My husband has a devoted and ruthlessly competent director by his side. From their bright-eyed twenties to the cusp of their forties. She’s been the one riding shotgun with Carter as he conquered the corporate world, and she remains, to this day, unmarried. Me? I checked out years ago, focusing on our daughter’s education, turning a blind eye to it all. My friends are furious on my behalf. “Ava Chen acts like she’s the co-owner of the company, and you’re just letting it happen?” I just smile. “What’s there to be afraid of?” It’s just a low-cost management technique. There’s a term for it I stumbled upon online, brutally precise and perfect. It’s called the Devotion Trap. 1 While Carter was leading a team-building retreat on a yacht at sea, I had just finished a quiet dinner at home with our daughter. My best friend Chloe’s texts started lighting up my phone, a rapid-fire barrage. A dozen photos flooded in. Her call came immediately after, the dull thud of waves against the hull audible through the receiver. Her voice was laced with fire. “Audrey, why didn’t you come on this retreat?” “This Ava woman… she’s practically surgically attached to Carter!” Chloe’s husband is a partner at Carter’s firm; this retreat was a joint venture between their two companies. As for the photos… I’d already seen them on Ava’s Instagram feed. One, in particular, was designed to sting. On the deck, under an endless sky against an equally endless sea. Ava was poured into a vibrant yellow bikini, the kind of minimalist design that perfectly showcased the curves she’s so proud of. She was clinging to Carter’s arm, while his own hand rested possessively on the small of her back, their skin slick and touching. She held a champagne flute aloft, her smile dazzling and triumphant. In nearly every picture, she and Carter were positioned dead center, the gravitational pull of the whole group. Her posture screamed hostess, the lady of the manor. She hadn’t even bothered to create a private story or limit the audience. This way, the flood of fawning comments and congratulations could be seen by everyone. And, most importantly, by me. Beneath this photo, so brazen it was practically a declaration of war, she had selectively replied to a few comments like, 【Power couple!】 and 【You two are perfect together!】 with a transparently false modesty: “Omg, stop you guys! lol” “Audrey will see this and get the wrong idea! ;)” They were out there, tasting the salt on the sea breeze and sipping champagne. And here I was. Our housekeeper was on vacation. Which meant the small, thankless tasks fell to me. I was peeling an orange for my daughter, Talia, for her after-dinner snack. The zest sprayed, a sharp, acidic sting seeping into the cuticle of my thumb. At that exact moment, a notification from Ava popped up on my screen. 2 She had sent me two pictures. The first was the intimate one from the yacht. The second was a screenshot of her comment section. As if she wasn’t absolutely certain I had already seen it, she feigned an explanation: 【Audrey, the wind was so crazy! Carter was just making sure I didn’t fall overboard. Don’t read too much into it! xoxo】 Just after I saw her message, one came through from Carter, offering the exact same excuse. I smiled and typed back: 【No problem. Just be safe out there.】 I popped a slice of orange into my mouth, my voice flat as I finally answered Chloe. “Until Talia is in college, I’m not getting involved in company business.” Chloe’s voice went shrill with indignation. “Not involved? She’s parading around like she’s the damn co-founder.” “I remember when she was your assistant. Your little assistant, Audrey.” “Now she’s one step away from climbing into your husband’s bed, and you’re just sitting there?” She just moved back to the States. She doesn’t know everything yet. For instance, that Ava and Carter’s… relationship… has been going on for more than a decade. A small laugh escaped my lips. Chloe sounded like she wanted to shake me. “You’re laughing? She has zero respect for you! Audrey Sloane!” She wasn’t wrong. The evolution of Ava’s attitude toward me was a perfect, visible parabola. It began with the reverent fear she had when she first joined the company as my assistant. Then, after I left on maternity leave and she took over my duties, it shifted to a cautious probing. Later, after she and Carter landed a few major deals together, it became a sense of being my equal. And finally, during the last months of my pregnancy, my father passed away, and Carter was given full operational control of the company. From that point on, her disregard for me was blatant, undisguised. The triumphant smirk of a victor. I wiped my hands, set the phone down on the kitchen island, and continued slicing an apple for Talia. “Chloe, tell me something,” I said, my voice calm. “For an employee who is fiercely loyal and exceptionally talented, what is the most effective, lowest-cost reward you can possibly give?” “A promotion? A raise? Stock options?” “None of the above,” I said softly. “It’s the illusion of intimacy. You make her feel special, chosen. In return, she will dedicate her entire being to you, and she’ll walk away thinking she got the better end of the deal.” The line went silent. I slowly wiped my hands, walked the plate of sliced apples to the study where Talia was doing her homework, and shut the door before continuing. “All of this,” I said, my voice dropping to a near whisper. “Happened with my permission.” “Because from a purely corporate management perspective, it’s the most efficient way to secure absolute loyalty.” “The only thing is… Carter has always been under the impression…” “That he’s the one pulling the strings.” 3 I never thought I would one day marry Carter Reed. It wasn’t complicated. I simply didn’t dare to dream it. In our teens, we attended the same elite prep school. But the financial gap between our families wasn’t just a gap; it was a chasm. I can still remember the Reed family in their heyday. Their estate in Greenwich, Connecticut, was so vast you had to drive for eight minutes down a private road just to reach the front door. Their gardens were ten times the size of my entire property, complete with a sanctuary for iridescent blue peacocks. Politicians and titans of industry were constantly flowing in and out of their parties. My parents had to pull strings through three degrees of separation just to get an invitation to their annual gala. Carter was luminous, the sun around which our social circle orbited. I was just part of the background, another face in the crowd. But what rises must fall. The autumn of our junior year, a shift in federal policy triggered a massive investigation into his father’s industry. Overnight, the Reed family’s assets were frozen. His father was indicted. The friends and allies who had once flocked to their door scattered like birds. Not long after, Carter’s mother, withered by depression, passed away. Just when he had become poison, when everyone was avoiding him like the plague, I did something. I sold the eighteenth-birthday gift my aunt had given me—a rare Birkin bag. It was enough to cover his first year of college tuition. Thirty thousand dollars. He was stunned. I just smiled and told him, “I applied to the same university as you. We’ll still be classmates.” The unspoken meaning was clear: I can help you. But teenage boys, especially fallen princes, have egos more fragile than glass. His eyes were red, his jaw tight. “I’ll pay you back,” he choked out. And he did. He worked his way through college, taking odd jobs, studying relentlessly, and somehow, still finding time to fall in love with me. The year we graduated, he handed me a check for the full thirty thousand, plus interest. But after paying me back, Carter Reed had nothing left. He knew he wanted to marry me. My parents, naturally, refused. Carter, however, was clever. The family fortune was gone, but the taste and sophistication of his upbringing remained. He knew fine wine, played a scratch game of golf, and carried himself with an effortless grace that charmed everyone. In the boardroom, he was sharp and decisive. He schmoozed and networked on my father’s behalf, landing several major clients for our family’s company at cocktail parties and on the golf course. Eventually, my father relented and allowed us to marry, but he never, ever relinquished control. Even as his health began to fail, and I was running most of the company, he kept Carter on a tight leash. He treated Carter like the most capable farmhand he’d ever hired, but a farmhand nonetheless. The turning point came when I got pregnant. 4 My father’s health was in steep decline, and my uncles were circling the Sloane family business like vultures. I was suffering from severe morning sickness, utterly drained of energy. Reluctantly, I began handing over control of core projects to Carter. His business acumen seemed innate. The projects he led delivered unprecedented profits, breaking every company record. But the more brilliant he became, the more my father worried. He needed a guarantee. An assurance that Carter could never truly usurp the Sloane foundation. And so, after our daughter Talia was born, Carter himself made the offer: our daughter would take my surname. She would be a Sloane. It was the exact condition my father had been waiting to demand in exchange for everything else. I still remember that day in the hospital. Carter was holding our newborn daughter, looking at me in my hospital bed. His eyes held a universe of humiliation, of raw ambition. The clear-eyed boy I’d known in school was gone. His face was pale as he spoke. “Audrey,” he said, his voice strained. “I’ve done this for you, for the Sloane family. Your father should be satisfied now.” I understood. A man stripped of the right to pass on his own name will always seek compensation in other areas. More money, for instance. And more women. I gave him the power. I allowed him to build his own inner circle, to cultivate his own loyalists. And Ava Chen was the first one he personally promoted from an assistant’s desk. This continued until my father passed away, when Talia was seven. The moment my father drew his last breath, a delicate balance was shattered forever. The era of Carter Reed had begun. Or rather, what he believed was his era. All these years, I’ve remained behind the scenes. The official story was that I was raising our daughter, but in reality, I was watching. Observing. I watched Carter implement sweeping, ambitious reforms. I watched him elevate Ava, step by step, to the position of director. Ava, to her credit, was more than capable. She was a weapon forged and sharpened by Carter himself. Wherever he pointed, she struck, and she never missed. She secured key international contracts, she was a killer at the negotiation table, and a charmer at the dinner parties that followed. She was his right hand, his most trusted ally, his battlefield partner, and his most intimate confidante. Everyone in the company knew. Everyone except, supposedly, me. Audrey Sloane, the lady of the house. A porcelain doll kept on a shelf at home, untouched and ignored. Chloe’s phone call didn’t tell me anything I didn’t know. It just ripped away the polite, paper-thin veil of ignorance everyone pretended was there. For years, every unusual financial transaction, every anomalous personnel change within the company, has been delivered in an encrypted file to my private email account, once a week, like clockwork. I hung up the phone and glanced into the study at Talia’s focused silhouette. Her high school years were almost over. And that meant one thing. The era of Audrey Sloane was about to begin again. 5 Shortly after Talia’s graduation, the company held its 30th-anniversary gala. After so many years away from the corporate world, I was out of practice with these events. But for this one, I decided to make an appearance. The moment I stepped into the grand ballroom on Carter’s arm, I knew. Tonight was Ava’s coronation. I was wearing a bespoke champagne gold gown—elegant, but reserved. Ava, on the other hand, was in a midnight blue dress, the exact shade of Carter’s tie. They looked like a perfectly coordinated couple. “Carter, Mr. Henderson and the board are waiting for you,” she said, smoothly handing him a glass of whiskey, her presence so familiar she barely acknowledged mine. He gave my hand a light, placating squeeze, took the glass, and said hastily, “Why don’t you find a seat? I’ll be right back.” Then he was gone, swept away by Ava into the glittering heart of the party. I was left standing alone. Soon enough, the whispers started, rising around me like a tide, not even bothering to be discreet. “Is that his wife? She seems… so much less impressive than Director Chen.” “Shh! Keep your voice down. But seriously, look at Ava and Carter together. That’s a power couple.” “I heard she’s been a stay-at-home mom for ages. She knows about Carter and Ava but doesn’t dare make a scene.” “Of course not. Ava helped build at least half of this empire over the last fifteen years. If I were a man, I’d choose Ava too.” I kept a serene smile fixed on my face, pretending I heard nothing. A few minutes later, a young woman with an “Intern” badge approached, her eyes shining with hero-worship as she made a beeline for Ava. Her path was momentarily blocked by another guest, and she had to step around, right in front of me. She scowled impatiently, her gaze landing on me with a dismissive frown. “Excuse me, ma’am.” Her tone was a blend of condescension and officiousness. “This area is reserved for the head table. To ensure Director Chen and our VIPs aren’t disturbed, it’s best if you don’t linger here.” As she finished, she flicked her chin pointedly in Ava’s direction, a clear, pathetic attempt to score points. Ava saw the whole exchange. The smile on her lips deepened, but she made no move to intervene. The people nearby were watching, waiting for the punchline to the joke that was my presence. Before I could speak, Carter’s executive assistant hurried over. His voice was low but firm. “Wendy, this is Mrs. Reed. Audrey Sloane.” 6 The intern’s face turned the color of ash. She bowed her head, stammering apologies. Carter glanced over, a look that was meant to reassure me that he was aware, that he was handling it. But if he hadn’t spent the last decade deliberately erasing me from his public narrative, avoiding any mention of his marriage in interviews, and constantly magnifying Ava’s presence within the company, would I have been mistaken for a stranger at all? He walked directly to the head table, pulled out the chair to his right, and gestured for me to sit. It was only then that I saw the bizarre seating arrangement. Carter was at the head, with Ava and me flanking him on either side, a perfect, stable, and excruciatingly awkward triangle. He sat, unbuttoning his jacket with a practiced ease, and added awkwardly, “Don’t think anything of it. Ava always sits next to me to run interference with clients who drink too much.” Then came the toasts. As a company veteran, Ava was the first to speak. She raised her glass to the room, but her eyes were locked on Carter. “For more than a decade, I have poured my youth and my heart into this company. But the one person I have to thank, more than anyone, is Carter.” Her voice caught, thick with a deep, theatrical emotion. “Thank you for shielding me from the storms, and for giving me a sky to fly in. For all these years, this company has been my home, and Carter… you have been my family!” She hit those last words with pointed emphasis. Every eye in the room swiveled toward me, like a bank of spotlights. 7 I finally lifted my gaze, met Ava’s, and smiled sweetly as I spoke. “That was beautifully said, Ava. Carter and I have always thought of you as family, too.” I paused, my smile widening. “Just like Mochi.” Ava’s cheeks were flushed with triumph. “Mochi?” she asked, confused. “Who’s that? Which department is he in?” Carter’s assistant leaned in and whispered, just loud enough for the table to hear, “Mochi is the Ragdoll cat Mrs. Sloane and Mr. Reed have at home.” The color drained from Ava’s face in an instant. I arched an eyebrow, raised my glass, and gently clinked it against hers. “When we first found him, he was just a scrawny little thing, always rubbing against our legs, begging for food.” My voice was light, conversational. “Now his coat is all glossy, he’s put on some weight… and every now and then he gets bold and starts scratching the sofa, acting like he owns the place.” The air at the table froze. The guests who had been whispering just moments before now had a fascinating array of expressions, caught between the urge to laugh and the fear of doing so. Carter’s head snapped toward me, and his voice, for the first time, was cold as he whispered, “Audrey, do you really have to humiliate her in front of everyone?” I leaned in close, as if we were a loving couple sharing a secret, and murmured for his ears only. “You know, our daughter just graduated high school.” My voice was a silken thread of steel. “Or has the last decade of playing king made you forget whose name is actually on the deed to this company? Is it Reed? Or is it Sloane?” I had never spoken to him like this. Not once. He was stunned by my bluntness. To give our daughter a harmonious home, to preserve her idealized image of her father, and to make Carter believe my retreat into domestic life was genuine so he would work his heart out for the company… for all those reasons, I had never once punctured the fantasy he had so carefully constructed for himself over the past decade. Now, I had given it a single, gentle poke. Carter froze, his face turning a dark, mottled red. “What… What are you trying to say?” “Nothing at all, darling, don’t be so tense!” I raised my voice, a bright, cheerful sound for all to hear. “I just wanted to take this opportunity to announce that, starting next week, I will be formally returning to the company.” I smiled at the stunned faces around the table. “I trust I’ll have all of your support.” 8 The moment the words left my mouth, the entire ballroom fell silent. Ava was completely rigid, as if someone had just thrown a bucket of ice water in her face. A week later, I arrived at the company headquarters. My new title was Vice President. It sounded powerful, but it was largely a figurehead role, overseeing corporate culture, employee wellness, and some auditing functions. My father’s old guard treated me with the utmost respect. Carter’s people maintained a polite, professional distance. Everything was perfectly cordial. But I wasn’t interested in a slow, simmering peace. So, I created a pretext. Our daughter would soon be leaving for college abroad, and I wanted her to have a few final months of complete, uninterrupted family time. It was a reason Carter couldn’t refuse. We started commuting together. I rode in his car in the morning and waited for him to finish in the evening so we could drive home together. If he worked late, I had my assistant order dinner, and I would sit quietly on the sofa in his office, reading through documents while he finished. Ava no longer had a single opening to slip through. Years ago, when Ava was first making a name for herself, she had a brief moment of media stardom. I would often see clips from her interviews on social media, especially when she was asked about marriage. “I’d rather be the queen of my own life than be someone’s wife.” “Using your womb as a bargaining chip is the most pathetic thing a woman can do.” “My sense of security comes from the number of zeros in my bank account, not a man’s promise.” … Those soundbites were edited into slick, viral videos. Her “golden quotes” amassed hundreds of thousands of likes and fawning comments from her followers. 【She’s my spirit animal! This is how a real woman should live! Ava is my icon! ❤️100k+】 【A true alpha female. Her mindset is everything! ❤️82k+】 【Ava is stunning! No wonder Carter is always praising her in interviews. Who wouldn’t be obsessed? ❤️100k+】 【Don’t say that, he has a wife, lol. But I heard she’s a total recluse now. ❤️20k+】 【Sounds like the marriage is just for show. The queen is about to be dethroned! ❤️60k+】 For a while, Ava was the name on everyone’s lips. Her interview quotes were treated as gospel by countless women striving for genuine independence. She was given a title by her online followers: “The Textbook Alpha Female.” But lately, in the break rooms and hallways, I would often catch a glimpse of this so-called Alpha Female’s face, twisted ever so slightly by jealousy and resentment. It seemed the queen was losing her composure. A few days later, a portfolio of the company’s most difficult, dead-end projects landed on my desk. Carter’s intention was obvious. If I was busy, Ava would have a chance to be alone with him. By giving me impossible tasks, he hoped to watch me fail and retreat back home in frustration. But this was just the beginning for me. 9 One of the projects required a face-to-face meeting in another city. I had to lead a team to Chicago for a few days. When I went to Carter’s office to get the travel authorization signed, Ava was there. He looked up, his usually warm expression tinged with a manufactured concern. “This project… are you sure you can handle it alone?” Before I could answer, Ava let out a soft, condescending laugh. She was leaning against his desk, her tone dripping with fake sympathy. “Audrey, why are you working yourself so hard? It’s not like Carter can’t support you.” She had seen me in my prime, back when I was a shark in the corporate world. But she had been on top for so long she’d started to believe her own hype—that after all these years at home, I was now just a woman who needed her husband’s money to survive. I didn’t even look at her. I just smiled faintly. “Oh, Carter can certainly support a lot of people. I just prefer to support myself.” I paused, my words deliberate and clear. “As you’ve said yourself, Director Chen, a meal you’ve earned yourself always tastes better than one you have to beg for, doesn’t it?” Ava was speechless. Seeing her fail to score a point, Carter sighed and signed the form. That evening, after dinner, Talia linked her arm through mine and whispered, “Mom, how long will you be gone?” “Three days.” She let out a breath of relief. “Oh, good. I was worried you’d be gone for three months… You wouldn’t have been back for my college move-in day.” I smiled and gently tapped her nose. “I wouldn’t miss that for the world. In fact, for your first day of college, I’m getting you a very special gift.” “What is it?” I ruffled her hair. “You’ll see.” 10 To facilitate communication with the client, I booked a room at the Four Seasons, where their executive team was also staying. I chose to tackle this project first because I had a history with the person in charge. The negotiations went even more smoothly than I had anticipated. I was still on the flight back when the congratulatory texts from the office sycophants started rolling in. Back at the office, I submitted my expense report to the finance department, including the receipt for my hotel stay, which came to twelve thousand dollars. Shortly after, Leo, a new hire in finance, knocked on my office door for the second time that day. He looked deeply uncomfortable. “Ms. Sloane,” he stammered. “There’s… there’s a new policy. It was just implemented. To control costs, all executive travel lodging is now capped at three thousand dollars per night.” I looked at the receipt in his hand, which he was holding like it was radioactive. I understood immediately. This was a probe. A little test from Ava. I didn’t say anything. I just gave a slight nod. Seeing that I wasn’t angry, Leo became even more nervous. He lowered his voice. “Director Chen said that company policy applies to everyone, no exceptions. She hopes you’ll understand.” “Don’t worry, Leo. I understand perfectly.” I finally spoke, my voice calm and even. I pulled a stack of cash from my purse and pushed it, along with the receipt, across the desk toward him. “File the report according to policy. I’ll cover the difference myself.” I looked him in the eye. “I’m sorry you were put in this position.” Leo stared, dumbfounded. He clearly hadn’t expected his terrifying mission to be resolved so easily. I picked up my coffee, blew gently on the surface, and kept my gaze soft. “When you’re young in the corporate world, you often have to do things you don’t want to. I get it.” “You can go report back now.” When he looked up again, his eyes were filled with gratitude. “Th-thank you, Ms. Sloane.” He practically fled my office, his gratitude seeming entirely genuine. Ava wanted to use a new rule to trip me up. But in the finance department, under the director, there’s a manager, and under the manager, there are supervisors. And yet, this petty task was pushed down the line until it landed on an intern. I had assumed that after more than a decade, Ava would have cultivated a loyal team. Apparently, I was wrong. The key departments were not as solid as she thought. Four thousand dollars of my own money to buy this piece of intel and a disarmingly weak first move? It was a bargain. 11 I thought Ava might try something more creative for her next move. But it seemed she was so pleased with her little expense report tactic that she decided to make it her new hobby. Then I realized why. It wasn’t that she lacked imagination. As the CFO, this was her domain. These were the rules she knew best, the weapons she was most comfortable with. She was dancing in her comfort zone, poking me with these petty annoyances. To date, I had successfully closed three major deals. I had taken three business trips. Between upfront costs and covering the overages on my expense reports, I was out of pocket nearly a hundred thousand dollars. That was enough. It was time to return the favor.

