Ten years of marriage. Ten years of sleeping in separate wings of the house. The day our home burned, the flames were a roaring beast, so violent no one dared get close. No one but me. I ran back into the collapsing structure, the searing heat blistering my skin, and strained to move the mahogany wardrobe that had pinned her beneath its weight. When the firefighters finally burst in, one of them yelled over the inferno, “The roof is coming down! We can only get one of you out!” Without a moment’s hesitation, her eyes found the man cowering in the corner, her first love, who had been visiting that afternoon. “Save him,” she said. “I want him to live.” There was no anger in me, no questions. Just a hollow ache and a single, desperate need to know the truth I’d been too afraid to confront for a decade. “These ten years,” I choked out, the smoke stealing my breath. “You never let me touch you. Was it because of him?” She wouldn’t meet my eyes. Her gaze fell to the floor, and her silence was all the answer I needed. Finally, a soft, weary sigh escaped her lips. “I’m sorry, Leo. If there’s a next life, I promise I’ll be a proper wife to you.” A laugh, brittle and broken, tore from my throat. Of course. Only hearing it from her own lips could finally kill the hope I’d so foolishly guarded. My heart is yours in this life, or not at all. I have no interest in being your second chance. In the stunned silence that followed, I wrapped my arms around her. With her gasp against my chest, I threw us both from the sixth-floor window. As we fell, I twisted my body beneath hers, my final act a cushion against the unforgiving ground. “Congratulations, Stella,” I whispered into her hair, the wind roaring in my ears. “Our story’s over. Now yours can begin.” When I opened my eyes again, I was in the back of a town car, on my way to move into my freshman dorm at Vanderbilt. Without a second thought, I pulled out my phone and made a call. I was pulling strings. I was transferring. To Northwestern, a school as far away from Stella Prescott as I could get. But as I sat on the Acela train bound for Chicago, a girl’s desperate cry cut through the noise. “Leo Callahan! Our story isn’t over! It will never be over!” I snapped my head toward the window. Outside, keeping pace with the speeding train, was a cherry-red Porsche. And behind the wheel, a familiar face, streaked with tears. 1 “Young master, we’re almost at the Prescott estate. Did you remember the flowers Mr. Callahan asked you to prepare?” Flowers? What flowers? I blinked, my mind foggy, and saw our family driver, Arthur, watching me in the rearview mirror with a concerned expression. “It’s your first day of college, sir. You and Miss Prescott. You said you wanted to bring her favorite jasmine?” Seeing Arthur’s careful deference, feeling the strange wholeness of my own body, it hit me like a physical blow. I was back. I had been reborn. I was back on the day I was meant to pick up Stella and drive with her to Vanderbilt. I remembered this moment. In my hurry to see her, I’d forgotten the jasmine at home. Just as Arthur was speaking, he was already making a smooth U-turn. He didn’t even need to ask; he knew I would insist on going back for them. Whatever Stella wanted, I gave her. It had been that way since we were children. In everyone’s eyes, Stella Prescott was my future wife. The future Mrs. Callahan. It was a foregone conclusion, as solid as the family fortunes that bound us together. They all assumed she was as devoted to the idea as I was. After all, we were childhood friends. We were perfect for each other. They were only half right. A girl you’ve known your whole life is one thing. But she’s no match for the one that got away. The Prescotts and the Callahans were old family friends. Or rather, the Prescotts owed their current standing to my family’s influence. Stella, ever the dutiful daughter, couldn’t bear to disappoint her parents. So she broke things off with Grant, the scholarship kid from the wrong side of the tracks. I can still see her at the altar. The officiant asked if she would take me as her husband. She didn’t answer him. Her eyes, red-rimmed and glistening, found mine. “Is this what you wanted, Leo?” she’d whispered, her voice trembling. “You won. Now we’re stuck together for life.” The wedding went off without any further drama, but in that moment, I knew I was just a villain on their stage, the clown who had stolen the ending of their love story. Even so, for ten years of marriage, she never let me touch her. The irony is staggering; the most intimate contact we ever shared was when I used my body as a shield for hers as we plummeted from that window. And even at the end, she couldn’t bring herself to tell me a single comforting lie. This new life… it’s a chance to do it right. A chance to finally live for myself. The sweet fruit’s not worth it if you have to force it from the vine. And this time, I was letting it go. My last life was bitter enough. This time, I was choosing something sweet. I leaned forward and tapped Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, don’t go back. Take me to the train station. I’m going to Northwestern.” 2 “Right away, sir. I’ll get us there as quickly as—” “Wait!” The screech of tires filled the air. I had braced myself, my hand already on the grab handle. Arthur was flustered, apologizing profusely. “My apologies, sir. Did I mishear? You want to go to Northwestern? But… what about Miss Prescott?” Vanderbilt was in Nashville, an easy drive from our homes in Connecticut. But Northwestern was in Chicago. The Acela train was the only practical way. “You heard right, Arthur. I’ve had a change of heart. As for Stella… she can get an Uber. It’s not that far.” I held up a hand to stop his inevitable questions. This was a seismic shift in the world he knew. It was like a chain-smoker of ten years suddenly quitting cold turkey. The first reaction is always disbelief. But I had no explanation to offer him. Confused but loyal, Arthur changed course for the station. My grades were more than good enough for Northwestern, and a quiet word from my father would smooth over any administrative hurdles. I called him and laid it out. As expected, he was stunned. At first, he refused, even offering to make a call to get Stella into Northwestern with me. But I wore him down, my quiet insistence finally breaking through his objections. He agreed. With that settled, I opened my message thread with Stella. I’d sent her more than a dozen texts this morning. No reply. The last message from her was over a week ago, a single, dismissive letter: K. In all the years I’d known her, my efforts to talk, to make plans, to just connect, were mostly met with three responses. K. Fine. Are you done? Or, most often, the deafening silence of a read receipt with no reply. My original plan had been to text her that I was going to a different school. But why bother? She clearly didn’t care. Why invite more of that cold indifference? I scrolled to her Instagram. Her feed was nearly empty, save for a few old, tagged photos of her with Grant. She never posted. I remembered once, I’d used her phone to post a picture of the two of us. She’d yelled at me for the entire day. Now I understood. It wasn’t that she hated social media. She just hated the idea of me appearing in her world. Looking at the radiant smile on her face in those pictures, a painful realization dawned on me. In the ten years we were married, I never once saw her smile like that. So, she was capable of joy. Just not with me. Block. Delete. A wave of relief, so profound it was almost dizzying, washed over me. Then, I opened a new message. To Grant. He was also an incoming freshman at Vanderbilt. My fingers typed out a single line. She’s at her parents’ place in Greenwich. Go get her. She’s all yours now. I didn’t need to specify who. He would know. Block. Delete. Stella, my debt is paid. This time, you go your way, and I’ll go mine. We will be strangers for the rest of our lives. 3 At the station, I had ten minutes until departure. My phone buzzed again and again. The screen lit up with her name: Stella Prescott. I’ll admit, for a split second, I was shocked. In all the years I’d known her, I had always been the one to call. The number of times she had initiated a call to me was exactly zero. But the shock lasted only a moment. I declined the call and blocked her number. She was just annoyed I hadn’t shown up to chauffeur her. After more than a decade of my unwavering devotion, she’d grown accustomed to me being at her beck and call. This was nothing more than an angry summons, a demand to know why I was late. I’d been the pathetic, devoted man for one lifetime. I wouldn’t start this one by taking another one of her scoldings. (Ten Minutes Earlier) Stella finished applying her makeup just as she got a call from Arthur, confirming he’d be there at ten-thirty sharp. His tone was a little strained, but she didn’t notice. From the balcony, her best friend suddenly burst into the room, breathless. “He’s here! He’s here!” Stella’s eyes lit up, the exact same way they had whenever Grant used to come pick her up. In my previous life, Grant had arrived at her house before me. I had seen it with my own eyes: the joyful, radiant smile on her face as she hopped onto the back of his bicycle. She had only remembered her obligations when my town car pulled up. She had climbed into a car most people could only dream of riding in, but a single tear had traced a path down her cheek. This time, the cheerful ding-ding of a bicycle bell echoed from the street. Stella didn’t even bother with her shoes, running downstairs to throw open the door as if a second’s delay might make the person outside vanish. Grant, tipped off by her friend, quickly produced a bouquet of roses, smoothed his hair, and put on the charming, roguish smile Stella had once adored. The door swung open. “Stella.” No response. No embrace. Grant watched as Stella’s eyes swept right past him, her gaze frantically scanning the street beyond, searching for someone else. “Stella, I came to get you,” he said, thinking maybe she hadn’t heard. He held out the flowers. “These are for you. Your favorite, red roses.” This time, Stella took a deliberate step back. Her smile was polite, but her tone was firm and distant. “Thank you, Grant, but I can’t accept these. My fiancé, Leo, will be here to pick me up any minute.” The roses fell from his hand, scattering on the manicured lawn. It was the first time he had ever heard her refer to me as her fiancé. Her best friend, standing by the door, couldn’t help but ask, “Stella, I thought you said you couldn’t stand Leo? What—” Stella cut her off with a slight shake of her head, her focus remaining on Grant. “I appreciate you coming all this way, but my fiancé is on his way. Please, you should leave. I don’t want Leo to get the wrong idea.” Grant, who had been completely bewildered, suddenly let out a laugh. “Stella, you don’t get it, do you? Leo isn’t coming. He’s the one who sent me a message telling me to come get you.” Stella froze. “That’s impossible. He loves me. He would never say something like that.” Everyone in our circle knew how desperately in love with me she was. I was notoriously possessive. The idea of me sending my rival to pick up my fiancée was laughable. Seeing her certainty, Grant’s smirk grew wider. He fumbled for his phone, scrolling through his messages. “Leo’s just a rich playboy, Stella. He probably got tired of you and pawned you off on me. He’s a jerk. I’m the one who truly loves you. Just you wait, I’ll make something of myself, I’ll give you the world…” “No! That’s not possible!” Stella’s face had gone pale. “Arthur just called! He said he was almost here!” She stared intently at the watch on her wrist, the second hand sweeping towards the twelve. Just then, the throaty roar of an engine filled the air, and a black town car pulled up to the curb. Stella’s face flooded with relief. It was Arthur! Grant had been lying! Composing herself, she ran to the car, a sweet smile gracing her lips. “Good morning, Arthur!” Arthur, who was usually so warm and effusive, couldn’t quite meet her gaze. “Miss Prescott,” he stammered. “Please, get in. I’ll take you to the university.” But Stella didn’t move. She stood by the curb, her fingers twisting the hem of her skirt, her eyes fixed on the rear passenger door. If I had been there, I would have known what she was waiting for. In our last life, I couldn’t even wait for Arthur to put the car in park. I’d burst out, bouquet of jasmine in hand, desperate to see her even one second sooner. Today, the car door remained shut. The silence was heavy, absolute. Grant’s words echoed in her mind: It was Leo who told me to come get you. “Miss… Miss Prescott?” “Arthur,” she asked, her voice small. “Is Leo… is he in there?” Arthur looked deeply uncomfortable. “The young master… he’s not quite awake yet, miss. Why don’t I take you to campus first?” Stella forced a smile. “Then let’s go get him together. We can all go to campus as planned.” A bead of sweat trickled down Arthur’s temple. He couldn’t understand it. Miss Prescott, who had always treated the young master with such indifference, was suddenly so concerned. But a lie can only hold for so long. Wiping his brow, Arthur finally broke. “Miss Prescott… I… I should just take you to school. The young master has already left on his own.” Stella’s gaze fell to the empty space on the seat where the jasmine should have been. “But… wasn’t he just in the car? Doesn’t he want to go to school with me more than anything?” “Well…” Finally, with no other choice, Arthur told her the truth. “The young master… he’s on a train. He’s going to Northwestern University in Chicago.” Before the words had even fully registered, Grant finally found the message on his phone. Stella, who had been holding onto a fragile composure, snatched the phone from his hand. Her body trembled as she read the words. She grabbed Grant’s shoulders, her voice rising with panic. “He said I’m yours now! How could he say that? He loves me more than anything!” Her frantic eyes found Arthur’s. “Tell me it’s not true, Arthur! Tell me he’s lying!” Arthur said nothing. His silence was the most damning answer of all. Stella’s eyes turned a dangerous shade of red. After two long minutes of suffocating silence, her voice emerged, raspy and raw. “Arthur. Let me borrow the car.” Arthur couldn’t help but protest. “Miss Prescott, at this point, he’s probably already on the train. It’s too late to catch him.” But Stella was already sliding into the driver’s seat of the Porsche he sometimes used for errands, her hands shaking on the steering wheel. “It’s not too late,” she vowed, her voice trembling with a terrifying resolve. “I don’t care if he’s on a plane. I will catch him. He is not getting away from me. Not in this lifetime.”

