, “saving” her, made him feel powerful, like he had finally won. A little while later, Leo showed up. “Mom, how could you be so cruel?” he demanded. “Aunt Chloe is the nicest person in the world, why did you have to call and scream at her?” I was completely baffled. I hadn’t called anyone. Jenna’s eyes narrowed. She figured it out instantly. “It’s a setup. She’s playing the victim. She may be the heroine, but she’s got a manipulative streak a mile wide.” I pieced it together. Chloe had spent the afternoon telling everyone I’d called and verbally abused her. Now, she was having “chest pains,” ensuring that when Cole arrived, he’d find her in a state of tear-stained distress. But why? Her target was the story’s hero, not Cole. Why was she trying to sabotage me? I’d always found female rivalry to be a pathetic, low-stakes game. I never expected it from the story’s supposedly pure-hearted protagonist. “You’re a monster,” Leo continued, his voice filled with righteous indignation. “Dad should have married Aunt Chloe in the first place. I’m ashamed to be your son.” Jenna was aghast. “Your mother raised you. This is how you repay her? And even if she did make that call—which she didn’t—you have no right to speak to her like that!” Jenna was fighting my battles for me, but I just scanned the room until my eyes landed on the fruit knife on the bedside table. I picked it up. And without a word, I lunged at Leo. This little monster didn’t deserve to be my son. 5 Just as the gleaming blade was about to reach Leo, the door flew open and a figure threw itself in front of him. “Chloe, are you okay?” Cole yelled, rushing in right behind her. They both fussed over her as she lay on the floor. When she didn’t respond, Cole straightened up and turned on me, his face a mask of fury. “Vivian, have you lost your mind? That’s your son!” Leo, emboldened, echoed his father. “Is it because I like Aunt Chloe more than you? You’re a selfish, evil woman!” I looked down at the “kind and generous” woman on the floor with utter contempt. “Stop the theatrics,” I said, my voice dripping with ice. “The knife was turned backward. The handle hit you. As insane as you think I am, I wouldn’t murder my own child. Unlike some people.” This was a detail Jenna had told me, a piece of lore not included in the main story. In the original plot, Chloe, the heroine, got pregnant after a one-night stand with the male lead while working in a bar. The book says she had a miscarriage. The truth was far darker: she gave birth to the baby, and when she realized the hero didn’t care, she smothered the infant with her own hands. Chloe’s lips trembled. “Vivi, how can you say such things? I’ve never had a child.” Cole shielded her protectively. “That’s enough. You don’t get to spread vicious rumors just because you’re jealous of her. We’ll deal with that phone call you made to her later.” He then softened his voice, turning back to Chloe. “Come on, let me get you checked out by a doctor.” After they all swept out of the room, I turned my focus inward. “System. When are you sending me home?” A long silence. Then, a hesitant, distorted voice. I’m sorry, Host. I have come to an agreement with your husband. You will be staying in this world. A volcanic rage erupted inside me. “You’re what? And who the hell is Cole? What gives either of you the right to make that decision for me?” The System offered no direct answer, just a pre-programmed platitude. Host, you should be grateful. So many others would kill for an opportunity like this! “You’re a kidnapper,” I seethed. “A worthless, parasitic piece of code.” The System abruptly severed the connection. I was locked out. 6 Seeing me screaming at thin air, Jenna rushed to my side. “Vivi, what’s wrong?” The dam broke. “I can’t go back,” I sobbed, the words tearing from my throat. “The System made a deal with him. I’m stuck here! I want to go home!” When I first arrived, I was the disfavored daughter of a wealthy family, a role I had to fight my way out of. Then came Cole, and the constant, exhausting vigilance required to manage his volatility and keep his ‘darkness meter’ from overflowing. I never had a moment to breathe. Jenna hesitated for a moment, then her expression firmed. “My System can send you back,” she said quietly. “I have a good relationship with it. Your mission is complete. You’ve earned your exit.” I sat up so fast the room spun. “What about you? How will you get back?” If it was possible, I wanted her to come with me. She gave me a sad, gentle smile. “There’s nothing for me to go back to. In my original world… I’m already dead.” A heavy silence fell between us. A moment later, Jenna nodded. Her System had agreed to help. “Goes to show you,” I muttered, “not all Systems are created equal. Some of them are just bastards.” My own System, apparently still monitoring me, shrieked in my mind. Host, you can’t leave! What about your son? I had only one word for it. “Piss off.” Tipped off again, Cole returned, his face a carefully constructed mask of pained sincerity. “Vivian, I know you’re jealous of Chloe, but we’re really just friends. I swear. And besides, I just don’t want our son to grow up without a mother. Is that so wrong?” I stood in the center of the hospital room and laughed. “Jealous of Chloe? Why on earth would I be jealous of her? In my world, in this world, my life has always been better than hers. Am I supposed to be jealous of her inability to support herself? Of her need to bounce from man to man just to survive?” Chloe, who had followed him back, saw her beatific mask crack, replaced by a flash of genuine hurt. It was almost satisfying. “Cole,” she murmured, “Vivi is just speaking her mind. Don’t be angry with her.” Cole immediately puffed up, playing the role of her protector. “See, Chloe? You’re too nice. That’s why people take advantage of you. I’m going to make her apologize to you right now.” 7 He turned to me, his voice low and menacing. “Apologize to Chloe. Now. Or we’re getting a divorce.” His darling son, Leo, chimed in from behind him. “Yeah, Mom! You were mean to Aunt Chloe, so you have to say you’re sorry. If you don’t, I won’t be your son anymore.” Some people are just born rotten to the core. Leo was his father’s son. Jenna whispered behind me, “The portal is open. You can go.” Cole’s mouth opened, ready to issue another threat. I didn’t let him. I grabbed the fruit knife from the nightstand and hurled it at him.

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The day the developer’s buyout money hit my account, my brother, Kevin, burst through the door, his face a mask of terror. “Sarah! Your daughter—Chloe—down the street, a van just grabbed her! They’re demanding ten million dollars, or they’ll kill her.” Before the words had even settled in the air, a heavy thud sounded at the front door. On the porch sat a black package. Inside, nestled in cotton, was half a human finger. Kevin’s face went white. “Get the money, Sarah, we have to get the money now! Before it’s too late!” I wasn’t panicking, not the way he expected. I looked at the gruesome trophy and spoke calmly. “A finger doesn’t prove anything. Not unless the kidnappers send an ear.” I paused, letting the silence stretch. “Chloe has a tiny pink mole on her right earlobe.” Kevin stared at me, his jaw slack, then turned and left without another word. That afternoon, a new package arrived. It contained a right ear, a small pink mole clearly visible. My parents, who had rushed over, collapsed into histrionics, wailing around the gruesome delivery. But I remained unmoved. “Plenty of people have moles,” I said, my voice flat. “Am I supposed to hand over ten million dollars to every crank who knows how to use a knife? I won’t believe a thing until I see the birthmark on Chloe’s thigh. A pale blue mark, shaped like a crescent moon.” The next day, a severed human leg, bloody and pale, was thrown onto our lawn. I watched Kevin, saw the flicker of triumph, of barely concealed excitement in his eyes, and I smiled a smile that no one else could see. Because the girl with the crescent-moon birthmark wasn’t my daughter. It was his. 1 “Sarah, what are you waiting for? Do you want to wait until they send Chloe back to you piece by piece before you pay the ransom?” Kevin’s brow was a knot of anxiety. He paced the living room, a convincing performance of a man consumed with worry for his niece. My husband, Mark, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen, shot up from the couch. “I’m getting the bank statements. I’ll wire the money.” I grabbed his arm and yanked him back down just as he stood up. Then, I hit play on the audio file the kidnappers had sent. A girl’s voice, sharp and hoarse, screamed with desperation. “Mom! Dad! Help me, please, I can’t take it anymore!” The sound shattered the room. Everyone fell silent, their faces etched with heartbreak. Everyone but me. I scoffed. “The deepfake technology these days is incredible. They can send fake limbs, fake ears… but they can’t fake a voice.” I leaned forward, my tone analytical and cold. “Every person’s vocal print is unique. And that is not Chloe.” Hearing my detached analysis, Mark finally exploded. “Sarah, how long are you going to keep lying to yourself? Do you need to see her body before you’ll finally believe it?” Kevin nodded furiously, jumping in to support him. “He’s right, sis. I know you just got the buyout money and you’re afraid to let it go, but this is life and death. You can always make more money. You can’t get another daughter.” He pulled a blood-stained piece of clothing from his backpack. “The kidnappers sent this to my house. It’s that Dior dress you bought for Chloe. I was with you when you got it, remember? The only one from that collection in the entire city.” The dress was a cheap, coarse knockoff. Tucked into the collar was a Post-it note. Last warning. Three days. If you don’t have the money, the next thing you get will be her head. The threat hung in the air, thick and suffocating. Mark, his face burning with rage, shoved me hard. “If you’re really doing this because of the money, you don’t deserve to be a mother!” Just as I was about to stop him, my phone buzzed. A new photo. A close-up of a shattered mouth, teeth laid out in a neat, grotesque row. Kevin’s wife, Brenda, leaned over my shoulder, her voice dripping with exaggerated pity. “Oh, my God. Chloe is such a beautiful girl… but look how dirty her teeth are. She really needs to take better care of herself.” It was a throwaway comment, a piece of casual cruelty, but it changed everything. Mark heard her and snatched the phone from my hand. In the photo, half the teeth were riddled with cavities. They were yellowed, caked with plaque. He froze. Chloe was meticulous about her teeth, with dental check-ups every six months. Her teeth looked nothing like this. A flash of shock, then confusion, crossed his face. He looked at me, a question in his eyes. And that’s when I let myself break. Sobs tore from my chest, my body collapsing as if under a great weight. “It really is her,” I wailed. “It really is my baby girl. The money just came in, and now this… This is going to kill me!” Seeing me finally convinced, a glint of triumph flashed in the eyes of my brother, my sister-in-law, and my parents, who were still weeping theatrically on the floor. As they watched me, their faces full of greedy anticipation, I suddenly shook my head, my voice turning hard as stone. “No. No, I can’t. She’s just a girl, a money pit. Let her die. I’m not paying.” Kevin was stunned speechless. “Sarah… I thought she was the light of your life?” But I wasn’t listening. I started shoving them all toward the door. “Stop trying to convince me! I’m not paying unless you’re paying for it!” Once they were gone, Mark locked the door and turned to me, his voice a low whisper. “What the hell is going on?” I looked at him, and the tears that flowed now were real. Because in my last life, Kevin used this exact same scheme to steal my buyout money. And Mark and I, we believed him. We scraped together every penny, borrowed from anyone who would listen. Mark even sold one of his kidneys on the black market. But in the end, our daughter was still brutally murdered. Unable to face the truth, Mark jumped from a bridge. After I had numbly arranged the funerals, I saw him. On a street corner, laughing with the kidnapper as they split the ransom money. “That little brat kept insisting she wasn’t Chloe Wang,” the kidnapper said, lighting a cigarette. “A chopped finger convinced her otherwise.” Kevin took a long drag from his own cigarette, a cruel smirk on his face. “She’s just like her mother. If Sarah had just given me the money in the first place, none of this would have happened. Now she’s out a daughter, too.” The kidnapper’s words—insisting she wasn’t Chloe Wang—echoed in my head. I ran back to the morgue, to the headless corpse the police had found. The body was a close match to my daughter’s, about eight-tenths of the way there, but when I saw the pale, crescent-shaped birthmark on her thigh, my blood ran cold. It wasn’t Chloe. It was my niece, Ashley. In that instant, I knew the kidnappers had grabbed the wrong girl. At that very moment, my phone rang. It was Chloe, her voice faint. She’d been hiking in the mountains, lost her signal, and gotten lost for a few days. My daughter was safe. But my husband was dead. Consumed by a grief and rage so profound it burned away everything else, I drove to confront Kevin. I never made it. A truck ran a red light. When I opened my eyes, I was back on the day of the kidnapping. After I finished explaining, Mark pulled me into his arms, holding me so tightly I could feel the frantic beating of his heart against my own. “I believe you,” he whispered into my hair. “And this time, we’re going to make them pay.” 2 The next morning, Kevin arrived with my parents and a dozen other relatives in tow. He was holding his phone, live-streaming. “My sister might not be willing to pay the ransom for her own daughter,” he announced to his audience, his voice thick with false emotion, “but I can’t just stand by and watch my niece die. So I’m giving my sister my entire life’s savings. It’s all I have, but it’s a start.” He slapped a thin stack of cash on the table. Ten thousand dollars. I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. His gesture, however, sent the live stream’s comment section into a frenzy. 