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At eighteen, my stepbrother had me committed. “Cure yourself of loving anyone else,” he whispered, “and I’ll bring you home.” Eight years later, I was his perfect monster, his devoted wife. Then his long-lost sister appeared at our door, and he sent me a single text: Don’t touch her. So I smiled, slid a knife between her ribs, and replied, “Forgot, darling? I am your only sister. And your only love.” 1 At eighteen, my stepbrother, Damien, had me committed. He wiped my tears away with a gentle thumb, but his voice was glacial. “Cure this sick habit of loving anyone else,” he murmured, his breath ghosting over my ear. “Admit you only love me, and I’ll bring you home.” Over the next three years, I received six packages. First my boyfriend’s legs. Then his eyes. Then his hands. I received them even after I told Damien I’d finally fallen in love with him. On my twenty-first birthday, the final package arrived. It was the head. And I smiled. A genuine, heartfelt smile. I walked out of that institution and married Damien Blackwood. We had each other’s names tattooed over our hearts. For the next eight years, I mandated that our company’s thirty-thousand-strong workforce be exclusively male. We owned no female pets. Not so much as a goldfish. Damien was delighted. Until a young woman showed up at our door, claiming to be his long-lost sister. “You’re just the placeholder,” she sneered, her eyes raking over me. “How long are you going to cling to my brother now that I’m back?” A moment later, my phone buzzed. A text from Damien. Three words. Don’t touch her. I laughed. I slid a knife into the girl’s chest and texted him back. 【You seem to forget, darling. I am your only sister. And your only love.】 … Outside the operating room, Damien slammed me against the wall, his eyes a raw, bloody red. “She was no threat to you! Why did you have to hurt her?” I hadn’t seen that particular brand of fury on his face in years. Not since my kidnapping, three years ago. I let a slow smile curve my lips. “Darling,” I purred, “have you forgotten what you said when we got married?” He had held my hand that day like it was the most fragile thing in the universe, his voice a low, obsessive murmur. “Sister or lover, you are the only one I will ever have.” Now, that same hand was crushing my wrist, his rage directed at me, all for another girl. Another sister. A flicker of guilt crossed his face before being consumed by fresh anger. “I just want to know when you became so vicious.” “You taught me,” I said, my smile widening to show my teeth. Eight years ago. In that white, sterile room. They served me my boyfriend’s head on a dinner tray. The sockets were empty, but I felt his gaze on me all the same. That was the day my heart finally hardened into something useful. “What’s wrong, Damien? Are you not pleased with your creation?” He shoved me away, his voice dropping to absolute zero. “You better pray she makes it.” A surgeon emerged, wiping sweat from his brow. “It’s a miracle. The patient’s heart is on the right side of her chest. The blade missed it completely.” Damien’s breath hitched in a sigh of relief. Then, a strange, small smile touched his lips. “Just like mine,” he whispered. I froze for a second, then I smiled, too. His real sister. The true heiress. Of course. Even God played favorites. They wheeled her out on a gurney, pale and weak. When she saw me, she flinched violently, her voice filled with venom. “Damien! She tried to kill me! Call the police! She belongs in a cage!” Damien said nothing, just took her hand, his expression etched with concern. “A cage? Been there, done that. Three years,” I said, stepping closer with a light laugh. “And that word—brother—is reserved for me.” In one fluid motion, I pulled the decorative pin from my hair and lunged. But Damien was watching me. He was always watching me. He moved faster, his arm a blur as he knocked me to the ground. The next thing I knew, the cold muzzle of a gun was pressed against my forehead. “I gave you one chance,” he seethed, his face a mask of fury. “Don’t test me again.” I was still processing the shock when the world went black. I woke up in our mansion. A prisoner. But no one dared lay a hand on me. Damien was a monster, but he was my monster. He never allowed anyone else to touch me. It worked to my advantage. I found a shovel in the garden shed, dug a deep hole, and stood in it. I took a selfie and sent it to him. “You have ten minutes to get here. Or I’ll have them bury me alive.” I watched the second hand on my watch. Nine and a half minutes. A supercar smashed through the estate gates. Damien leaped from the driver’s seat, his forehead bleeding, and sprinted onto the lawn. His staff was frozen in terror. But the hole was empty. In its place was a freshly covered mound of earth. Damien’s body went rigid. “Where is she?” he roared. His men bowed their heads, silent. The pressure around him dropped, becoming something heavy and suffocating. He started clawing at the dirt with his bare hands, his bespoke suit smeared with mud, his fingers scraping raw against the stones. When blood began to seep up from the soil, he paused, then dug with even more frantic energy. But when he reached the bottom, all he found was the body of his prize-winning guard dog, ten years his loyal companion, now still and cold. He finally understood. He’d been played. 2 His bodyguards dropped to their knees. “Mrs. Blackwood threatened to kill herself if we touched her, sir! We didn’t have a choice!” A slow, chilling smile spread across Damien’s face. He wiped the bloody mud from his hands. Then he pulled his gun and shot the lead bodyguard in the head. The others trembled. “Sir,” one stammered, “a motorcycle is missing from the garage.” Comprehension dawned in his eyes, immediately followed by volcanic rage. “Double the guard at the hospital. I’m on my way.” I watched it all on the security feed. I remembered something he’d taught me. When a person is torn between two incompatible anxieties, they lose the ability to think clearly. Just like eight years ago, when I couldn’t choose who to love. Just like now, as he lost his goddamn mind and raced to her side. I sat in his study. Our one and only photo together was on the desk. I glanced at it for a second before flipping it face down. Then I opened my phone. So, her name was Isla. And he’d found her six months ago. She had sent me dozens of messages, all blocked until now. Photos of them at an amusement park, on a roller coaster. Photos of them wearing aprons, doing pottery. In the past six months, they had even adopted a cat together. Her texts were venomous. You’re nothing but a stand-in. You were just a replacement to keep him company while I was gone. Now I’m back, and it’s time for you to get the hell out. Every photo was a knife in my heart. If seeing her at the door had filled me with annoyance, this was pure, unadulterated rage. Betrayal. He had lied to me. Betrayed me. He had turned me into a monster, and now he thought he could have a normal, wholesome life on the side? No. That wasn’t right at all. I stood, scaled the garden wall—ignoring the long scrapes it left on my arms—and sped away on the stolen motorcycle. I found the tattoo parlor from the address in Isla’s texts. As the artist worked, his hand brushed against my chest, and an involuntary thought surfaced: Damien would kill him for that. I immediately snorted in derision. Perhaps he’d make an exception for his new brother-in-law. When the last trace of Damien’s name was gone, my phone buzzed. A message from him. “Stop this. I promise you two will never see each other again.” I had to hurry. I smiled sweetly at the man lasering my skin, my hand coming to rest on his shoulder. My eyes swept over the cloyingly pink decor. “Your wife must love you very much, funding a shop like this for you.” He froze, then his hand began to trace circles on my waist. “She doesn’t love me,” he said, his voice greasy. “She only has eyes for her brother. The name of the shop is just a combination of their names.” My smile grew wider. “Does Isla’s baby look like her brother, too?” He was leaning in to kiss me. He jerked back. “How did you know we have a child?” Before he could finish the sentence, the tattoo needle was in his neck. Blood sprayed across the pink walls. He crumpled to the floor. I wiped a smear of it from my cheek and sent a photo to Isla. 【A welcome-home gift.】 From the moment I walked out of that hospital, I vowed no one would ever humiliate me again. My phone blew up. Frantic calls from Isla, and then from Damien. I ignored them. I took a picture of the raw, bloody skin over my heart and sent it to him. 【I told you, darling. You only get one sister.】 The silence stretched on. Finally, a reply. “Stop the bleeding first.” “I’m sending Isla away. Anywhere in the world. You choose.” He was backing down. And it only made me angrier. I hurled the phone against the wall. He was protecting her. A small boy crawled out from a back room, his eyes wide and innocent. I smiled and beckoned to him. Ten minutes later, I was back on the motorcycle. I didn’t get far. His men cornered me and dragged me back to the mansion, throwing me at Damien’s feet. He gripped my chin, his voice a low growl. “You can pull whatever stunts you want with me. But you do not involve other people.” His grip tightened. “You don’t kill them.” He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. “And most importantly, where is the child?” I laughed, the sound echoing with madness. You do not involve other people? He certainly hadn’t felt that way when he was killing for me eight years ago. I met his furious gaze. “Want to make a trade, darling?” He stared at me as if for the first time. “My little girl is all grown up,” he murmured, a strange note in his voice. “Almost don’t recognize you.” I turned my head away with a sneer. “When you put the gun in my hand and made me execute our uncle, you called me decisive. Why the long face now that your sister’s husband is dead? Worried she might be sad?” His lips thinned into a hard line. “This is the last time,” he said, his voice flat and final. “Never again. Tell me what you want. I’ll give you anything, as long as the boy is safe.” I smiled brilliantly and pressed a soft kiss to the back of his hand. “I want Isla dead.” 3 Damien’s face went dark. “Impossible.” At that moment, the door burst open. Isla rushed in, her face a mess of tears and rage. “Damien! She killed my husband! I want her to pay! I want her dead!” She was heaving, the wound on her chest seeping fresh blood through the bandages. I laughed. “Did you like my gift?” Damien shot me a glacial look before turning to his men. “Someone get a doctor! See to Ms. Isla’s wound!” But in the next second, Isla snatched a pair of surgical scissors from a medical tray and lunged at me. “Mara! I’ll kill you!” I didn’t move. I didn’t even blink. But Damien did. Without a moment’s hesitation, he threw his own arm up to block the blow. The scissors sliced across his forearm, and blood welled up instantly. “Damien, why are you still protecting her?!” Isla shrieked. “He’s just a man!” Damien roared back at her. “I’ll find you a better one! The child is what matters now, do you understand?” Isla’s hysteria subsided. She began to tenderly wrap his arm, all while glaring at me and demanding I return her son. Damien stroked her hair, then glanced at me, an eyebrow raised. “You know,” he said conversationally, “you used to cry until you couldn’t breathe if I got so much as a paper cut.” I was still stuck on the way he had instinctively shielded her, the way she now cared for him. In the past, whenever he was hurt, I was the one who patched him up. I would cry, and he would laugh and say my tears hurt him more than the wound. But now, Isla was the one bandaging his arm. His real sister. He stood up, sighing. “Let’s talk business. I gave you a chance, my love.” He clapped his hands. One of his men walked in carrying a ceramic urn. The blood in my veins turned to ice. My mother’s ashes. The only thing that kept me tethered to sanity. I instinctively took a step forward, my mind clearing with cold dread. “The transaction begins now,” he said, his voice steady. “You have ten minutes to tell me where the child is.” I looked from him to the urn, and a laugh bubbled up, so sharp it brought tears to my eyes. “Still the master, aren’t you, Damien?” Within minutes, the child was recovered safely. Isla was clutching him, sobbing with relief. Damien looked satisfied. He waved a hand, signaling for his man to take the urn away. Suddenly, Isla cried out and stumbled, crashing directly into the urn. “No!” “Oops!” It hit the marble floor and shattered. The pale grey powder mingled with the dust and blood on the ground, becoming a filthy paste. Time stopped. I watched my mother’s last remains being desecrated, my mind a complete blank. Isla smiled triumphantly. “Clumsy me. So sorry.” “I am going to kill you,” I said, my voice quiet but absolute. I looked at her, surrounded by her protectors. “No matter where you go, I will find you, and you will die without a body left to bury.” “Enough!” Damien’s voice was like stone. “Consider this a lesson.” He gathered Isla and her son, turning his back on me and walking away. I knelt and began to gather my mother’s ashes with my bare hands. My movements were slow, unnervingly steady. All those years ago, when I had fought him tooth and nail, he had never dared to touch my mother’s memory. Now, to appease Isla, he had allowed this. He had let her trample on the only sacred thing I had left. My gaze turned to ice. When the room was empty, I pulled out my phone and made a call. “It’s me,” I said, my voice devoid of all warmth. “Activate the plan.” You broke your promise, Damien. And now you’re going to pay.