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I was secretly married to Liam Ashford, Hollywood’s golden boy, for five years. Our son, Leo, was just diagnosed with leukemia. And Liam, the A-list actor beloved by millions, is the only bone marrow match. But to protect the newest starlet hanging from his arm, he kicked us away. “His life,” he said, his voice like ice, “isn’t worth a single strand of her hair.” I wiped my tears, my hand trembling as I dialed a number I hadn’t touched in five years. “Mr. Ashford,” I said into the phone. “Would you be interested in meeting your only grandson?” 1 I spent the entire night in the hard plastic chair of the emergency room hallway, holding a feverish Leo in my arms. My phone’s screen lit up and dimmed, over and over, but the call to Liam went straight to voicemail every time. Leo was burning up in my lap, his small face flushed, his lips chapped and dry. He tugged weakly at my sleeve. “Mommy, am I going to die?” he whispered. “Is that why Daddy doesn’t want me anymore? Because I’m sick?” My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a giant fist, the pain so sharp I could barely breathe. All I could do was kiss his forehead again and again, murmuring lies. “No, baby, of course not. Daddy loves you so much. He’s just busy with work.” The next morning, Liam’s name was trending everywhere. The headline, splashed across TMZ and every gossip blog, was: #LiamAshford’sFranticNight, Rushes AvaBrooksToER. In the photo, he was clutching the industry’s new ‘It Girl,’ Ava Brooks, shielding her from the paparazzi flashbulbs. His brow was furrowed, his eyes filled with a raw panic and tenderness I had never, not once, seen him direct at me. The background of the photo was unmistakable. It was the entrance to the very hospital where I had just spent the night on the floor. So, he wasn’t busy. He just didn’t have time for us. In that single moment, my world shattered. My phone buzzed. A text from Liam. How’s Leo? Six short letters. I laughed until tears streamed down my face. I called him back. This time, he answered. Before I could speak, his voice cut through, sharp and impatient. “I’m in the middle of something. Make it quick.” In the background, I could hear Ava’s syrupy-sweet voice. “Liam, honey, the doctor said you need to rest. Let’s go home.” My fingers tightened around the phone, my knuckles turning white. “Liam,” I said, my voice flat. “Leo’s bone marrow results came back.” I paused, letting the silence hang in the air. “You’re the only match.” 2. A long, heavy silence stretched through the line. I could hear the slight hitch in his breathing. I swallowed my pride, my voice dropping to a near-beg. “Liam, I’m asking you, please. Save him. He’s your son.” A cold, humorless laugh. “Clara, what new trick is this? Using our son to chain me to you?” The blood in my veins turned to ice. “This isn’t a trick. The lab report is right here. I can send you a picture.” “Don’t bother,” he snapped, his voice dangerously low. “I don’t have time for this.” “Liam!” I cried out, my voice sharp enough to draw stares from the nurses down the hall. I lowered my voice, the tears I’d been holding back finally breaking free. “If you save Leo, I’ll give you anything you want. We can get a divorce immediately. I’ll walk away with nothing, I swear. You’ll never have to see me again.” “A divorce?” He scoffed. “You think I give a damn about that piece of paper? Have you forgotten how you crawled into my bed in the first place, Clara? How you used a pregnancy to force my hand?” That rainy night five years ago. He’d been blackout drunk. I was just his personal assistant, assigned to make sure he didn’t choke on his own vomit. Then came the positive test. The powerful Ashford family needed an heir. He needed a quiet, compliant wife to appease them. It was a transaction. We signed the papers, a secret agreement that benefited us both. I was naive enough to believe that five years could warm even the coldest stone. But I forgot. Liam Ashford’s heart wasn’t stone. It was an iceberg. “What’s wrong, Liam?” Ava’s voice drifted through the phone again, laced with the perfect amount of concern. “Is that Clara?” “It’s nothing,” Liam’s voice instantly softened, a gentle murmur reserved only for her. “Just an irrelevant person.” He hung up. I stood there, frozen, the dead phone clutched in my hand. In my arms, Leo stirred. “Mommy,” he whimpered. “I’m cold.” I snapped back to reality, pulling him tighter against my chest, trying to warm his small, trembling body with my own. 3. Liam showed up that afternoon. Trailing behind him was Ava Brooks, an expression of pure innocence painted on her face. He didn’t even glance at Leo, lying pale and small in the hospital bed. He walked straight to me and tossed a black credit card onto the thin blanket covering my lap. “There’s five million dollars on that,” he said, his voice devoid of any warmth. “It’s more than enough for you and the boy to live comfortably for the rest of your lives.” He looked at me, his eyes hidden behind dark sunglasses. “Find another hospital. Wait for another donor.” “My marrow is not an option.” Ava stepped forward, placing a gentle hand on his arm. “Clara, please don’t be angry with Liam,” she said softly. “He’s… he’s about to start shooting a new action film. It’s incredibly demanding, and his doctors said he can’t risk any kind of physical strain.” She paused, her eyes flicking towards Leo with a look of pity that made my skin crawl. “We feel terrible for Leo, truly. But Liam’s entire career is on the line…” I stared at them, this perfectly rehearsed duo. The absurdity of it all was suffocating. His career? Was his career more important than my son’s life? Liam took off his sunglasses, his eyes cold and hard. “Don’t push your luck, Clara.” “He’s my son, but he’s yours, too!” My voice was rising, cracking with disbelief. “I’ve done my part. I’m giving you the money. That’s more than fair.” “If money could save him, I would get on my knees and beg you to take it!” The dam inside me finally broke, and I was screaming. “But you’re the only one who can save him! Liam, do you even have a heart?” “My heart?” He took a step closer, backing me towards the wall. “I think a dog ate it five years ago, right around the time you so cleverly trapped me.” He leaned in, his voice a venomous whisper meant only for me. “Besides… Ava’s delicate. She can’t handle stress. Leo’s life isn’t worth a single strand of her hair.” He straightened up, leaving me trembling, my vision swimming with black spots. I reached out, a last, desperate plea, and grabbed the sleeve of his jacket. “Liam…” He kicked out, his foot connecting with my side. I lost my balance, stumbling backward and crashing hard against the wall. The tote bag I was holding fell, spilling Leo’s medical charts and billing statements all over the floor. He wrapped a protective arm around a startled Ava and walked away without a second glance. “Liam, honey, should we really just leave her like that…?” Ava’s voice faded down the hall. “She’s a lunatic. Just ignore her.”

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In my last life, we went skiing in the Swiss Alps for my sister-in-law’s birthday. But when the avalanche hit, my husband, Anthony, reached past me without a second’s hesitation and grasped his sister-in-law’s hand. I was left alone on the mountain, to die a hopeless death in the swirling blizzard. It was only then that I finally understood. To him, Claire wasn’t just his brother’s wife. She was the one who held his heart. So, this time, during a formal family dinner, I calmly asked for a divorce. The smile on his face froze, then twisted into a cold sneer. “You’d better not regret this.” He was so certain I was just throwing a tantrum. With a flourish of his pen, he signed the papers, looking at me as if he had me completely cornered. But this time, I was truly done with him. 1 “I will never regret it.” My words were sharp and final. The atmosphere at the dinner table plunged to freezing. Anthony’s hand, holding his fork, was trembling, his eyes locked on me. Through it all, my expression remained a perfect mask of calm. Finally, he slammed his silverware down with a clatter, snatched the divorce agreement, and scrawled his signature before hurling it, along with the pen, directly at me. The sharp corner of the paper sliced a thin line across my left cheek. The pen, a fountain pen, burst upon impact, and a dark bloom of ink spread across my white dress. No one had expected a family dinner to explode like this. Anthony spat out two parting shots: “I’ll see you at City Hall tomorrow. If you don’t show, I’ll have you dragged there.” “Mia, I’m dying to see just how tough you really are.” With that, he stormed out. Claire instinctively moved to follow him, but Anthony’s mother slammed her hand on the table. “Sit down!” she barked. “Eleanor, Anthony’s furious. He needs someone right now—” “Even if he needs comfort, it won’t come from you!” The matriarch’s tone was glacial, her eyes filled with a loathing for Claire she no longer bothered to hide. It was true that Claire had grown up in the Vance household; her mother had been their housekeeper for nearly thirty years. Out of respect for her long service, Eleanor Vance had funded Claire’s education and ensured she never lacked for anything the two Vance sons had. But Claire had crossed a line. At eighteen, she drugged the eldest son, Chris, and climbed into his bed. To protect her reputation, Chris had no choice but to marry her. But because of it, he voluntarily renounced his position as the heir to the Vance fortune and joined the military. He was gone for five years, returning only when both his legs were ruined. The golden boy of New York society was dragged into the mud, his future shattered. If Claire had remained loyal, Eleanor might have eventually forgiven her. But she didn’t. She set her sights on Anthony, and for that, Eleanor had come to despise her. She’d never said it aloud, but tonight, the facade was finally cracking. “Claire, you may be able to fool Anthony with that little act of yours, but don’t think for a second that I can’t see right through you.” “Even if Mia and Anthony divorce, you will never have a place by his side.” Claire’s fingers clenched into tight fists, her face draining of color. She bit her lip, her eyes shooting daggers of pure hatred at me. I simply met her gaze, offered a small, dismissive smile, and carefully folded the signed divorce agreement. Then, I picked up my fork and knife. And continued eating my dinner. The twisted, toxic game she and Anthony had been playing? I was no longer a participant. After a moment, Claire took a deep breath, her voice softening into a placating tone. “Eleanor, my feelings for Anthony are purely that of a sister-in-law for her brother. Nothing more.” “If there’s nothing else, I’ll be heading up to my room.” Eleanor let out a cold, humorless laugh and turned away, refusing to grant her another word. Claire excused herself from the table. When the dinner finally concluded, I was about to leave with the agreement when Eleanor called out to me. “Mia.” I paused but didn’t turn around. “I can see you’re serious about this. As Anthony’s mother, I should probably try to talk you out of it. They say you shouldn’t let the sun go down on an argument, but—” “This time, I won’t.” A flicker of surprise went through me. That was unexpected. I turned to face her, meeting her sharp, appraising gaze. The Vance family was one of New York’s most powerful dynasties. After her husband’s death, relatives had circled like vultures, but Eleanor had single-handedly secured her position. She was a woman of decisive action, always putting the family’s interests first. I had been certain she would oppose the divorce. Yet, here she was, not just allowing it, but seemingly supporting it. “What are your plans, after you leave Anthony?” I considered it. When I was first reborn, all I wanted was to go home—back to San Francisco, to leave New York forever. But then I thought, why should I be the one to leave? I aced my SATs to get into Columbia at eighteen. I spent a decade building my empire in this city. Why should I throw away everything I had fought for, all for a man? Finally, I answered, “I’m cutting all business ties with him.” From this day forward, our paths would never cross again. 2 Anthony and I were never a match of equals. To be precise, I married down. After I graduated high school, my father began introducing me to the world of business, taking me to all sorts of galas and events. I met Anthony at an auction in San Francisco. He was there with his mother. Throughout the entire event, his face was a stoic mask, cold and distant, as if nothing in the world could capture his interest. That is, until my father outbid his mother for a collector’s grade military combat knife, forcing her to pay a staggering thirty million. For the first time, a storm of emotion flickered in Anthony’s eyes. It was a complex mix of envy and resentment as he stared silently at his own mother. At first, I thought the knife held some special meaning for her. Later, at the reception, I found Anthony alone in the gardens. He was just standing there, lost in thought. I watched as he ripped a peony from the soil, root and all, and began tearing it apart, petal by petal, as if asking the flower, or maybe himself: “Why can’t she love me a little more? Why does she only have eyes for my brother?” “She was so proud when Chris got into his first-choice college. When it was my turn, it was like she’d been doused with cold water.” “I got into the best school, the best program. Everyone praises me, but why can’t she see it?” His silhouette was etched with a profound loneliness. He even began to curse his own existence, asking the heavens why, if they had already created his perfect older brother, they had bothered making him at all. And if he had to exist, why couldn’t he be treated with the same fairness? He was crying, silently. In that moment, though I couldn’t fully comprehend his pain, I didn’t approach him. I just stood there, a quiet presence in the shadows, keeping him company. My father had hoped I’d stay in California, go to Stanford. But some strange impulse pulled me to New York, to Columbia. My father was surprised, but he didn’t try to stop me. He told me, “You only get so many days on this earth. If you want something, you go after it. You fight for it, you take it.” So I did. I introduced myself to Anthony. I deliberately stepped into his world. We met at eighteen. We were married at twenty-two. We were together for a decade. For ten years, whatever Anthony wanted, if I could give it, I gave. If I couldn’t, but he still wanted it, I fought to get it for him. I knew his childhood was a void, devoid of sweetness. He once told me that in the past, relatives, even his own parents, would bring gifts specifically for Chris. He was always an afterthought, the one who got something “by the way.” Except for Claire. His so-called childhood friend, Claire. The candy she gave him was just for him. Even if it was expired, it became the only glimmer of light in his bleak childhood. That was why, time and time again, he would abandon me for her. I used to tell myself, “Claire is just a symbol of his childhood comfort. The way he treats her has nothing to do with love.” But I overestimated my own strength. When I was burning up with a fever, Claire happened to twist her ankle. Anthony chose her. When I needed a date for a gala, so did she, because Chris couldn’t go. Anthony chose her again. Birthdays, anniversaries… he’d make a promise every time, and he’d break it every time. There were times I couldn’t take it anymore. “Are you my husband, or are you Claire’s?” I’d demand. And every time, his response was a dagger of disappointment. “Chris is injured. He doesn’t want to see anyone. His wife is already going through so much. Can’t you just be a little more understanding?” In those moments, the words would die in my throat, my heart constricting with a pain so sharp it stole my breath. Anthony’s friends would tell me to be more generous. “If he had feelings for Claire,” they’d say, “he never would have let her marry his brother in the first place.” And Claire was always there, playing the part of the innocent peacemaker. “There’s nothing between Anthony and me. We’ve never crossed any lines. You shouldn’t overthink things. I will always be your sister-in-law.” But is an emotional affair not still an affair? This marriage became a crucible of pain and torment. I thought about divorce countless times. But I could never bring myself to do it. I couldn’t sever the bond. I couldn’t let go of Anthony, the boy whose loneliness had captured my heart at first sight. A decade of love had woven itself into the very fiber of my being. Until my last life, on Claire’s birthday. Until the avalanche hit, and he reached past me to grab her hand, leaving me to die on that mountain. He didn’t hear my desperate cries for help. He didn’t hear me scream, “I can’t see the path!” He didn’t hear my sobs. And in that final, freezing moment, I found a strange sense of release. You only get so many days on this earth. There was no point in clinging to this any longer. I’ve been given a second chance. And I will not walk the same path again. 3 Eleanor urged me to think carefully. Even with a divorce, business was business, and personal ties were personal ties. After six years of marriage, our financial interests were deeply entangled; nearly every one of our major projects was a joint venture. Untangling them now would be catastrophic. Besides, at this moment, the only company with the capacity to absorb my corporation’s partnerships was Anthony’s. I just smiled. They all seemed to have forgotten one crucial fact: Anthony was never my only option. I chose him simply because I loved him. After leaving the Vance estate, I received a text from an unknown number with a San Francisco area code. “Heard you’re divorcing Anthony?” My eyebrow arched. I stared at the message for a long moment before deleting it, blocking the number, and calling my father. I asked him for the name of the best lawyer in San Francisco. Leo. The next day, I had just arrived at City Hall when Anthony’s car, a black sedan, pulled up behind me. Claire was in the passenger seat. She rolled down the window, a faint, knowing smile on her lips. “Mia, don’t get the wrong idea.” “I was running a little fever last night. Anthony just took me to the hospital, that’s why…” I didn’t bother dignifying her with a response, walking straight past the front of their car. Her expression instantly soured. Anthony’s brow furrowed in disapproval. “Mia, didn’t you hear your sister-in-law talking to you?” “When are you going to drop that spoiled rich girl attitude?” A sharp laugh escaped my lips. I turned, my smile dripping with sarcasm. “You know, Anthony, I’m genuinely curious. Your brother’s legs are ruined, but he’s not dead. Are you sure he doesn’t mind you being so eager to take care of his wife?” “Or is this some kind of threesome thing you all are into?” Anthony’s face flushed with rage, his hands balling into fists. “Mia, what the hell are you talking about!?” “I have no feelings for Claire! I’ve only ever seen her as my sister-in-law! When is this going to end?” “You’re going to divorce me because I peeled a shrimp for her?” “If you’re this crazy, maybe I should check you into a—” CRACK! The crisp sound echoed in the quiet morning air. I had stepped right up to him and slapped him, hard, across the face. His words died in his throat. He stared at me, his expression a mixture of disbelief, confusion, and something that looked almost like hurt. Claire scrambled out of the car, rushing to his side to inspect his face, where the red imprint of my hand was already starting to bloom. Her eyes welled with tears as she stood between us. “Mia, how could you hit him?” “What did he do wrong? If you have a problem, take it out on me… but how could you…” Her voice broke into a sob, fat tears rolling down her cheeks. I scoffed. Strangely, Anthony ignored Claire completely. His eyes, full of a complex storm of emotions, remained fixed on me. Inside the clerk’s office, just as I was about to sign the final application, Anthony suddenly grabbed my hand. The tips of his fingers trembled, almost imperceptibly. “Mia, are you sure you want to keep this up?” “You know I won’t back down. And I will never, ever beg you to come back.” “When the thirty-day cooling-off period is over, I won’t be coming back to cancel this.” He spoke each word with deliberate weight, as if reminding me—and himself. Once these papers were signed, there was no turning back for either of us. He was betting. Betting that I couldn’t live without him. Betting that this was just a tantrum. Betting that deep down, I still loved him. But this time— I smiled, and then, with slow, deliberate care, I signed my name to the divorce application. Thinking back, if I hadn’t come to New York, if I hadn’t been the one to walk into his life, we probably never would have happened at all. Now, all I was doing was returning things to their natural state. A few moments later, I held the receipt for the thirty-day cooling-off period in my hand. Anthony’s gaze was so intense it felt like it could burn a hole through me. His voice was laced with ice. “Mia, you’re the one who can’t leave me. Don’t come crying to me when you want to cancel this.” With that, he took Claire’s hand and walked away. I stood my ground, silently watching his back as it receded into the distance. No, I thought. That day will never come.