【OMG, what an amazing uncle! He’s an angel compared to that heartless mother.】 【Look at her, dressed in designer clothes. It’s not like she doesn’t have the money.】 My parents joined the performance, raising their canes and bringing them down on my head and shoulders. “You ungrateful child! Your own brother is helping you like this, and you still won’t pay! If you don’t save your daughter, I’ll disown you!” They acted like they were on my side, but I knew the truth. In my last life, I learned they knew about Kevin’s plan all along. They actively helped him deceive me. I pushed down the hatred simmering in my gut and collapsed onto the floor, playing the part of a hysterical shrew. “No! I don’t have the money!” I screamed. “That buyout is for my new villa! Not a chance, not unless Kevin pays for half of it!” My father lunged at me and slapped me hard across the face, his eyes bulging. “You monster! How dare you try to take your brother’s money? Forget it!” Mark shoved him back, pulling me behind him. “My wife is right,” he snarled, adopting my greedy persona. “You want us to save her? Help us pay for it. Otherwise, we won’t.” He shrugged. “Besides, Chloe is just a girl. We can always have another one. A boy would be better. Cheaper than paying a ten-million-dollar ransom, that’s for sure.” The live stream exploded. 【Holy crap. These two are a perfect match. Shamelessness on a whole new level.】 【They’re so reluctant to pay… and talking about having a son instead. Wait a minute… what if they hired the kidnappers themselves?】 Kevin’s plan was to use public pressure to break me, but my skin was thicker than he could ever imagine. Seeing that I wouldn’t budge, a flicker of hesitation crossed his face. He pulled Brenda aside. They whispered furiously for a long time, weighing their options. Finally, they decided that five million was better than nothing. He made a call. To a loan shark. “I’ll do it,” he declared to the camera, his face a mask of saintly sacrifice. “To save my niece, I’ll do anything.” His audience swooned. The loan sharks were fast. In less than an hour, five million dollars appeared in my bank account. Kevin’s eyes gleamed. “Okay, sis. Now can we go save her?” He didn’t expect my reaction. I smiled sweetly, took my bank card, and locked it away in the safe. “Thank you so much, Kevin,” I chirped. “I’m so glad you finally paid back all the money you’ve borrowed from me over the years.” The realization dawned on his face, twisting his features into an ugly snarl. He clenched his fists. “What did you just say?” I looked him straight in the eye, my smile widening into a mocking grin. Over the past decade, he had bled me dry, nickel-and-diming me for millions with an endless stream of excuses, always claiming to be broke when it was time to pay it back. I spread my hands, a picture of innocence. “I’m just saying, the money is in my account now, which means it’s mine. And if you think I’m going to spend it on that little money pit, you’re crazy.” My shamelessness seemed to break something in him. He threw his phone aside and lunged, his fists raining down on my head. “You bitch! You tricked me!” Mark grabbed him by the collar, ripped him off me, and smashed a glass ashtray over his head. “Get out!” he roared. “My wife said no, and she meant it. Who the hell do you think you are, putting your hands on her?” Kevin, bleeding and enraged, was about to charge again when his phone, lying on the floor, buzzed. A video call request. From the kidnapper.

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“The day Mom and I moved into the Sterling estate, a year to the day after Mrs. Sterling’s death, was the day my real life began. Mom had finally landed her whale, Mr. Sterling. It didn’t matter that there was no ring, no title. From now on, there would be food on the table and designer bags in her closet. That was enough. But it wasn’t enough for her to simply secure her own position. She had to secure mine, too. She pushed me in front of the Sterling heir, Conrad, as if offering up a sacrifice. A handmaiden for the young prince. Conrad Sterling hated my mother with a vengeance that was practically biblical. By extension, he was disgusted by me. I didn’t care. I loved being his shadow. When he ate shrimp, I peeled them. When he ate grapes, I was there with cupped hands to catch the seeds. After I graduated high school, I slid seamlessly into an internship at his company. I squeezed out his favorite executive assistant and took her place. This continued until the news of his engagement broke. He gripped my hand, his knuckles white, and gave me an ultimatum: choose him, or choose the Sterling fortune. I shoved him away without a second thought. “”You go alone,”” I said. “”I’m staying to inherit the family fortune.”” 1 In the opulent, sun-drenched living room of the Sterling main house, I saw him for the first time. He descended the sweeping spiral staircase slowly, a king surveying a hostile takeover of his castle. He wore a black turtleneck that made his pale, fine-boned face seem almost sculpted from marble. His legs were long, his posture perfect. But the gaze he fixed on me from his elevated position was filled with a thick, undiluted hatred. I shrank behind my mother, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. “”Ivy,”” my mother cooed, her smile stretched thin and brittle. “”Say hello to your new brother.”” She nudged me forward, a deliberate, cruel little jab at him. As expected, before I could even open my mouth, he spat on the floor at my feet. A clear, deliberate insult. I swallowed the hot sting of tears, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and looked up at him. I smiled. “”Hello, Conrad.”” Mr. Sterling’s face flushed with embarrassment. He rushed over to play peacemaker, scolding Conrad in a low voice before turning to me with a strained smile. “”Ivy is so mature for her age,”” he praised. Mature. I almost laughed. In that, at least, he was right. I was mature enough to understand the precariousness of our position. My mother came from nothing. She had no connections, no family money. Her only leverage in this house was Mr. Sterling’s affection. And Mr. Sterling had built his empire on the back of his late wife’s family money. After her death, her entire stake in the company—a controlling interest—had passed directly to her only son, Conrad. As for me? I was the daughter of the other woman. I had no blood ties to Conrad, and Mr. Sterling’s fortune would never, ever fall into my hands. On the surface, my mother and I were living a life of unimaginable luxury. In reality, we were powerless. Which is why I had to get close to Conrad Sterling. If not friends, then at least not enemies. So began my decade-long performance. I orbited him, anticipated him, served him. He ate shrimp; I peeled them, my fingers slick with brine. He ate grapes; I held my hands out to catch the tiny seeds, a human receptacle. I was more efficient than any paid servant in that house. They whispered about me behind my back, of course. The maids, the cooks, the drivers. Their scorn was a constant hum in the background of my life. But Conrad, for all his hatred, found my devotion… useful. He never gave me a kind word, never a warm glance. But the benefits were undeniable. Elite tutors were hired for one-on-one sessions in the library. Invitations to exclusive summer programs at Ivy League schools appeared on my pillow. My allowance was deposited in five-figure increments. As long as the money kept coming, I didn’t care what anyone thought. My mother, however, couldn’t stand it. At thirty-five, she threw herself into a desperate, high-risk pregnancy, trying to produce a new heir, a new claim. She didn’t understand. It didn’t matter. Her games had no effect on my own. Because I wasn’t just after his power. I was after him. 2 My mother’s attempt at a third child ultimately failed. I knew it was the result of a quiet, multi-pronged war waged behind closed doors, and I knew Conrad was the victor. It only made me double down on my efforts. He was the sole heir. Mr. Sterling had his life mapped out: an Ivy League education in the States, then a seamless transition into the CEO’s chair at Sterling Corp. But Conrad refused. After graduation, he came back and started his own firm. His mother’s brother, my late step-aunt’s brother, doted on his nephew and pulled strings, flooding Conrad’s new venture with investment capital. The company took off like a rocket. Conrad poured everything into his work. First, it was late nights and early mornings. Then, he moved out of the Sterling estate altogether. The opportunities for me to see him dwindled, and a knot of panic began to tighten in my chest. Finally, as my own college graduation approached, I saw my chance. At a rare family dinner, I timidly brought up the idea of an internship at his company. Mr. Sterling glanced at my mother, who gave his sleeve a subtle, pleading tug. “”Ivy has ambition,”” Mr. Sterling declared, his voice booming with forced cheer. “”That’s a good thing.”” He poured Conrad a glass of wine, a clear peace offering. “”You’re her older brother. You should help her out.”” Conrad swirled the deep red liquid in his glass, his eyes flicking over to me. He said nothing. I knew the very idea of my presence in his sanctuary must have felt like swallowing glass. But I would do what it took. I had to be near him. I lowered my head, curling my shoulders inward, making myself as small and non-threatening as possible. A little quail, trembling in the presence of a hawk. “”I won’t be any trouble, Conrad,”” I whispered. “”I promise.”” He let out a short, cold huff of air. “”Whatever,”” he muttered, pushing his chair back and leaving the room. Mr. Sterling’s face was a mask of thunder. I watched Conrad’s retreating back, and a slow, satisfied smile spread across my lips. A week later, I arrived at his gleaming downtown office building. The receptionist gave me a long, dismissive once-over and then gestured for security. “”We don’t hire temporary staff,”” she said, her voice dripping with ice. Her eyes scanned my simple dress as if I were something she’d scrape off her shoe. My hands curled into fists at my sides. I opened my mouth to explain, but a security guard was already gripping my arm. “”Let’s go, miss. Out.”” “”Someone like you couldn’t even get a job as a security guard here,”” the other one grunted, shoving me toward the glass doors. Laughter followed me out onto the scorching pavement. The sun beat down relentlessly. Conrad’s phone went straight to voicemail. My texts went unanswered. I knew what this was. This was a message. This was him putting me in my place. 3 I waited on the curb outside his office building until nine o’clock that night. Finally, the familiar, low growl of his Porsche echoed in the parking garage. Conrad emerged first. He seemed unsteady on his feet, his usually sharp features softened by a faint flush. His tie was loosened, hanging askew, and the sleeves of his crisp white shirt were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the taut lines of his muscles. A business dinner, then. I hesitated. This was probably the worst possible time to approach him. A cold, imperious man drowning in alcohol would only become crueler. Just as I was about to turn and slip away into the night, he did something unexpected. He walked around to the passenger side of the car. He opened the door, bent down, and carefully placed a hand on the roof’s edge to shield the person inside. “”Watch your head,”” he said. His voice was steady, calm. And then, as the person in the backseat looked up at him, I saw it. The corner of his mouth tilted upward in a small, genuine smile. It was a look of pure, unadulterated delight—a side of Conrad Sterling I had never seen before. It wasn’t until the car pulled away that I got a clear look at her. A girl. She wore dark jeans and a plain white t-shirt, her hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. She was clutching a stack of files to her chest, radiating an unpolished, collegiate innocence. She had to be a recent graduate. So. This was his type. All this time, I’d half-convinced myself he wasn’t interested in women at all. His entire life, he’d been a magnet for them. In high school, I was the one who collected the love letters from his locker, and I was the one who burned them in a metal bin in the backyard at home. For five years, the ash from those letters fertilized the rose bushes until they grew lush and wild, but the iron tree of Conrad’s heart never once bloomed. Until now, apparently. And his flower of choice was a simple, unassuming daisy. I squared my shoulders and walked toward them. “”Conrad,”” I said, my voice soft. “”I’ve been waiting for you all day.”” The smile vanished from his face as if it had been wiped clean. “”What are you doing here?”” he asked, his brow furrowing as he feigned ignorance. But I saw the flicker of cruel amusement in his eyes. “”Please, just let me have the internship,”” I pleaded, twisting the hem of my dress. “”I’ve done so much research. I won’t cause any trouble. I swear.”” This was the game. Mr. Sterling had played the bad cop, forcing his hand. Now I had to play the good cop, massaging his ego. My display of groveling seemed to work. The hard lines around his eyes softened slightly. “”Anna,”” he said, turning to the girl beside him. “”Get her processed tomorrow. Intern.”” He gestured vaguely in my direction. “”This is my secretary. Just coordinate with her.”” I looked at the girl again. Anna. She offered me a bright, polite smile. She had an aura of quiet grace, and a nagging feeling told me I’d seen her somewhere before. I glanced at the employee badge clipped to her jeans: Anna Thompson. A nice name. But a little voice in my head insisted it was wrong.”