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Eight months pregnant, and someone shoved me from the top of the second-floor escalator. I remember the sickening lurch, the crack of bone, and then the blood, a warm, terrifying tide spreading beneath me. Ethan went insane. He scooped me up like I weighed nothing and stormed into the hospital, screaming for doctors. He flew in the best specialists, and by some miracle, they saved the baby. But when I woke up, the world was silent. The baby wasn’t there. Ethan wasn’t there. A raw panic clawed its way up my throat. I tore the IV from my arm and stumbled out of the room, my leg, wrapped in a cast, screaming with every limping step. I was searching, desperately, for my son, for my husband. And I found him. Outside the morgue. His voice, low and strained, carried through the sterile silence of the hallway. “Mr. Blackwood, the infant was still breathing. How could you just… smother him? He was your own son!” “He’s better off this way. A fresh start. He never should have been born in the first place.” Ethan’s voice was hollow, a stranger’s. “Chloe just had my son yesterday. I promised her our boy would be the sole Blackwood heir. I won’t have anyone else competing for his inheritance.” It was all a lie. The happy family, the loving marriage—a delusion I had built for myself. The life I thought was my sanctuary was just a beautifully constructed hell. If that’s the way it is, then I have to leave. 1 The doctor’s voice was hesitant. “But… you plan on passing Chloe’s baby off as your own. What if your wife finds out?” “Newborns all look the same,” Ethan dismissed. “She’ll never know. I’m taking him to her now.” There was a pause. “Get rid of the body. And I need that new drug your lab developed—the one that causes permanent sterility. I need you to give it to Ava.” The doctor was stunned. “Mr. Blackwood, you’ve already… you’ve already killed her child just to bring Chloe’s into your home. Now you want to sterilize her? Isn’t that too cruel?” A draft of icy air seeped from the morgue, but Ethan’s words were colder. “I promised Chloe I would never let our son feel threatened. That he’d never have to compete with siblings for my affection. Even though she’s married to someone else, I need her to feel secure.” The doctor’s tone was pleading. “Sir, I have to advise you, that drug is experimental. It hasn’t even reached clinical trials. The side effects are significant. Are you sure you want to do this?” Ethan sighed, a sound of weary martyrdom. “I have to. Ava’s waking up soon. A hysterectomy right now would make her suspicious. She’ll just have to bear it. I’ll make it up to her later, but I can’t risk her ever getting pregnant again.” Just then, his phone rang. He put it on speaker, and a man’s triumphant voice echoed in the hallway. “Mr. Blackwood, the five million came through. Don’t you worry, I’m leaving New York today. Your wife will never know it was you who paid me to push her down those stairs. Heh heh.” Footsteps sounded from inside. Ignoring the fire in my leg, I scrambled back to my room, collapsing onto the bed just as a wave of nausea hit me. The image of my son’s tiny, lifeless body in that cold steel room burned behind my eyes. I clutched my chest, silent tears soaking the bandages on my leg. It wasn’t an accident at the mall. It was an arrangement. Made by my dear husband, clearing the path for the woman he truly loved, and for their child. My baby wasn’t saved. He was murdered by his own father. In Ethan’s eyes, my son and I were nothing more than obstacles. “Ava, you’re awake.” Ethan walked in, cradling a newborn. He smiled, that familiar, handsome smile that had once been my world, and sat on the edge of my bed. “Look at our son, Ava. Doesn’t he look just like us?” He beamed. “Thank you, my love, for giving me such a beautiful boy. I swear I’m going to be the best father.” I stared at the sleeping infant in his arms, a sharp, physical pain piercing my heart. He was wrong. A mother knows. The baby had Ethan’s brow, yes. But the nose, the chin… they were Chloe’s, copied and pasted onto this tiny face. This was their child. And mine was just a cold body in the morgue. “Does your leg still hurt? Here, take some of these painkillers.” His eyes were filled with the same tender concern as always, but I saw it for what it was now: a mask. A lie to keep me sedated. I looked at the pills in his hand, his words from the hallway screaming in my head. “Ethan, they’re so bitter. Can I take them later?” You’ve already killed my child. Can’t you at least leave me the ability to have another? Please? He hesitated for only a second before stroking my hair. “You’re a mom now, you can’t act like a child. You’ve been through so much—the birth, your leg… I’ve been so worried I haven’t slept a wink. Ava, please, do it for me? I have to be strong for our little guy, you know?” He picked up a glass of water. “I put some honey in it, so it’s sweet. Come on, let me help you.” He’s not our little guy. He’s yours and Chloe’s. Ethan held the pills to my lips, leaving no room for refusal. The blood in my veins turned to ice. I closed my eyes and swallowed them dry, ignoring the honeyed water. I wanted nothing to do with his fake sweetness. The drug acted fast. A searing heat ignited in my lower abdomen, like liquid fire, like a knife carving me open from the inside. A gush of blood soaked through the sheets beneath me. “Ava? What’s wrong?” Ethan yelled for a doctor as the pain overwhelmed me and I blacked out. Through the fog of unconsciousness, I heard the doctor’s voice, distant and clinical. “Mr. Blackwood, her entire uterus has been corroded. She’ll never be able to conceive again.” I heard Ethan let out a long, slow sigh of relief. When I opened my eyes again, his were red-rimmed, his face a mask of anguish. “Ava… the doctors said you had a severe postpartum hemorrhage. You… you can’t have any more children.” He squeezed my hand, his voice thick with false sorrow. “Don’t be sad. We’re so lucky we have Leo. He’ll grow up and take such good care of his mother.” Leo? He’d already named Chloe’s son? Ethan waved away the nurse who came to clean me, insisting on doing it himself despite his well-known fastidiousness. He brought a basin of warm water and gently washed the blood from my skin. He told me his mother was so excited to meet her grandson that she’d already taken the baby back to the family estate. By the time he was finished, it was late. I looked at his tired face and managed a weak smile. “I’m okay. You’ve been up all day. You should get some rest.” He kissed my forehead. “Alright. Wake me if you need anything. Tomorrow, I’ll take you to get Leo. We’ll be a proper family.” I waited until his breathing was deep and even, then quietly reached for his phone. He’d always left it unlocked as a show of loyalty to me. But I never knew he had a dual operating system. The password to switch it was Chloe’s birthday. The screen flickered, and the wallpaper changed to a photo of him and Chloe in college, beaming. The messaging app had only one contact: Chloe. I opened it, and the first thing I saw was a picture of her, glowing, holding a newborn. “Ethan, look at our son. He’s so handsome. He’s going to be a heartbreaker, just like his daddy.” It was the same baby Ethan had brought to me hours earlier. The farther I scrolled up, the colder my heart became. During my eight months of pregnancy, Ethan was constantly “traveling for work.” The days he spent with me could be counted on two hands. I hadn’t wanted to be a burden, so I endured the morning sickness, the exhaustion, the endless doctor’s appointments, all alone. Now I knew. The “business trips” were just his excuse to be with Chloe, to care for her during her pregnancy. Thousands of photos documented every moment, from the first ultrasound to her delivery. Ethan cooking her special nutritional meals, Ethan walking with her in the park, Ethan shopping for baby clothes, Ethan even holding his hands out for her to be sick in during a bout of morning sickness. He was at her side for every single check-up, his gaze adoring, as if she were the most precious thing on earth. I remembered begging him, so many times, to help me pick a name for our son. His replies were always terse, delayed. “Ava, a name is just a label. We can pick anything. I’m busy, we’ll talk about it after he’s born.” But for Chloe’s child, he had composed a list of a hundred names before she was even showing. “Chloe, my love, what about Wyatt? It means brave and strong.” “Or maybe Theodore? A gift from God.” “You know what? Let’s just call him Leo. I don’t need him to conquer the world. I just want him to be safe, healthy, and live a long, happy life.” After every one of her check-ups, he’d bought her a gift. Not just flowers, but diamond bracelets, limited-edition sports cars. “A little celebration for my brave girl getting through another appointment.” He even bought her a castle in Europe as a “push present.” And what did I get? A text message. “That’s great, Ava. So proud of you. Have to run to a meeting.” The difference between being loved and not being loved was so stark, so brutal. My heart felt like a hollow, dead thing in my chest. I put down the phone and booked a one-way ticket to France, for three days from now. Then I lay back in the hospital bed and stared at the ceiling. My soul ached with a grief so vast, I didn’t sleep at all. The next morning, Ethan had his assistant deliver a gourmet meal, just as he always did. I used to be so touched by his thoughtfulness, that even when he was away, he was thinking of me. Now, picturing him in an apron, lovingly preparing meals for Chloe, I understood it was just a perfunctory gesture. Money is worthless when measured against genuine care. “Ava, why aren’t you eating?” Ethan asked, his brow furrowed with concern. “Is something wrong with the food?” “It’s nothing,” I said, my voice flat. “I just miss the baby.” Ethan’s face broke into a wide smile. “You miss Leo! Me too. I never understood it before, but now that I’m a father, I don’t want to be away from him for a single second. He’s the most incredible kid in the world.” He continued, oblivious. “Mom is over the moon. She’s having a little celebration at the house. We’ll go pick him up in a bit.” I said nothing. I was leaving soon anyway. Let him have his fantasy. When we arrived at the Blackwood estate in Greenwich, the scene in the living room stopped me cold. Ethan’s mother was cooing over Leo, while Chloe, looking radiant in a designer dress with not a trace of postpartum fatigue, sat beside her. His mother was spoon-feeding Chloe expensive bird’s nest soup. The royal treatment. Chloe spotted me and gave his mother a sly, saccharine smile. “Oh, Mrs. Blackwood, you shouldn’t spoil me like this. People will start to think I’m your daughter-in-law. Ava might get jealous. Her body is so weak right now, she should have this.” His mother’s eyes followed Chloe’s gaze to me. She scanned my outfit—the same clothes I’d been wearing the day I was pushed, the fabric still stiff with dried blood. Her face twisted in disgust. “Does my son not provide for you? Why are you dressed in such a cursed outfit? Are you trying to embarrass our family? Look at Chloe. You both just gave birth, but she’s a vision and you’re a mess. So dramatic.” She wasn’t done. “You couldn’t even keep yourself safe, running around while pregnant. How did you not die in that fall? It’s a miracle my grandson is okay, or I’d have made Ethan divorce you on the spot. And what’s this I hear about you taking medication while you’re supposed to be breastfeeding? If it weren’t for Chloe stepping in, my grandson would have starved because of your selfishness. I’m making it official: Chloe is my goddaughter. From now on, she’ll call me ‘Mom,’ just like Ethan does.” I knew his mother never liked me. She thought my family’s money was too new, that I wasn’t good enough for her son. Not like Chloe, his childhood friend, who was beautiful, charming, and from the right kind of family. She’d only tolerated me because of the baby. But even then, every encounter was laced with her barbs. Ethan used to defend me. He used to point out that it was he who had insisted we go to the mall that day, to buy gifts for the baby. But now, his eyes were locked on Chloe, a soft, undisguised tenderness in his gaze. Chloe, holding Leo, looped her arm through Ethan’s. “Did you hear that, Ethan?” she chirped. “Your mother has made me her goddaughter. My dear big brother, did you get your new little sister a welcome gift?” Ethan’s expression was a mixture of exasperation and adoration. He pinched her cheek playfully. “You’re such a brat. Don’t call me brother.” Despite his words, he had an assistant bring in ninety-two designer fur coats, each with perfectly matched accessories. “I know how much you love fashion, but you’re still recovering and can’t get a chill. There are ninety-two days in winter. One for every day.” Chloe squealed with delight and planted a kiss on his cheek, looking like a giddy teenager. “Wow! Some of these are from collections that won’t be out for three years! And all limited editions! You got them for me already? Ethan, you’re the best.” She shot a pointed look at me. “But with all these gifts… won’t Ava get upset?” Compared to the glossy, impossibly expensive coats, my blood-stained dress made me feel like a pathetic clown. Ethan froze, as if just remembering I was there. “Ava, it’s not what you think,” he stammered. “Chloe’s just used to how things are abroad, you know, they’re more… open with their affection.” “And the coats… I heard she just had a baby too, and her husband isn’t around. We grew up together, I was just trying to…” Before he could finish, Leo started to cry. Chloe’s eyes widened in fake surprise. “Oh my, is Leo hungry again? Mommy’s coming, sweetie, let’s go upstairs and get you some milk.” She didn’t forget to toss a faux-apologetic look my way. “Don’t get the wrong idea, Ava. It’s just a habit from soothing my own baby. Besides, Leo always seems to calm down when I say it.” She made a show of heading for the stairs, then stumbled dramatically into Ethan’s arms. “Ethan, I feel a little dizzy…” Instantly, he shoved me aside to steady her, his face etched with panic. “What’s wrong? It must be postpartum weakness. I told you to rest at the clinic. Come on, I’ll carry you.” My right leg was still in a cast. His push sent me sprawling to the floor, pain shooting up my limb like a lightning bolt. But Ethan didn’t spare me a single glance. In front of everyone, he swept Chloe into his arms, baby and all, and carried her up the stairs in a perfect princess carry. The remaining guests stared at me, their expressions a mix of pity and contempt. Their whispers were like knives. “No wonder Ethan spoils her. Chloe’s not just gorgeous, she’s kind enough to breastfeed another woman’s child. Not like that useless thing on the floor. Can’t even handle a little leg pain. So selfish, taking drugs when she should be nursing.” “She calls herself a mother? Chloe acts more like Leo’s mother than she does. She clearly cares for him more. And honestly, Leo looks a bit like Chloe, doesn’t he? It’s like the baby himself is embarrassed by Ava. Chloe and Ethan were always the perfect couple. Such a shame they didn’t marry.” My mother-in-law, far from defending me, glared with even more hatred. “Are you just going to lie there like a stray dog? If you want to beg, go do it on the street. We don’t feed useless, pathetic women in this house.” Her voice dripped venom. “You can’t take care of your son, and you can’t hold onto your husband. And now you can’t even have more children? My son must have had a string of terrible past lives to end up with a wife like you. Get out of my sight. Looking at you shaves ten years off my life.” Humiliation washed over me. I thought of the divorce papers, already prepared on my phone. I said nothing. I pulled myself up and limped towards the upstairs study. I printed the papers, put them in my bag, and went to find Ethan in the guest room. But they weren’t there. Only a nanny, rocking a well-fed Leo. Confused, I heard… noises. Coming from the master bedroom. Our bedroom. The door was ajar. Through the crack, I saw Chloe, her robe hanging open, straddling Ethan. Her voice was a throaty purr. “Ethan… I have too much milk, and Leo’s such a little guy. It hurts…” she moaned. “I’m so uncomfortable. Can you… can you help me? Please?” Ethan hesitated. “Chloe, don’t. You just gave birth two days ago. It’s too soon. You already took a huge risk having my baby behind your husband’s back. I can’t hurt you again…” Chloe pressed his head down towards her breast. “Silly Ethan. I’m not afraid, why are you? Having your baby was my choice. My husband is never around, he doesn’t know a thing. Come on… take care of me. Aren’t you curious what it tastes like to make love to me like this?” He couldn’t resist any longer. He leaned in, his mouth covering her. The sounds from the room grew more obscene. A wave of sickness rose in my stomach. I couldn’t watch anymore. I fled, stumbling out of the house, out into the cold, clean air. The suffocating feeling in my chest eased slightly, but the tears wouldn’t stop. Ethan, you knew I was just downstairs. How could you? In our bed? I sat on the front steps, hollowed out, for I don’t know how long. Suddenly, a foul-smelling liquid drenched me from above. Chloe stood on the balcony, a triumphant, vicious smile on her face. “How does my son’s piss taste, Ava? And tell me, wasn’t Ethan a beautiful sight, so lost in pleasure with me?” She had wanted me to see. “Tsk, tsk. Look at you. Your son is dead, you have a broken leg… If I were you, I’d have killed myself already. What’s the point of living?” She was enjoying this. “You married him, you had his child, so what? He still smothered your son for me and mine. He still made sure you could never have another.” She held up her phone. “I even have a video of your son’s last moments. Want to see how his cute little face turned from red to purple? It’s quite the show.” My eyes were glued to the screen, watching my baby, my own child, suffocate. My entire body started to tremble uncontrollably. How could she speak of murdering a child so casually, so gleefully? I raised my hand, my palm stinging with the need to strike her. But in a flash, Chloe produced a small, sharp knife and dragged it across her own chest. Blood bloomed on her robe. The knife clattered to the ground. She let out a bloodcurdling scream. The next second, I was thrown to the ground. Ethan was there, cradling Chloe in his arms, his face a mask of fury as he turned on me. “Ava, are you out of your goddamn mind?!” Before I could speak, Chloe was sobbing. “Ethan, I was just worried she was upset about me nursing Leo… I wanted to explain… but she said I was trying to steal her baby… she said she was going to cut off my breasts so I could never feed him again!” She wailed. “I was just trying to help! I couldn’t bear to see Leo go hungry! How could she do this to me?” Ethan’s face was dark. “You’re the one who fell down the stairs, Ava. You broke your own leg. This is your fault. Why are you taking it out on Chloe?” His voice was a whip. “You’re not a fit mother. You took medication, you can’t feed your own child. Chloe helps you out of the goodness of her heart, and this is how you repay her? If you don’t care about your son, does that mean no one else is allowed to?!” Not a fit mother? I don’t care about my son? Tears streamed down my face. I screamed at him, all the pain and rage pouring out. “I’m not a good mother? What about you? Can you tell me why I fell down those stairs? Can you tell me where my real son is? And can you tell me what was in that medicine you gave me?!” Ethan frowned. “Leo is sleeping peacefully in his room, of course. And that medicine was for your leg pain. You know all of this.” His voice was cold, dismissive. “As for your fall, you were careless. There were dozens of people there. Why were you the only one who got pushed? You’re useless, and now you have the gall to attack Chloe? You’re a mother yourself. How could you hurt another mother? Apologize to her. Now.” He was right. Why was I the only one who got pushed? Looking at his self-righteous face, I started to laugh. A broken, hysterical sound. This was my husband. A liar. A murderer. I picked up the knife from the ground. With every ounce of strength I had left, I dragged it across my own chest, again and again, ten, fifteen times, until my dress was soaked through with my own blood. Ethan stared, horrified. “Ava, what are you doing?! Stop it!” I dropped the knife and looked at him, my voice eerily calm. “You’re right, Ethan. One shouldn’t hurt a mother. I am atoning to the woman you love. Is this sincere enough for you?” Then I turned and walked away. He saw the trail of my blood on the stone path, saw me stagger, and took a step towards me. But Chloe’s arms snaked around his neck. “Ethan, it hurts so much,” she whimpered. “Take me to the hospital, please? Our Leo can’t go hungry.” I saw the conflict in his eyes. For a moment, he hesitated. But in the end, he chose her. He lifted Chloe into his arms and walked in the opposite direction.