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The rain was relentless the day Bradley Astor’s new love knelt at the gates of my mansion, a picture of delicate sorrow. “Mrs. Astor, I swear, there’s nothing between Bradley and me. You have to believe us.” And my husband, Bradley, stood just inside the floor-to-ceiling windows, his eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen reserved for me. Everyone was waiting. Waiting to see how I would tear this brazen mistress to shreds, how I would cement my position as the one and only Mrs. Astor. They had all forgotten that when this man married me, he had promised to protect me for a lifetime. “This is my wife,” he’d said. “From now on, you’ll show her the proper respect.” They all thought I would furiously tell her to get lost. But I was just so tired. I walked past her, got in my car, and drove to the family estate. Pushing open the door to the old man’s study, I faced the chairman. “Grandfather,” I said, “this arrangement… I don’t want to continue it.” “Let me go.” 1 There’s an unwritten rule among the paparazzi in New York City. If a photographer was having a slow month, they knew just where to go: stake out Bradley Astor, the CEO of the Astor Corporation. He was guaranteed to have a new flame every month, and he made no effort to hide it. A few easy snaps were always in the cards. A man like him having a few scandals was normal, of course. But his wife? His wife had to maintain a pristine reputation, a dignified front. If you caught her husband in the act, you could take the evidence straight to her. Name your price, and she’d pay it without a fuss. But while the story was old, the players were new. A rookie from a fledgling tabloid, clutching a video, was sent my way by Bradley himself. I had just gotten home from the office. From my mansion perched atop a hill overlooking Central Park, the entire glittering expanse of the Manhattan skyline was mine to command. The voice on my phone droned on, a clumsy yet audacious attempt at extortion. “Mrs. Astor, two million is nothing to you. It’s the price of a handbag. Just two million to make your husband’s latest scandal disappear. It’s a bargain, really.” “When you’ve made up your mind, just call this number…” This one wasn’t very bright. The first time he’d been subtle. The second time, he’d brazenly tapped on Bradley’s car window. Bradley’s cars were hard to track; he changed them constantly, with hundreds in his collection. But for some reason, he’d been driving the same one for the past few days. In the video the paparazzo sent me, Bradley rolled down the window. A scantily clad woman was pouting in the passenger seat. Last month, when I’d received a similar package, that seat had been occupied by a rising starlet from Hollywood. Bradley took off his sunglasses, revealing a face of almost criminal perfection. He beckoned to the camera with a lazy finger. As the rookie got closer, Bradley’s voice was smooth, almost seductive. “Newbie? You’ve got a lot to learn. You take this kind of thing to my wife. You won’t get a dime out of me.” “Don’t have her number?” He scribbled a few digits on a piece of paper and tucked it into the photographer’s shirt pocket. Then, he turned to the woman beside him and clicked his tongue. “Get out.” She leaned in closer, her voice a sugary purr. “Bradley, darling, didn’t you say three days? It’s only been a few hours…” Bradley tossed a black card at her and hit the door unlock button. “A few hours and you’ve already gotten us photographed. Get out before I have to throw you out.” I shut off the video, my face a placid mask as I sat at the dining table. The servants laid out dinner, dish by fragrant dish. The grandfather clock in the hall chimed eight. 2 I glanced up at it. A gift from Bradley, brought back from France seven years ago. Now, it just looked old, its pendulum swinging with a tired, feeble motion. I was seventeen when I was accepted into Columbia. I met Bradley when I was eighteen. Back then, apart from his face, he was the picture of understated quietness. He knew everything but pretended to be a charmingly lost student, always claiming he’d forgotten what he’d learned in class and needed me to teach him. Within a few weeks, someone who knew him pulled me aside. “You think he’s just a pretty face? He’s the son of the Astor Corporation. His father is running for senator.” After that, Bradley left the university scene but made the daily drive between Columbia and Midtown, ignoring all advice to the contrary. Those years were a blur of occasional fights and constant, dizzying love. My heart, a fortress, was breached and rebuilt, over and over. At twenty-five, after a thousand trials and tribulations, I married Bradley Astor. Our wedding was the event of the century. You can still find the newspapers from that day. One small tabloid, desperate for attention, ran a headline so sensational it overshadowed the major papers. It was flashy, but deeply disrespectful. The morning after our wedding, Bradley saw it. He read it, then calmly placed his water glass on top of it. I found out later that that issue was the last one the tabloid ever printed. Remembering these small moments, one by one, it hits me with the force of a revelation: Bradley and I were once so deeply in love. How did it all end up like this old clock, too weary to even swing? The silence of the grand hall was broken by the soft ding of the elevator. The display showed it had arrived at the third floor, and the doors slid open. Bradley stood there, his suit jacket draped over his arm. The harsh overhead light did nothing to diminish the sharp, handsome lines of his face. I glanced at him once, then returned my focus to the food on my plate. A minute later, I heard the soft thud of his jacket hitting the sofa. Then, the scent of expensive cologne and the warmth of his body enveloped me. Bradley stood behind me, his hands braced on the table, effectively trapping me in his embrace. His voice was a careless drawl. “Good evening, Mrs. Astor. Let’s see… what’s the price tag on this little scandal?” My phone was on the table. He tapped the screen a few times, opening my messages. “Two million? The press has a smaller appetite than you do for dinner. Anyone would think my net worth has depreciated.” I set down my fork, my back straight, maintaining a careful fist’s-width of distance between me and his chest. I ignored his question, changing the subject. “I’m not approving Karen Miller’s transfer to head of marketing. I’ll be rejecting her application.” As expected, the moment he heard her name, Bradley straightened up. The cloying closeness vanished. He sat down across from me, draping his arms over the back of the chair, his gaze drifting to the beautiful night outside. “You don’t need to worry about her.” “Unless—” his eyes snapped back to mine, his chin resting on his hand as he studied me. “You have a problem with her?” I looked directly into his eyes, searching for something that was no longer there. Outsiders only knew that Bradley Astor changed lovers like he changed shirts. No one knew it was all a smokescreen for Karen. Two years ago, he’d sent her abroad to get a fancy degree, all so she could parachute into a top position at the company. It wasn’t that I had a problem with her, personally. It was a matter of fact. The Astor Corporation had extremely strict hiring criteria. A degree from anywhere other than a top-tier Ivy League or equivalent wasn’t even considered. Karen had a high school diploma. At eighteen, she was working in a department store. The school she “attended” abroad was a known degree mill. There was no loophole, no exception that could justify her placement. My voice was faint. “I’m discussing business with you. I’m not letting personal feelings get in the way.” Bradley didn’t answer. A moment later, a voice message played from his phone. It was breathy, seductive. “Bradley, honey, I think I left my panties in your car. When can I come get them?” The volume was deliberately turned up, the sound echoing slightly in the vast dining room. Bradley watched me, bringing the phone to his lips. His voice was lazy. “Wrong number, sweetheart.” I looked at his cool, indifferent expression, trying desperately to remember the man who had once loved me. 3 In the beginning, Bradley would at least pretend to be sorry. The gifts he sent Karen were obscenely expensive, and one of them inadvertently took a spot I had reserved for a custom piece. The world of the ultra-rich is small; the tiniest clue can unravel the biggest secrets. That time, Bradley had raced home, handing over his phone, his credit cards, every password to every account he owned. “She helped me with a small thing. My cousin picked out the gift. I’ll deal with him later.” He offered a flimsy explanation, and I believed him. There was no reason not to. But then, somehow hearing that we’d had a huge fight, Karen appeared. On a rainy day, she knelt at the gate of our mansion. “Mrs. Astor, there’s really nothing between Bradley and me. You have to believe us.” Her desperate denial was the most damning confession of all. Rage burns away reason. At that moment, I didn’t see the flicker of pity in Bradley’s eyes as he looked down at her from the window. When a man feels pity for a woman, it’s the beginning of a romance between two people. Between three, it’s the beginning of a disaster. But even that was nothing. The hardest days were long behind me. If I remembered correctly, today was November 27th. The three-year term I’d agreed to with his grandfather was almost up. I looked at Bradley, about to speak. Suddenly, his phone rang. The voice on the other end was faint, but I could make it out. It was Karen. “The power’s out at my place. It’s completely dark, and I’m a little scared.” “Stay put. I’m on my way.” Bradley stood up. He glanced at me. I swallowed the words on the tip of my tongue. He didn’t wait for me to speak again, just turned and walked out. After he left, I drove to the Astor family estate. The old mansion was a century-old colonial, its interior a mix of Western and Eastern decor, half-ancient, half-modern. When I entered, Bradley’s mother, Eleanor, was on the sofa, a maid massaging her shoulders. She heard me, glanced over, then closed her eyes again. I didn’t want to annoy her, so I went straight up to the second-floor study. “Grandfather—” I began, choosing my words carefully. “The three years are up. I want to leave the Astor family.” I had known back then. Bradley had sent Karen away, ostensibly, but he was really funding her education abroad. I knew that while I was in the hospital, his private jet was making trips between New York and Australia. That was when my heart finally died. I went to his grandfather at a time when the family was facing both internal and external threats. He asked me to stay for three more years. If, in that time, Bradley didn’t change his ways, he would personally grant me my freedom. The old man rocked in his mahogany chair, opening his eyes to look at me. “I thought that after three years, you would have gotten used to it. Why do you still want to leave?” When I didn’t answer, he sighed. “When you insisted on marrying into this family, you should have expected this. Look at Eleanor. She was more fiery than you in her youth, but in the end, didn’t she hold on to the title of Mrs. Astor? All those illegitimate children couldn’t make a ripple. The son she bore, Bradley, is still the sole heir.” Eleanor, Bradley’s mother, the woman who now spent her days chanting Buddhist sutras, had been a force to be reckoned with in her youth. “Do you know how she did it?” “How?” “Because I backed her. As long as I approved, no one could take her position. With my support, those other women were no threat to her.” “Besides, I’m not talking to you about love. I’m talking about a deal. You’ve done an excellent job these past few years. The company, the family—you’ve held it all together. It would take too much time and effort for us to groom someone new. You leaving is a bad deal for us. You’re smart enough to see that.” If we set aside love and only talked business, it was undeniably the best deal I could ask for. I poured him some tea. “You know,” I said softly, “if it wasn’t about love, I wouldn’t be sitting here today.” I had considered it. Holding on to the title, ensuring no outsider could ever cross the threshold of the Astor family. But I didn’t marry Bradley to become Mrs. Astor. I became Mrs. Astor because I married Bradley. I remember pushing him away once, telling him he wasn’t free to marry whom he pleased, so what was he doing dating me. Bradley had frowned. “What do you mean I’m not free? If I want to marry you, I have plenty of ways. But you, if I’m out of your sight for one day, you’re ready to marry someone else. Do you think I’m useless?” I didn’t believe him. What brilliant plan could overcome so many obstacles? He never brought it up again, just slowly took over the corporation, embedding himself in the heart of the family’s power. After I graduated, I joined the company as an intern. During the day, I learned the ropes at work. At night, Bradley gave me private lessons. I grew at a staggering pace. By the time the topic of marriage came up again, he was so powerful in the family that no one dared to object. But out of respect for his grandfather, he came up with a little scheme the next day to force the old man to face reality. “That little brat,” the old man chuckled now. “Did he really think I was old and senile?” “He grabbed some dolled-up pretty boy from some entertainment company and pretended they were going to get married. He thought he could scare me. You thought that pretty face was all he had? He’s the son of the Astor Corporation. His father is running for senator.” The old man shook his head, a wry smile on his face. “These past few years, he’s been trying to force a divorce.” “Let me be clear. Once you leave the Astor family, I will not let you come back. Think carefully before you decide.” I lowered my head, the seven short years of our marriage flashing before my eyes like a fleeting dream. “Leaving this family,” I said, “is something I have been waiting three years for.” He waved a dismissive hand. “Finish up your work. Someone will contact you when the time comes.” When I came downstairs, Bradley’s mother was still sitting on the sofa. I walked to the door, then turned back. “I won’t be able to wish you well in the future, so I’ll do it now. I hope you enjoy a long and healthy life.” With that, I turned and left. The lights in the Astor living room were dim, shrouding Eleanor in shadow as she looked up. It seemed as if all the light in the room was being carried away by the figure hurrying out the door. For a moment, she saw herself as a young woman, walking out into the world. Lena, her maid, leaned in close. “Ma’am, it’s late. You should rest.” The room plunged back into darkness as Eleanor averted her gaze. “Let’s go.” 4 Sitting in the car, I remembered I had to tie up loose ends. I called the paparazzo and told him to come by for his check in the morning, buying the rights to all of Bradley’s latest indiscretions. It was several days before I heard from Bradley again. After Karen’s return, he had become much more discreet. Remembering my deal with his grandfather, I had my driver make a detour to pick Bradley up. The door to the apartment was open. Inside, a group of people were playing cards, Karen among them. She had just won a hand. The man across from her was laying it on thick. “You’re on a roll tonight, Karen! Cleaning us all out. I’m about to lose my shirt. Have mercy on us!” Karen smiled, about to speak. Then Bradley looked up and saw me standing in the doorway. He took a drag from his cigarette and cursed. “The woman at the door is your actual sister-in-law. Are you blind? No wonder you can’t win a hand tonight.” The man saw me and shot to his feet, flustered. “Mrs. A… Mrs. Astor…” Karen’s face went pale. I knew immediately that Bradley had done this on purpose. He was always pulling stunts like this, trying to provoke me into demanding a divorce, yet he would never agree to one. His reasoning was infuriatingly simple: “She’s young and naive, fun to have around for a while. But who would seriously marry her? One Mrs. Astor is more than enough.” I scanned the room, then left my driver with instructions to bring Bradley home later. With a polite nod, I turned to leave. I had just reached the door when Karen blocked my path. The eighteen-year-old girl from two years ago was now twenty, still fresh-faced and vibrant. She was slightly out of breath, her voice a delicate whisper. “Mrs. Astor, I’m sorry. I never meant to destroy your family. I tried to leave, to forget him, but I couldn’t.” “I can’t forget Bradley. I love him so much. But please believe me, I truly, from the bottom of my heart, never wanted to break up your home.” “Between Bradley and me… we just met too late. If he had met me back then, I would be Mrs. Astor too…” “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that. I just… I sincerely want to apologize to you. If there’s a next life, I’ll spend it atoning for what I’ve done.” “But in this life, I can’t give him back to you. I’m so sorry.” I looked her up and down. The girl who used to wear ten-dollar dresses was now draped in understated luxury. The shoes on her feet were worth more than three years of her old department store salary. So many sparrows, hoping to become phoenixes. I was one, once. Now, it was her turn. I didn’t say a word. I wouldn’t dignify her with a response. I wouldn’t try to appeal to the conscience of a woman like her. If she had any understanding of morality, she wouldn’t be so thrilled to be a rich man’s mistress. “Just divorce him!” her voice called after me. “Let him go!” Inside, the others exchanged uneasy glances. Someone dared to look at Bradley’s stone-cold expression. “Bradley, man, aren’t you going after her? When a woman gets that angry, she starts talking divorce.” Bradley stared at the image of the two-million-dollar check on his phone, his thoughts a mystery. After a long moment, he laughed. “Divorce? What’s so bad about that? It’d be a relief.”