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My mother-in-law, Carol, was killed by my husband’s young assistant, who ran a red light. The official story, the one that stuck, was that Carol had staged the accident. Insurance fraud. Three times I took the case to court. Three times I lost. I was preparing to file a fourth appeal when I discovered the impossible: Carol’s body had vanished from the morgue. I was about to call the police when my husband, Mark, a man who had built his career on never losing a case, cornered me. He tossed a thin envelope of cash on the coffee table. Twenty thousand dollars. “You should know by now, Nora,” he said, his voice stripped of all warmth. “I don’t lose. You can have all the evidence in the world, but you will never win a case for your mother.” He gestured at the money. “I told them she was a scam artist, so that’s what she is. All this pointless appealing… it’s just about money, isn’t it? A bigger payout. Well, this is it. I had your mother’s body sold on the black market. Twenty thousand. I’d say that’s maximizing her assets. Now, for the love of God, stop harassing Chloe.” And just like that, I understood. All this time, he thought the woman who died was my mother. I pushed the envelope back across the table. “I can’t take this,” I said. 1 Mark’s face tightened, a vein pulsing at his temple. He thought I was negotiating. “You think twenty thousand is too little?” he snapped, his voice rising. “Let’s be clear about something, Nora. Your mother was an unemployed nobody. The fact that her death earned you twenty grand is a miracle. It’s the best thing that ever happened to your family, so don’t you dare push your luck.” I shook my head slowly. “You misunderstood. I’m saying this money belongs to you.” A look of pure disgust twisted his handsome features. “Are you insane?” he spat. “That’s the money from selling your mother’s corpse. What the hell does that have to do with me? You think I’m like you? You think I need that kind of blood money?” Mark came from a broken home. His father died young, and it was Carol who had raised him, working three jobs, sacrificing her health and her future to send him through law school. He’d always been a devoted son, keenly aware of everything she’d given up for him. That filial piety had been one of the things I’d loved most about him. I never understood why, after Carol died, he’d abandoned our home, pouring all his energy into defending Chloe, the very woman who had killed her. But now I knew. He thought the dead woman was my mother. I looked him straight in the eye, my voice level and serious. “Mark, I’m telling you, you need to return that money. You need to get Mom’s body back.” I let the word hang in the air. Mom. The name he called her. “You will regret this,” I finished. He just laughed, a short, ugly sound. “You think the black market is some department store with a return policy? Do you have any idea how this works? Whatever they bought is sold. By now, your mother is in pieces, being parted out across the state. She’s gone. Take the money and stop being a damn martyr.” Carol wasn’t my mother by blood, but she had been more of a mother to me than my own. The thought of her—a good woman, killed without reason, her name slandered, her body desecrated and sold by her own son—it was a horror that settled deep in my bones. “Mark,” I whispered, “how could you? Knowing what they do to the bodies… how could you be so cruel?” A smirk played on his lips. “She was your mother, Nora, not mine. Why would I care? Besides, the dead can’t feel pain. At least this way, she finally had some value.” He paused, his eyes turning to ice. “She’s the one who wasn’t watching where she was going. She got herself killed, and she gave poor Chloe nightmares for a week.” 2 Watching him stand there, so arrogant and self-assured, I couldn’t help but wonder what his face would look like when he finally learned the truth. He saw my silence as surrender and pressed his advantage. “Honestly, Nora, I’m not surprised. Your mom always looked like she was on borrowed time. If it wasn’t a car, it would’ve been something else. Be grateful you got twenty thousand out of it.” He picked up his briefcase, ready to leave. “Now, take the money, go buy a nice gift basket, and drive over to the firm tomorrow to apologize to Chloe. We’re putting this behind us.” He left the cash on the table and walked out without a backward glance. As I watched his silhouette disappear down the hallway, a profound realization settled over me. The brilliant lawyer I had married, the man who once championed the innocent, was gone. In his place was something rotten. This marriage was over. The next morning, I typed up the divorce agreement and drove to his firm. I walked into his office to a scene of revolting intimacy. Mark, a man so obsessed with cleanliness that he wouldn’t touch a public doorknob, was kneeling on the floor, gently massaging Chloe’s bare foot. The look in his eyes was a tender, possessive adoration I hadn’t seen directed at me in years. Chloe spotted me first. She snatched her foot back, her voice a pitch-perfect imitation of panic. “Nora! Please, don’t get the wrong idea. I—I twisted my ankle, and Mark was just being nice…” She tugged on his sleeve, her eyes wide. “Mark, honey, please explain! I don’t want to lose my job…” He patted her back, his voice a low murmur meant only for her. “Don’t worry. She’s here to apologize to you.” Then, he turned his gaze on me, and the tenderness vanished, replaced by cold contempt. “I told you to bring a gift. Did you come empty-handed? You’re a grown woman, Nora. Don’t you even know how to say you’re sorry?” I didn’t waste my breath. I pulled the divorce papers from my purse and placed them on his desk. “Sign them. I want a divorce.” Mark stared at the papers, his expression shifting from irritation to disbelief. Then, his brow furrowed in anger. “What is this, another one of your scenes? You know my mother only recognizes you as her daughter-in-law. She would never approve of this. Is that what you want? To run to her so she’ll yell at me?” So he could still think of his mother after all. A bitter smile touched my lips. “Your mother will never be able to yell at you again.” 3 A flicker of something—unease, maybe—crossed Mark’s face. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “Go home and see for yourself,” I said, my voice flat. He shot me an impatient glare. “Stop being so dramatic. It’s just your mother who died. Why are you dragging this out endlessly? Now get out of my office. You’re not getting a divorce.” Chloe, who had been watching from the sidelines, chose that moment to act. She dabbed at her dry eyes, her voice catching in a sob. “Nora, I know my license was… new, and maybe I’m not the best driver, but that day… it really wasn’t my fault! Are you filing for divorce just to threaten Mark? To pressure him into sending me to prison?” Her performance was flawless. She was the picture of a terrified victim. It worked. Mark’s heart visibly melted. He pulled her into his arms, stroking her hair. “Shhh, Chloe, don’t cry,” he murmured. “I’m here. I will never let you see the inside of a jail cell.” He glared at me over her shoulder, his voice low and menacing. “She’s just a kid, Nora. Why do you have to be such a bitch to her? You think threatening me with a divorce will make me drop her case? You’re dreaming. Your mother died for nothing. You won’t get a dime more in compensation, and you will not lay a single finger on Chloe.” Watching him shield the woman who killed his own mother, I felt a fresh wave of sorrow for Carol. But what more could I do? Her own son had made his choice. I took a deep breath. “I’m not asking, Mark. This marriage is over.” His rage finally boiled over. He snatched the papers from the desk, ripped them into pieces, and threw them into the air like confetti. “You want a divorce that badly?” he seethed. “Fine! You’ve got it! But I’ll be the one filing. I will drag your name through the mud. I will leave you with nothing. And I will make damn sure my mother sees you for what you really are: a venomous shrew who used her own mother’s death to try and scam money from an innocent girl.” Through the slowly falling scraps of paper, I saw the raw hatred in his eyes. And behind him, on Chloe’s face, the faintest trace of a triumphant smile. I said nothing more. I turned and walked out of the office, out of his life. Back at our apartment, I quietly packed a suitcase. As I dragged it toward the lobby of our building, I was suddenly swarmed. 4 They came out of nowhere—a dozen people armed with phones and cameras, their flashes blinding. “That’s her! That’s the woman!” a man shouted, shoving a phone in my face. “She’s the one who coached her own elderly mother to commit insurance fraud!” another voice screamed. “After her mom got herself killed, she tried to extort a poor college grad! When that didn’t work, she filed one frivolous lawsuit after another, pushing the poor girl into a deep depression! She almost killed herself!” “Thank God her husband is a righteous lawyer! He stands for what’s right, not who he’s related to! He’s been protecting that innocent girl this whole time!” “And now she’s leaving him because he wouldn’t join her scheme! Look, she’s got her bags packed!” The accusations rained down on me, sharp and relentless. Over the shoulders of the screaming mob, I saw them: Mark and Chloe, watching from a safe distance, their faces alight with smug satisfaction. So this was his plan. This was how he would ruin me. A public shaming, broadcast live. It was working. On a dozen different livestreams, the comment sections were exploding with hate. “Jesus, this woman is human garbage. Using her own mom to make a buck?” “With a daughter like that, no wonder the old lady didn’t live long.” “Like mother, like daughter. She got what she deserved.” “Right? Why her mom? It’s fate. She was probably a piece of shit too.” The online vitriol fueled the real-world crowd. Someone threw an egg that splattered against my coat. A clump of wilted lettuce hit my hair. Stepping through the mess on the ground, I walked past the cameras and stopped in front of Mark. “Do you really have to be this cruel?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. He frowned. Before he could answer, Chloe stepped forward, tears welling in her eyes again. “Nora… I know you lost your mother, but this has been so hard on me, too,” she pleaded. “Please, I’m begging you, just let me go. Stop tormenting me!” Mark’s expression softened as he looked at her, then hardened as he turned back to me. “You brought this on yourself, Nora,” he said, his voice cold and final. “Your mother got herself killed trying to scam someone. You have no right to keep persecuting Chloe for it. She’s the victim here. Her brand-new car was damaged, and out of the kindness of her heart, she didn’t even ask you to pay for the repairs. And this is how you repay her? Your mother was lucky to have a daughter as rotten as she was. It’s no wonder she died young.” Just as the words left his mouth, a figure pushed through the crowd. It was my mother. She walked right up to Mark and stared at him, her face etched with confusion. “Who,” she asked, “did you just say was dead?”