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I dumped Ethan Thorne the year he was at his poorest. The next time we met, I was unemployed, and he was the CEO, personally sitting in on my final-round interview. When he saw my name on the applicant list, a smirk curled his lip. He decided to humiliate me in front of everyone. “Apologies,” he said, his voice cutting through the quiet room. “This company has a strict policy against hiring opportunistic, morally bankrupt people. There are no pathetic men here for you to manipulate.” My hand moved before my brain could catch up. The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek echoed in the stunned silence. Ethan Thorne, the man on the cover of Forbes, slumped in his chair and passed out cold. In the emergency room, his assistant—a woman who looked unnervingly like a younger, softer version of me—was sobbing, her voice thick with accusation. “You bitch! Don’t you know Mr. Thorne can’t stand being touched by women? He has a severe psychosomatic aversion! I’m the only exception. You need some self-respect. Stop throwing yourself at every man you see! And that face… you had surgery to look like me, didn’t you?” A laugh almost escaped my lips. Instead, I leaned over Ethan’s “unconscious” form on the hospital bed. “If you play dead for one more second,” I whispered into his ear, “I’m going to tell everyone you have acute touch starvation, and that you didn’t pass out from the slap. You passed out from pleasure.” In the next instant, as if struck by lightning, Ethan shot upright. A pained, murderous smile stretched across his face. “The interview was a success,” he ground out through clenched teeth. “You start tomorrow.” 1 I never expected to see Ethan again, and certainly not like this. He was the center of gravity in the interview room, the CEO presiding over a panel of nervous executives. He watched me walk in, a cool, appraising look in his eyes that was worlds away from the boy I once knew. When our gazes met, he registered the shock on my face before dismissing me as if I were a stranger, his attention drifting to the window. The Ethan of my memory wore faded band t-shirts and worn-out sneakers, his smile shy and warm. The man before me was encased in a bespoke suit, a fortress of cool confidence and imposing success. He was a different person, sculpted from ambition and ice. When exes run into each other, the one whose life is in shambles is the one who feels the burn of embarrassment. Today, that was me. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me whole. His suit probably cost more than my entire net worth. My outfit, from head to toe, was under forty dollars. The finality with which I had once cut him out of my life was now matched only by the crushing weight of my regret. If I’d had any idea he owned this company, I would have sooner starved than walk through these doors. There were five of us in the group interview. I was last in line. When my turn came to introduce myself, Ethan didn’t even bother to look up from the file he was pretending to read. His indifference was a physical force, a heat lamp scorching my skin. I couldn’t see his expression, but I could feel his contempt. After the last candidate finished, Ethan’s female assistant leaned in and whispered, “Mr. Thorne, if you have no further questions for this group, I’ll show them out?” It was a polite dismissal. The other four candidates wore masks of disappointment. I, on the other hand, felt a wave of relief so profound I almost sagged. I couldn’t wait to get out of there. But then Ethan spoke. “Wait.” He lifted his head, and his eyes—dark, unreadable pools of judgment—locked directly onto mine. In the space of a few seconds, I saw a storm of emotions flicker across his face: disgust, mockery, disdain. “Everyone else can proceed to the second round,” he announced, his voice flat and cold. “Everyone except… Ava Chen.” 2 The air in the room shifted. Every eye turned to me. I could feel the heat of their collective gaze, a mixture of pity and morbid curiosity. The other interviewers looked just as surprised; this was the first time their boss had ever been so merciless, so publicly dismissive of a candidate. Only Ethan’s assistant, after a quick, assessing glance at my face, allowed a small, knowing smile to touch her lips. Her eyes held a flicker of contempt. My own mortification began to curdle into a hot, simmering anger. My resume, my academic credentials—they weren’t the worst in this group. Not by a long shot. To single me out like this, in front of everyone… no one would believe it wasn’t personal. I could live with not working here, but I couldn’t swallow this insult. Ethan had clearly forgotten the kind of temper I had. It had been a while. I forced a tight, bright smile onto my face. “Excuse me, sir,” I said, my voice dangerously sweet. “You said I’m not qualified. May I ask for a reasonable explanation?” He didn’t hesitate. He picked up my resume, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the wastebasket beside his desk with a theatrical flick of his wrist. He let out a short, sharp laugh. “Apologies,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “This company has a strict policy against hiring opportunistic, morally bankrupt people. I can’t have that kind of filth tainting the workplace. Besides, there are no pathetic men here for you to manipulate. You can take a left out the door. I hear Marcus Thorne—you know, the real estate tycoon, freshly divorced from wife number four—is always looking for… company.” A collective gasp rippled through the room. Some of the other candidates stifled snickers, their whispers just loud enough to hear. “Damn. All that for an Ivy League degree? Gives the school a bad name. Guess you can’t judge a book by its cover. Some women will do anything for a buck.” “Serves her right for trying to sleep her way to the top. I bet her whole resume is fake.” “She’s not even that pretty. Probably all plastic. And she has the nerve to question the CEO? The audacity is almost funny. Pathetic.” … With every muttered insult, I kept my eyes locked on Ethan. And with every insult, a dark, triumphant glint in his eyes grew brighter. This was his victory lap. All the years of grinding, of building this empire—it was all for this single moment. To stand on his mountain and watch me burn. I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. If I was going down, he was coming with me. Under the shocked stares of everyone in the room, I strode forward. I walked right up to his expensive desk, raised my hand, and brought it down across his face with all the force I could muster. The room erupted in a symphony of shrieks and gasps. Ethan tumbled sideways out of his ergonomic chair, hitting the plush carpet with a dull thud. He was out cold. His face, where my hand had connected, was already turning a violent shade of red. The assistant rushed to his side, cradling his head in her lap. “You bitch!” she screamed, her voice cracking with fury. “Who the hell do you think you are? You’re finished! If anything happens to Mr. Thorne, I’ll make sure you rot in jail!” She then rounded on the other executives, who were frozen in place. “What are you all staring at? Call an ambulance, you useless idiots!” The berated employees, though clearly taken aback by her tone, fumbled for their phones and did as they were told. An assistant didn’t technically outrank them, but she wore the mantle of the boss’s chosen one like a second skin. They weren’t about to argue. This time, I didn’t say a word. I was too busy studying the assistant’s face. This woman… why did she look so much like me? 3 Because I was the one who threw the punch, I had to accompany them to the hospital. In the emergency room, I stood against the wall with a few other shell-shocked employees, feeling like a misbehaving child outside the principal’s office. The only one moving was the assistant. She sat by Ethan’s bedside, clutching his hand, her tears falling onto the crisp white sheets. You would think he was on his deathbed. One of the managers tried to reason with her. “Chloe, the doctor said Mr. Thorne is fine. He just needs to rest. I’ve already called his housekeeper; someone will be here soon. Maybe we should head back to the office? There’s still a long line of candidates waiting.” Chloe wiped her eyes and shot the man a venomous glare. “Mr. Thorne is in this state, and all you can think about is work? Do you have a heart? If it weren’t for his generosity, you’d all be out on the street begging for a job, just like her!” The employees, who had earned their positions through skill and hard work, looked bewildered. I, the collateral damage in her tirade, was even more confused. How did looking for a job equate to begging? No one dared to challenge her, so Chloe redirected the full force of her fury back to me. “What’s that look on your face? Am I wrong? I saw the gaps in your resume. Who knows what sordid things you were doing during that time. You did this to him! Don’t you feel any guilt at all?” I asked, genuinely curious, “Did what, exactly? Is he dying?” Because if he was, I needed to go buy some fireworks. A single slap that could kill a man—that was a skill worth marketing. I could start a masterclass in the Iron Palm technique. “Aah! Shut up!” she shrieked. “If you curse him again, I’ll make sure you never find work in this city! I’ll personally call every company and blacklist you!” I nodded slowly. “Wow. For an assistant, you have a lot of power.” My calm, dismissive tone sent her into a fresh rage. She shot to her feet, her face a mask of tragic, tear-stained sorrow. “Do you want to know why the doctors can’t find anything wrong with him? I’ll tell you. Mr. Thorne has a rare condition. A severe psychosomatic aversion. He can’t be touched by any woman! I am the only one who can get close to him. I am his only exception! So do yourself a favor and get some self-respect. Stop throwing yourself at men with these cheap, pathetic tricks!” Her eyes raked over my face, a mixture of contempt and smug satisfaction in her expression. “And I know you’re aware of how special I am to him. It’s obvious. You had your face surgically altered to look like mine. But it’s a pathetic imitation. A knock-off can never be the original. You’re not even in the same league.” I almost lunged at her. Excuse me? This face is one hundred percent natural, thank you very much. I was with her boss back when she was probably still in high school learning her multiplication tables. She thought she knew Ethan so well? Funny. I knew him better. On the way in, I’d cornered a doctor who confirmed my suspicions. Ethan’s fainting spell had nothing to do with physical trauma. It was, he’d said, likely the result of some kind of intense psychological shock. Even the doctor couldn’t pinpoint what it was. But I knew. In the entire world, I was probably the only one who did. A cold smile touched my lips. Ignoring Chloe’s frantic protests, I leaned over Ethan’s “unconscious” form. “If you play dead for one more second,” I whispered, my voice a low, menacing hum in his ear, “I’m going to tell everyone you have acute touch starvation, and that you didn’t pass out from the slap. You passed out from pleasure.” A medical miracle occurred. The man who had been utterly unresponsive, practically a corpse, suddenly shot upright on the gurney. He looked like a zombie rising from the grave, startling everyone in the room into a stunned, awkward silence. After a moment that stretched for an eternity, Ethan slowly turned his head. He fixed his gaze on me, a pained, murderous smile stretching his lips. “The interview was a success,” he said, each word a carefully ground-out threat. “You start tomorrow.” 4 And just like that, with one sentence, the overbearing CEO had hired me. A true medical marvel. Under Chloe’s gaze of pure, unadulterated disbelief, I officially became an employee of Thorne Industries. To be honest, aside from the excruciatingly awkward fact that the CEO was my ex-boyfriend, I was more than happy with the company. It was thriving, the boss was generous and hands-off, the pay was excellent, and overtime was non-existent. The hours were nine-to-five with weekends off, catered lunches were prepared by a five-star chef, and there was no clocking in. Ethan was the classic example of someone who’d been drenched in the rain and now wanted to hold an umbrella for others. He was a bastard of an ex, but a damn good boss. News of “The Slap,” as it came to be known, had somehow leaked. When I showed up for my first day, I was met with a barrage of curious stares. It made sense. The woman who sent the CEO to the hospital and still got the job? I’d be curious too. But once they saw my face, the curiosity melted into something else—a shared, knowing look of disdain. The rumors started spreading like wildfire through the company’s Slack channels. CEO Thorne is secretly in love with his assistant, Chloe. Hiring the doppelgänger is proof. No, the new girl got plastic surgery to look like Chloe on purpose. The slap was just a crazy stunt to get his attention. Within three days, I was completely ostracized. I worked alone, ate lunch alone, and was never invited to after-work drinks. I didn’t mind in the slightest. The peace and quiet was a welcome change. Thanks to Ethan’s leadership, the company culture was refreshingly professional and free of petty drama. As long as I did my job well, most people left me alone. There was just one problem. I felt a muscle twitch in my jaw. In the faint reflection on my desktop monitor, I could see him again—a dark, brooding figure lurking just outside the glass wall of my department. The first time I saw Ethan standing in the corner of my periphery, watching me, I almost jumped out of my skin. He looked like a ghost haunting the halls. After a few days, I was starting to get used to it. When the guy from the next cubicle came over to ask a question, I ignored the specter in the hallway and focused on my work. It wasn’t until I was in the breakroom, agreeing to go to a team dinner that night, that Ethan finally emerged from the shadows. He stood in the doorway, his dark eyes fixed on me, saying nothing. I pretended not to know him and tried to walk past. He stepped into my path, his face a thundercloud. “Ava,” he said, his voice low and tight. “Is it so hard to greet your boss when you see him? Have you forgotten basic manners?” I feigned surprise. “Oh! Mr. Thorne. I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you. It’s been a while, you know? Well, I’ll let you get back to it. If there’s nothing else, I should probably—” I tried to squeeze past him, but he shot out a hand and grabbed my wrist. The contact was electric. A split second later, he recoiled as if he’d been burned, snatching his hand back. His ears turned a deep, tell-tale shade of crimson. I glanced at his trembling fingers. It had been years, but his condition, far from getting better, had clearly gotten worse. 5 His hand might have been shaking, but his tongue was as sharp as ever. “You work fast, Ava,” he sneered. “Barely here a week and you’ve already sunk your claws into someone. Don’t waste your time. I had HR pull his file. His parents are middle-class government employees. No trust fund, no family money. He doesn’t meet your… requirements. I’d find a new target if I were you.” It was hard to reconcile this man, spitting such casual, venomous words, with the boy I once knew—the one who would get so nervous around me he’d sometimes stutter. I laughed, a cold, sharp sound. “Oh? And who do you suggest I target next?” A muscle jumped in his jaw. He didn’t answer. I shoved past him and left the breakroom, nearly colliding with Chloe, who was on her way to find him. She shot me a dirty look before rushing past me into the room. Her anxious voice drifted out into the hall. “Mr. Thorne, are you alright? You look like you’re about to fall! Can you stand? God, what did that woman do to you this time? What? Shh? What do you mean, ‘shh’?” … My deskmate’s name was Leo. After work, I joined him and a few other colleagues for dinner. I made a point of being open and friendly, showing no signs of resentment or sadness from being the office pariah. Over the course of the meal, I could feel their opinions of me shifting. They started to see that the person from the rumors didn’t match the person sitting in front of them. When they decided to head to a nearby bar afterward, they invited me along. After a few rounds of drinking games, my head started to spin. I slipped outside for some fresh air. The door opened behind me a moment later. It was Leo. He had a kind, boyish face and a gentle smile. He offered me a small bottle. “Here. I bought this on the way over. It’s one of those hangover cures. It’ll help.” I had a rule about not accepting drinks from people, so I politely declined. He wasn’t offended; in fact, his smile seemed to soften. He leaned against the brick wall next to me, sipping the drink himself. “Ava, maybe you should take it easy for the rest of the night,” he said. “Or, if you want, I could be your black knight and take some of the shots for you.” I smiled. “That’s sweet of you, Leo, thanks. But aren’t you a little young to be playing the hero?” He nearly choked on his drink, his face flushing a little. “Hey, I’m your senior colleague, technically. That means you should be calling me ‘sir,’ not pointing out my age.” I was about to tease him again when the door to the private room next to ours swung open. Ethan stepped out, and his eyes met mine. The music from inside was loud, so Leo hadn’t heard the door. He was still looking at me, his expression earnest. “So, Ava… you’re really beautiful. Do you have a boyfriend?” Ethan froze. A wicked little spark ignited in my chest. I hummed thoughtfully. “I do, actually. We’ve been together for a while.” I watched the light go out of Leo’s eyes. He looked like a puppy who’d just had its tail stepped on, and for a fleeting, painful moment, he reminded me so much of a younger Ethan. Back then, Ethan had been just as transparent, his every emotion written plainly on his face. “Then the rumors about you and Mr. Thorne—” “Oh, Mr. Thorne! What a coincidence! Fancy seeing you here,” I chirped, cutting Leo off before he could finish. I acted as if I’d just noticed Ethan standing there. Leo snapped back to reality, spinning around and nearly bowing. “Mr. Thorne! Good evening, sir.” Ethan’s tense expression softened slightly. He wasn’t going to take it out on the kid. “Leo,” he acknowledged with a nod. “Just wrapped up a client dinner.” Leo, ever polite, made a casual offer. “Well, since you’re here, would you like to join us for a bit?” Any normal boss would have politely declined. But Ethan Thorne was not a normal boss. “Alright,” he said, and without another word, he pushed open the door to our room and walked inside. The booming karaoke music inside our room screeched to a halt, replaced by a chorus of stunned, sober voices. “Good evening, Mr. Thorne!” 6 Chloe must have heard the commotion from next door. She appeared in the hallway a moment later, and when she saw me, her face soured. “What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Are you stalking Mr. Thorne? I’m warning you, Ava. One more stunt like this and I’m calling the police.” Leo, finally recovering from his shock, jumped to my defense. “You’ve got it all wrong, Chloe. A few of us from the office are just having a team dinner here. We ran into Mr. Thorne by chance. He’s in our room right now.” Chloe’s eyes darted between Leo and me, and a derisive smirk twisted her lips. “You’re really something, Ava. Not only did you manage to trick Mr. Thorne into joining you, but you’ve got a backup plan right here.” She gestured at Leo. “I have to wonder, could you even function without a face that looks like mine? You should really send a thank you card to your plastic surgeon for the life you have now.” She then turned her dismissive gaze on Leo. “And you,” she said, her voice dripping with condescension. “If you have a crush on me, just ask me out directly. What’s the point of cozying up to a cheap knock-off? Are you even a man? Don’t make me lose respect for you.” Before Leo could even sputter a protest, she pulled a business card from her purse, tucked it into the pocket of his shirt, shot me one last withering look, and swept into our private room. Leo stood there, completely dumbfounded. I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. I patted his shoulder. “Go get her, tiger. Be a man.” “Ava!” he groaned, his face beet red. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop. Come on, we should probably see what kind of damage has been done.” We walked back into the room to find the once-lively atmosphere had become dead silent. Everyone was watching Ethan, who sat in the center of the sofa like a king holding court. The tension of having me, the “impostor,” in the same room as Chloe, the supposed “original,” was thick enough to cut with a knife. Seeing that we had finally returned, Ethan coolly averted his gaze and broke the suffocating silence. “Next song is for Ava,” he announced. “Someone who talks that much must be a decent singer.” Every head in the room swiveled in my direction. I smiled sweetly. “Oh, I think Mr. Thorne should sing. My singing voice isn’t nearly as good as my speaking voice. Unlike you, sir. I hear you’re great at both.” Their heads swiveled back to Ethan. His eyes were like chips of ice. “Are you refusing a direct order from your boss?” I blinked innocently. “Don’t be silly, Mr. Thorne. It’s after hours. There’s no boss, no employee. We’re all just friends here. Calling it an order seems so… formal.” A collective, silent gasp went through our colleagues. They were now looking at me with a newfound respect, bordering on awe. She slapped him at the interview and lived. She must have something on him. Blackmail. Definitely blackmail. They weren’t entirely wrong. I did hold Ethan’s life in my hands, in a way. He saw the unspoken threat in my eyes and finally backed down. Muttering something about needing the restroom, he escaped the room. Chloe, furious on his behalf, slammed her hand on the table and shot to her feet, pointing a trembling finger at me. “Ava! Don’t you push your luck! Mr. Thorne only tolerates you because of me! If you didn’t have my face, you wouldn’t have even made it past the front door of the company! You’re a spoiled, ungrateful bitch! A cheap copy! One day, everyone will see you for what you really are, and they’ll despise you. I don’t even understand why you exist!” Leo started to stand up, to say something, but I held up a hand to stop him. I looked at Chloe, my expression calm. “The reason I exist,” I said, my voice even, “is so that without me, you wouldn’t have a stage to perform this little monkey dance on.” “What did you just call me, you fake bitch!” I didn’t bother to reply. I turned and left the room, closing the door on her shrill voice. I was done. I didn’t want to drag my history with Ethan into the light for everyone to pick apart. This was it. I should have quit the day I was hired. I went to the restroom and splashed cold water on my face. The shock of it cleared my head. I checked the time. I’d go back, say my goodbyes, and head home. But as I walked past an empty private room, a hand shot out from the darkness and yanked me inside. The door slammed shut behind me. Before a scream could escape my throat, I was staring into the stormy, furious eyes of Ethan Thorne. His face was inches from mine, his hot breath ghosting across my skin. “You have a boyfriend, Ava?” 7 The fear that had seized me a moment ago instantly ignited into rage. The scream died in my throat, replaced by a torrent of angry words. “What the hell is wrong with you? Are you trying to give me a heart attack, grabbing me like that?” He ignored my outburst, his own breath coming in ragged bursts. “Do you really have a boyfriend?” he repeated, his voice raw. I frowned, trying to push him away. “That’s none of your business, Mr. Thorne. We’re not close. Please have some self-respect.” “Enough!” he roared, his control finally snapping. “I’m done playing this game where we pretend we don’t know each other! Just answer my damn question!” He slammed his fist against the wall behind me, the impact rattling the cheap art hanging there. His eyes were rimmed with red. He raised his other hand as if to grip my shoulders, but it froze in mid-air, clenching into a tight fist before falling back to his side. The air was thick with the unfamiliar scent of tobacco. Ethan never used to smoke. Staring into those deep, tormented eyes felt like drowning. I shoved him, hard, and broke his gaze. “You’re the one who started this, remember?” I shot back. “You have no right to act outraged now.” My heart was hammering against my ribs. I had a very bad feeling about where this was going. I turned and fumbled for the doorknob. “It’s getting late. I should—” A searing heat enveloped me from behind. A hard chest pressed against my back, and a large, warm hand covered mine on the doorknob, stilling my movement. He pushed the door, which I’d managed to pull open a few inches, firmly shut. Ethan was a full head taller than me, his frame completely eclipsing mine. He leaned down, resting his forehead on my shoulder. His voice, when he spoke, was a broken whisper. “If I begged you, would you stay?” I bit down on my lip, forcing the cruelty into my voice. “No. It would only make you seem pathetic and cheap.” The man behind me went still. The words were a low blow, aimed directly at the pride I knew he valued most. The most familiar people always know exactly where to strike to cause the most pain. A sharp, needle-like ache pierced my own chest, but I forced out a dismissive laugh, a final, bitter punctuation mark on a love story that had died before it even had a chance to be rekindled. Just when I thought he would finally push me away, finally see me as the enemy I was pretending to be, an arm snaked around my waist. He pulled me flush against him, holding me with a desperate, possessive tightness, as if I were a treasure he’d lost and just found again. I could feel the frantic, thunderous beating of his heart against my spine. “Don’t go,” he pleaded, his voice muffled in my hair. “I’m begging you.” My ears were ringing. Before I could process what was happening, he spun me around to face him. His pale skin was flushed a furious red, like a boiled lobster, and his eyes were hazy with a strange, unfocused desire. “Can I hold you?” he asked. My knees felt weak. If he wanted to hold me, why was he staring at my lips? “Ethan, you need to calm down. You’re having an episode.” The raw, predatory energy rolling off him was terrifying. I started backing away, step by step, until my back hit the cold, unyielding wall. “Hold me.” His voice was a hoarse rasp, no longer a question but a command. Experience told me that in these moments, the only safe option was to comply. Arguing would only make it worse, sending him spiraling out of control. I slowly raised my arms and wrapped them around his waist. After a moment’s hesitation, I rested my head against his chest. In the dim light, I could see the goosebumps rise on his arms, the fine hairs standing on end. It was the physical manifestation of his touch starvation being soothed. Suddenly, a voice came from the hallway, just on the other side of the door. It was Leo. “That’s weird. I thought Ava came to the restroom.” “I don’t know,” another colleague replied. “I didn’t see her. Maybe Chloe’s comments really got to her and she left? I mean, what she said was pretty harsh. I’d be upset too.” “Why is Chloe so against her anyway? Is she afraid Ava will steal Mr. Thorne? But Ava has a boyfriend, so it’s not like she’s a threat. Chloe’s making a big deal out of nothing.” “Huh? Ava has a boyfriend? She told me she was single just a few days ago. Leo, you must have heard wrong.” My eyes widened in horror. Shit. I’m busted. Before I could react, a hand cupped my chin, tilting my face upwards. A fierce, scorching kiss crashed down on mine. His tongue gently parted my lips, and our breaths tangled together in a rush of heat and desperation. His other hand moved to the nape of my neck, holding me in place, his fingers threading through my hair. The faint taste of whiskey mingled with something that was just… Ethan. His hand slipped under the hem of my shirt, his palm pressing flat against the bare skin of my waist. The heat of his touch was almost enough to burn me. On the other side of the wall, Leo was shyly confessing his crush to our coworkers. Inside the room, I was being kissed by Ethan until my thoughts dissolved and my senses swam.