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For the second time that night, Adam brought Victoria Thorne to my birthday party, introducing her as my “dearest friend” and Shen Corporation’s newest partner—the same woman who stole my three-year project last week. Leaning close, he whispered, “You should thank me. I’m helping you preserve your friendship.” Soon she was wearing my jewelry, using my stylist, and even representing his company. Then at the family hunt, Adam gave her my horse. “Your riding is subpar,” he said, not looking at me. “Don’t slow us down.” I watched them gallop off as someone commented, “What a handsome couple.” When rain poured down later, everyone left. Adam texted, “Figure it out yourself. Don’t ruin the mood.” I slid off my engagement ring and replied, “Fine.” Then another message appeared—from Damien Blackwood: “Seraphina, did you ever get that letter I wrote you?” 1 The rain was streaming down my face, clinging to my eyelashes as I stared at the screen. Damien’s text felt like a ghost from another lifetime. That letter I wrote you back then… did you ever get it? I wiped the water from my face, my thumb smearing across the soaked screen several times before it finally unlocked. In the distance, the roar of a sports car cut through the storm. The taillights of Adam’s black Lamborghini were a vicious, bleeding red in the curtain of rain. The passenger window slid down. A black umbrella was tossed out, landing and rolling in the muddy water. “Don’t get sick,” Adam’s voice, muffled by the downpour, drifted back to me. “You’ll miss the gala next week.” Victoria Thorne leaned out from the passenger seat, her freshly styled curls perfectly dry. “Seraphina, do you want us to wait for you?” she asked, her voice dripping with false concern. But even as she spoke, her fingers were already pressing the button to raise the window. The engine roared to life again. I bent down and picked up the umbrella. As I opened it, one of the ribs snapped with a pathetic crack. The wind instantly caught the canopy, flipping it inside out and sending a fresh cascade of icy water down my head and back. My phone vibrated again. A new text from Damien. “Call me when you see this.” I stared at his name for a long moment, and then a bitter laugh escaped my lips. How ironic. The one person I could never stand back in school was now the only one checking in on me. Meanwhile, my fiancé was speeding away with my best friend. “Miss Shen!” The estate’s security guard came jogging toward me, holding a large umbrella over his head. “Mr. Vance said you would be calling your own car.” I shook the water from the broken umbrella. “Are there any cars left at the stables?” “Well…” the guard began, wringing his hands. “Miss Thorne took the last of the golf carts. She said Mr. Vance gave her permission.” Rainwater was now streaming down my spine, my formal gown clinging to my legs like a second skin. I fumbled for my wallet, only to find the cash inside was soaked through, and my credit card had, at some point, snapped in two. “Could I possibly use your phone?” Just as I asked, the walkie-talkie on his belt crackled to life. “Hey, Frank, Mr. Vance just called. Said to lock the East Gate. Something about preventing thieves.” My hand tightened on the handle of the broken umbrella. Thieves? I had just paid off Victoria’s gambling debts last week. The voice on the radio continued, oblivious. “He said Miss Shen knows her way around. Tell her to use the West Gate.” The West Gate was on the other side of the hunting grounds. At least five kilometers away. Seeing the look of pity and helplessness on the guard’s face, I didn’t press him. The rain fell harder. I started the long walk in my heels, the hem of my gown dragging through the mud, each step feeling like I was pulling my foot out of thick clay. Half an hour later, my phone began vibrating uncontrollably. A series of messages from the Vance family’s butler: “Mr. Vance is asking where you are.” “Miss Thorne says you’re deliberately dragging your feet. Please hurry.” “Mr. Vance, Sr. requires you to return immediately for a dress fitting.” The last message included a photo. It was Victoria, twirling in my custom-made gown while Adam adjusted the waistline for her. I stopped walking. I shoved the wet phone back into my purse, turned, and threw the broken umbrella into a ditch. The gold-leaf logo on the canopy was quickly washed away by the muddy water. Headlights cut through the darkness. I instinctively raised a hand to shield my eyes. A taxi slowed to a stop beside me. The driver rolled down his window. “You need a ride, miss?” As I pulled the door open, I glanced one last time at my phone. Damien’s message was still on the screen. I swiped the notification away. “Take me to the nearest hotel,” I told the driver, not caring as my soaked dress left a dark stain on the leather seat. 2 I ran a fever for three days. The Vance family doctor had just left when a maid delivered the gown for the upcoming gala. It wasn’t the style I had chosen. The neckline was cut far too low, the waist taken in. “Mr. Vance said you’d lost weight and had the size altered,” the maid explained, keeping her eyes on the floor. “Miss Thorne helped choose the new style.” My hand trembled as I touched the delicate embroidery on the skirt. This was supposed to be my engagement dress, now tainted by Victoria’s touch. My phone lit up with a message from Adam. “Seven o’clock. Don’t be late.” I stared at the screen for a long time, typing and deleting a reply before finally just sending back a single, empty “K.” The gala was held at the Vance family mansion. When my car pulled up, Victoria was at the entrance, clinging to Adam’s arm as they greeted guests. She was wearing a breathtaking champagne-gold gown, and around her neck was the Vance family heirloom—a string of emeralds that should have been around my neck. “Seraphina!” she chirped, rushing over to take my hand in a display of familiar affection. “Are you feeling better? Adam was so worried about you.” I pulled my hand away. My fingertips were ice-cold. Across the foyer, Adam’s gaze swept over me, cool and dismissive, like a father looking at a misbehaving child. “Let’s go inside,” he said, his voice flat. “It’s about to start.” The ballroom was a glittering spectacle of chandeliers and diamonds. I found a quiet corner and watched as Adam led Victoria to the center of the dance floor. The master of ceremonies’ voice boomed through the speakers. “Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for joining us. Tonight, Miss Thorne will be taking Miss Shen’s place for the opening dance.” As applause filled the room, my nails dug into my palms. Victoria’s smile was radiant. Adam’s hand rested possessively on her waist as they moved to the music. The emeralds around her neck caught the light, each flash a sharp sting in my eyes. When the music ended, Adam walked toward me. The crowd parted for him as if he were royalty, and every eye in the room followed him. “Are you angry?” he asked, his voice low. He reached out, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. “You were sick. You couldn’t dance.” I didn’t answer. His touch was cold, detached, like he was examining an object. He produced a diamond necklace as if from thin air. “Don’t be difficult. I’ll make it up to you when we get home.” The cold metal pressed against my skin. I could smell Victoria’s perfume on him. After the gala, I went straight to one of the guest rooms. As I took off the necklace, I noticed a tiny inscription on the inside of the clasp: V.T. Victoria Thorne. I stood on the balcony overlooking the pool. The water shimmered under the moonlight, a shattered mirror. I held the necklace up, letting it catch the light one last time before I flung it into the air. It made a small plunk as it hit the water and sank. “Fetch it.” Adam’s voice came from behind me. I hadn’t heard him enter. He had his suit jacket draped over his arm, his tie loosened. “That’s Victoria’s necklace,” he said, stepping closer and gripping my chin, forcing me to look at him. “You’ve worn it. Now it’s time to return it to its rightful owner.” I jerked my head away. “And the family heirloom? Is that hers now, too?” “She’s borrowing it,” Adam snapped, his brow furrowing. “Why do you have to be so petty about everything?” A splash came from the pool below. Victoria, still in her gown, was in the water. She held up the diamond necklace, waving it at us with a triumphant smile. “I found it!” 3 Water dripped from her hair, plastering the silk of her gown to her body. Adam’s gaze darkened. “I’ll get her a towel,” he said, his voice suddenly rough. I stood frozen as I watched him hurry to the edge of the pool. He shrugged off his own jacket and wrapped it around Victoria, his movements gentle, as if he were handling something precious. Victoria leaned into his embrace, her eyes meeting mine over his shoulder. Her smile was pure victory. The emeralds glowed against her skin, while the diamond necklace I had just thrown away rested in her palm. Adam glanced back at me. “What are you standing there for? Go get her a blanket.” He said it so naturally, as if ordering me around was the most normal thing in the world. Just as he had taken my place in the dance, taken my family’s heirloom, and taken my dignity. I turned and walked back toward the guest room, tears burning behind my eyes. I bit my lip, hard. Don’t cry, I told myself. Not in front of her. I caught my reflection in a hallway mirror—my face pale, my eyes red, a faint red mark on my neck where the necklace had been. A brand of shame. Outside, I could hear Victoria’s laughter and Adam’s low, rumbling voice. They were playing by the pool, the sound of splashing water echoing in the night. I pulled the curtains shut, but I couldn’t block out the sound. On the nightstand was the next day’s itinerary. Victoria’s name was written where mine should have been, with Adam’s bold signature and the word “Approved” scrawled beside it. A wave of nausea washed over me, and I stumbled into the bathroom, collapsing in front of the toilet as my stomach heaved. The cool tiles did little to soothe me. I was still on my knees, weak and shaking, when Victoria’s voice, sickly sweet, came from the doorway. “Seraphina, are you okay?” I pushed myself up and splashed cold water on my face. “Oh, my!” Victoria gasped with mock surprise. “You didn’t lock the door!” She was holding up her phone, the camera pointed directly at me. I threw a hand up to cover my face, but it was too late. I heard the distinct click of the shutter. A sly smile played on her lips. “What are you doing?” I rasped. “Adam asked me to check on you,” she said, waving her phone. “He said you haven’t been feeling well lately.” I lunged for the phone, but she danced away. The heel of her shoe came down hard on a piece of paper that had fallen from my purse. It was the report I’d brought back from the hospital, already crumpled from being clenched in my fist. Now, it was torn. “Pregnancy, eight weeks?” she said, bending down to pick it up. Her eyes went wide. “Oh my god!” I snatched the report back, my chest heaving. Victoria was already tapping furiously on her phone. “Don’t—” The sharp, crisp sound of a message being sent cut me off. She winked at me. “Oops. Accidentally sent it to the socialites’ group chat.” My own phone exploded with notifications. The messages were scrolling too fast to read. [Congratulations!] [The Vance family is getting an heir!] [When’s the wedding?] The last message was from Victoria. [Seraphina wanted to wait until the first trimester to announce it.] I was trembling, the room spinning. In the mirror, Victoria hummed a little tune as she reapplied her lipstick, her smile dazzlingly cruel. “Victoria.” Adam’s voice echoed from the hallway. “What’s taking so long?” She ran to him, throwing her arms around his. “Adam, Seraphina has wonderful news!” He frowned, his eyes finding me in the bathroom doorway. I clutched the torn paper, my throat closing up. “Is it true?” he asked, striding toward me, his hand outstretched for the report. I took a step back, my body hitting the cold marble of the sink. His expression hardened. He snatched the paper from my hand, the fragile sheet tearing further. “Eight weeks,” he murmured, his face a storm of unreadable emotions. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Victoria pressed herself against his side. “Adam, I didn’t mean to tell everyone, I swear.” “Get out,” Adam said, his voice low. She froze. He didn’t look up from the report. “Victoria, leave us.” After the door clicked shut, he stepped toward me. His hand came to rest on my stomach, his palm surprisingly warm, his touch impossibly gentle. “We’ll keep it,” he said, his voice raw. “I’ll marry you.” My eyes stung with unshed tears. For a single, fragile moment, he was the old Adam again, the boy who used to stay up all night making me porridge when I was sick. “Really?” I whispered. “Yes.” He leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to my forehead. “Let’s go home and talk.” That night, for the first time in years, Adam cooked. He made me porridge. I sat at the dining table, watching his back as he moved around the kitchen, my heart aching with a confusing mix of pain and hope. “Careful, it’s hot,” he said, placing the bowl in front of me. “And no more high heels for a while.” I looked down and began to eat. A tear splashed into the warm porridge. He reached out and gently wiped it from my cheek, his thumb warm against my skin. “What are you crying for?” he said, his voice soft with something that sounded like exasperation. “You’re going to be a mother.” I nodded, choking back a sob. The steam from the bowl blurred my vision. In that moment, I almost forgave him for everything. 