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My best friend and I saved a billionaire’s son. His father asked us what we wanted as a reward. My friend held up one finger. The billionaire said, “Done. A million dollars for you.” Her jaw dropped. I knew she was thinking of a single dollar for a lollipop. Then, his gaze fell on me. I slowly raised one finger and shook my head. Before he could process that, I dropped to the ground and hugged his leg. “Dad!” He gently declined. So I pivoted, let go of the father, and wrapped my arms around the son I’d just saved. “Husband!” At the time, I was seven years old. The billionaire’s son was eight. 1 At seven years old, you’re basically a public nuisance. A feral little creature running on instinct and sugar. That was me, anyway. I’d just led my best friend, Chloe, through a gap I’d painstakingly widened in the chain-link fence behind St. Jude’s Home for Children. Our mission: the creek deep in the woods, where rumor had it the crawdads were massive. We didn’t find any crawdads. Instead, tucked away in a thicket of ferns, we found a boy. Maybe eight years old, passed out cold. He was wearing a little blazer, the kind of thing you see in magazines, fancier than anything the boys at the home owned. Now, though, it was smeared with mud and blood. Chloe and I put our shoulders into it, grunting and straining, but we couldn’t move him an inch. “Maya, is he… is he dead?” Chloe’s voice was a high-pitched wobble, tears already welling up. My name is Maya. The director at St. Jude’s, Mrs. Gable, gave it to me. She said it meant I was destined for great things. I hoped “great things” meant “lots of money.” I knelt down, mimicking a scene from one of the cheesy dramas our housekeeper, Maria, was always watching. I put my fingers under his nose. “Still breathing,” I announced. I stood, scanned our surroundings, and yanked a handful of broad-leafed weeds from the ground. I found a flat rock and smashed them into a green, pulpy mess, then slapped the whole concoction onto the gash on his forehead. “Master healer,” I said with a deadpan expression, meeting Chloe’s wide, worshipping eyes. I had no idea what those weeds were or what they did. All I knew was that in the shows, whenever the hero fell off a cliff, this is how they saved themselves. “You stay here with him. I’ll go get help.” I gave Chloe her orders, then tugged at my own faded t-shirt. I wished I had a flowing cape. If I had a cape, I’d look exactly like a superheroine, sprinting off to save the day. My superhero moment was unceremoniously crushed by Mrs. Gable’s hand connecting with the back of my head. I spent the whole way back to the woods sniffling, tears tracking paths through the dirt on my cheeks as I led the way. By the time we got there, Chloe, that little glutton, was long gone—probably lured away by the thought of dinner. The boy was still lying there alone, the poultice I’d made for him dried into a sad, flaky cracker on his forehead. Mrs. Gable hadn’t actually believed me. The color drained from her face when she saw him. She fumbled for her phone, calling 911, her voice trembling. The world dissolved into a dizzying symphony of sirens. The boy was lifted onto a stretcher and carried away. I was hauled to the local police station to give a statement. I’m loyal. I didn’t rat Chloe out. But she had no such qualms. The second she saw Mrs. Gable, she burst into tears and pointed a trembling finger at me. She told them how I’d dragged her through the fence, how it was my idea to hunt for crawdads, how I’d mashed up weird plants and put them on the boy. It had nothing to do with her. I lunged for her, my fingers curled into claws, but Mrs. Gable caught me by the scruff of my neck. When we got back to St. Jude’s, I found the gap in the fence sealed with a fresh patch of concrete. My adventures were now confined to the dusty yard. I was so mad at Chloe that I gave her the silent treatment for a whole week. She was too scared to even come near me. Then, one afternoon, a car with a tiny, gleaming silver angel on the hood pulled up to our gate. A Rolls-Royce. A man stepped out. The fabric of his suit shimmered, looking so expensive it probably cost more than our entire building. He radiated an aura of power, exactly like the billionaires in Maria’s dramas who were always saying things like, “Here’s a hundred million. Get out of my sight.” Trailing behind him was the boy. He looked nothing like the snot-nosed kids I usually fought with in the yard. His clothes were immaculate, his teeth were perfectly white and straight, and there wasn’t a single runny nose in sight. It was him. The boy from the woods. I was lazily swinging, hanging upside down, when Mrs. Gable marched them right over to me. “Maya, get down from there this instant!” Her voice was tight. I could see the impulse to grab me flicker in her eyes, but with important guests present, she reined it in. I saw my opening. No discipline today? My courage swelled. I scrambled upright on the wobbly swing seat, struck a flamingo-like pose on one leg, and, for dramatic effect, let go with one hand. That was the last straw. My death-defying act finally broke her. Distinguished guests or not, she yanked me down and gave me the scolding of a lifetime right there in the yard. I was still sniffling, hiccupping with tears, when she finally positioned me in front of them. “I am so sorry,” Mrs. Gable said, her cheeks flushed. “She’s… spirited.” The rich man just chuckled. “Don’t apologize. If it weren’t for her being so spirited, my son, Liam, might not have been found. A little wildness is a good thing.” Mrs. Gable managed a tight smile. “Well, your son is very lucky. Those woods are treacherous; even locals avoid them. Maya here…” Her hand twitched again as she pulled me closer, visibly fighting the urge to give me another shake. “Which is why we are so grateful,” the man continued. “In addition to the five-hundred-thousand-dollar donation we’re making to the home, we’d like to offer the children a personal reward. Something just for them.” Chloe must have heard the commotion because she suddenly appeared at my side. The man learned that she had been there too, and he smiled kindly at her. “Is there anything you’d like, sweetie?” She shyly held up one finger. The man sighed in relief. “Of course. One million dollars is yours.” Chloe’s jaw dropped. Her little brain was probably trying to calculate how many lollipops a million dollars could buy. A million dollars didn’t mean much to me either, but I knew it was a hell of a lot more than the single dollar she’d been about to ask for. Finally, the man’s gaze fell on me. I slowly raised one finger, then gave it a little wag, shaking my head. His brow furrowed slightly. As he was trying to calculate what my finger-wagging math might mean, I dropped to the ground, wrapped my arms around his leg, and shouted with all the force my little lungs could muster. “Dad!” The sound was sharp and clear, vibrating through the still afternoon air. The man froze, staring down at me. For the first time, the perfectly managed expression of a corporate titan cracked, revealing pure, unadulterated shock. Mrs. Gable squeezed the bridge of her nose, closing her eyes as if praying for strength. Behind his father, the boy—Liam—let out a quiet snort of laughter. The man recovered, offering a strained smile as he gently tried to pry me off. “I’m sorry, little one, but how about… how about five million dollars instead?” I slowly unwrapped my arms. Just as he breathed a sigh of relief, I launched myself sideways and latched onto his son. “Husband!” The world went silent. I was seven. Liam Sterling, the rich man’s son, was eight. His mouth hung open, revealing those perfect teeth. A deep blush crept up his neck, flooding his handsome face. He instinctively tried to back away, but I held on tight. I was strong and wiry, and he lost his balance, tumbling backward onto the grass with me still attached. The next thing I knew, I was being lifted into the air by my collar. This time, Mrs. Gable truly lost it. As she disciplined me, she ranted, “I told you to stop watching those ridiculous shows with Maria! You’re seven years old! What is wrong with you? Maria?! Where is Maria!” Maria did not appear. The ordeal only ended when the rich boy himself, Liam, tugged on his father’s sleeve and mumbled something. I was finally released. “Ma’am, perhaps there’s another solution,” Mr. Sterling said after a long pause. “This girl… I’d like to take her in. I’ll raise her, see to her education, all the way through college. What do you think?” I don’t know what he and Mrs. Gable discussed after that. My backside was stinging so badly that the words just floated over my head. All I know is that Mrs. Gable insisted she “couldn’t show favoritism,” and so, when the Rolls-Royce with the little silver angel pulled away, both Chloe and I were in the back seat. 2 We moved into the Sterling mansion. The place was like a palace, a sprawling estate worth millions, and our host, Mr. Sterling, was a widower whose son was named Liam. Given that Liam seemed to get kidnapped every other Tuesday, his father quietly enrolled him in a new, exclusive private school. I had the honor of attending with him. So did Chloe. We were given princess bedrooms with beds so soft you’d sink into them. A private chef cooked us meals that were a hundred times better than Maria’s. We wore beautiful new dresses every single day. The only strange part was the young master of the house, Liam. He was always quiet and gloomy, and he hardly ever smiled. I didn’t know the full extent of Mr. Sterling’s wealth, but I knew this: where kidnappers used to only target Liam, I was now the buy-one-get-one-free bonus prize. The moment I was bundled onto the helicopter, I ignored the ropes binding my wrists and pressed my face against the window, screaming with delight. “Liam! Look! The ocean is so beautiful! Wow! We’re so high up! Liam, I forgot to tell you something important. I’m actually a warrior princess from another dimension, here on a secret mission—” My monologue was cut short when one of the exasperated kidnappers slapped a piece of duct tape over my mouth. Silence at last. They landed on a desolate island and threw Liam and me into a small wooden shack. I saw the glint of a gun, black and terrifying. A loud bang echoed through the trees, and I swear it shook the birds right out of their nests. We were left in there for a day and a night, starving. Outside, the kidnappers were constantly on the phone, cursing and shouting about how “that bastard Sterling double-crossed me.” While they were distracted, I took the bobby pin from my hair and started scraping at the rusty old lock on the door. It was a survival skill I’d taught myself back at St. Jude’s whenever I got locked in the time-out closet. As their angry shouts grew louder, I finally heard a click. The lock gave way. I grabbed Liam’s hand and pulled him out into the twilight. We ran. I relied on pure, wild instinct, leading him through the dense woods until we found a hidden cave, its entrance veiled by a curtain of thick vines. It probably belonged to some wild animal, but right now, we didn’t have a choice. Night had fallen completely, and Liam was shivering, his lips turning a faint shade of blue. I remembered what they did in Maria’s dramas. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him tight against me. My own heart was pounding. “Don’t you dare die,” I whispered fiercely. “If you die, what am I supposed to do?” “You’re too young for this. You have to fight,” I went on, my voice rising with dramatic urgency. “Think about it! You were born with a silver spoon in your mouth. You have more money than you could ever spend! If you die, some other guy is gonna sleep with your wife and boss around your kids…” He managed a weak cough, the corner of his bloodless lips twitching. “Just how many of those toxic dramas… has Maria made you watch?” I thought about it seriously. “She watches them every day. When she’s cooking, she just listens to the audio. In her free time, she’s always scrolling. The longest one had three hundred episodes. She had to watch hundreds of ads just to unlock them all.” His eyes started to flutter shut again. Panic seized me. I took a deep breath and, using every ounce of strength in my body, I roared into the darkness. “I WILL NOT GO QUIETLY INTO THE NIGHT! WHEN I GET OUT OF HERE, YOU WILL ALL PAY!” The body in my arms jolted, and his eyes snapped open. It worked. When Mr. Sterling and his search party finally found us, we were huddled together, both having passed out from exhaustion and cold. I have a feeling if they’d arrived just a little later, I might have actually met that warrior princess from another dimension. Back home, Mr. Sterling kept dabbing at his eyes, his voice thick with emotion as he called my name over and over. “Maya… oh, Maya.” I peered up at him through my eyelashes and whispered weakly. “Dad!” Mr. Sterling’s expression froze for a second, but then he looked at my pale, small face, and all the resistance melted away. He sighed, and this time, he whispered it back. “Okay.” And just like that, the billionaire became my dad. Well, sort of. I called him “Dad” so relentlessly that he finally gave in. He said I could call him my godfather, and we’d make it official. Godfather, real father, what was the difference? I had achieved my ultimate drama-inspired goal: I had a rich dad. I wished Maria was there to see it. She used to say I was so wild because I didn’t have a father. Well, now I had one, and he was exactly the kind of billionaire she obsessed over. Chloe stood nearby, her eyes filled with envy. I shot her a look, trying to encourage her with my eyes. She wanted to try it too, but one glance at Mr. Sterling’s stern, unsmiling face and she lost her nerve. Mr. Sterling, for his part, showed no interest in collecting a second goddaughter. So that was that. After the kidnapping, I started having nightmares. For the first time, I was scared to sleep alone. But Chloe was still angry that she hadn’t been made a goddaughter, too. She ignored me, preferring to cuddle a fancy porcelain doll instead of letting me sleep in her room. So, late at night, after the house was quiet, I would tiptoe down the hall to Liam’s room. “You should have just said you were scared to sleep alone,” I’d whisper, climbing into his bed. “It’s okay, I’m here now.” He would patiently explain that he was perfectly fine sleeping by himself, that he was used to it, but I’d already be burrowed under his covers. Eventually, he’d give up, sighing in resignation as my soft snores filled the room. I had sinus issues that made me snore. It was quiet, but the other kids at the home used to make fun of me for it. I never believed them, because I could never hear it myself. The next morning, Liam would emerge from his room with dark circles under his eyes. I’d feel a small pang of guilt, but it always vanished by the time darkness fell again. Chloe started locking her door, so my only option was Liam. Thankfully, no matter how annoyed he seemed, he never locked his. I always won. I was a chaotic sleeper. I’d toss, turn, sprawl, and kick. He, on the other hand, slept like a soldier at attention, perfectly still. He’d wake up in the exact same position he’d fallen asleep in. I, however, would wake up horizontally, diagonally, or with my head at the foot of the bed. Our positions were a mystery every morning. Years flew by. When we got older, Liam finally learned to lock his door. But he found a new routine. Before he went to sleep, he’d FaceTime me, promising he’d hang up after I fell asleep. In the dark of my room, I’d clutch my phone and whisper. “Liam?” “Go to sleep,” his voice would crackle back, impatient. Five minutes later. “Liam.” “Maya, if you don’t go to sleep, I’m hanging up.” Ten minutes later, the faint sound of my snoring would travel through the speaker. He never hung up. In the morning, I’d see the call log: seven hours and counting. Life at the Sterling house was carefree. If I was home, I’d drag Liam out of his art studio to play in the yard with me. Chloe never joined. She said he was no fun, always wearing a “frosty little face like an ice cube,” and that he was terrible at every game. “Okay, we’re playing house! You’re the husband, I’m the mom, and Chloe, you can be the dad!” That particular game did not get off the ground. The other two participants just stared at me like I was an idiot and flatly refused. Time kept slipping by. The fall after we graduated high school, Liam left for one of the best universities in the country. Chloe and I were left behind, facing the frantic, final sprint of our senior year. “I don’t have high expectations for you, sweetie,” my godfather told me over dinner, his tone serious. “It doesn’t matter what your grades are. When you graduate, there’s a job waiting for you at my company. I’ll take care of you for the rest of your life.” I shoveled rice into my mouth. “Dad, I don’t want the corporate 9-to-9 grind. Can’t you just find me a decent trust fund kid from your circle? I think I’d make a great trophy wife.” A sharp flick hit my forehead. Mr. Sterling was looking at me with the same look of profound disappointment Mrs. Gable used to give me. “My own father beat me with a coat hanger when I was a boy. I thought, for sure, my son would be a little hellion like me. I was almost looking forward to it. But no, my son is a perfect angel, and my daughter turns out to be a wild monkey! Get out of here. And if you bomb your finals, you can forget about that condo I promised you.” A lightning bolt of pure horror shot through me. The condo! My condo was on the line! Fuming, I snatched the fresh cup of coffee his assistant had just brought in and chugged the entire thing, not leaving him a single drop. “Mr. Sterling…” the poor assistant stammered, looking heartbroken. My godfather rubbed his temples. “Does saying my name magically refill the cup? Go on, try calling me Mr. Sterling too.” The miserable assistant and I left his office at the same time. I trudged back to school, miserable myself. I should have just agreed. Who wasn’t a corporate drone? Mr. Sterling worked harder than anyone, up before the sun and in bed long after midnight. It was way worse than 9-to-9. Ugh. “Liam? Could you help me with my calculus?” I don’t know when it started, but even Chloe had started calling him by his first name, her voice sweet as sugar. I was in the stairwell at school, drinking a juice box, when I overheard her on the phone with him. I couldn’t hear his replies, but I saw the bright, triumphant smile on her face when she hung up. She saw me on her way down the stairs. I started to wave, but she just gave me a quick glance out of the corner of her eye, flipped her hair, and walked right past me. Things had gotten weird in high school. Chloe and I stopped being roommates; she got her own room. Sometimes she’d make little digs at me in private, but in front of my godfather or Liam, she was the picture of gentle, quiet grace. If I ever called her on it, her face would instantly harden, her eyes welling with tears. “You’re his goddaughter now, Maya. I’m just a guest here, an outsider. I have to walk on eggshells every single day. What more do you want from me? Are you going to bully me too, just like everyone else?” Before I could even argue, she’d slam her door in my face. She had her own friends now, and she’d started wearing makeup behind my godfather’s back. With me, she grew more and more distant. With Liam, however, she was getting closer and closer. The boy she used to call an “ice cube” was still an ice cube, but now she was the one constantly orbiting him, her smile bright and persistent. And to be fair, Liam had grown up to be ridiculously handsome. He had the kind of proportions you only see in comics, and his hands, long-fingered and elegant, were beautiful. His hobby, of all things, was painting. I could watch those hands move a brush across a canvas for hours. I wasn’t the only one. The girls at our school were obsessed with him. He had the looks, the talent, the money, the grades, and that aloof, sophisticated personality. He was a romance novel hero come to life. Girls had been confessing their love to him since freshman year. It was no exaggeration to say he could get asked for his number just walking the dog. But the guy was an impenetrable fortress of ice, completely clueless when it came to romance. “Oh, my brother… you know how he is.” The smarter girls learned to try and get to him through me. I’d squint my eyes mysteriously at some hopeful heiress who’d just slipped me a hundred-dollar bill. “Okay, look,” I’d whisper, leaning in conspiratorially. “He’s into the cutesy, anime-type girls. You know, chibi style? That’s all I can give you. You have to figure out the rest. If he finds out I told you, I’m dead…” It was top-secret intel I’d gathered by risking my life to peek at his sketchbook. There wasn’t a single realistic portrait of a beautiful woman in it. They were all these adorable, big-headed cartoon characters, cute but with a hint of mischief. I didn’t dare say more, afraid the rumor would get twisted. After all, who would believe that the cool, untouchable god of our school secretly liked to draw cute, bubbly cartoons? The thought of my condo, so close and yet so far, spurred me into action. I was going to get serious. I tied my hair back into a messy bun and marched over to the desk of my class vice president, Alex. “Alex, can you tutor me? I’ll pay you. No freebies.” I pulled a crumpled wad of cash from my pocket and slapped it on his desk. He stopped fiddling with his pen, pushed his glasses up his nose, and gave a single, cool nod. “Okay.” And so my life became a frantic blur of studying. I’d see messages from Liam pop up on my phone late at night, but I was too tired to reply. Then I’d be rushing out the door in the morning and forget all about them. This happened several times. One day, I was at a coffee shop owned by Alex’s mom, deep in a tutoring session. He spoke softly, so I had to lean in close to hear his explanation of a complex formula. I was concentrating so hard that when I finally looked up, I was startled to see Liam standing right in front of our table. His face was a mask of ice. And next to him, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips, was Chloe. She was clutching a stack of books to her chest, looking like an innocent, studious bystander. “Maya, there you are,” Chloe said, her voice just loud enough for the few other patrons in the cafe to turn and look. “Liam was texting you, but you weren’t answering. We were so worried. We thought something might have happened to you.” Her words were dripping with concern, but the smug satisfaction in her eyes was impossible to miss. Before I could say a word, Liam strode forward. He didn’t even glance at Alex. His gaze was locked on me, his voice colder than a Siberian winter. “We’re going home.