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My best friend is in love with my uncle. She’s also paying me a small fortune to play Cupid. When I delivered the scarf she knitted for him, my uncle’s jaw tightened. A notification pinged on my phone. “Ten thousand dollars,” he said, his voice flat. “Consider your services purchased.” When I passed along her handwritten love letter, he didn’t even glance at it. His face darkened as he tapped on his phone. “Twenty thousand,” he bit out. “Don’t ever do this again.” I was getting paid by both of them. Life was good. Until the day before his birthday. I walked in carrying a massive bouquet of ninety-nine red roses, courtesy of my very determined best friend. He exploded. His face was a mask of cold fury as he ripped the flowers from my arms and smashed them on the floor. “I thought you knew the line, Ava,” he seethed, his voice dangerously low. “But I see you’ve learned to be shameless.” He took a step closer, towering over me. “Stop fantasizing. I could never, ever feel that way about you. Not in this lifetime.” I just stared, stunned. But past the anger, I saw it clear as day: the desperate, agonizing conflict in his eyes. Hold on a second, buddy. Let’s get something straight. I see you as my uncle. So why are you acting like you want to be my husband? 1 Tomorrow is Connor’s thirtieth birthday. Every year, I give him a small, handmade gift. Nothing expensive or flashy, just something thoughtful. Tonight, like always, he was sitting in the living room, waiting for me to get home. But the moment he saw the massive bouquet of red roses in my arms, something in him snapped. His face, usually so composed, went cold. I instantly knew what he was thinking, what he’d misunderstood, and opened my mouth to explain. But before I could, he ripped the bouquet from my hands and slammed it onto the marble floor. The petals scattered like droplets of blood. His brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a deep, crushing disappointment. “Have you no shame, Ava?” His voice was low, cutting. “Even if we’re not blood, I’m still your guardian. I’m your uncle.” He took a step closer, his shadow falling over me. “All these years, you’ve given me these… suggestive little gifts. I let it slide because I thought you knew the line. But now this? Are you really pushing it this far?” I was speechless for a second, then found my voice. “This is from Chloe,” I explained, my tone steady despite the tremor inside me. “She just asked me to give it to you.” Chloe is my best friend and, out of all the women vying for Connor’s attention, the only one I actually like. She has a great personality, she’s gorgeous, and even Connor seems to enjoy her company. She wanted to surprise him for his birthday. The plan was for me to be the advance guard with the roses. She was hiding outside, waiting for the right moment to come in and confess her feelings. As her designated wingwoman and paid consultant, I was happy to play my part in her slightly cheesy, rom-com-worthy plan. But when I pulled open the front door to prove I was telling the truth, the porch was empty. *What the hell? Where did she go?* Way to flake out at the crucial moment, Chloe. Now what do I do? I turned back to Connor, my mind racing, but meeting his gaze made the words die in my throat. His expression was a storm of conflict. Disappointment, yes, but also a raw, painful longing. The rest of it, the part that twisted my stomach into a knot, I refused to acknowledge. He grabbed my arm, his grip tight, and pulled me onto the porch, forcing me to look at the empty, manicured lawn. The night air was cold against my skin. His voice was laced with an arctic chill I’d never heard before. “I’ve raised you for over a decade, Ava. I didn’t do it so you could learn to lie to my face like this.” He gestured vaguely at the darkness. “Stop using Chloe as a shield. You’re not worthy of even mentioning her name in the same breath. She’s a decent, reserved girl. She would never be so… shameless.” In all the years I’d lived with him, he had never spoken to me with such contempt. It was humiliating. Utterly, profoundly humiliating. I clutched at the sleeve of his cashmere sweater. “It’s not like that…” He shook me off like I was a piece of dirt, pulling out his phone. His fingers moved across the screen with grim familiarity. A notification pinged on my phone. “I just sent you ten thousand dollars,” he said, his voice flat. “Consider the flowers bought. And consider whatever pathetic fantasy you’ve cooked up in your head bought and paid for, too.” He met my eyes, his own now hard as granite. “From now on, I don’t want to see this kind of trash in my house again. Get rid of your disgusting little crush. I could never, ever feel that way about you. This lifetime or the next.” He brushed past me and walked out into the night, leaving me standing there amid the ruined flowers. My eyes burned, tears welling up until my vision blurred. Just then, my phone buzzed again. A text from Chloe. *OMG I’m so sorry babe, I totally chickened out…* A second message appeared. *Can you buy another bouquet for tomorrow?? I’ll try again! I promise I’ll go through with it this time!* Then, a third notification. *Venmo: Chloe sent you $20,000.* Followed by: *Please??* Wait. How much? Twenty. Thousand. Dollars. I sniffled, blinked, and counted the zeroes after the two. One, two, three, four. It was real. I pocketed my phone, a sense of calm satisfaction washing over me. The tears of wounded pride instantly retreated. I knelt, methodically gathering the scattered petals from the floor. Then, my face a perfect mask of composure, I opened an app and ordered a new bouquet of roses for delivery tomorrow morning. Sorry, Connor. Her offer was just too good to refuse. 2 It wasn’t always this tense between us. Before I turned eighteen, things were different. The Reeds and my family, the Martins, were inseparable. After my parents died in a car crash, I was sent to live with Connor. He was my dad’s best friend, my designated guardian. By convention, I called him Uncle Connor. He earned the title. Even though we shared no blood, he treated me like a princess. He took me on trips to broaden my horizons, bought me ridiculously expensive dresses for school dances, and once, when a new housekeeper accidentally gave me regular milk and triggered my lactose allergy, he lost his notoriously unshakable cool and fired her on the spot. Having lost my own father, I came to see him as a father figure, someone I loved and respected deeply. For every holiday, every birthday, I would make him a gift. A hand-knit scarf or gloves when it got cold. A pitcher of his favorite sun tea when summer arrived. To me, these were just simple, ordinary gestures of affection. My mother was crafty, and I’d picked it up from her. I used to make the same kinds of things for my dad. But somewhere along the way, as I grew from a girl into a woman, things changed. Or maybe he changed. My simple gifts started taking on meanings he invented, and with each one, he grew more distant. Finally, whether to create distance or for some other reason, he started paying me. For the scarf I gave him on my eighteenth birthday, he didn’t even look at it. He just offered a thin smile and picked up his phone. “Thanks for the effort, Ava. I just sent you ten thousand. Consider it a purchase.” The sun tea got the same treatment. He took a single, perfunctory sip. “Tastes good. You worked hard.” Another ping from my phone. “That’s five hundred dollars. For the pitcher.” Five hundred dollars. Not for the sentiment. For the product. He never used many words. The wire transfers were his way of rejecting the feeling behind the gift. His deliberate distance hurt, but it also lit a fire under me. Five hundred bucks for a pitcher of tea? Where else was I going to find a patron that generous and clueless? He said he was buying my gifts, but he never said I had to stop giving them. So I doubled down. My gift-giving became more frequent, more… creative. I gave him presents for absurd holidays like National Left-Handers Day. Worried he’d get the wrong idea again, I started choosing the most impersonal things I could think of: designer sunglasses, artisanal teas, fancy imported milk, and even a bag of Nescafé instant I tried to pass off as hand-ground artisanal coffee. And as he grew colder, I took on a side hustle: running point for the legion of women trying to date him, delivering their gifts and messages. Getting paid on both ends of the deal isn’t shameful, it’s smart. I thought for sure this would get the message through his thick skull. That my interest was purely familial—and, now, financial. Apparently, I’d underestimated the complexity of his wiring. All my efforts, and I still ended up with, “I could never feel that way about you.” Sigh. Re-education program: failed. 3 Connor came home late, staggering drunk. Seeing him stumble, I instinctively moved to help him. The moment my hand touched his arm, he flinched like he’d been burned. He shoved me away, his eyes wild. I lost my balance and fell to the floor. “I told you to get away from me!” he snarled, his words slurring. “Stay the hell away! I don’t like you, don’t you get it?” *Dude,* I thought, rubbing my hip. *I never said I liked you.* He ignored me, lurching toward the staircase. He made it two steps before his legs gave out and he tumbled right back down, landing in a heap near my feet. Okay. Deep breaths. You’re turning thirty, my friend. Tomorrow, you officially begin your journey toward forty. In a few years, I could legitimately call you an old man. Can we please stop pretending we’re invincible? I pushed myself up, massaging my temples, and hauled him back to his bedroom. His consciousness was flickering, but he still knew who I was. As I pulled the covers over him, his hand fumbled for his phone on the nightstand. “Two thousand…” he mumbled. “For… for your help. The service fee. Don’t get any ideas.” I should have let him fall a few more times. Maybe the price would have gone up. For the sake of the money, I ignored the drunkard’s ramblings. I tucked him in and turned to leave. But before I could take a step, a pair of arms wrapped around me from behind, hot and heavy. The smell of whiskey and smoke mixed with his signature cedarwood cologne filled my senses. Connor’s lips, feverish and rough, brushed against my ear. “Why?” he whispered, his voice thick and raw. “Why won’t you just go away?” Before I could process it, his hand was at the back of my neck, turning my head. I was trapped, looking into his eyes—eyes that were no longer just conflicted, but filled with a dark, terrifying desire. That snapped me out of it. I shoved him hard, stumbling back. “You need to figure out who’s pushing who away!” I shot back, my voice sharp. Then, without waiting for a reply, I fled to my room. My heart hammered against my ribs. I leaned against my door, trying to get my thoughts in order. Suddenly, an idea struck. I grabbed my phone and opened my chat with Chloe. *Chloe, Connor’s trashed. Perfect opportunity. Get over here. Now.*

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The day they shoved me back into my own body, I became a ghost in my own life. For five years, a “player” had worn my skin, using my life as her game. When her mission was complete, the System, in its infinite and brutal efficiency, recalled me. I ran to them—my mother, my father, my brother—my heart a raw, hopeful thing, ready to be held. Instead, they locked me in the basement. They beat me with belts and fists, starving me, all to coax their “real” daughter, their perfect sister, back from whatever phantom limb she’d become. By the tenth day, I was fading. A husk of a girl, whispering through cracked lips, begging them to save me. My brother, Michael, simply kicked me in the ribs. “When Chloe comes back,” he said, his voice flat and cold, “then you get to live.” In the final moments, as the darkness at the edge of my vision began to close in, my fiancé, Ethan, appeared like an apparition. He descended into my personal hell and reached out his hand. Gratitude washed over me, so pure and desperate it was its own kind of pain. I followed him out of that house, a shadow with no name, and I stayed by his side. I bore him a child. And now, from the sterile chill of the delivery room, I could hear their voices through the door. His, and my parents’. “When the baby is born,” Ethan said, his tone clipped and strategic, “I’ll have someone take care of it. You two can use the chaos to destroy her reputation completely.” “Once the world despises her,” my father’s voice added, a low rumble, “once her despair value hits one hundred percent, Chloe can finally come back to us.” I lay there, silent for a long time. Then, a slow, hollow smile stretched across my face. I closed my eyes and made a deal with the Mainframe. I would help them get exactly what they wanted. — 1 “Ethan, that’s your son. Your own flesh and blood. Are you really sure?” My mother’s voice, laced with a flicker of something that might have been doubt, drifted through the door. For a foolish second, a spark of hope ignited in my chest. “Does she deserve to be the mother of my child?” Ethan’s voice was sharp, cutting. “If she hadn’t stolen Chloe’s body, she wouldn’t have had the chance in the first place.” The strength drained out of me, leaving my mind a silent, white expanse. She had stolen my body. For five years. Their mournful sighs were a discordant symphony of grief. “I wonder how Chloe has been all this time,” my mother murmured. “Is she suffering in someone else’s body, being bullied?” “That bitch, Ava,” my father spat. “It was never hers to keep. She should have just let go.” “Patience,” Ethan counseled. “We’re almost at the end. The plan is nearly complete.” Tears traced silent paths down my temples and into my hair. To earn my way back, I had worked without rest, managing the lives and missions of dozens of hosts for the Benevolence System. I’d depleted my energy to the point of near-dissipation countless times, believing I was facing my final death. The thought of my family was the only thing that pulled me through, the anchor that let me survive each crisis. And then, finally, Chloe—the player—had vacated my body. The moment I saw my family again, the pent-up grief of five years spilled over. But before the first sob could even escape, my brother’s hands were around my throat. His eyes were bloodshot, manic. “Give her back,” he choked out. “Bring Chloe back.” He shook me, my head snapping back and forth. “Who the hell are you? What gives you the right to take her body? You’re nothing, you bitch, why are you trying to replace her?” My parents stood by, their faces hard as stone, endorsing his rage. They dragged me to the basement and the beatings began, a ritualistic punishment designed to exorcise my soul from my own skin. Ethan appeared in the darkest hour of that despair. He reached for me, and to get me out, he let my parents rain blows upon his own back, his body shielding mine. He emerged from that house bruised and bleeding for me. I remember him kneeling before me, the picture of a wounded savior, taking my hand. He’d said, “Ava, from now on, wherever I am is your home.” He’d said, “Ava, don’t worry. We’ll have a son, and he and I will protect you together. No one will ever hurt you again.” It was all just a scene. A beautifully staged lie. “We have a Code Blue! PPH! Get blood packs, now!” A nurse’s shout snapped me back to the present. A searing pain tore through my abdomen. Through the fog, I heard Ethan’s voice, a masterpiece of anguish. “Doctor, please, you have to save my wife and child! Please! I can’t live without them!” The sound of something solid hitting the floor, over and over—his head, I realized. He was putting on the performance of a lifetime. Such devotion. I felt a chill spread through my veins, deep and absolute. “Doctor,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “Could you do something for me?” 2 “I’m so sorry. The baby didn’t make it. The good news is, the mother is stable.” When the doctor’s words finally registered, I let the darkness of exhaustion pull me under. In the haze between sleep and waking, I heard their whispers. “Useless. Can’t even manage to deliver a baby.” “Well, it saves us the trouble. Less blood on our hands this way.” “Proceed with the plan.” … When I woke up, the hospital room was empty. On the television mounted to the wall, my fiancé was smiling for the cameras at a press conference. “Today is my fiancée’s birthday,” he said, his expression a perfect blend of charm and sorrow. “Although I can’t be with her, I will be donating one hundred million dollars to charities in the rural mountain regions in her name, to pray for her recovery and well-being.” The old me would have been moved to tears. CRASH. The door slammed against the wall, jolting me fully awake. A large, drunk man stumbled into the room, reeking of cheap whiskey. “Hey, baby,” he slurred, lurching toward my bed. “I’m here. Come give your man a little sugar.” My body, weak and ravaged from childbirth, was useless. The man was a mountain, and the pressure of his presence was suffocating. I couldn’t fight back. “Who are you?” I gasped. “Get away from me!” His response was a fist to my forehead. My head snapped back against the pillow, stars exploding behind my eyes. He lunged again. “Bastard!” A curse, a thud, and the man was on the floor. I flinched, shrinking back against the headboard as my family and Ethan stormed into the room. My mother was on me first. Her hand cracked across my cheek, the sting sharp and immediate. “Have you no shame?” she screamed. “We thought having a child might settle you down, make you decent, but it seems…” “You can’t polish a turd,” my father finished, his voice dripping with disgust. “Mom, Dad, don’t be so quick to blame Ava,” Ethan said, his voice a placating balm. “Let’s hear what this man has to say…” I didn’t speak. A bitter, soundless laugh formed in my throat. A trap set just for me. Why bother struggling? “It was her! The bitch seduced me!” the man on the floor wailed, pointing a trembling finger at me. “You have to believe me! We… we even have a child together!” He was getting into it now, a true actor. “To be with me, Ava killed her own baby… she killed our baby herself!” One sentence, and the verdict was delivered. Even though I’d been expecting it, a cold dread seeped into my bones. I held my composure as the doorway filled with onlookers, their phones held up to record the drama. “That’s the fiancée of Ethan Hayes, right? He’s out there doing charity work in her name, and she’s in here being a total piece of trash.” “The devoted heir and the slutty mistress. What a cliché. Poor Mr. Hayes.” “Hey, did you hear? The rumor is she actually stole her sister’s fiancé to get with him in the first place…” The whispers grew into a chorus of filth. I remained still, my face a mask of calm. “Ethan,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Are you really going to see this through?” A flicker of something—doubt? guilt?—crossed his face before he clenched his jaw. His eyes turned red, and he lunged toward me. He slammed his fist into the wall just beside my head. The plaster cracked. “Ava!” he cried, his voice trembling with manufactured pain. “Defend yourself! Just say something, deny it, and I’ll believe you—I swear I will!” The man on the floor scrambled. “No! You have to believe me! I have proof!” He fumbled in his jacket pocket and pulled out a thick stack of papers. “Look! Photos of us together!” he shouted, scattering them across the floor. “And this! She got an amnio, even with the risks! Here’s the paternity test!” The papers were snatched up by the crowd. A wave of gasps and murmurs filled the room. I felt strangely peaceful. “You degenerate!” my father roared, charging at me. His cane came down hard across my back. A coppery taste filled my mouth as I choked back a spray of blood. I raised a hand, and my voice, when it came, was a thunderclap in the charged silence. “Enough!” 3 Every eye in the room swiveled to me. “Whatever you say I did,” I said, my voice devoid of emotion, “I’ll admit to it.” Ethan clutched his chest as if he’d been shot, his voice weak. “Ava… why?” He looked utterly heartbroken, a man betrayed to his very core. I let out a soft sigh. Without touching a single thing in the room, I slid off the bed and walked toward the door. “Stop!” The command was a chorus of voices. The crowd of onlookers, now my self-appointed jury, blocked my path. “Ava,” Ethan pleaded, dropping to one knee. He held up a ring. “Just admit you were wrong. Tell the world you’ll have nothing more to do with this man, and we can go back to how things were. Please.” I glanced at the ring. It was a cheap, tinny band, the kind you’d find in a gumball machine. A real laugh, sharp and bitter, escaped my lips this time. “Get out of my way.” I pushed through the crowd and walked away, the sounds of their curses and disgust trailing behind me like a bridal train. Ethan’s theatrical sobs were the last thing I heard. The video of the “cheating scandal” was already trending online. The entire internet was calling for my head. I went back to the house I had shared with Ethan. When I gathered all my belongings, they barely filled a small carry-on suitcase. Clink. A crystal picture frame, perched on the highest shelf of a closet, fell to the floor. It was a photo we’d taken on our third day together, one I had insisted on. In the picture, my smile was radiant. Beside me, Ethan gazed at me with an expression of pure adoration. He had said then, “Being with you is the greatest honor of my life.” My eyes, now hollow, stared at the photo. Through the glass, I could see faint writing on the back of the print. To my wife, Chloe: In memory of a time that should have been. The handwriting was unmistakably his. The words “my wife” were blurred, as if stained by tears. A wave of nausea rolled through me. I took the photo and every other thing that had ever belonged to me and set them on fire in the backyard fireplace. The flames danced, casting flickering shadows, and as they consumed my past, I felt a strange sense of release. My body had carried me this far, but it had nothing left to give. Before I could even make it out the front door, the world went black. I don’t know how long I was out. The faint, muffled voices of Ethan and my parents slowly pulled me back to consciousness. “Should we add more fuel to the fire? I feel like it’s still missing something,” Ethan said, a note of worry in his tone. My parents chuckled. “Being a slut isn’t enough to make everyone truly hate her,” my mother said. “But a heartless, exploitative capitalist? That, they will despise.” My head throbbed. When I came to, I was tied to a bed. They were taking no chances. I struggled slightly, and the creak of the bed frame alerted them. They came into the room, their faces falling in disappointment when they saw my eyes were open. The mask of sorrow was gone, replaced by unconcealed loathing. “Ava, I thought you just didn’t love me,” Ethan said, his voice dripping with righteous condemnation. “But now I see. You’re not just unloving. You’re evil.” He tossed a phone onto the bed in front of me, thoughtfully untying one of my hands so I could use it. The screen was filled with headlines about me. My “dark history.” Charity Foundation Exposed: Founder Ava Walker Embezzles Millions in Donations. Hayes Corp Insider: Walker Docked Employee Salaries, Fired Staff with Crippling Severance Penalties. The Devil Wears Red: Walker Allegedly Crippled a Designer to Use Blood to Dye a Gown. One accusation after another, each painting a portrait of a monster. “If you want to condemn someone, you can always find a reason,” I murmured. “But fine. You want a villain?” I looked them in the eye. “I’ll give you one.” With my free hand, I grabbed the fruit knife from the nightstand. I smiled as the blade plunged, straight and true, into my own heart.