4 The next morning, I was jolted awake by the incessant buzzing of my phone. The Vance family group chat had exploded with over 99 new messages. At the very top was a video posted by Victoria. In the shaky footage, she was helping me walk, my head lolling to the side in a deep, unnatural sleep. Suddenly, she “tripped,” sending both of us tumbling to the floor. The video froze on my pale, unconscious face. The caption read: [So sorry! It was a total accident! I feel awful!] The last few seconds of the video showed a dark stain spreading on the floor beneath me. Blood. I felt a dull ache in my abdomen. Beneath the video was a reply from Adam: [She’s always been weak. The baby probably wouldn’t have survived anyway.] I stared at the screen, my fingers numb. The bedroom door opened, and Adam walked in, fastening his tie. “You’re awake?” He glanced at my phone and frowned. “Stop looking at that.” I looked up at him, my voice hollow. “You knew, didn’t you?” “Knew what?” he asked, his tone flat. “It was an accident. Victoria didn’t mean for it to happen.” “The porridge,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “You drugged it. There’s no way I would have fallen asleep at the dinner table like that.” I threw back the covers. My legs were weak, and the pain in my stomach intensified. Adam caught me as I stumbled. “Stop throwing a tantrum.” “I’m going to the hospital.” “Fine. I’ve already had the family doctor look at you,” he said, letting go of me. “The child is gone. There will be others.” I somehow made it to the hospital on my own. The doctor confirmed it: I’d had a miscarriage. He said I needed rest, that my emotional state was fragile. While I was at the payment counter, I saw Adam and Victoria walking into the VIP wing. They didn’t see me. Victoria was leaning against his shoulder, and Adam was listening to her, a small smile on his face. I clutched the bag of prescription pills, my palm slick with sweat. My phone buzzed. A new message from Victoria. [Adam brought me for a pregnancy checkup!] [He said he wants only the best for me.] Attached was a photo of her holding up an ultrasound picture, her hand resting on her flat stomach. Adam stood beside her, his hand on her shoulder. My vision blurred. The bag of pills slipped from my grasp, scattering across the floor. A janitor rushed over to help, but I just shook my head and walked toward the elevator. Just before the doors closed, I heard Victoria’s bright, tinkling laughter. It was like a knife twisting in my heart. The elevator opened on the ground floor. I stumbled out and almost collided with a nurse pushing a bassinet. The tiny baby inside grinned at me, its face pink and perfect. “Isn’t he adorable?” the nurse asked with a smile. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. On a television in the corner, a financial news program was playing. Adam and Victoria were at another charity gala. She was deliberately cradling her flat stomach, and he was leaning in to whisper something in her ear, his expression tender—a stark contrast to the cold man who had fastened his tie in my bedroom that morning. I touched my own empty belly and started to laugh. A hollow, broken sound. How ironic. My child was a pool of blood on the floor, and its father was at a prenatal appointment with another woman. So, Adam, I thought, it wasn’t that you didn’t want a child. You just didn’t want a child with me. My trembling fingers found my phone. Damien’s message was still there, waiting. I took a deep breath and slowly typed my reply. [I didn’t get it. But I want to see you now.]

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My older brother, Shawn, had tried to ruin me time and again in his bid to take over the family business, and for his treachery, he’d been cast out. Yet here was my own wife, Elara, secretly handing him a billion-dollar project proposal that belonged to me. Shawn flaunted it on his social media, his smile dripping with arrogance. The caption read: “Even when I have nothing, some people will still willingly hand me the world on a silver platter.” Elara’s comment appeared almost immediately, bold and shameless: “If you asked for the moon and the stars, I’d find a way to get them for you.” My jaw tightened. I called her. “You have thirty minutes to get that project back.” Her voice was a sigh of exasperation. “Caleb, must you be so petty? It’s only a billion dollars.” I hung up, ignoring her protests. Thirty minutes later, my secretary informed me that not only had Elara failed to retrieve the proposal, but she had also siphoned ten billion dollars in assets from the company. Fine. If she wanted to play this game, I was done holding back. I hit the enter key on my keyboard. In an instant, every single company under the Walton family name was frozen solid. 1 When the Walton family fortune started evaporating at a rate of billions per minute, Elara Walton finally remembered I existed. She burst into my office, reeking of alcohol, stumbling slightly in her heels. “Caleb Hearst, what is the meaning of this?” she demanded. “There’s a limit to your childish tantrums! Do you have any idea how much damage you’ve done to my family’s assets?” I didn’t even grant her a glance, instead taking a slow, deliberate sip of my tea. “I told you. You had thirty minutes.” My calm composure only seemed to fuel her rage. She lunged forward and grabbed my tie. “Shawn is your brother! If you can’t show him the respect he deserves as your elder, then I’ll have to do it for you to protect this family’s reputation!” She leaned in, her voice a furious whisper. “Ever since you came back from your studies abroad, you’ve backed him into a corner, isolated him completely! Are you really going to stand by and watch your own flesh and blood starve on the streets?” She spoke with such righteous indignation, as if I were the villain in this story. My eyes turned to ice. With a flick of my wrist, I pushed her away. I picked up a file my secretary had prepared and tossed it onto the desk in front of her. “Forging the client’s name on a billion-dollar proposal? Transferring ten billion in company assets on a whim? Is this how you manage a corporation?” I asked, my voice dangerously low. “Hearst Corporation has no need for an employee like you. And we certainly have no interest in partnering with a family that operates this way.” I leaned forward. “I don’t care what history you have with Shawn Hearst. As long as you are a part of this company, as long as you bear the Hearst name by marriage, you will remember your place.” She glanced at the scattered documents with a dismissive shrug. “Caleb, don’t think you’re so special just because you have a fancy foreign degree. You’ll never understand the nuances of how things work here, the importance of relationships.” She sneered. “Have you forgotten what family loyalty even means? Or did they not teach you that in your fancy overseas schools?” When I looked up, my expression was hard as stone. “Loyalty is a two-way street. A younger brother shows respect when the older brother shows he’s worthy of it. Shawn tried to have me kidnapped. He tried to poison me. Is that what you call brotherly love?” My voice was rising, laced with cold fury. “He was kicked out of this family by the unanimous decision of our elders. He brought it on himself. And if you regret marrying me so much, this engagement can be terminated at any time!” Sensing the steel in my voice, Elara’s tone softened. “Caleb, I don’t want to end our engagement. I truly don’t. I just… I saw how desperate he was, and I felt sorry for him.” She took a step closer. “Besides, what’s a few billion to you? It’s nothing. But he has nothing left. We can’t let him live in poverty for the rest of his life, can we?” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “Poverty? When he was disowned, the family gave him three subsidiary companies and two waterfront mansions. That’s more than enough to keep him comfortable in the city’s elite circles. There are thousands of people in this city with less than him. Why don’t you go feel sorry for them? Why don’t you hand each of them a billion dollars out of the goodness of your heart?” Cornered, she changed the subject. “He’s still been my friend for years. Just because I’m married to you, does that mean I’m not allowed to have my own friends?” I calmly unlocked my phone. “What kind of ‘friend’ requires your company late at night?” I turned the screen toward her. It displayed a photo of her and Shawn on a yacht, glasses clinking, their bodies pressed close in the moonlight. Before she could answer, I swiped. “What kind of ‘friends’ book one hotel room on vacation?” Photo after photo, a timeline of their illicit moments played out before her. The color drained from her face. “Is that your definition of friendship, Elara? Or are you this intimate with all your male friends?” Her face flushed a deep crimson. She finally found her voice, spitting the words with venom. “You’re disgusting! You had me followed!” She straightened up, a strange calm settling over her, a sly smile touching her lips. “You think you’ve won, Caleb? The game isn’t over yet.” She leaned in conspiratorially. “You can’t end this engagement without my consent. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go comfort Shawn. You can figure out what to do next.” She turned and sashayed toward the door. Just as her hand touched the knob, I spoke. “Elara,” I said, my voice quiet but clear. “Walk out that door, and there will be no coming back for the Walton family. Don’t forget why you came here in the first place.” She froze, her back to me. Then she turned, her eyes flashing. “I am not a woman to be trifled with, Caleb Hearst. You’ll regret this.” She wrenched the door open and disappeared, leaving only the echo of her defiance. 2 After a long night of reviewing documents, I calmly picked up the phone and called my secretary. “Prepare the divorce papers.” My marriage to Elara had been arranged by my grandfather. He and the old Mr. Walton were friends for decades, and he’d promised that Elara would marry the heir to the Hearst fortune. The problem was, there were two Hearst sons, and my grandfather had never officially named his successor. Shawn, as the eldest, was assumed by many to be the heir apparent. The Waltons certainly thought so. But they didn’t understand the Hearst way: power is earned, not inherited. While I never intended to fight my brother for control, I understood my duty. While he was living a life of excess and debauchery in the city, I was burning the midnight oil, studying abroad. While he was throwing his weight around as the firstborn son, I was learning the intricacies of corporate management. It wasn’t until I returned and began my internship at the company that he finally saw me as a threat. But instead of changing his ways, he doubled down. He hired thugs to kidnap me. If it hadn’t been for my grandfather’s private security detail, who had been protecting me in secret, I would have been ransomed or worse. When that failed, he tried to poison my drink. I only survived because I was rushed to the hospital in time. After that, the family elders had seen enough. They forced the separation, giving him a generous settlement to be rid of him. I knew Elara and Shawn were close. I had wanted to call off the engagement, but she had come to me herself. “Caleb, your brother and I are just friends. I want to marry you,” she’d said. “You’ve just returned to the country. My family will be your greatest asset.” My grandfather was eager to see me settled, so I agreed. In the world of corporate mergers and family dynasties, affection is secondary to alliance. But there must be respect. For Elara to continue her affair with Shawn after our wedding was a blatant insult. I had no reason to save her face any longer. Before my secretary could arrive with the papers, a group of people appeared at my office door. Leading them were Elara’s parents. The moment they saw me, they rushed forward and fell to their knees. “Caleb, it’s all our fault! We’ve raised a disrespectful, treacherous daughter!” her father cried. “We’ve spoiled her rotten. She’s always seen Shawn as a brother, that’s the only reason she keeps seeing him. We promise, it will never happen again. Please, spare the Walton family!” Behind them, the entire Walton contingent knelt in unison, their heads bowed, waiting for my judgment. The silence was broken by a shrill voice. “Let go of me! I’m telling you, Caleb Hearst is no saint!” Elara was being dragged forward by her cousins. When she saw her family kneeling, her glare intensified. “Caleb! You think bringing my family here will force me to submit to you? You’re a despicable, manipulative—” Before she could finish, her father shot up and slapped her hard across the face. She stared at him, then at her mother, her eyes wide with disbelief. But her mother offered no comfort, her face a mask of cold fury. “Kneel!” she commanded. Elara started to argue, but her father clamped a hand over her mouth and shot a look at his brothers. They understood immediately, joining him to force her to her knees. “Caleb, please, she’s just upset, don’t listen to her nonsense…” her mother pleaded. I waved a dismissive hand. “This is a Walton family matter. Settle it at home, not in my office.” Her parents were about to say more when a knock on the door interrupted them. “Mr. Hearst,” my secretary said, “the divorce agreement is ready for your review.” Elara struggled against her relatives’ grip, the arrogant fire in her voice finally extinguished. “Caleb,” she whispered, “are you really going to divorce me?” 3 I took the file from my secretary, scanned it briefly, and then tossed it onto the floor in front of her. “Elara, you want your freedom? You want your friends? Fine. You’ve got it.” Her eyes darted over the asset division clause in the agreement, and her voice trembled. “No. I don’t agree. We can’t get a divorce.” A cold smile touched my lips. “If you don’t agree, we’ll go to court. You’re the party at fault. You’ll walk away with nothing.” I leaned back in my chair. “And by the way, embezzlement of company funds on this scale… according to the law, you’ll spend the rest of your life in prison.” Her face went pale, and her body went limp. “Caleb, I was wrong. I’ll pay the money back immediately.” She paused, tears welling in her eyes. “But… that project was only worth a billion. If Shawn doesn’t land a new contract soon, he’ll go bankrupt. Please, can’t we just let this go? It’s such a small thing to divorce over.” Even now, she was still trying to protect him. My face hardened. “Elara, do you think this is about the money? You know better than anyone what he did to me! Shawn is a lazy, entitled parasite. If he can’t get a contract, he deserves to fail!” When I first returned, the subsidiary I was given was struggling. I was the one who went out, day after day, begging for meetings, humbling myself for a chance. I was the one who worked alongside my team from dawn until midnight to build it up. Shawn mocked my efforts then, and when he saw my success, he tried to have me killed. My family gave him more than enough to live a stable, wealthy life. They had been more than generous. And yet Elara still saw him as a victim, using my resources to play the role of his savior. “I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking…” she sobbed. Seeing her finally admit fault, the Walton family breathed a collective sigh of relief. Her father quickly tried to smooth things over. “Caleb, she was just confused for a moment. Her heart is in the right place.” “That’s right, Caleb. We’ll be sure to discipline her when we get home. Divorce is a serious matter,” another relative added. Just then, a frail, elderly voice came from the doorway. My grandfather was there, supporting Mr. Walton. My own grandfather had always been kind to me, and out of respect for him, I finally relented. “Let this be the end of it,” I said. “I don’t want a repeat performance.” The Waltons were visibly relieved, thanking me profusely as they led a weeping Elara away. The next morning, Elara was waiting for me outside the office with a lunch box. “Darling, I know you usually skip breakfast. I made you some chicken noodle soup to warm you up.” For days, she was the perfect wife. She brought me three meals a day. She stopped going out to parties and instead sat with me quietly in the office while I worked late. The project proposal was returned, the stolen funds repaid. My secretary reported that she hadn’t had any contact with Shawn. Watching her bustle around, my resolve began to soften. “You can let the housekeeper handle these things,” I told her one evening. “You should go out, go shopping, relax a little.” She shook her head. “I’ve thought it over. All that partying is meaningless. I’d rather spend my time with you, learning about the business so I can share your burdens.” Seeing her genuine interest, I reinstated her position at the company without her even having to ask. She proved to be surprisingly capable, working diligently and becoming a valuable asset. Soon, whispers turned to praise throughout our social circle. Caleb and Elara, the perfect power couple. The future of Hearst Corporation looked brighter than ever.