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384433”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The first time I died, it was pathetic. I’d stormed out of my marriage in a blaze of righteous fury, only to discover that pride doesn’t pay the rent. I ended up broke, sick, and utterly alone, wasting away in a sterile hospital room. The final irony? It was my ex-husband, Liam, who claimed my ashes. While my life fizzled out, his ignited. He made partner at his law firm, pulling in seven figures a year. And, of course, he got the girl—his great lost love, the one that got away. A perfect, inspiring life. A perfect middle finger to my memory. When I open my eyes again, I’m back. Back on the very day I threw it all away. Liam is sitting across from me, his face an unreadable mask of indifference. “Your family’s about to go bankrupt, Audrey. You really want to do this now? Are you planning on starving?” His words are a splash of ice water. The first time around, I was too proud, too wounded to hear the truth in them. I’d just screamed, demanded he sign the papers, and walked away with nothing but my “dignity.” I left him the five-million-dollar house, the closets full of designer clothes, everything. A grand gesture to prove my nobility wasn’t for sale. What a fucking idiot I was. 1 After years of scrubbing dishes in the dead of winter for minimum wage, my hands cracking and bleeding for a three-thousand-dollar paycheck, those material things suddenly look a lot more than just cute. They look like survival. They look like warmth. Love? Love without a safety net isn’t romantic. It’s just garbage. A slow, sweet smile spreads across my face. I let my eyes soften as I look at him. “Oh, honey. Liam. I was just talking nonsense. Why would I ever want to divorce you? I love you so much.” I stand, my voice dripping with manufactured warmth. “That was all just… a moment. You must be exhausted. Let me run you a bath. You can just soak and relax.” Before he can react, I snatch the divorce agreement off the table and make a run for it. In the master bathroom, I tear the damn thing to shreds, flushing the pieces down the toilet with a visceral sense of satisfaction. The whirring sound of the state-of-the-art, fully automated commode is the most beautiful music I’ve ever heard. I can’t help but press my cheek against its heated lid, soaking in the gentle warmth. Oh my God, I think, a wave of relief so powerful it’s almost painful washing over me. I’ll never have a frozen ass in the winter again. No more gnawing hunger. No more choosing between my father’s medical bills and my own groceries. No more breaking my body for a pittance. I don’t know what I was so hung up on in my past life. Obsessing over whether Liam loved me, picking apart a few ambiguous text messages on his phone, even after he’d handed me his entire life on a silver platter. It took hitting rock bottom to finally understand the gospel truth: the only thing that truly matters is the almighty dollar. I’ve seen the light. And this time, I’m never leaving its warm, comforting embrace. I draw Liam’s bath, setting the temperature to a precise 96.4 degrees, just how he likes it. I lay out a fresh set of pajamas for him. When he walks into the bathroom, I’m still standing by the door, beaming at him. He gives me a long, searching look, then silently reaches out and clicks the lock on the door. I… right. As if I’m thirsty for that. I shrug it off and head to our bedroom to take stock of my personal finances. 2 To be fair, for the first twenty-five years of my life, I really was a princess. My parents ran a successful manufacturing business, clearing nearly eight figures a year. As their only child, I was the center of their universe. My grades were average, but I was pretty and, more importantly, lucky. I scraped my way into a top-tier school, and that’s where I met Liam. He was brilliant, intense, and dirt-poor. It was a story straight out of a novel. I fell head over heels. I begged my parents to cover his tuition, to give him the seed money to start his own firm after graduation. He was grateful. To repay me, he proposed the day we got our diplomas. What followed were two years of a picture-perfect marriage that was, behind closed doors, as cold as a morgue. Liam was a good man, but a good man isn’t immune to the laws of attraction. He felt gratitude for me, not desire. Even in bed, he was never truly lost in the moment. He was busy, driven. Saturday nights, he would mechanically set aside one hour for “us.” Any other time, if I wanted so much as a kiss, I felt like I had to schedule it with his assistant. Living in that emotional deep freeze, my romantic soul started to wither, and then to act out. Looking back now, I can’t blame him for finding me boring. After college, I slid right into the role of a housewife. My days were a blur of reality TV and video games. We had nothing to talk about. He’d accuse me of having my brain melted by social media; I’d accuse him of being less charming and attentive than the husbands I saw on those same screens. Our marriage was on a collision course with a brick wall. Lying on the plush king-sized bed, I let out a long sigh. Audrey, you don’t know how good you have it. For a useless, spoiled woman like you, getting a second chance is like winning the lottery. Your ancestors must be smiling down on you. This is your do-over. Use it. You don’t need to be some hero who single-handedly saves the family business. You just need to be smart enough to build a lifeboat, for yourself and for them. Just then, Liam walks in, rubbing his hair with a towel. He glances at me, still in my day clothes, a flicker of confusion in his eyes. Right. It’s Saturday. My night to perform my wifely duties. Unlike the cold shoulder I would have given him before, I jump up and dash into the bathroom. I take what could only be described as a combat shower and slip into a piece of lingerie I’d buried at the back of my drawer. I’d bought it for our honeymoon, hoping for a night of passion, but he’d been called away on an urgent case before I ever got to wear it. Well, no time like the present. It’s for our mutual pleasure, after all. Why not enjoy it? The moment I step out, I see Liam’s breath catch in his throat. His eyes widen with a mix of shock and something else, something I can’t quite decipher. His voice is a low rasp. “Audrey, you…” I silence him with a kiss. “Shhh,” I whisper against his lips. “Don’t talk. We’re wasting precious time.” 3 It’s amazing what a change in perspective can do. Before, I was desperate for his love, so I scrutinized his every move. A furrowed brow from him would send my heart into a panic, terrified I’d done something to displease him. A strained groan and I’d spiral, convinced I was failing. But now? Now he’s just a tool. A very handsome, very effective tool. My only concerns are his speed, the angle, and whether he’s putting in enough effort. After the third round, Liam’s face is pale. I lean in for another kiss, but he gently pushes me away. “I have a court appearance tomorrow. I can’t be exhausted.” Oh. Okay, then. I suppose it’s normal to be a little overzealous after a twenty-year drought. I don’t argue. I just slip out of bed and start putting my clothes back on. Liam rolls over, his expression pure shock. “Where are you going?” “To the guest room. It’s a mess in here.” The sheets are… damp. It’s uncomfortable, and probably bad for my joints. In my old life, I would have endured it just to cuddle with him. Now, I value my own comfort. If he wants to sleep in a wet spot, that’s his problem. I shut the door with a soft click, leaving him with a look of utter bewilderment on his face. The next morning, I sleep until ten. As expected, he’s already gone. A note is left on the nightstand: [Out of town for a week. Chicago.] Tucked underneath it is a thick stack of cash. Liam has this weird habit of giving me my allowance in cash. I could never decide if it was meant to be insulting or just eccentric. I count it. Ten thousand dollars. Generous as always. I get dressed, take the money, and head straight for the bank. The moment I walk in, I’m overwhelmed. It’s one of the quirks of being a spoiled princess: I have no practical skills. Complex environments make my head spin. I finally flag down an employee who guides me to a teller. I exchange Liam’s cash for gold bars and move my own savings into a new, separate account. With my finances secured, I grab a taxi to my parents’ house. If my memory serves me right, this is right around the time their business started showing cracks, though they were still trying to shield me from it. 4 The air in my parents’ home is thick with gloom. My father is chain-smoking on the sofa, and my mother is staring blankly at a spreadsheet on her laptop. When they see me, they share a panicked glance and force brittle smiles onto their faces. My mom starts to speak, but I hold up a hand. “Don’t pretend. I know the business is in trouble.” They run a traditional manufacturing company, and the internet age has hit them like a freight train. In a desperate final gambit, they’d sunk all their remaining capital into one big project, and that project was now imploding. The company’s credit line is about to be severed, leaving them with two choices. One: Double down, take out more loans, and bet everything on one last miracle. Two: Liquidate everything, pay off the debts, and shut the doors for good. In my last life, my parents, bless their stubborn hearts, chose to gamble. They lost everything. The stress, the constant smoking… it eventually gave my father lung cancer. My mother tried to rebuild, but every penny she earned was immediately seized by creditors. They could barely afford to live. This time, I’m taking charge. “Dad, Mom. Stop fighting it. You’re behind the times. The factory isn’t coming back.” AI and automation are developing at a terrifying pace. The tidal wave is coming for traditional industries, and my parents can’t even see the storm clouds. They didn’t die from failure; they died from obsolescence. They both bristle at my words. “What do you know? You’ve never paid attention to the business.” “Exactly,” my mom adds. “I’ve spoken to your Uncle Mark and Uncle David. They both said they’d back us if we want to try again.” Yes, they did. And they both later became regulars at our door, demanding repayment. I let out a bitter laugh. “Come on, sit down. Let me tell you exactly why I know what I’m talking about.” I curl up on the sofa and tell them everything. My whole, pathetic, miserable past life. With the two people I trust most in the world, there’s no reason to hide. When I finish, they’re both shaken. My father’s eyes are filled with tears. “So… for all those years… you were washing dishes to pay our debts? And you died… you died alone in a hospital because you couldn’t afford treatment?” He clutches my hand, his whole body trembling. My mother is silent, her head bowed. After a long moment, she looks up, her face a mess of tears and a strange, broken smile. “Okay,” she says, her voice thick with emotion. “Okay, sweetheart. This time, we’ll listen to you. We’re done fighting.” 5 My parents began the slow, painful process of dismantling their life’s work. Thanks to decades of experience, they were savvy negotiators. After paying off all the debts and liquidating the assets, they were left with a few hundred thousand dollars and the family home, free and clear. After signing the final sale contract, my parents stood in the empty factory lobby, looking lost. “A whole lifetime of work,” my dad said, his voice hollow. “And it’s all gone. This factory, this land, all of it… it all belongs to someone else now.” I link my arms through theirs. “Dad, Mom, it’s okay. We’re all alive. That’s what matters.” Getting out now means they only lost a few million. If they’d held on, they would have been buried under a mountain of debt with no hope of escape. With no jobs to go to, my parents seemed to drift. They were aimless, their energy gone. So I took the nest egg I’d been building—a couple million from savings and savvy investments I remembered from my past life—and put it in their hands. “Mom, Dad, this is all my savings from… forever. It’s yours now.” They stared at the bank statement, speechless. “In my other life, I was miserable, but I also saw how fast the world was changing. The factory failed because you were both so busy working in the business that you never had time to see what was happening outside of it. If you try to jump into a new venture now, you’ll just be guessing.” I took a deep breath. “So here’s the plan. Take this money, and go back to school. Enroll in an executive MBA program. Learn about the new economy. And when you’re ready, when you see a real opportunity, we’ll start over. The right way.” My parents looked from the statement to me, their eyes wide with astonishment. Then, slowly, they both began to smile. “Wow,” my dad said, shaking his head in wonder. “Audrey, you’ve really grown up. That’s… that’s a brilliant idea.” “She’s right,” my mom agreed. “Your father and I will go back to school.” Striking while the iron was hot, I spent the rest of the night researching the top business programs in the country. Two days later, my parents were on a flight to Boston for an intensive course at Harvard. After arranging for better security at their now-empty house and letting go of the extra staff, I finally returned to the home I shared with Liam. He was already back, sitting on the sofa, reading through a case file. He looked up as I came in, then closed the file and tucked it into his briefcase. He stood, about to head into his study. I ignored him, went upstairs, took a shower, and started watching video tutorials on film editing. A friend of mine, Zoe, is a huge influencer. She told me the creator economy is exploding. I don’t have many marketable skills, but I know how to perform the role of a wealthy, carefree wife. I figured I could start a vlog. If it took off, great. If not, what did I have to lose? I was deep into a lesson on color grading when Liam pushed the bedroom door open and stood behind me. He asked, his voice low, “It’s Saturday.” 