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On the morning we were supposed to go to the courthouse, my fiancée—the CEO of the company we built together—intercepted me. She needed to marry her childhood friend first, to help him get his green card. She said it so casually, as if she were rescheduling a lunch meeting. As compensation, she told me, he’d bought me a car. When I stood there, silent, the condescension on her face was a mask she didn’t even bother to wear. “Cody picked it out himself, Ethan. That should count for something, right?” “Our relationship doesn’t need to be defined by a piece of paper,” she continued, the words worn smooth from overuse. “Once his residency is settled, we’ll have a proper wedding. It’s just a formality.” I heard myself agree, my voice a flat, distant thing. I watched her get into a car with Cody Hayes and drive off toward the courthouse. This was hardly the first time Ava had torched our life for the sake of the boy from back home, a man with barely a high school education. She’d put his name on a proposal I’d pulled three all-nighters to finish. She’d removed me as project lead and installed him in my place, spinning it as “nurturing new talent.” When I’d spent a month sourcing the perfect birthday gifts for her parents, she presented them as thoughtful treasures from Cody. In the two months since he’d arrived in New York, she had threatened to break up with me seventy-six times to get her way. Each time, the refrain was the same: “Cody and I are family, Ethan. Why do you have to make everything such a big deal?” If her heart already belonged to another family, what was the point of trying to be a part of hers? I pulled out my phone and dialed the number for the head of our industry’s leading firm. Before I could even speak, a warm, feminine voice, full of surprise and hope, came through the line. “Ethan? Does this mean you’ve finally made up your mind to come work with me?” … 1 The moment I stepped into the office, I saw the “car” Cody had bought me. It was a pink women’s beach cruiser, parked right next to my desk. A ridiculously large, glittery bow was tied to the handlebars. A few colleagues were whispering around it, their conversation dying the second they saw me. Their eyes held that familiar, toxic cocktail of pity and amusement. “So that’s the gift from Cody to our Director Wu? How… unique.” “Shh, he’s here.” Expressionless, I walked over, pushed the bicycle into a forgotten corner, and didn’t give it a second glance. Ava’s call came moments later. I answered to the immediate sound of her irritation. “Why did you take so long to pick up? Are you having second thoughts about Cody’s situation? God, Ethan, can you stop being so petty? For once, can’t you just try to understand?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “Besides, this is just paperwork. It’s about securing Cody’s future. Don’t you and I have enough trust between us to handle this?” My silence must have registered. Her tone softened, the practiced shift of a seasoned manipulator. “Look, I know this is hard for you. But you know he’s like a little brother to me. I can’t just stand by and watch him struggle.” She paused, letting the bait hang in the air. “You’ve always been the one who gets me. You’ll understand this time, too. Right?” She was worried about him struggling, but not about my heart freezing over. And besides, what kind of company needed its CEO to enter a sham marriage to retain a “talent” who’d faked his college degree? It was all just an excuse, a flimsy cover for her blatant favoritism. I was too tired to argue. “Mhm,” I managed. “One more thing,” she said, her voice all business again. “That project Cody’s been having trouble with—I need you to fix it. I want a solution on my desk by the end of the day. It’s your responsibility. Don’t disappoint me.” A cold laugh caught in my throat. So that was the real reason for the call. I was being dispatched to clean up Cody’s latest mess. It was a familiar role. She was always protecting him, burying his mistakes, even paying a client out of her own pocket after Cody got into a drunken fistfight with him at a bar. The project in question was one I had personally secured after a month of grueling negotiations, catering to the client’s every bizarre demand. But Ava had dismissed my work with a breezy, “We’re all on the same team,” and handed the title of Project Lead to Cody. Now, after he’d assaulted the client, the punishment had somehow landed on me for “failing to properly manage him.” And I was supposed to salvage it? The audacity was breathtaking. Even her sudden agreement to marry me, after seven years, had been a calculated move for Cody’s green card. Seven years of us. I’d lost count of how many times I’d brought up marriage. Each time, she had an excuse. At first, we were fresh out of college, focused on our careers. I understood. Then we started the company, and it took off. She wanted to wait until we went public. I understood that, too. Then, we were a top-five firm in our sector, the IPO was a success, and my college roommate’s kid was starting elementary school. I thought, this time, it has to be different. When I asked again, she accused me of being conventional, of not understanding her. “Aren’t things perfect the way they are? Why do you need a piece of paper to validate us?” An hour later, she sent me to JFK to pick up Cody, who was just arriving in New York. In the two months he’d been here, she’d used our relationship as a weapon against me seventy-six times. And with each threat, it became painfully clear to everyone where her loyalty truly lay. The respect in my employees’ eyes curdled into knowing glances. Her parents’ warmth toward me cooled into indifference. My friends started dropping not-so-subtle hints, urging me to wake up. They were right. It was time to wake up. I was clinging to seven years of history, but she was only clinging to Cody. Mistaking my silence for submission, Ava’s voice turned cheerful, as if the matter was settled. “Don’t worry. The second Cody’s green card is approved, I’ll file for divorce and we’ll get married. We’ll have the wedding of your dreams, okay?” She added, “Oh, and did you see the car he got you? Isn’t it great? He’s such a thoughtful kid. You should cut him some slack, you know? Don’t make people think you’re small-minded.” A bitter laugh escaped me. She couldn’t go three sentences without circling back to her wonderful Cody. While I was working late nights to save our company, she was at Per Se with him, posting on Instagram about the importance of “making memories.” While I was at the hospital with her sick father, she and Cody were skiing in Aspen, captioning their photos with “The brave enjoy the world first.” She was enjoying the world, alright, while I was the one carrying its weight for her. And still, in her eyes, I’d never measure up to him. Before I could reply, I heard his voice in the background, whining. “Ava, come on! The office is closing for lunch soon!” “Gotta go,” she said, all business again. “Don’t forget to handle that project.” She hung up. I gripped my phone, the plastic creaking under the pressure. She couldn’t even spare another ten seconds for me. Two minutes later, a notification popped up. An @all message in the company’s general Slack channel. I tapped it open. A congratulatory announcement, written in bold, red font, filled my screen: [BIG NEWS!] A huge congratulations to our own Cody Hayes and CEO Ava Chen on tying the knot today! A match made in heaven! We wish the happy couple a lifetime of love and happiness! Beneath the text was a photo. Cody, in a crisp white suit, had Ava wrapped in his arms, his head bent to kiss her. Her eyes were closed, a blissful smile playing on her lips as she held up two crimson marriage certificates for the camera. The background was unmistakable: the seal of the City Clerk’s office. The channel exploded. Cody’s sycophants were the first to react: “Congratulations, Cody! Congrats, Ms. Chen! This is the best news our company has ever had!” Cody himself quickly posted a voice memo, his tone thick with smug satisfaction. “Wow, thanks everyone. Ava and I were going to keep it low-key, but she insisted we share the joy with our company family. Dinner on me soon, everyone!” The head of HR immediately chimed in: “So generous of you, Cody! This finally puts all those nasty rumors about Ms. Chen’s personal life to rest. Some people need to learn to recognize their place.” He followed it with a winking-face emoji, a digital arrow aimed straight at my heart. I had no intention of engaging, but they weren’t about to let me off that easily. One of Cody’s cronies tagged me directly. “@Ethan Wu, what do you say? As a company veteran, shouldn’t you be the first one to congratulate our CEO and her new husband?” The moment the message appeared, the quiet hum of the office shifted. Heads that had been buried in screens now flickered with furtive glances in my direction. Before I could even react, Cody replied to the comment. “Hey, guys, leave Ethan alone. Let’s not make things awkward for him. He’s probably having a rough day. No need to pressure him.” It was a masterful stroke of passive-aggression, painting himself as the magnanimous victor while publicly confirming I was the one who’d been discarded. And Ava? She posted a single, sterile sentence: “Thank you, everyone. Now, back to work. All project approvals will be handled by Director Wu for the time being.” Her silence on the matter was the most brutal confirmation of all. I wasn’t her partner. I was just a useful tool. I calmly navigated away from the Slack channel. Then I opened my employment portal and electronically signed my own resignation letter. 2 That evening, I took a cab to Ava’s parents’ house. My car, of course, had been commandeered by Ava. The house, a beautiful brownstone in Brooklyn, was one I had bought years ago with every penny I had, intending for it to be our marital home. But Ava had complained it was too far from our Manhattan office. So, she moved her parents in from their small town and had me buy a sleek, modern condo in Midtown. The joke was on me. She continued living in the Brooklyn house with her parents, while the Midtown condo sat empty, off-limits to me. I was renting a small studio apartment near the office. For convenience, she’d said. Now that I was leaving, I felt I owed her parents a final, respectful explanation. With that thought, I took a deep breath and rang the doorbell. Her mother opened the door. The smile on her face vanished the moment she saw me. “Ethan. Is the company not busy? What brings you all the way out here?” Before I could answer, she turned and walked back inside, muttering just loud enough for me to hear, “You should learn from Cody. Such a thoughtful boy. He came to visit just the other day, brought us such expensive gifts. And you? You’ve been with Ava all these years and you show up empty-handed.” I froze. Just last week, I’d had a friend bring back a top-of-the-line fishing rod from Japan for her father and a custom-made silk shawl from Italy for her. Had Ava taken credit for those, too? I followed her into the living room. Her father was on the sofa, lovingly polishing the very fishing rod I’d given him. “Mrs. Chen,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “That fishing rod, and the shawl… I had a friend bring those for you. Didn’t Ava tell you?” Her father shot me a cold glare. “That’s enough, Ethan. Ava already told us. They were special gifts from Cody.” He set the rod down pointedly. “Why would you try to steal credit from a younger person like that? It’s pathetic.” Her mother, who had been about to make me tea, put the cup down and shook her head at me with profound disappointment. In their eyes, I was no longer a welcome guest. Just then, the front door opened, and the sound of Ava and Cody’s laughter filled the entryway. “Mom, Dad, we’re home!” Ava walked in, arm-in-arm with Cody, both of them beaming. When Cody saw me, his smile faltered. In a split second, his eyes welled up with tears, and he scurried behind Ava like a frightened child. The shift in the room was instantaneous. The elder Chens’ faces hardened. Her father slammed the fishing rod down on the coffee table with a loud crack. “Ethan, were you bullying Cody? Let me tell you something. I’ve watched that boy grow up. He’s like a son to me. Don’t you dare overstep!” He pointed a shaking finger at the rod. “You say you bought this? Fine. Take it back. We don’t want it. And don’t bother coming through my door again.” “Exactly,” her mother chimed in. “Cody is new to the city. For him to think of buying us such wonderful gifts… it shows his character. And you? You try to claim his good deed as your own. How could we ever trust you with our daughter?” This was all the encouragement Cody needed. His performance began in earnest. “It’s all my fault,” he said, his voice trembling, tears now streaming down his face. “I never should have bought those things. Ethan, please don’t be angry with Mr. and Mrs. Chen. It’s all on me.” He looked tragically toward the door. “I’m clearly just in the way here. I’m taking up your space. I should just… I should leave New York tomorrow.” Ava pulled him into a protective embrace, stroking his hair. “Cody, you don’t have to apologize to him. He’s just being petty and jealous. He can’t stand to see anyone else succeed.” My hands started to shake. I stared at her, my voice low and tight. “Ava. Tell me the truth. Who bought these gifts?” She turned her head, her eyes like chips of ice. “Are you done making a scene, Ethan? Cody bought them.” Then, under her breath, so only I could hear, she hissed, “My parents have high blood pressure. If you upset them, I swear to God, you and I are finished.” She was frantically signaling with her eyes, pleading with me to drop it. In that moment, the truth settled in my bones. I had always been, and would always be, an outsider. Her father grunted, getting to his feet. “We’re having a family discussion here. You should leave.” A family discussion. And I was the only one not part of the family. A flicker of triumph crossed Cody’s face before he masked it with faux concern. “Maybe that’s not such a good idea… Ethan is a guest, after all…” “Ethan,” her father said, ignoring Cody and turning his full attention to me. “Let me be perfectly clear. I don’t think you’re good enough for my daughter. Education? Cody is a graduate of a prestigious international university. Ability? You only have a position at the company because Ava is the CEO. You’re out of your league. Do yourself a favor and leave with some dignity.” A man whose high school diploma was bought online. A company that would have gone bankrupt three times over if not for me. I couldn’t help it. I laughed. “Your house? This house that I bought with my own money, that you’ve been living in, rent-free, for years? And now you’re telling me I’m not good enough for your daughter?” That struck a nerve. He snatched a teacup from the table and hurled it at the floor. It shattered, sending shards of porcelain flying. A sharp pain bloomed on my forearm. “The deed is in my daughter’s name!” he roared, his face purple with rage. “First the gifts, now the house! Is there anything you won’t try to claim as yours? Get out now, or I’m calling the police!” I looked at the twisted faces of this family and felt nothing but exhaustion. There was no point in fighting anymore. I held Ava’s gaze for a long moment, then turned and walked out the door without another word. She frowned, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes, but ultimately, she said nothing. 3 Outside, the night air was sharp and cold against my face. I started walking with no destination in mind, suddenly adrift. The keys to the Midtown condo were with Ava, and I had no desire to go back for them. I’d already terminated the lease on my studio apartment. It looked like I’d be sleeping in my car. I walked to my usual parking spot around the corner, only to find it empty. My Land Rover was gone. Frowning, I pulled out my phone and dialed Ava’s number. It rang for a long time before she finally answered, her voice dripping with annoyance. “What do you want now, Ethan? I thought you left.” I clenched my jaw, forcing the rage down. “Where’s my car?” There was a pause. Then, in a tone of utter entitlement, she said, “Oh, the Land Rover? I gave it to Cody.” It took every ounce of my self-control not to smash the phone against the pavement. “You what? What gives you the right to give my car to him?” “What’s this ‘yours’ and ‘mine’ nonsense?” Her voice shot up an octave. “Can you stop being so damn cheap? Cody just moved to the city. He can’t be taking Ubers everywhere, can he? He’s using your car for business meetings, to generate revenue for the company!” She wasn’t finished. “Besides, didn’t he buy you a new one?” she scoffed. “What’s the big deal about letting him drive a decent car for a change?” A piece-of-junk bicycle. She was actually comparing it to my Land Rover. As if that weren’t enough, she added one more thing, as if it were an afterthought. “Oh, and the Midtown condo was just sitting empty, so I let Cody move in. It’s much more convenient for him than a hotel.” I finally snapped. “You wouldn’t dare!” I roared into the phone. “I bought that place!” A cold, dismissive laugh came from her end. “You bought it? Ethan, have you forgotten whose name is on the deed?” she sneered. “I’ll let whoever I want live there. It’s none of your business.” Her tone shifted again, back to the aggrieved party. “And let me tell you, my dad is furious. He was so upset he smashed that old tea set you kept in the cabinet. If you ever want to speak to me again, you’ll bring an identical one back here tomorrow and apologize.” A pause. “Otherwise, we really are over.” She expected me to come crawling back, just like all the other times. Not this time. My fury was a white-hot flame now. “Ava, confirm something for me,” I said, my voice dangerously calm. “The tea set. Was it in a black lacquered box?” “Yeah, that’s the one. Your precious little treasure. Now you’re worried about it? Maybe if you’d had a better attitude, none of this would have happened.” “Ava,” I said, the words feeling like shards of glass in my mouth. “That was my father’s. He left it to me when he died. Surely you haven’t forgotten that.” For the first time, there was a flicker of panic in her voice, but it was quickly buried under her usual arrogance. “I… I didn’t remember. It’s just a tea set. Your dad has been gone for years. It’s not important.” She bulldozed on. “Stop changing the subject. You be here by noon tomorrow with an apology. Do you hear me?” I rubbed my temples, feeling something inside me, some final thread of hope, shatter into a million pieces. “An identical one? That’s going to be impossible.” A dark, humorless smile touched my lips. “You know, I should really thank your idiotic father. He finally made me see your whole family for who you really are.” That did it. “What did you just say?” she shrieked, her voice a hysterical torrent. “Ethan Wu, how dare you! After all the years I’ve wasted on you, you have the nerve to talk to me like that?” The dam broke. “That’s it! We are done! Don’t even bother showing up to work tomorrow. You’re fired!” “Who do you think you are? Who do you think will ever want you after me? You can forget about the houses—you won’t get a single brick. And the car? Don’t even think about it!” She slammed the phone down. I stood on the cold sidewalk and lit a cigarette, the small flame trembling in my hands. I took a long drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs, trying to calm the storm inside me. Seven years of my life. Two properties. Everything I had. All of it gone, leaving me with nothing. They had even destroyed my father’s last gift to me. This was the end of the line. It was time to bring out the arsenal I had hoped I would never have to use. I looked down at the evidence I had saved on my phone. The last bit of mercy in my heart flickered and died. They wanted to take what was mine. I was going to make them spit it all back out, piece by painful piece.