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The moment my A-list actress ex and I broke up, my agent booked me on a fully livestreamed dating show. On set, the host leaned in. “Liam, have you ever been in a serious relationship?” I kept my voice low. “Yeah. She was too clingy. We broke up.” Next, she turned to the superstar Celina Mellon. But Celina’s eyes were locked on me, unblinking. “I have. My ex is on a dating show now.” The live chat exploded. “The goddess Celina was in a relationship?!” Before the crew or the audience could even process it, she offered the camera a devastatingly sweet smile. “This one, actually. The one we’re on right now.” Within minutes, hashtags like #CelinaMellonSecretEx and #IsTheHeartSignalGuyHerEx were dominating the trending topics for the rest of the day. 1 Heart Signal was a celebrity dating show that was a phenomenon before a single episode even aired. The biggest draw was the “Frostfire” ship—the pairing of superstar Celina Mellon and rising star Evan Frost. They’d just wrapped a historical drama where their characters were locked in a tragic, love-hate romance that had viewers obsessed. When Evan made his entrance, the live chat went into a frenzy. OMG EVAN IS HERE! HE’S SO HOT! Evan and Celina on the same show? This is basically their public announcement, right? I’M SHIPPING THIS SO HARD. FROSTFIRE IS EVERYTHING! My reception was… different. The moment I walked on screen, the comments turned sour. Why the hell is Liam Xie on this show? Ugh, gross. He’s such a clout-chaser. Obviously just here to leech off Frostfire’s fame. Guess any publicity is good publicity if you have zero shame. The show was broadcast live, with a polished, edited version released weekly on streaming platforms. I was the first to arrive at the luxurious villa, and I immediately claimed a seat in the farthest corner, hoping to disappear into the upholstery. The second person to walk through the door was Celina Mellon. My ex-girlfriend. 2 I subtly shifted in my seat, trying to put a little more distance between us. She just raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. But before she could say a word, a bright, cheerful laugh echoed from the entrance. “Hey, everyone! You’re all here already!” Evan strode in, all youthful energy in a black tank top and jeans. “Liam, my man, long time no see! And Celina! So good to see you again!” He slid onto the sofa right next to Celina, instantly launching into an animated conversation as if they were old friends. A massive screen on the wall displayed the live comments in real-time. I glanced at it. OMG OMG FROSTFIRE IS REAL! HE SAT RIGHT NEXT TO HER! The way Celina looks at Evan is pure fire! You can see the sparks! Just get married already! I’ve already set aside money for a wedding gift! Ten minutes later, all eight contestants—four men and four women, a mix of celebrities and professionals from other fields—had arrived. The producers kicked things off with a simple icebreaker: “Have you ever been in a relationship before?” Evan shot a shy look at Celina. “No, I haven’t. But I definitely have an ideal type I admire.” The live chat went wild again. When it was my turn, I kept it brief. “I have. We broke up. We just weren’t compatible.” The haters in the chat seized their chance. LOL, ‘not compatible’ means his personality sucked and she got sick of him and dumped him. Then, it was Celina’s turn. The room held its breath. A slow, deliberate smile touched her beautiful lips. “I have,” she said, her voice smooth as silk. “My ex is on a dating show.” 3 Her words were a bombshell. The live chat erupted, and I could see the show’s director practically vibrating with excitement off-camera. The director’s voice came over the speaker, unable to resist. “Could you tell us which dating show?” Celina’s gaze flickered towards me for a split second, so fast you could have missed it. I pretended not to notice. Right. What was her game? Was she trying to use me to generate buzz for her new PR-manufactured relationship with Evan? Nice try. I wasn’t playing along. The director, practically salivating for the scoop, pressed again. “You can’t tell us?” Celina let out a light laugh, as if it were all just a joke. “It’s the one we’re on right now.” The live chat detonated. IS SHE FOR REAL?!?! It has to be Evan! Her ex is Evan! That’s why their chemistry in the drama was so insane! OMG she came on this show to win him back! THIS IS THE MOST EPIC LOVE STORY EVER. I AM SO HERE FOR THIS! 4 The show had its viral moment. The director was thrilled. I, however, was not. During a bathroom break, I shot Celina a text. Have you lost your damn mind? She replied almost instantly. Yep. And you’re the one who flooded it. Me: ??? She didn’t write back. The show was still filming, so I couldn’t stay away for long. I washed my hands and headed back out. We were moving on to choosing rooms. The last person I wanted to share a room with was Evan, but of course, he slung his arm around my shoulder like we were best friends. “Hey, Liam, let’s be roommates! We haven’t had a real chance to catch up. We could talk all night!” I pulled away, my voice cool. “We’re supposed to draw lots. Let’s just stick to the rules.” Cut the fake buddy act. The last time we were on a show together, he used me as a stepping stool, building his “straight-shooter” persona by having the editors maliciously splice my footage. The whole country ended up hating me. Did he really think he could pull the same trick twice? The chat was already eating it up. What’s Liam’s problem? Evan is being so nice and Liam is just a total jerk. Evan, just ignore him. He’s not worth your time. Ignoring the comments, I walked up and drew a card first. Well, what do you know. My luck had turned. I got the single room. Another male contestant suggested, “Hey, let’s help the ladies with their luggage.” I saw Celina start to walk toward me, and I reacted on pure instinct. I grabbed my suitcase and practically sprinted up the stairs like my life depended on it. 5 That evening, the producers introduced the “Heartbeat Message” segment, where we could send one anonymous text to another contestant. After some thought, I sent one to Laura, a young actress who was about as famous as I was. It was a beautiful day today. Hope you can stay happy. Ping. My phone lit up. Someone had sent me a message. The water you think is in my head? They’re the tears I cried over you. I knew instantly it was from Celina. This woman was insane. The live chat was busy speculating. Who sent Liam a message? Definitely not Celina. Evan got one that said he looked handsome today. That was 100% from Celina. Wait, is that message calling Liam crazy? LMAO that’s hilarious! 6 The next morning, I woke up whenever I felt like it and wandered downstairs. Evan was already in the kitchen, presenting Celina with a bowl of breakfast. “Celina, I know you have a sensitive stomach, so I made you some special oatmeal.” Celina looked up, her gaze flicking past him to where I stood on the stairs. “My stomach is fine,” she said flatly. Evan’s smile faltered for a second before he recovered. “Well, I remember that one time on the set when you had that awful stomachache. It really scared me. I’m just glad you’re all better now.” Celina didn’t reply. Hoping to avoid them both, I started to turn back toward my room. “Not eating breakfast?” Celina’s voice stopped me. “I’ll eat later, thanks,” I said politely. Evan bounced over to my side, all smiles. “Skipping breakfast is a bad habit, you know! I made a whole pot of oatmeal for Celina, and there’s no way she can finish it all. You should have a bowl too!” He said it with the casual authority of a boyfriend. His fans in the live chat were swooning, even this early in the morning. Having a boyfriend like Evan would be heaven. Celina, you better appreciate him! Aww, she said her stomach was fine because she didn’t want him to worry! They care so much about each other! Liam, get out of the frame! You’re ruining the shot! 7 Trapped, I decided my only escape was to cook for myself. I headed into the kitchen and started making pasta. My grandmother taught me how to cook, and her recipes were legendary. Back when Celina and I were still together, she used to wrap her arms around me and beg, “Babe, can we have a date at the farmer’s market today? Please?” I’d laugh and poke her side. “Is this a date, or are you just hungry again?” She’d flip me over onto the couch, pinning me down, her dark, intense eyes staring into mine. “If you don’t let me crave food, I’ll just have to crave you instead.” I could never say no to her. We’d put on disguises, dress down, and sneak off to the market hand-in-hand. The villa’s pantry was limited, but I found everything I needed for a simple, spicy tomato and basil pasta. Soon, the rich aroma of garlic and herbs filled the air. Laura, the other actress, came downstairs, sniffing dramatically. “Who is tempting my soul with that incredible smell?” “Laura, you haven’t eaten yet, have you?” I offered politely. “I made a small pot, enough for two.” Before Laura could even take a step, Celina was there first. Her eyes, the ones her fans claimed could generate electricity, were wide and pleading like a kitten’s, fixed on the simmering pot. “Can I have some?” I deliberately took a step back. “Sorry, I already offered it to Laura.” The live chat scoffed. It’s just a bowl of pasta. What’s the big deal? Celina, let Evan cook for you! Evan is an amazing cook! He’s a total catch! Evan must have seen the comments scrolling on the big screen. He shot me a playful wink. “I’ll make some pasta too! How about a little cook-off, Liam? See whose is better?” 8 The kitchen had two stovetops, so Evan started his performance. Every movement was graceful, designed for the camera. “Celina, could you help me with my apron strings?” he asked, holding up an apron, his eyes full of hopeful pleading. As if on cue, Celina also picked up an apron—a frilly pink one—as though she had already anticipated his request. Laura and I stood off to the side like spectators at a tennis match. She leaned in and whispered, “I’ve already placed my bet. Five bags of spicy chips says I know who Celina’s ex is.” I was surprised. “Where are you placing bets?” “You don’t know? The internet is going crazy with polls guessing Celina’s ex. Evan’s currently got 99% of the vote.” A flicker of morbid curiosity hit me. “How many votes do I have?” I whispered back. Laura gave me a look of deep pity. “0.008%.” “…” Just then, Evan let out a sharp cry. “Celina?” But Celina, holding the pink apron, was walking straight toward me. She moved so fast I didn’t have time to react. Before I knew it, she had slipped the apron over my head. Her cool fingertips brushed against the nape of my neck, and an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. She seemed not to notice, her expression perfectly serious as she tied the strings snugly behind my back. “Good luck with the competition, Liam,” she said, stepping back with a faint, knowing smile. “I’ll be waiting for your pasta.” 9 I had no intention of competing with Evan. I was about to take the stupid apron off when I heard him shout in pain. “Ah! Hot!” He’d lifted a pot lid, and the steam had apparently burned him. He looked at Celina like a wounded puppy. “Celina… could you get the burn cream for me? It’s in my suitcase in my room.” His fans in the live chat were frantic. Oh my god, Evan burned himself! It must hurt so much! Celina, go get the cream for him! Hurry! Is Celina frozen in shock? Why isn’t she moving? I couldn’t help but look at Celina. She was smiling—a completely innocent, harmless smile. “I’m a woman,” she said slowly, her voice clear as a bell. “It wouldn’t be appropriate for me to go into a man’s room.” She tilted her head. “Evan, is your leg okay?” “You should probably go get that cream yourself. If you wait any longer, your hand might just heal on its own.” I barely managed to stifle a laugh. She was actually letting her sharp-tongued, true self show on camera. I glanced at Evan’s hand. It was fine, just a little red from where he’d been rubbing it himself. But he was playing up the pain, hissing through his teeth. “Celina, how can you joke at a time like this? Fine, fine. I’ll go get it myself.” He turned and stormed upstairs. The live chat went into overdrive. Okay, no more guessing. Celina’s ex is 100% Evan. I’m calling him my brother-in-law from now on! Celina, please win him back! My Frostfire ship cannot sink! 10 After breakfast, it was time for the paired-up date activity. The rules were simple: the men would draw names blindly. As luck would have it, I drew Celina. And Evan drew Laura. The live chat was already spewing vitriol. Is the production team trying to torture us? Making me watch Celina on a date with Liam is worse than making me eat a hundred flies. Liam, you better have some damn sense and switch with Evan right now or I’ll curse your entire family. The comments got uglier and uglier. And it triggered my defiant streak. I was actually going to offer to switch with Evan, but not anymore. I turned to Celina with a polite smile. “Well, Ms. Mellon, it looks like you’re stuck with me today.” Celina returned my smile with one of her trademark serene ones. “The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Xie.” The date the producers had arranged for us? A haunted house attraction. I just had to thank them for that. Celina and I had been to one before. In public, she was all cool composure, but she was secretly terrified of ghosts. The last time, a staff member in a ghost costume scared her so badly she shrieked and clung to me like a limpet, refusing to let go. If that got filmed, my entire family getting cursed online would be the least of my worries. “You better be brave in there,” I warned her in a low voice while we waited to go in, away from the cameras. “And don’t you dare jump on me.” Celina looked at me with wide, innocent eyes. “Phobias are a psychological condition. I can’t control it.” “If you can’t control it,” I threatened, “I’ll start leaking all your embarrassing secrets.” That seemed to pique her interest. “What secrets? Do tell.” I leaned closer, my voice barely a whisper. “That the public’s ‘Ice Queen’ is actually a secret softie who still sleeps with a stuffed animal and has the emotional maturity of a nine-year-old.” Celina’s eyebrow arched, and a slow smile spread across her face. “You know, when you put it like that, it sounds kind of adorable.” “…” She was unbelievable. 11 The haunted house was dark and reeked of fake dread. A bloody, severed head dangled from the ceiling, swaying gently. I could feel Celina practically pressing herself against my back. “It’s all fake, Celina!” I said, a little too loudly. “Don’t be scared!” “It feels pretty real to me,” she hissed. Just as she finished her sentence, a monster-faced actor leaped out from a dark corner. Celina screamed, a genuine, piercing shriek, and her hand shot out, grabbing my wrist in a death grip. “Liam! Where are you?” I almost laughed out of sheer exasperation. Where am I? In your clutches! “Celina,” I said, trying to stay calm. “If you’re really that scared, just hold onto my shirt. I’ll get you out of here.” She didn’t hesitate, her fingers immediately lacing with mine. The night-vision camera was rolling. The footage would be grainy, but it would be clear enough. At that point, I just gave up. I started running, pulling her along with me, shouting nonsense. “Just run, Celina! If you can run faster than the ghosts, they can’t get you!” I think I made her laugh. She squeezed my hand gently. I squeezed back, hard. She laughed again, her voice a low murmur only I could hear. “Go ahead. Take it all out on me.” When we finally stumbled out of the exit, the expressions on the crew members’ faces were priceless. A mixture of shock and pure, unadulterated glee. My makeup artist discreetly showed me her phone with the live chat feed. AM I DEAF? WHAT DID I JUST HEAR?! Celina called Liam ‘Liam!’ like that! SHE HELD HIS HAND! SHE WAS HOLDING ON SO TIGHT! Okay everyone, calm down. We all know Celina is terrified of ghosts. It was just an instinctual reaction to fear. 12 Back at the villa, Evan was sitting on the sofa with red-rimmed eyes. The big screen with the live chat was right next to him. I took a peek. Poor Evan! My heart breaks for him! He twisted his ankle and couldn’t go on his date, and he had to watch Celina with another guy. I bet Liam is secretly gloating right now. Celina’s hand is tainted now. Ugh… That last one was so ridiculous I almost choked. I couldn’t help myself. I looked right at the camera monitoring the living room and said to the audience, “Her hand is tainted? Should she cut it off, then?” The viewers in the livestream were stunned into silence for a second. What is he doing? Is he talking to us? Is he mocking us?! Just then, Celina came over, having changed her shoes. “What are you laughing at?” she asked. “I’m laughing,” I said, “at the idea of you becoming a female Captain Hook.” Celina: “?” The chat suddenly erupted with “HAHAHAHA.” Celina is so confused! How does she look so beautiful even when she’s completely baffled? You know… I’m suddenly starting to feel a little bit of chemistry between Liam and Celina? Person above me, do NOT ship this! Forbidden! 13 The production team knew how to stir the pot. That night, they arranged a game of “Truth or Dare.” In a twist of fate that was definitely not staged, Celina and I both drew the exact same dare: “Call your ex.” Right. No manipulation there at all. I answered honestly. “Blocked her number, deleted her from my contacts. Can’t do it.” A few of the other contestants gave a polite, awkward laugh. But Celina was looking at me, her gaze intense. “Unlike Liam,” she said slowly, her voice carrying across the room, “I’m the one who got blocked. I can’t call him or text him.” The director, just off-camera, looked like a starved animal that had just stumbled upon a feast. The chat buzzed with speculation. Wait, what? Am I sensing some real drama here? It’s just for the show, guys. It’s scripted! Celina’s ex is obviously Evan. Don’t fall for it! Then Celina added, her eyes still on me, “I wish he would unblock me.” The director couldn’t contain himself. His voice piped in from off-screen. “If he did, what would you want to say to him?” Celina didn’t miss a beat. “I’d want to ask him where I can get the limited-edition handbag he bought me repaired. One of the studs fell off.” The director was speechless. The chat went wild with laughter. That’s my queen! Celina, you could just ask Evan right there where to get it fixed! Why fix it? Just get back together and have Evan buy you a new one! And then, Celina turned her haunting gaze back to me. “Liam,” she asked, her voice deceptively sweet. “Do you know where it can be repaired?” Me: !!!