6 I almost choked on my water. I instinctively glanced at the calendar on my phone. Oh. So it is. I closed my laptop, walked over to him, and stood on my toes to kiss him. He caught me, his hand cupping the back of my neck. He paused. “Wear the one from last time.” …Excuse me? Oh. That one. Four rounds later, I was the one begging for mercy. As Liam rolled off me, I made a move to get out of bed. He grabbed my wrist. My eyes fluttered open. “Hmm?” He hesitated, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Sleep here.” “It’s wet.” He immediately leaned over to the linen closet, pulled out a fresh set of sheets, and expertly spread them over the mess. “Not anymore.” Fine. I settled back onto the pillow. He shifted, pulling me against his chest and wrapping his arms around me. I mumbled, confused, “What now?” “I’m cold.” Whatever. I was too exhausted to argue. I fell asleep almost instantly. I had no idea that the man beside me lay awake for hours, just watching me. I had a long, long dream about the days when I used to chase him. From his first day on campus, Liam was a star. The law school lecture halls were always packed, with dozens of students craning their necks just to get a look at him. He was cool, distant, never letting anyone get too close. The only person in his orbit was a girl from his hometown, Claire. They were inseparable. When I first set my sights on Liam, I tried to figure out if they were a couple. But before I could get a clear answer, Claire abruptly left the country to study abroad. Not long after, Liam’s mother was diagnosed with cancer. Pancreatic cancer. The king of them all. Treatment or not, the outcome was usually the same. But with money, you could buy comfort. You could buy dignity. Liam was tormented, unable to sleep, consumed by worry. I went to my parents and asked them for a million dollars to cover his mother’s medical expenses. With the bills paid, his mother could finally rest without pain. Liam found me the next day. “Thank you,” he said, his voice raw. “Don’t thank me,” I replied, my voice bold and clear. “Just marry me.” I was brazen, shameless in my pursuit. Liam looked at me, a soft, complicated smile touching his lips for the first time. I didn’t understand what that smile meant then. It took me two years of a cold marriage and a whole other lifetime to finally get it. It was the smile of surrender. The reluctant acknowledgment of a debt that could only be paid with his body, with his future. 7 The next morning, Liam was still home, a rare occurrence. He was setting out breakfast as I came downstairs. “I have some free time today,” he said. “I thought we could go see your parents.” “They’re not home,” I replied, not looking up from my oatmeal. “They’re in Boston.” He paused. “Boston?” “Mmmhmm. I signed them up for an MBA program. They’re taking classes.” “What about the factory? The business?” “It’s done. We sold it.” He watched me quietly for a moment. “Was that your idea?” “Yep. I figured there was no point in bleeding out slowly. Better to just rip the bandage off.” I wiped my mouth, grabbed my purse, and headed for the door to put on my shoes. “I’m meeting a friend. I might be late. See ya.” Liam started to say something, but the door was already closing behind me. I was meeting Zoe, my influencer friend, to pick her brain. She was a lifesaver, walking me through everything from setting up my accounts and writing a compelling bio to finding my target audience and boosting engagement. She talked a mile a minute, and I struggled to keep up with my notes. “God, your handwriting is atrocious,” she said, peering over my shoulder. “It looks like a chicken just had a seizure on your notepad.” I grinned. “What do you expect? I was a C-student, remember?” She laughed and playfully tried to shove me, but her eyes suddenly fixed on something over my shoulder. “Oh, shit.” I followed her gaze. Across the street, a handsome couple was walking side-by-side. A car sped past, and the man instinctively pulled the woman into the shelter of his arms. It was Liam. And Claire. When did she get back in town? And why didn’t Liam say anything? A flicker of the old hurt sparked in my chest, but I quickly snuffed it out. No. Do not go down that rabbit hole. You are not that girl anymore. I refocused on my notes. Zoe, who’d been at college with the three of us, knew the whole sordid history. She nudged me with her elbow. “Uh, hello? Your husband’s high school sweetheart just materialized. You’re not worried?” What was there to be afraid of? I already knew how this movie ended. In three years, Liam would make partner at his firm and he and Claire would get back together. He would propose to her with a fireworks display that lit up the entire city. While the sky exploded with light for them, I would be cowering in a dark restaurant kitchen, getting screamed at by my manager for dropping a stack of plates. “You can’t even wash a dish properly! What are you good for?” “That’s two hundred dollars out of your paycheck. Maybe next time you’ll be more careful.” 8 I didn’t know that as Liam pulled Claire into his arms, he looked up and saw me turn my head away. When I got home that evening, he was standing by the living room window, lost in thought. I was mentally fried from my info-dump session with Zoe, so I walked right past him and headed for the shower. A moment later, the bathroom door opened, and he stepped inside. He was wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, but he carried an aura of command that filled the small space. His handsome, chiseled face was an intense mask of inquiry. “You saw me today.” It wasn’t a question. I rinsed the shampoo from my hair. “Yep.” “Don’t you have anything you want to ask me?” I shook my head. He took a sharp breath, a flicker of anger in his eyes. “Why not?” I looked at him, genuinely perplexed. “Why would I?” What was there to ask? Whether I asked or not, she was still the one. The ghost of what could have been. Suddenly, he was furious. He crossed the space between us in two strides, pinning me against the tiled wall. His mouth crashed down on mine, a kiss that was more of an assault than an act of affection. His hands roamed, slick with soap and steam, igniting fires everywhere they touched. A tremor ran through me, a mix of arousal and simmering resentment. “It’s Sunday,” I managed to gasp out. It wasn’t his goddamn designated day. My protest seemed to enrage him further. He grunted, lifted me into his arms, and carried me out of the bathroom. “I don’t give a damn what day it is. I want you.” Money is hard to earn, I thought, as he threw me onto the bed. And some jobs are messier than others. The bastard went at it all night. The next morning, I felt like I’d been hit by a truck. The man responsible, of course, was already at the office. There was a new friend request on my phone. The profile picture was of Claire, looking sharp in a business suit. The message read: Hey, it’s Claire. Do you have a minute to talk? 9 Claire could dream on. I wasn’t about to let her mess with my mojo. I blocked her number without a second thought, then went to the mall and bought a new laptop and a GoPro. Under Zoe’s expert guidance, I filmed my first-ever vlog. I was under no illusions about who I was. I couldn’t fake being some intellectual powerhouse or a refined high-society lady. So I went with what I knew: “The Useless Princess’s Guide to Getting Her Life Together.” My angle was to let my followers in on the secret that not all rich people have their act together. Thanks to my brutally honest self-deprecation and a clearly defined niche, I gained 3,000 followers overnight. Seeing the “99+” notifications in my inbox gave me a thrill I’d never felt before. It was proof. Proof that I could actually be good at something. I was excitedly texting Zoe the news when Liam came home. He wasn’t alone. He’d brought Claire into our house. His expression was perfectly neutral. “Claire had a little accident at a dinner party, spilled soup on her dress. She lives across town, so I was wondering if she could borrow something of yours.” Saying no would make me look petty. I went into the bedroom and pulled out a casual designer tracksuit Liam had bought me when we were first married. As if by cosmic coincidence, it looked stunning on her. She offered a small, polite smile. “You know, it’s funny. Audrey and I seem to have similar taste. I used to love this brand before I moved abroad.” Her compliment was a little too sweet. I met it with blunt honesty. “Liam bought it. I’ve never worn it.” I smiled back. “If you like it so much, you can have it.” Claire’s smile became a little more genuine, the hint of rivalry in her eyes softening. “Oh, I couldn’t possibly… though I do really love it.” I gave her my best eight-teeth-baring, pageant-winner smile. It seemed to have the opposite effect on Liam, whose face had darkened considerably. His brow furrowed, his composure finally cracking. “I’m sorry, my wife is joking. That outfit isn’t for you. Let me find you something else.” And to my astonishment, he actually went back into the closet and picked out a different outfit for her to change into. Claire stared at him for a long, tense moment before snatching the clothes and disappearing into the bathroom with a huff. I thought for sure this was it. The big showdown. The timeline was a little accelerated, and my new career hadn’t taken off yet, but my family was debt-free. I wouldn’t starve. If Claire stayed the night, if they slept together, I could use it as leverage to get a bigger settlement. The house, definitely. A car, for convenience. And the savings… how much did we have in our joint account again? Lost in thought, I pulled out my phone and opened my banking app, trying to count the zeros. I didn’t notice that Liam had already shown Claire out and changed his clothes. He was standing in front of me, his face a thundercloud. “What are you doing?” “Seeing how much I stand to get.” …I probably shouldn’t have said that out loud. He yanked me to my feet. With a sweep of his arm, my brand-new laptop went flying, crashing to the floor. Before I could even register the loss, he lifted me onto the dining table, his mouth devouring mine in a rough, punishing kiss. His right hand tore at my collar while his left fumbled in a nearby drawer. His temper was getting more and more unpredictable. And this time, it hurt. Just when I thought he was about to go further, he stopped. He buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. His whole body shuddered with a frustration I couldn’t comprehend. “Why aren’t you angry?” he whispered, his voice choked with despair. “Audrey… don’t you love me anymore?”