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384414”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

Jet-lagged and restless, I was scrolling through my phone in the hotel suite when a bizarre post on some fringe message board caught my eye: 【Billionaire Bloodbath: An Inside Look at the Westwood Murder. On July 30th, 2025, at 10:30 PM, the sole heiress to the Westwood Corporation, on a business trip in Chicago, was brutally decapitated. Her head was discovered in the suite’s mini-fridge. The killer? The late CEO’s secret illegitimate son, who gained access by posing as a food delivery driver.】 I felt a flicker of unease. I’m the sole heiress to the Westwood Corporation. I am, in fact, on a business trip in Chicago. But my father didn’t have a secret son. Besides, it’s July 30th right now, but the clock on my phone reads 10:00 PM. The post was timestamped for a murder that was supposed to happen in thirty minutes. How could a news alert from the future pop up on my feed? I dismissed it as a sick prank by some bored internet troll. Then, a wave of thirst hit me. I walked over to the mini-fridge to grab a bottle of water. As the small door swung open, I froze. The interior of the fridge—the precise arrangement of miniature liquor bottles, the brand of sparkling water, the single can of Coke Zero—was identical to the one in the crime scene photo from the post. And the spot where the photo had shown a severed head, nestled between the gin and the Perrier, was conspicuously, perfectly empty. Just then, the doorbell chimed. A man’s voice called out, muffled by the heavy door. “Food delivery.” 1 My heart hammered against my ribs. My first instinct wasn’t the door; it was the phone. I hit the speed dial for my security detail. Forget the fact I haven’t ordered takeout in years. When I travel, I book the penthouse suite precisely for the quiet, the isolation. All my meals are handled by the hotel’s private kitchen. Even if, by some bizarre circumstance, a delivery was made, a hotel staff member would bring it up. A delivery driver would never, ever be allowed on this floor. The post flashed in my mind. It was insane, utterly unbelievable, but every detail—the person, the place, the timing—was lining up with a terrifying precision. Was this some kind of death prophecy? My silence was making the person outside impatient. The knocking became louder, more insistent. The flat of a hand now, slapping against the wood. “BANG! BANG! BANG!” “Hello? Delivery! You need to come get your food!” The voice was rough, gravelly. It sounded like a man in his fifties. I remembered the post described the killer as the CEO’s son. A small, irrational wave of relief washed over me. The man outside sounded nearly as old as my father. He couldn’t possibly be his son. My security detail was quartered in a standard suite a few floors below. It would only take them a minute or two to get here. Thinking of them, my coiled nerves began to loosen. The relentless pounding on the door continued, and a morbid curiosity began to bubble up inside me. I tiptoed across the plush carpet, my movements silent, until I reached the heavy, sound-proofed door. The second I got close, the knocking stopped. The silence on the other side was absolute. I held my breath, pressing my eye carefully to the peephole. The hallway was empty. A long, vacant corridor under the warm glow of the sconces. And then— “BAM! BAM!” Two explosive blows struck the door, so loud and close I felt the vibration through the floor. At the same time, a face shot up from below, instantly filling the entire fisheye lens of the peephole. It was a wrinkled, bloated face, the skin slick with a greasy sheen. A heavy double chin spilled over the collar of a cheap delivery uniform. A pair of murky, bloodshot eyes stared directly into mine through the peephole. His lips peeled back slowly, mechanically, stretching into a grotesque, impossibly wide grin. “BAM! BAM!” Two more thunderous impacts. He knew I was right there. It felt like he was trying to smash through the door with the heel of his palm. The sound was so immediate, so violent, that I stumbled backward, my heart seizing in my chest as I nearly fell to the floor. Just as I braced for another assault, the tone from outside shifted entirely. The brutal pounding ceased, replaced by a voice that was intentionally low and soft, a stark, terrifying contrast to the earlier violence. “Hello, your delivery… I’ll just leave it here at the door for you, okay?” I heard the scuff of shoes. Tap, tap, tap, tap… The footsteps receded down the hallway, fading into silence. He just… left? Moments later, a different set of footsteps approached—heavy, purposeful. My security team had arrived. I saw them through the peephole, a line of imposing men in dark suits, their presence a fortress of security. I finally let out a long, shuddering breath. But the relief was quickly consumed by anger. The penthouse suite of a five-star hotel, and the security was this pathetic? They let any lunatic wander these halls? I stormed back into the living area and dialed the front desk, my voice sharp with accusation. The manager’s response, after a moment of checking, was laced with confusion. “Ma’am… first, please accept my sincerest apologies for your disturbing experience. However, we’ve reviewed all security footage for the half-hour surrounding your call. Every elevator to the penthouse level, every service corridor, every fire escape… there’s nothing. There is no record of anyone in a delivery uniform entering the penthouse floor. The elevator logs only show your security team’s arrival. The hallway cameras show no one suspicious going up or down…” The manager paused, and when he spoke again, his voice held a barely perceptible tremor. “And ma’am… we also have no footage of the ‘deliveryman’ you described ever leaving.” Vwoom. An icy chill shot up from the soles of my feet and exploded in my skull. Not on the cameras? He never came up, and he never went down? It could only mean one thing. The ‘deliveryman’ had been hiding on this floor the entire time. A deep, primal unease settled in my gut. Without a second thought, I texted my head of security to call the police. I glanced at the team of men now stationed outside my door. I’d handpicked them myself. Each one was a decorated martial artist, a professional in close-quarters combat. At least until the police arrived, I was safe. I let my shoulders slump, just a little. The ordeal had left a sheen of cold sweat on my skin. I went back into the bathroom to splash water on my face and change. When I came out, I sank onto the sofa to wait for the police. I unconsciously unlocked my phone, and there it was again, that same damned post, sitting at the very top of my feed. This time, I didn’t dismiss it as a prank. I started reading it, word by word, my focus absolute. And then I saw the publication date on the post, and the air left my lungs. July 30th, 2035. 10:45 PM. Ten years in the future. How is that possible? I frantically backed out of the post and scrolled through the rest of my feed. Every other article, every other meme, every other picture was dated today. But when I clicked back on the strange post and refreshed the page, the date remained unchanged: 2035. This post, published ten years from tonight, was analyzing a murder that was set to happen at 10:30 PM. My murder. I forced myself to read to the end. The post claimed the case went unsolved for a decade. For ten years, no one knew the heiress had been killed by her father’s secret son. In that time, the son had inherited the family business, liquidated every asset, sold off the company for parts, and vanished overseas with the fortune. The police never found him. And the original heiress’s mother—my mother—was committed to a psychiatric hospital by the illegitimate son, under the pretense of mental instability following the loss of her only child. She died by suicide six months later. A powerful, sickening sense of dread rose in my throat. I scrolled down to the comments. My heart seized when I saw the highest-rated replies: [Post is wrong. The son didn’t kill her disguised as a delivery driver. He hired the driver. The police figured it out years later. It was a classic misdirection.] [^^Right? We’re talking about the Westwood heiress. Penthouse suite, private security detail. No way a single delivery guy could get to her.] [Exactly. The real killer was already inside the suite.] […inside the suite.] [INSIDE THE SUITE!] Those three words drained every ounce of strength and warmth from my body. A coldness, more profound than any I had ever known, clawed its way through me, soaking my silk pajamas in sweat. My eyes, acting on their own primal instinct, darted to the top right corner of my phone screen. 10:29 PM. The post said the murder happened at 10:30 PM. The thought had barely registered, my mind too slow to process, too paralyzed to react— THUMP! A dull, heavy impact exploded from the back of my head. A hot, sticky liquid, thick with the metallic tang of rust, erupted from the wound, blurring my vision as it streamed down my face and neck. Then came the feeling of a sharp, serrated blade drawing across my throat. With the last shred of my consciousness, I fought to turn my head, to see the face of the person behind me. But a hand, strong as an iron clamp, was already pressing my head down, another covering my mouth and nose, silencing me forever. So the post was real. And the person in the post was me. I collapsed into a spreading pool of my own blood. As a million protests screamed in my mind, a helpless darkness pulled me under, and my eyes slid shut. 2 When I opened my eyes, I was lying in the hotel bed, completely unharmed. A phantom pain still throbbed at the base of my skull and tingled across my neck, but when I reached up to touch the skin, there was no stickiness, no blood. My gaze fell to the phone clutched in my hand. The screen was on, displaying that same, cursed post. The headline was identical: 【Billionaire Bloodbath: An Inside Look at the Westwood Murder…】 The time displayed on the screen was 10:00 PM. I was back. I had been reborn, thirty minutes before my own murder. My eyes darted around the room, a new kind of terror dawning. The killer was here. Right now. Hiding somewhere in this suite. I forced a breath into my lungs. Calm down. Think. Knowing he was already in the room changed everything. This time, I didn’t call. A phone call could be overheard. I sent a discreet text to my head of security, then another to a contact at the Chicago PD. Almost as soon as I hit send, the doorbell rang. “Food delivery,” the gravelly voice announced. Knowing now that he was just a decoy, a diversion, my first instinct was to ignore him completely. But I had to play the part. I couldn’t let the man in the room know that I knew. I pitched my voice to sound annoyed, unsuspecting. “Sorry, I didn’t order anything. You must have the wrong room.” Then I slipped in my AirPods, pretending to listen to music, to be oblivious to the knocking at the door. My eyes, however, were anything but oblivious. They scanned every shadow, every potential hiding place in the vast suite—the heavy velvet curtains, the walk-in closet, the marble-lined bathroom… Where are you? Soon, the pounding on the door stopped. I heard the faint footsteps retreat down the hall. Just as before, my security detail arrived moments later. Everything was happening exactly as it had the first time. I practically threw myself at the door, unlocking it and surging into the center of the human wall formed by my bodyguards. As I crossed the threshold, I thought I heard a faint rustling sound from behind me, from inside the suite. I glanced back over my shoulder. In a dark corner of the living room, I felt it more than saw it—an intense, unwavering gaze fixed on me. “Go! Now!” I commanded, my voice trembling. I didn’t dare look again. Instantly, they formed a tight circle around me, a phalanx of muscle and tailored suits, hustling me toward the private elevator. The doors slid shut, and as we descended, I felt like I could finally breathe. The feeling intensified as I sank into the plush leather seat of my armored town car in the garage, the heavy door slamming shut with a solid, reassuring thud. The car pulled out of the garage and into the city streets. I’m safe. I did it. The tension in my shoulders began to ease. The car had just turned onto the main avenue when I looked down at my phone. Like a moth to a flame, I opened the app. And there it was. The post. Staring at me from the top of my feed once again. That sickening premonition returned, a cold knot in my stomach. I scrolled down to the comments. My heart stopped. The comment section was different. There were new replies since the last time I’d looked, just minutes ago. Reading them, I felt the air turn to ice in my lungs. [Damn, the heiress was smart. She almost got away. Too bad she still died.] [She really thought getting in the car meant she was safe…] [What a shame. She still died…] [She thought she escaped…] A frigid terror seized me, freezing the blood in my veins. Slowly, deliberately, forcing my terrified muscles to obey, I turned my head to look at the men inside the car with me. I counted. One, two, three… six, seven. A chill crawled up my spine. Seven. Why were there seven men? My security detail is six people. They were all dressed in identical black suits, all wearing sunglasses, even at night. I scanned their faces, trying to find the one that didn’t belong. But that was the strangest part. All seven faces were familiar. I recognized every single one of them. How could that be? I forced the panic down. Think. Be rational. I had to make a decision, now. “Stop the car,” I said, my voice remarkably steady. “Marcus, you stay. The rest of you, get out and head back to the hotel. Wait for the police, and help them find the man who was hiding on the penthouse floor.” Marcus was my father’s original pick. He’d been with me for a decade. He was the only one I knew, with absolute certainty, I could trust. The driver pulled over. The doors opened and the other six bodyguards filed out, quickly assembling on the sidewalk before jogging back toward the hotel. They all looked normal, professional. Except one of them, just for a second, glanced back. His expression was strange. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at the car itself. I didn’t have time to analyze it. “Marcus, you drive. Get us to the nearest precinct. Fast.” He nodded, sliding into the driver’s seat. I collapsed against the leather, drenched in a cold sweat. Now it was just me and Marcus. The car moved smoothly back into traffic. Okay. I’m safe now. For real this time? I glanced at my phone. 10:28 PM. Two minutes left. I leaned my head back, trying to will my heart rate back to normal. Everything seemed okay. Marcus’s focused profile, the city lights sliding past the windows, my own pale reflection… And in that precise moment of relaxed vigilance— A wisp of cold air brushed against my right ear. My pupils contracted. There’s someone else in the car. The thought had barely formed when a hand, covered in some kind of coarse fabric and as cold and unyielding as an iron clamp, shot out from behind my seat and locked around my throat. Another hand, this one gripping a blade that glinted in the passing streetlights, plunged into the left side of my neck with cold, brutal precision. Shhlick. An explosion of pain. A gush of hot blood. It happened so fast. So impossibly fast that even Marcus, my most trusted protector, had no time to react. My vision turned crimson, then blurry. I saw Marcus’s face in the rearview mirror, his features twisted in a mask of pure, unadulterated horror. The phone slipped from my limp fingers. The screen was still lit. The time read: 10:30 PM. Ten-thirty. Again. There was only one other person in the car with me. Marcus hadn’t moved. So who was the second person? How did they get in here? An absolute, final coldness swallowed my consciousness. The world went black. 3 I woke up again in the hotel. I immediately checked my phone. As expected, the time was 10:00 PM. The screen was still open to the post from the future. But this time, I noticed something had changed. The headline itself was different. 【Billionaire Bloodbath: An Inside Look at the Westwood Murder. On July 30th, 2025, at 10:30 PM, the sole heiress to the Westwood Corporation was murdered on a business trip in Chicago. Her head was dumped beneath the east pier of the Grand Avenue Bridge. The killer? The late CEO’s secret illegitimate son.】 It had changed. The Grand Avenue Bridge. I did a quick mental replay. That was exactly where we had been when I was killed in the car. So it wasn’t a closed loop. Things could be changed. There was hope. This time, my plan was the same, but refined. Call the police. Contact my security. But I only summoned one person: Marcus. After what I’d just experienced, seeing his reaction, I knew with certainty he wasn’t the one who had attacked me. He was the only one I could trust. As before, I didn’t engage with the decoy deliveryman at the door. When Marcus arrived, I slipped out of the room, made sure no one followed, and pulled him with me toward the service elevator. In the underground garage, I took no chances. I didn’t go for the town car. Instead, I pointed to the smallest sedan in our fleet. I had Marcus do a full, meticulous sweep. He circled the vehicle with a high-powered flashlight, checking the undercarriage, the wheel wells, the door seams, even the engine block and trunk latch. “All clear, Ms. Westwood. Exterior is secure. No attachments, no signs of tampering.” He then opened the door and did a rapid but thorough internal check—under the front and back seats, the trunk divider, even the glove box and sun visors. “Interior clear! We’re secure!” My frayed nerves settled slightly. The car was small. There were only so many places a person could hide. “Let’s go. Nearest police precinct. Now,” I ordered, getting into the passenger seat. Marcus got behind the wheel and started the engine. The car moved smoothly out of the garage and merged into the late-night traffic, speeding toward the closest station. The car was dead silent, save for the low hum of the engine. I kept my eyes glued to the space behind our seats, the gaps between the headrests and the ceiling, the seals around the doors. Marcus drove with intense focus, his eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirrors. A thought struck me. I pulled out my phone. I opened the app. The post was gone. It wasn’t in my feed. A surge of genuine hope, of joy, flooded my chest. Had I finally done it? Had I broken the cycle? The time on my phone: 10:28 PM. 10:29 PM. Up ahead, I could see the blocky outline of the police station at the next intersection. The traffic light turned red. Our car slowed to a stop. The crosswalk timer ticked down. 3… 2… 1… Just as Marcus’s foot moved toward the accelerator— A plume of hot, foul-smelling air washed over the back of my neck. I heard a man’s low chuckle from directly behind me. Every hair on my body stood on end. My heart stopped cold. Impossible! It’s just me and Marcus! He’s in the driver’s seat!