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On my birthday, my girlfriend threw a spectacular firework display for her childhood best friend. A video of it, filmed by a passerby, blew up online. The comments section was flooded with blessings for the happy couple. Her friends all treated me like a joke. “So,” one of them teased, “what do you think about all this?” I kept my voice level. “I see it with my eyes. How else am I supposed to see it?” 1 The video was spreading like wildfire. The comments were a chorus of people calling them a match made in heaven. Listening to the joyful laughter and the explosive crackle of fireworks from my phone, the feast laid out on the table in front of me made my stomach drop to the floor. Today was my birthday. Reese had promised she’d be home early to celebrate with me. But then she’d called in the afternoon, saying something urgent had come up with her family and she’d be late. I believed her. I was planning to wait, to celebrate with her no matter how late she came back. I never imagined the “urgent business” was setting off fireworks with her childhood friend, Finn. The irony was suffocating. In the video, Reese’s usually cool, aloof face was lit up with a genuine smile. The way she looked at Finn was filled with a tenderness I had never seen directed at me. I’d never received a smile like that. Before this, I’d just assumed she was naturally reserved, that she had trouble expressing affection. A bitter smile twisted my lips. I opened the cake box and started eating alone. The cloying sweetness spread across my tongue, and suddenly, the whole thing felt pointless. I picked up my phone and called Reese. She answered quickly, her voice as cool as ever. “What’s up?” As she spoke, I could clearly hear the pop-pop-pop of fireworks in the background. I was silent for a moment, swallowing the cake in my mouth before asking calmly, “Where are you?” “At home, dealing with some things. If you have something to say, just say it.” The sound of the fireworks vanished. She must have walked away from the riverbank. Her voice was perfectly steady, with none of the guilt that should have followed a lie. I glanced at the video still playing on my tablet and felt even more drained. “Let’s break up.” “What are you on about now?” she asked, her voice tinged with annoyance. A cold laugh escaped me. “Nothing. Just check your socials once in a while, superstar.” I hung up before she could reply. Since I’d ended it, there was no reason to stay here. I looked at the untouched dishes on the table, then went to the kitchen to find containers and packed everything away. Afterward, I cleaned the kitchen, making sure to gather every single thing I had brought into her apartment. Once I was done, I called a car and went back to my own place. Reese’s apartment was close to her office. Mine was on the complete opposite side of the city. Looking back, the distance between our homes was just like the distance between us, wasn’t it? No matter how hard I tried to cross it, there was always an ocean in the way. Back at my apartment, I put the leftovers in the fridge, showered, and went straight to bed. When I woke up the next morning, there were a couple of texts on my phone. “What’s your problem?” “Weren’t you waiting for me to celebrate your birthday? Where are you?” Clearly, she hadn’t taken my advice to check online. I ignored her messages and went about my day. This wasn’t the first time something like this had happened. Whenever Finn had the slightest issue, he’d call her. He even called her to go drinking with him late at night after a breakup. I’d argued. I’d fought. I’d demanded to know why. Her answer was always the same: “You only think that way because you have a dirty mind.” And every time, after she’d ditched me for Finn, she would come back with a gift. She’d placate me, and I, like an idiot, would dive right back into the relationship as if nothing had happened. My friends all said you had to know how to handle your girlfriend. If I made a big deal out of it, I’d be the one to lose. But what nobody knew was that in this relationship, I had already lost everything. And now, I was just tired. 2 That evening, as I was leaving the office, I saw her standing outside. Reese was exquisitely dressed, her expression cool, her tall, slender frame looking like she’d just stepped off a runway. Passersby couldn’t help but stare. Normally, I would have rushed over, ushered her into the car to shield her from their gazes. But now, I just wanted to pretend I hadn’t seen her. I started walking toward the bus stop. Reese caught up in a few quick strides. She didn’t mention the fireworks, just said nonchalantly, “It’s Lily’s birthday. She invited us to dinner.” I stopped and looked up at her. “Okay.” The car ride was silent. A breeze drifted through the open window, carrying a faint scent of jasmine. It was Finn’s scent. It wasn’t unpleasant, but a random thought popped into my head. “Do you like tea-based scents?” Reese’s bright eyes flickered. “They’re alright.” Alright? Then why do I always smell this on you? I didn’t say anything else. We arrived at the restaurant. The others were already there. Finn looked genuinely surprised to see us arrive together. “Reese, Leo! You’re here. We’ve been waiting for you.” I offered a faint smile and looked at Lily. “Sorry we’re late. I didn’t have time to grab a gift.” Lily was one of Reese and Finn’s childhood friends. Reese always brought me to their gatherings, so I’d gotten to know them over time. “I got her something for both of us,” Reese said, pulling me toward the table. I don’t know if they did it on purpose, but the only two empty seats were directly across from each other. I let go of her hand and walked around the table to take the opposite seat. Reese’s expression flickered, but she didn’t say anything, sitting down in the empty chair next to Finn. I knew what her friends thought of me. From the very beginning, they never approved of our relationship. They thought I was punching way above my weight, and they treated me with a cool indifference. I used to try so hard to get on their good side, buying them carefully chosen gifts for holidays and birthdays. But I never saw them use any of it. I guess they never had any intention of accepting me. How stupid I’d been not to see something so obvious until now. I ate in silence, not saying a word. Reese chatted effortlessly with them, her hands busy peeling a shrimp. She never ate seafood unless someone peeled it for her, deeming it too much trouble. But now, she showed no sign of annoyance, diligently peeling a whole bowl of shrimp and placing it in front of Finn. Then, she casually wiped her hands with a wet nap. Finn watched her with a look of pure adoration. It was a kind of treatment I had never received. Witnessing it all, a heavy feeling settled in my chest. I told myself I was letting go, but seeing it in person still hurt. Lily noticed her actions and shot a look at me, then nudged Reese. “Hey, Reese, don’t play favorites,” she teased. “Your boyfriend is watching, you know.” Reese snapped back to reality, her eyes landing on the now-empty shrimp platter on the table. “I’ll have the waiter bring another one,” she said. “No need,” I said, calmly taking a sip of my drink. “I don’t like shrimp.” “Then have some fish.” “I don’t like it.” Reese’s brow furrowed slightly as she scanned the table. “What about the braised ribs?” “Don’t like them.” A flash of shock crossed her face, as if she couldn’t believe I’d refuse so quickly. I met her gaze, calmly picked up a napkin, and wiped my mouth. “Don’t bother,” I added. “I don’t like any of it.” “Leo, are you upset?” Finn asked, his tone probing. “If you mind, you can have my plate. You’re a big guy, don’t sweat the small stuff with Reese.” His magnanimous act painted me as the villain. “What would I have to be upset about?” I said with a dismissive smile, standing up. “You guys carry on. I just remembered I have some work I need to finish. I’m going to head out.” “Don’t go,” Lily said, her voice dripping with malice. “Are you still mad that Reese set off fireworks for Finn?” At the mention of it, Finn chimed in, “Sorry about that, Leo. I was in a bad place, and Reese was just trying to cheer me up. If it bothers you that much, we’ll make sure to include you next time we hang out.” Reese’s brow tightened. “It was just a firework display. What is there to be angry about? Leo, you’re being incredibly petty.” Her words hung in the air, freezing the atmosphere at the table. Out of her line of sight, Finn shot me a triumphant smirk, a silent declaration of ownership. It was laughable, wasn’t it? The person in the wrong had no idea she’d done anything wrong. Just like all the other times. She never recognized her mistakes. She probably thought that after a few days, I’d forget, and everything would go back to normal. I smiled faintly. “You’re right. You did nothing wrong. The fireworks were beautiful. You should do it again sometime.” With that, I turned and walked away. The moment the door clicked shut behind me, I heard Finn’s voice. “Reese, you should go after him and apologize. He’s obviously angry.” “Leave him,” she replied. “He’ll get over it in a few days.” Her words were a dagger to the heart. What had I done in the past to make her so confident, so certain I would always come back? I walked slowly out of the hotel. The autumn night air was cool and crisp. I wandered aimlessly down the bustling street, the smell of food from street vendors filling the air. Couples walked past me, hand in hand, their easy affection a sight to envy. I remembered when Reese and I were like that, before Finn came back. We would hold hands so tightly, afraid that if we let go, the other person would disappear. So how did we end up like this? My breathing felt heavy, constricted. I saw a vendor selling ice cream and, after a moment’s thought, bought a cone. The second the cold treat was in my hand, I remembered her chiding voice. “Your stomach issues are so bad. Why are you eating something so cold? Are you trying to kill yourself?” I took a dazed bite. It was just sickeningly sweet. It didn’t taste good at all. It was almost bitter. Even the air around me seemed tinged with bitterness. I was about to ask the vendor if the ice cream had gone bad when I saw another couple happily sharing a cone. It wasn’t the ice cream. The problem was me. I swallowed the lump in my throat and turned to go home. As soon as I walked in the door, a message from Reese popped up. “Are you home?” I looked at it and didn’t reply. A few minutes later, another one came through. “Everyone had a bad time tonight because of you. We’ll have to treat them again some other time to make up for it.” I still didn’t reply. Losing her patience, she called. I set my phone down and ignored the ringing. By the time I finished my shower, the phone was silent. Before bed, I scrolled through my socials out of habit and saw a post from Finn, uploaded five minutes ago. It was a photo. Reese must have called a car. She and Finn were in the back seat. She was leaning against his shoulder, eyes closed, looking peaceful. Finn’s head was tilted down toward her, his lips just an inch from hers. The caption read: No matter how much time passes, some things never change. A dry, self-mocking smile touched my lips. I left a single comment. “Congrats.” 4 The next morning, I got ready and left for work. As soon as I opened my door, I saw a bag of breakfast on the floor. I didn’t need to guess who it was from. I picked it up, walked downstairs, and tossed it into the community dumpster without a second thought. When I looked up, Reese was standing there, phone in hand, her face dark. “Did you just throw away the breakfast I bought for you?” Her voice was laced with displeasure and a simmering anger, her bright eyes fixed on me. “I told you,” I said calmly. “The things you say, the things you do, the things you give me… I don’t like any of them.” I tried to walk past her, but she grabbed my wrist. “Leo, haven’t you made enough of a scene?” “Is this a scene?” I looked at her, my expression placid. “Isn’t this how you used to treat me? So you do know what it feels like.” Like me, she had terrible stomach problems. Her doctor had insisted on a strict, regular diet. To help her heal, I had taken cooking classes to learn how to make nutritious meals. But not a single bite of the food I made for her ever passed her lips. If I hadn’t accidentally seen her giving my carefully prepared meals to Finn, I don’t know how long I would have remained in the dark. Reese was speechless. After a long moment, she said, “He had surgery a few years ago. He hasn’t fully recovered, and his system is weak. He needed those meals more than I did.” “Is that so? One with stomach problems, the other with a weak constitution. You two sound perfect for each other.” I didn’t have time for this. I shook her hand off and walked away. For the next few weeks, I threw myself into my work, ignoring every message she sent. The gifts and meals she had delivered, I had them all returned, untouched. When friends invited me out for drinks, I no longer hesitated. I did whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It was liberating. Without Reese and Finn in my life, my worries were cut in half. All that was left was the simple joy of being on my own. I had almost forgotten they existed until Lily called. “Leo, when are you getting here? We’re all waiting for you. You’re the only one missing.” I was completely lost. “Waiting for me for what?” “Didn’t you and Reese invite us out to dinner? Stop playing dumb. We’re waiting, so hurry up.” She hung up before I could respond, then sent me an address and a room number. I pursed my lips. It was time to make things crystal clear. I followed the address she sent. It was a restaurant I had mentioned to Reese before, a place I’d said I wanted to check out to see if the food was as good as the online reviews claimed. She’d always said she was too busy, that we never had the chance. A server led me to the private room. Before I could even step inside, I heard Lily’s voice. “Seriously, I don’t get what kind of boyfriend you found. He invites people to dinner and then acts like a diva. He’s just a petty, manipulative guy with a massive chip on his shoulder.” Finn chuckled. “You see it all over the internet these days. The less a man has, the bigger his temper. If he ever gives Reese a hard time, she has to promise to tell us. We can’t let her suffer in silence.” “I’m telling you, you two are the ones who are a perfect match,” Lily continued. “If you hadn’t gotten sick and had to go abroad for treatment, you’d be the one by her side right now.” Hearing that, my mind went blank. Reese had feelings for Finn? So, my suspicions were right all along. No wonder she was so unconditionally tolerant of him. He was her first love, the one that got away. “You might as well go in. Don’t just stand there like an idiot.” Reese’s voice came from behind me. I turned around, my fists clenched at my sides. “Go in for what? To hear you announce your new relationship?”