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In the tenth year of our marriage, I found the pictures on my husband’s phone by accident. Intimate photos of him and the new intern. Tucked into the same chat log were pictures of them at an amusement park with my son, Leo. The three of them, beaming, looking for all the world like a perfect little family. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. Instead, I calmly and carefully marked the private photos as hidden. I knew my husband, Mark, too well. His affair wasn’t a shock; it was an eventuality I had long braced for. All that mattered was protecting the reputation of the law firm we built together. That resolve lasted until the intern, Chloe, beat me in court. She was representing the defendant in a case I was prosecuting. That evening, she posted a victory declaration on her Instagram. “A rookie can beat the queen bee after all! Huge thanks to my amazing mentor for the cheat codes!” A cold shock ran through me. It finally clicked. To pave the way for his new favorite, Mark hadn’t just coached her. He’d given her my entire case file. My evidence chain, my cross-examination strategy, my closing argument. I can accept a broken heart. I can accept a failed marriage. But I will never, ever accept someone using my name, my reputation, and my life’s work as a stepladder. 1 Within ten minutes, Chloe’s post was flooded with congratulatory comments. “Chloe, you’re a rockstar! Taking down Ava Caldwell in your first trial? You’re the future queen of the courtroom!” “Wow, that’s what happens when Mark Harrison takes you under his wing. The resources he gives his people are insane!” A few comments, however, struck a different tone. “It’s not hard to win when Ava’s playbook is handed to you on a silver platter.” “So this is how you debut with a bang. Taking notes.” Faced with the snide remarks, Chloe felt no shame. Instead, she doubled down, posting two more stories. “Haters gonna hate. My mentor believes in me and wants to lift me up. If you’re jealous, that’s a you problem.” Followed by: “I’ll admit I couldn’t have done it all on my own today, but years from now, I’ll be able to. Someone just helped fast-track the process is all ;)” I stared at her posts, a furious heat building in my chest. I’d spent two weeks preparing for that trial. I’d reviewed every link in my evidence chain, every angle of my defense, until I was certain the case was airtight. A slam dunk. But in court, no matter what I presented, Chloe had a perfect counter. Every move I made, she was already there, waiting. In ten years of practicing law, I had never lost so spectacularly. I’d left the courthouse questioning my own competence, wondering if I still had what it takes, to be so thoroughly dismantled by a girl fresh out of law school. Now I knew. It wasn’t that I had lost my edge. It was that the game had been rigged against me. A text message suddenly lit up my screen. It was Mark. He’d sent me a location pin. “Ava, winning and losing is part of the job. Don’t take it too hard. Chloe is one of ours, so a win for her is a win for the firm.” Then, the follow-up text. “It’s her first big win, so some people from the office are taking her out to celebrate. You should come.” I stared at the screen, a bitter, hollow laugh stuck in my throat. Three years of dating, ten years of marriage. He knew me as well as I knew him. He was so certain I would never show my face at a celebration of my own humiliation that he felt perfectly safe sending me the address. Too bad for him. Tonight, I was very much in the mood for a party. 2 I drove to the restaurant and found the private room easily. The sounds of laughter and celebration spilled into the hallway. “Mark, your eye for talent is unreal. You knew Chloe was a star the second she walked in the door.” “Her very first case, and she beats Ava Caldwell. The sky’s the limit for this one!” Chloe’s voice was bright and sweet. “I still can’t believe I actually won. It’s all thanks to Mark! He’s the best teacher.” Someone’s voice lowered slightly. “Hey, Mark… Ava lost today. Are you sure it’s a good idea for us to be throwing a party for Chloe? You think she’ll be pissed?” Mark’s tone dropped, becoming hard and cold. “What does she have to be pissed about? Does the world have to stop turning just because she lost? Is she the only one allowed to win around here?” He let that hang in the air before continuing. “If she lost, it’s because her skills weren’t sharp enough. If she can’t handle that, maybe she should just stay home.” The room fell silent for a beat, then a murmur of agreement rippled through the table. “Mark’s right. We’ve all lost cases. Why is she so special?” “Honestly, Ava’s always been hyper-competitive. Her kid is getting older, maybe it’s time for her to step back, take it easy. Make room for the new blood.” Mark sighed, a theatrical sound of weary resignation. “I’ve told her as much. She just won’t listen.” He added, “It would be for the best if she took this as a sign to gracefully bow out. She could finally be home to take care of Leo.” Then, a small, clear voice piped up. My son’s voice. “I don’t want Mommy to take care of me. Auntie Chloe is way nicer than Mommy!” The room erupted in laughter. My hand clenched around the strap of my purse. It felt like a bucket of ice water had been dumped over my head, so cold it burned. A wave of nausea rolled through my stomach. I had no idea. No idea I was so disliked. It wasn’t just my husband. It was my colleagues. Even my own son thought Chloe was better than me. I smoothed my expression, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. The sight of me sent a wave of panic through the room. People scrambled to their feet. Someone tried to take my bag, another rushed to stub out a cigarette and crack open a window. “Ava! Hey!” “Good to see you, Ava!” “Ava, let me order a couple of your favorites.” I ignored them all, my eyes landing on Chloe, who was seated in the place of honor right next to Mark. A flicker of defiance crossed her pretty face before she stood up, a picture of awkward innocence. “Ava, please don’t get the wrong idea. It’s just… since I won the case, they had me sit next to Mark.” I arched an eyebrow, my voice dripping with ice. “Oh? So since I lost the case, I suppose my seat is at the end of the table?” Richard, one of the senior partners, quickly grabbed Chloe’s arm and pulled her aside. “Of course not, Ava, don’t be ridiculous! Come on, sit right here, next to your husband!” Chloe shot a wounded look at Mark, but he said nothing. Defeated, she gathered her silverware and moved to the far end of the table. Mark watched me, his expression unreadable. “I didn’t think you’d come. Figured you’d be in a bad mood.” I ignored him, my gaze sweeping across the faces of my colleagues. “Everyone’s here. I assume that means all your work for the day is done?” I fixed my stare on a junior associate. “Li, didn’t you have a client meeting at the detention center today? Is that handled?” I turned to another lawyer. “Liu, you were missing a piece of evidence for your filing. Did you track it down?” The room was dead silent. The festive atmosphere had frozen solid. Richard cleared his throat. “Ahem, you know what, I just remembered I have a call with a client. Mark, I’ve got to run!” That broke the dam. One after another, they fled. “Me too. Rick, wait up!” “Oh god, I need to check in with the judge’s clerk about the hearing tomorrow. I should get back to the office…” In less than two minutes, the only people left were Mark, Chloe, our son, and me. I picked up my chopsticks and took a bite of food. It was delicious. Chloe’s lip trembled as she looked at Mark, her eyes welling with tears. His face was a mask of thunder. “Ava, what the hell is your problem?” I raised my eyebrows. “I don’t have a problem.” “I’m a partner at this firm. I’m just checking in on my team’s progress. Is that not allowed?” Mark let out a derisive snort. “Don’t play dumb with me. At any other firm, the partners would be thrilled that a promising new associate won a major case.” “But you? Because Chloe beat you, you have to come here and blow up her celebration. You have zero grace, you know that? Your reputation is bigger than your character.” He leaned in, his voice low and vicious. “Is it really that impossible for you to lose?” His words were a knife, twisting in my heart. All because Mark had a dream of building the best law firm in the city. After grad school, I’d turned down offers from every top-tier firm to start from scratch with him. When we were struggling, I took on endless pro bono cases just to get our name out there. I drank so much schmoozing potential clients that I gave myself an ulcer. I pulled all-nighters with him, buried in case law and evidence, fighting for a single victory. For ten years, we had bled for this firm, turning a tiny, 150-square-foot office into one of the top four in the state. I remember our wedding day. He stood at the altar and cried like a child. He told all our guests how much I’d sacrificed, and he swore he would never let me down for the rest of his life. Apparently, his definition of a lifetime was only ten years. In my career, in my life, I, Ava Caldwell, have never been a sore loser. He could sleep with Chloe. He could have his affair. But he did not get to build her career on the ashes of mine. My gaze hardened. “My character doesn’t match my reputation? Then who does? You?” A soft sob cut through the tension. Chloe was crying, a perfect, tragic damsel. “Mark, it’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have gotten so carried away just because I won one case.” She looked at me, her eyes pleading. “Please, don’t fight because of me!” Mark’s jaw tightened. He opened his mouth to speak, but a small voice interrupted him. “Mommy’s a mean person. No wonder you lost to Auntie Chloe!” My son, Leo, stood up and planted himself in front of Chloe, his arms spread wide. “Don’t you bully Auntie Chloe!” The innocent words of a child, sharper than any knife. Seeing my son protecting her, a profound, bone-deep weariness washed over me. I couldn’t stay here a second longer. I grabbed my bag and walked towards the door. As I pulled it open, I paused and looked back, my voice flat and cold. “Tell your intern to prepare for the appeal. I’ll be filing the papers tomorrow.” 3 As if to punish me for ruining Chloe’s party, Mark and Leo didn’t come home that night. Chloe’s Instagram, however, was active all evening. “Talented people always attract jealousy. But it’s okay if I’m sad, my amazing mentor and a little prince are here to cheer me up!” “I told them I was just a tiny, insignificant star in the vast universe, but they told me I was their one and only moon!” The accompanying photo was a selfie of Chloe making a peace sign, and behind her, silhouetted against a starry sky on a mountaintop, were two figures, one large and one small. I shut my phone off, my face a blank mask. A young girl might think this was a devastating blow. At my age, I’ve learned not to waste energy on people and feelings you can no longer hold onto. The next morning, I ate breakfast at my usual time and drove to the office. But when I swiped my key card, the lock didn’t click open. Access denied. I pulled out my phone and called HR. “What’s going on? My key card isn’t working.” The HR manager hurried down, his eyes darting nervously around. “Ava… It was Mark. He told me to temporarily revoke your access.” He mumbled, “He said you were in a bad mood after the loss and that you should take some time off to rest…” I took a deep, steadying breath. “He’s your boss, so you do what he says. Am I not your boss, too?” “I’m on ‘rest’? Who’s handling my active cases?” “Mark said… he said to transfer them all to Chloe.” The manager’s voice shrank to a whisper, his gaze fixed on the floor. It’s true what they say. When you reach a certain point of fury, you don’t scream. You laugh. To clear a path for Chloe, Mark was willing to grind me into the dirt. My voice was dangerously low. “I don’t care who gave you the order. You will reinstate my access right now.” “Don’t forget that I am still a partner at this firm. Mark can fire you, but so can I.” “Now open this door.” “Ava, what is all this commotion?” I turned. Mark was standing there, frowning at me. And holding his hands were Chloe and Leo, looking like a picture-perfect family on a morning stroll. “You’re a partner, making a scene at the entrance to the firm? Do you have any idea what a bad look this is?” I ignored him, my eyes fixed on my son. “Why aren’t you in school?” Leo’s lips tightened. He wouldn’t meet my eyes. Chloe jumped in with a sweet smile. “Ava, you’re so strict with him. Leo gets straight A’s, what’s the harm in missing one day?” Hearing her defend him, Leo seemed to find his courage. “Auntie Chloe is right. Dad said so, too.” My son has never been a genius. He gets good grades because I am strict and because he works hard. But now, he thinks skipping school is no big deal. I shook my head, a wave of disappointment washing over me. I turned my attention back to Mark. “Don’t you have anything to say to me?” He rubbed his temples, his voice laced with annoyance. “Ava, you have to understand. You lost to Chloe. Clients are starting to question your record. To manage the fallout, isn’t it better for you to take a break?” “Besides,” he continued, “Chloe’s star is rising. Moving your cases to her is what’s best for everyone.” He was always the master orator, capable of dressing up the most shameless propositions in robes of reason. I let out a cold laugh. “Let me get this straight. Today, you want me to hand over my cases. What’s next? You want me to give her my partnership, too?” Mark fell silent for a moment. “If it’s what’s best for the firm, you should support it.” The lobby was now full of employees, all watching the drama unfold. I looked past him, my gaze sweeping over the crowd. “Is that what all of you think?” “Someone wins one case against me through deceitful means, and I should just hand over my entire caseload? And my partnership?” They all looked down, avoiding my eyes. I had thought that even if my marriage and my family were failing, at least I had my career. But now I saw that to these people, the colleagues I worked with day in and day out, I was completely disposable. Chloe stared at me, her expression a mask of wounded pride. “Ava, I demand an apology! I won that case because of my own skill!” I scoffed. “Mark, your intern here says she beat me on her own merits. What do you think?” A flash of guilt crossed his face. He turned away without a word. Richard, the other partner, stepped forward to play peacemaker. “Ava, listen, I think Mark has a point. You haven’t taken a real vacation in years. This could be a good opportunity to recharge.” He added quickly, “As for the partnership, that’s not changing. Everyone in this industry knows that Ava Caldwell is the gold standard of this firm!” But Mark cut him off. “No. I think changing the partnership is essential.” His eyes were cold. “Ava lost to Chloe. If we keep her on as a named partner, it makes clients doubt our expertise. Chloe’s name is buzzing right now. For the future of the firm, I propose we amend the partnership. We remove Ava Caldwell and add Chloe Reed.” A flash of pure ecstasy lit up Chloe’s eyes. “A partner? Me? Really?” She feigned humility. “Ava worked for so many years to become a partner. For me to replace her, at my age… wouldn’t that be wrong?” Every word was a poorly veiled jab, her ambition radiating off her like heat. Leo, who had been quiet, suddenly tugged on Chloe’s hand. “Auntie Chloe, my teacher says the capable rise and the incompetent fall.” He looked at me. “Mom lost to you. That proves she’s not as good as you. If she can be a partner, you can too!” He then turned his earnest little face to me. “Mommy, Daddy can make enough money to take care of you. You should just stay home and look after me and Dad!” Even though my heart was already fractured, his words sent a fresh spiderweb of cracks through it.

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