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I’ve always been a woman of action. So when I saw the woman sitting on my race-car driver husband’s lap, I walked right over, my belly swollen with our first child. “Aren’t you going to introduce me?” Ethan Hayes flushed, gently easing me to the side. “Claire, this is Sienna Shaw, from the team. She had a bad wreck a couple of days ago.” His hand came to rest on my pregnant stomach, a soft, proprietary gesture. “I swear, it’s nothing. We’re just colleagues. She won’t affect us.” I chose to believe him. 1 But on the day I went into labor, with Ethan right there in the delivery room, his phone rang. “Mr. Hayes,” his assistant’s panicked voice crackled through the speaker, “Sienna says she’s a liability to the team. She’s driving toward the cliffs at Blackwater Point.” Before the man could finish, Ethan was a blur of motion, tearing out of the room. I stared at his retreating back, and with the last shred of my strength, I bit out the words, “If you walk out that door today, don’t ever come back.” He only hesitated for a second. Then he was gone. The one left behind. In the end, it was me. The air in the room turned to ice. The nurses and the doctor fell silent, a collective, awkward hush. Their eyes, a mixture of pity and embarrassment, were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. Later, Ethan’s assistant called my phone. “Claire, I’m so sorry. Mr. Hayes had no choice. The team is in a critical growth phase…” He took a breath. “We just hope you can understand. Sienna has a lot of potential.” I had never felt so helpless. Everyone thought Sienna was more important than me. Everyone thought Ethan’s desertion was justified. Only the cavernous sense of loss in my chest screamed the truth: this was a betrayal. After the birth, they wheeled me into a cold, quiet room. The pain from the episiotomy and the struggle to get my milk to come in brought tears to my eyes. A kind nurse couldn’t help but ask, “Hasn’t your husband come back yet? Doesn’t he know he has a child?” I had no words for her. What could I possibly say? That my husband had left me in labor to save a suicidal employee for the good of the company? The absurdity of it was so bitter it almost made me laugh. My best friend, Maya, who lived on the other side of the country, heard the news and was on the next red-eye. When she saw the state I was in, she grabbed Ethan’s assistant, who had come to drop off a bag of my things, by the collar. “Where is that bastard, Ethan?” she snarled. The assistant mumbled something about Ethan’s whereabouts. Maya’s face hardened, and she reached for her phone, ready to unleash hell. I managed a weak smile and pressed her hand down. In the twenty-four hours since he’d left, I had called him nearly a hundred times and sent almost a thousand texts. He hadn’t answered a single one. As we were talking, a cold dread crept over me. The baby had been sleeping for a very long time. He’d barely nursed. Maya saw the look on my face and bolted from the room, shouting for a doctor. I watched, paralyzed, as our son’s breathing grew fainter and fainter. When I brought the bottle to his lips, there was no response. The diagnosis was neonatal anemia. “The best course of action is an immediate blood transfusion,” the doctor said, his face grave. But the lab results came back. My blood type was incompatible. Only Ethan’s would work. My hands shaking, I dialed his number again. “Ethan! Our baby is sick, where the hell are you?!”

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Ethan Sterling was in critical condition, poisoned by a new designer drug. As the family’s private physician, I was forced to be the cure. My body, treacherously fertile, caught the first time. After the wedding, I gave him what his family had always wanted: beautiful, brilliant fraternal twins. But our marriage was a cage. Ethan wouldn’t let our children call him “Dad.” He spent his nights getting drunk, clutching a photograph of Chloe Reed—the one he called his soulmate. On our tenth wedding anniversary, he locked me and our children in the basement and burned us alive. It turned out that for all those years, he had harbored a deep-seated resentment for the night I saved him. He was stubbornly convinced that I had used his moment of vulnerability to claw my way into his powerful family. In his mind, I was the reason his relationship with Chloe had shattered; I was the reason she had spiraled into a depression that ended with her walking into traffic. When I open my eyes again, I’m back on the night Ethan Sterling was drugged. This time, I give the opportunity to “save” him to Chloe. And I walk toward the library… 1 “Dr. Chen, you have to go in. Mr. Sterling is getting worse.” The housekeeper’s frantic voice barely registered. My body was locked in a tremor I couldn’t control, a phantom memory of fire licking at my skin. The agony of being burned alive felt branded onto every nerve ending. In the back of my mind, I could still hear the desperate cries of my children, trapped with me in that suffocating basement. “Dr. Chen?” That name felt foreign. It had been a decade since anyone had called me that, not since I had become Mrs. Ethan Sterling. “It’s his birthday party,” the housekeeper, Mrs. Hayes, stammered. “I don’t know what happened, how it could go so wrong.” Her words were the key. I stopped dead. I was back. This was the night it all began. I took a deep, shuddering breath, the air tasting of a second chance. “Mr. Hayes,” I said, my voice surprisingly steady, turning to the anxious man beside her. “Go and get Chloe Reed. It looks like Mr. Sterling has been drugged. A powerful aphrodisiac, from the symptoms.” The head housekeeper looked stunned. “But, Doctor…” “Get her,” I commanded, my tone leaving no room for argument. “Unless you want to be responsible for what happens next.” As he scurried away, I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to calm the frantic hammering of my heart. In my first life, I was the one who opened that door. Ethan had descended on me like a feral animal, a storm of heat and desperation. And the staff, just outside the door, had dutifully ignored my cries. The inevitable happened. I got pregnant. A quick, quiet wedding followed. I thought it was the beginning of a fairy tale. It was the prologue to a nightmare. Ethan despised me. He saw my presence that night as a calculated, predatory move. He was convinced I had used his moment of vulnerability to claw my way into his wealthy family, shattering his relationship with Chloe, the one he considered his soulmate. He blamed me when, months later, a distraught Chloe walked into traffic and was killed. He never let our children call him Dad. On our tenth wedding anniversary, he locked me and our twins in the basement and set our world on fire. I pushed the searing hatred down, letting it cool into a hard, dense stone in my gut. I smoothed my collar, turned away from Ethan’s bedroom, and walked toward the library. If my memory served me right, Ethan’s father had fallen victim to the same plot. The Sterling men were notorious for their difficulty in fathering children. Ethan himself was the product of IVF, a fact that had secured his otherwise tenuous position as the sole heir. This time, what if he wasn’t? I pushed open the heavy oak door to the library. Marcus Sterling was slumped in a leather armchair, his face flushed, his silk tie hanging loose around his neck. When he saw me, his eyes widened, like a drowning man spotting a piece of driftwood. He lunged, pulling me into the room and into the start of my new life. 2 The next morning, I walked out of the library, my clothes rumpled, my body aching. I nearly collided with Chloe Reed, who was emerging from Ethan’s bedroom, a smug, satisfied glow about her. She froze when she saw me, then her lips curled into a contemptuous smirk. “Well, well, Dr. Chen. Doing the walk of shame, are we?” Her voice was laced with derision. “Or are you just feeling guilty? I guess seducing an old man for a shot at the family fortune isn’t exactly something to be proud of.” I gave her a look as cold as a morgue slab. “Takes one to know one.” Chloe’s face tightened. “Don’t you dare compare us. I’m going to be his wife. You… you’re just the kind of mistake that gets paid off and sent away.” My gaze dropped. She was right, in a way. In the first timeline, the maid who had been sent in to “help” Marcus was dismissed with a generous check. But I wasn’t that maid. I was ferociously, almost unnaturally fertile. It was the one card I held that had gotten me through the Sterling gates before. I glanced meaningfully at the maid’s uniform she was still wearing from her “duties” last night. “I’d worry more about yourself, Chloe.” Just then, Ethan stepped out of his room, wrapping an arm around Chloe’s waist. He looked at her with a tenderness that twisted something in my chest, a phantom pain from a life I no longer wanted. “Chloe, are you okay? You should be resting.” She leaned into him, her voice a breathy whisper. “I have to get back to work. I can’t just disappear.” She shot a pointed look at me. “I’m not Dr. Chen, after all. I don’t have the luxury of leisure.” Ethan grunted. “She’s just staff, same as anyone else.” He turned his gaze back to Chloe, softening it. “Don’t worry. I told you I’d take care of you.” His eyes, when they finally fell on me, were chips of ice. “I heard you’re the one who sent for Chloe. Smart move. But don’t get any ideas. You stay in your lane and away from things that don’t concern you.” His words were a dagger, reminding me of a past I was desperate to escape. He always knew I had feelings for him. In that first life, I learned that the Sterlings had anonymously funded my college scholarship on Ethan’s recommendation. I developed a crush, a quiet admiration that led me to take the job as the family’s private physician, just to be near him. Before we were married, I had asked him if he truly wanted this. His answer was chillingly pragmatic: “It has to be someone. It might as well be you. Don’t overthink it. Just be Mrs. Sterling.” Once our children were born and his position as heir was cemented, the facade dropped. He was a user. A hollow man. “Understood,” I murmured. This time, with me out of the way, I was morbidly curious to see what kind of epic love story they would manage to build. As I turned to leave, Ethan’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist like a manacle. His eyes narrowed, focusing on a patch of skin visible at my collar. A dark, ugly mark stood out against my skin. “What is this?” His voice was a low growl. “Have you no shame? Giving yourself away to just any man.” The sudden movement sent a jolt of pain through my bruised body. I fought to keep my face impassive, meeting his furious gaze with a cold one of my own. “That has nothing to do with you, Mr. Sterling.” His face went dark with a strange, possessive rage I couldn’t decipher. “Who was it? One of the groundskeepers? Is that all you’re worth?” Before I could answer, a small, pained whimper came from behind him. “Ow… my leg…” Ethan dropped my wrist instantly and spun around. Chloe was leaning against the wall, her face a mask of delicate suffering. “I think I pulled something…” Without a word, Ethan swept her into his arms. Chloe wrapped her arms around his neck, resting her head on his chest. But over his shoulder, her eyes met mine, and they were gleaming with pure, unadulterated triumph. I remembered this Chloe. The one who used her feigned fragility as a weapon to keep Ethan tethered to her. When he married me in the other life, she spiraled, jumping from one wealthy man to another, trying to make him jealous. It was a path that led her to hard drugs and, eventually, a fatal overdose that looked like a traffic accident. And Ethan, the fool, had mythologized it as a death born of a broken heart. I placed a hand on my lower abdomen. A deep, primal heat was already spreading from my core, a feeling more intense than the last time. It looked like Ethan was about to have a few little brothers. A slow, cold smile spread across my face. 3 Marcus Sterling was called away on urgent business overseas shortly after that morning. His only communication was a text message: Don’t worry. I will take responsibility for you. Wait for me. I didn’t need his reassurances. Even if “responsibility” just meant a bank transfer, the moment my pregnancy test came back positive, a wedding would be non-negotiable. What I hadn’t anticipated was how quickly my life in the Sterling manor would become a living hell. My disheveled exit from the library that morning had been witnessed by the entire staff. They had all assumed I’d been with Ethan. But when Ethan publicly declared that Chloe was to be his future wife, instructing everyone to treat her as such, the whispers started. “So if it wasn’t the young master… who was Dr. Chen with?” “Who do you think? Some stranger she snuck in. The Sterlings have a strict no-fraternization policy for staff. She’s broken a cardinal rule.” “I always thought she seemed a bit too proper. Turns out she’s just desperate.” Mrs. Hayes, the housekeeper, had seen me go into the library, but without a direct order from Marcus, she kept her mouth shut. The rumors, fueled by the other staff eager to curry favor with the newly elevated Chloe, festered and grew. My clothes would be “accidentally” dropped on the muddy floor of the laundry room. My tea would sometimes have a vile, slimy texture. “Oh, Dr. Chen, your sweater fell again,” Chloe would say, clutching a thermos of some nourishing broth, her face a perfect mask of false sympathy. “These maids are just so clumsy.” I’d meet her gloating eyes, pick up the soiled garment without a word, and walk away. The gossip turned venomous. They said I’d been promiscuous before I even arrived. They said I flirted with the male staff. The whispers became so detailed and grotesque, they even fabricated the color of the underwear I wore each day. “I heard she was with the gardener last night.” “Wouldn’t surprise me. I saw her coming out of the hedges behind the greenhouse, her blouse was all wrinkled.” I clenched my jaw and endured. Their goal was simple: to humiliate me until I quit. I was on my way to find Mrs. Hayes, to demand some semblance of order, when I ran straight into Ethan in a quiet corridor. He grabbed my arm, yanking me into a small, dark supply closet. “You just can’t get enough, can you?” he hissed, his face inches from mine, his eyes burning with contempt. “Is sleeping your way through the staff list your new hobby?” I struggled against his grip. “Let go of me, Ethan. You’re pathetic, believing every piece of gossip you hear. What’s next, are you going to force yourself on me?” I sneered. His grip tightened painfully. “A woman like you doesn’t get to use a word like ‘force’.” I stared back at him, silent. Finally, he spoke, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “I know you want me. Behave yourself, and I’ll let you be my mistress.” The sheer arrogance of him was nauseating. “I’m not interested.” SLAP. The blow was so sharp my head snapped to the side. “Your stable boy can’t give you what I can,” he snarled. “Ava, you’re testing my patience. End it with him.” My cheek stung, and I could taste blood. For a split second, a flicker of something—regret? concern?—crossed his face. He softened his tone, a clumsy attempt at seduction. “Stop being stubborn. Chloe gets the title, but you’ll have everything else she does.” I laughed, a raw, bitter sound. “I said, I’m. Not. Interested.” He shoved me back, sending a stack of linen boxes tumbling. “Then get the hell out of my house! The Sterling family has no need for a private doctor who sleeps with the help!” I didn’t even grant him a final glance. I turned and walked out. Leaving now was for the best. I couldn’t stomach another day of watching him and Chloe play house. I stepped out of the closet and found Chloe standing there, her eyes narrowed with a venomous glare. “Ava. Why do you always have to get in my way?” I scoffed. “Please. A man like Ethan is a prize only you would want.” I brushed past her and headed for the grand staircase. “Dr. Chen, what are you doing? No, please, don’t!” Her sudden scream made me whip my head around in confusion. In that split second, I saw her deliberately throw herself backward, tumbling dramatically down the long, carpeted stairs. 4 My eyes widened in disbelief. I couldn’t process what had just happened. Down below, servants rushed toward the sound of the fall. Ethan burst out of the supply closet, his face a mask of panic, and vaulted down the stairs to Chloe’s side. “Chloe!” He gathered her into his arms, his voice thick with anguish. She was covered in theatrical scrapes and bruises. “It’s not Ava’s fault,” Chloe whimpered, clinging to him. “It’s my fault. I took you from her. It’s only natural she’d be angry.” She looked up at Ethan, tears streaming down her face. “But I just can’t bear to give you up.” “Ava!” Ethan’s roar echoed through the foyer. “How dare you! Get down here!” Two burly security guards seized my arms, dragging me down the stairs and forcing me to my knees in front of Chloe. The impact on the marble floor sent a blinding shock of pain up my legs. “Which hand did you use to push her?” Ethan demanded, looming over me. “I didn’t touch her,” I said through gritted teeth. “Check the security cameras.” Chloe sobbed harder into Ethan’s chest. “No, don’t. It was me. I fell all by myself. It has nothing to do with Dr. Chen.” “You’re too kind, Chloe,” Ethan murmured, stroking her hair. “You don’t need to protect a monster like her.” A bitter, hysterical laugh escaped my lips. No matter the timeline, no matter the circumstances, Ethan would never, ever believe me. “Since you can’t remember which hand it was,” Ethan said, his voice dropping to a chillingly calm tone, “we’ll just have to break your right one.” A cold spike of fear pierced through me. I was a doctor. My hands were my life, my career. “No, you can’t!” I shook my head, panic rising in my throat. “You can call the police, you can have me arrested, but you can’t touch my hands!” A cruel smile played on Ethan’s lips. “So they are important to you.” He savored my terror. “Alright then. We’ll start with the fingers. Someone get me a hammer.” From the safety of his arms, Chloe watched me, her eyes alight with vicious glee. I was drowning in hatred, choking on the injustice of it all. I had done nothing wrong, yet here I was, trapped in their sadistic drama once again. Ethan took the heavy mallet from a groundskeeper himself. He raised it high, bringing it down with sickening force on my smallest finger. Pain, white-hot and absolute, exploded in my hand. I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a scream. My finger was a mangled, twisted ruin. “This is the punishment for not learning your place,” he whispered, his breath hot against my ear. “You were so much more obedient in our last life, why did you have to change…” I didn’t catch the end of it, but the implication was clear. He remembered too. A fresh wave of fury, potent and pure, surged through me. I locked my eyes on his. He raised the hammer again. “Beg me,” he taunted. “Beg me, and maybe I’ll stop.” “No,” I spat. “Ethan Sterling, in this life, one of us is going to destroy the other.” His face contorted in rage, and he lifted the hammer for the final blow.

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