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To save the boy who had stolen my life, the girl I loved forced me to give him my skin. She was the one who personally strapped me to the operating table, ordering the surgeons to flay me alive. To ensure the graft would be a success, they denied me even the mercy of anesthesia. I screamed until my throat was raw, passing out from the agony only to be jolted awake by it again and again. When they were finally done, the operating room floor was slick with my blood. I was left there, a flayed, bleeding mess, my breaths so shallow they were barely there. Through the haze of pain, I heard her voice from outside the door. “Don’t let anyone tend to him without my order. A little pain is nothing. He needs to feel every last drop of it, and then some.” My blood seeped away, drop by drop. Infection festered in the open wounds. In my final moments, I tried to call her, just to say one last thing. But all I heard on the other end was her cold, sharp voice. “He’s making a fuss over a little piece of skin? Did he ever stop to think how much it would hurt Jeffrey when he was the one doing the hurting? He wants to see me? He can wait until he’s dead.” But when she learned I truly was dead, my childhood sweetheart, Nicole, finally broke. 1 When Mrs. Gable carried my urn back to the orphanage, the place was in chaos. A team of men was tearing everything apart, ransacking rooms as the children sobbed in terror. Standing off to the side, a beautiful, elegantly dressed woman watched with a frown of disgust. It was Nicole. The girl I had grown up with. Mrs. Gable rushed to shield the children, her voice raw. “Nicole, you’ve already tortured Ethan to death. Why won’t you leave his life’s work in peace?” Nicole scoffed, her expression dripping with scorn. “Playing dead to scam some money, are we? I guess you can’t sell that ruined face of yours anymore.” “You tell him this,” she snapped, her voice like ice. “Playing dead won’t work. Jeffrey’s arm is a mess because of him. If he doesn’t get his ass out here and give Jeffrey a skin graft, I’ll tear this entire orphanage down, brick by brick!” Mrs. Gable swayed, barely able to stand. She clutched my urn to her chest. “He can’t. Ethan is gone. He’s dead. He’ll never have to suffer at your hands again.” Nicole shot the urn an impatient glance, then suddenly lunged forward, slapping it from Mrs. Gable’s hands. It shattered on the cold floor, my ashes spilling out in a gray, formless cloud. But that wasn’t enough for her. Nicole raised her foot and ground the heel of her expensive stiletto into the pale dust, grinding my remains into the floorboards. Mrs. Gable screamed, her eyes wide with horror, and threw herself at Nicole, trying to push her away. “You’re insane! Ethan protected you his whole life! You swore you would always be good to him!” “I don’t know anyone so vile!” Nicole shoved Mrs. Gable to the ground, then brought her stiletto down hard on the old woman’s fingers, twisting her heel with vicious force. “He was so wicked. Shouldn’t his ashes be black?” “You’ve got some nerve,” she sneered. “First, you were on your knees begging me for money like a dog. Now you’re trying to scam me with fake ashes? Pathetic.” A spasm of agony shot through Mrs. Gable, but her gaze never left the scattered remains of me. Her tears had run dry; all that was left was a hoarse, repeated question. “You said he was the person you loved most. My Ethan was so kind… why can’t you even let him rest in peace?” Nicole kicked Mrs. Gable aside, venting her frustration on the old woman’s frail body. “I wish he’d died sooner. But that monster doesn’t get to die until he’s paid for his sins.” With every kick, her shoe scattered my ashes further. She only stopped when a bodyguard reported that they couldn’t find me anywhere in the orphanage. Disgusted, she wiped the dust from her shoe on Mrs. Gable’s clothes, then pressed her heel into the woman’s shoulder, as if trying to crush her bones. “Still trying to protect him, are you? Tell him to show his face by morning. Otherwise, this orphanage, and every child in it, will pay the price for that monster’s existence.” The venom in her eyes was unmistakable. As she turned to leave, she made a point of stomping on my ashes one last time. Her dozens of bodyguards followed suit, their shoes tracking my remains all over the courtyard. My heart, or what was left of it, shattered. I lunged forward, desperate to help Mrs. Gable as she tried to shield what was left of me with her own body. My soul passed right through her. The pain that hit me was so intense it stole my breath. That’s right. I’m already dead. And even if I were alive, I no longer have any skin left to give Jeffrey. So please, Nicole. Just leave her alone. Silence finally fell over the courtyard. Mrs. Gable carefully pushed herself up and began to gather my ashes, particle by particle. The urn was splintered, its sharp wooden shards digging into her palms, drawing blood. She didn’t seem to notice the pain. She painstakingly pieced the box back together and, as if handling a priceless treasure, placed every last grain of me back inside. When she was done, she acted as if nothing had happened, busying herself with making dinner for the children. It was only later, when she was alone, that she allowed herself to cough up a mouthful of blood. Her hands trembling, she lifted her shirt. The bandages wrapped around her abdomen were soaked through with fresh red. I wept, throwing myself at her. It was an old wound from when she’d sold her own blood, over and over again, trying to raise the money for my surgery. But it still wasn’t enough. That was why she had knelt before Nicole, begging for a loan. Nicole, however, had been busy buying a gift for Jeffrey. Annoyed at being blocked, she’d kicked Mrs. Gable without a second thought. It took Mrs. Gable a long time to get up that day. A pool of blood formed beneath her, but she was still determined to beg for a chance for me to live. She knelt from morning until night, only to be met with the news of my death. Old wounds torn open, new ones added. Mrs. Gable’s face was ashen, her lips pale. I wrapped my ghostly arms around her, my tears flowing as ceaselessly as the blood from her wound. This woman, only fifty, looked like she was at the end of her rope. Her hair was completely white, making her look eighty. I held her tight, my silent soul screaming with a grief that had no voice. When I was five, lost and disfigured, no one dared come near me. Mrs. Gable took me in. When I was eighteen, bitten by a venomous snake and left for dead, my family cast me out. It was her, again, who fought tooth and nail to pull me back from death’s door. After that, I stopped asking for anything for myself. All I wanted was to help her keep the orphanage running. But in the end, that one simple wish became the very thing that destroyed it all. 2 Before the sun was up, Mrs. Gable was already dragging her broken body around, helping the children pack their things. The next second, the roar of an engine shattered the morning calm as a bulldozer smashed through the front gate. Without a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Gable threw herself in front of the machine. “You’ll have to run over my dead body first! You will not destroy this place!” A dismissive scoff came from a nearby luxury car as the window rolled down. It was Nicole. “Then hand over that animal, Ethan. You don’t actually think I want to be anywhere near this filthy place, do you?” Mrs. Gable was so weak she could barely stand. She dragged a chair over and sat down, her white hair whipping wildly in the morning breeze. “Ethan is ashes now. The same ashes you trampled under your heel yesterday.” Nicole covered her mouth and let out a derisive laugh. “Still so stubborn? Did Ethan find some rich old lady to crawl into bed with this time? Or did he move on to rich old men? How much is he paying you to protect him like this?” Mrs. Gable’s shoulders trembled violently. Finally, she raised a shaking finger and pointed it at Nicole. “You monster! He protected you his whole life! You grew up together! He’s dead, Nicole, why must you humiliate him even now?” “I have no such childhood friend,” Nicole spat. “The only one I love is Jeffrey!” Beside her, Jeffrey, looking pale and fragile, gently tugged on her sleeve. “Nicole, don’t be angry. I’ll just… I’ll kneel and apologize to my brother like I used to. He always forgave me when I did that…” As he spoke, he made a move to get out of the car. Nicole immediately pulled him back, her eyes filled with a tenderness I had never seen from her before. Her own eyes reddened as she hugged him tightly. “My poor Jeffrey, you’ve suffered so much. It’s all my fault. I didn’t protect you.” Jeffrey forced a brave smile, though his eyes were red-rimmed and tears streamed down his face. “No, Nicole. Every day I get to spend with you is a happy one.” He carefully lifted his sleeve, revealing a bandage on his arm that was faintly stained with blood. He winced, trying to look strong. “It doesn’t hurt at all, Nicole. I just want to be by your side. I just wish… I wish my brother could find it in his heart to accept me.” His tears were all it took. Nicole’s fists clenched. She slammed her designer handbag against the steering wheel, screaming my name in a fit of rage before turning to soothe Jeffrey. “Don’t worry. He will never mean more to me than you do. When I find him, I’ll make him wish he were never born!” But I already wished I were never born. I floated beside Mrs. Gable, my soul feeling like it was being ripped apart. I couldn’t breathe. I had long given up on any hope of family affection. But Nicole… Jeffrey only needed a small patch of skin. Why did you have them take so much? So much that I couldn’t possibly have survived. After comforting Jeffrey, Nicole gave the order. A swarm of men poured into the orphanage. The bewildered children were thrown outside. The tables and chairs Mrs. Gable cherished were smashed to pieces. The floor was a sea of splinters and broken memories. Amid the children’s wails, Mrs. Gable desperately tried to intervene but was knocked to the ground, a spray of blood erupting from her lips. She didn’t bother to wipe it away. Her hand trembled as she pulled a piece of paper from her pocket. “Nicole, if you won’t believe me that Ethan is dead, surely you’ll believe this! It’s a death certificate from the hospital!” For a split second, I could have sworn I saw Nicole’s body jolt. She finally stepped out of the car. But before she could take the paper, Mrs. Gable’s phone lit up in her hand. It was an email. A scheduled email I had set up to send to her. The sender’s name—Ethan—glowed on the screen like an irrefutable piece of evidence. Nicole let out a short, sharp laugh. And then, without a second thought, she grabbed a nearby watering can and hurled it at Mrs. Gable. “You two should be actors!” she shrieked. “I almost fell for that bastard’s tricks again!” “Since you’re both so determined to die, fine! I’ll grant your wish! Men, do it!” At her command, the monstrous machines roared to life. The building, filled with the laughter of children and all my happiest memories, collapsed in on itself with a deafening groan. Mrs. Gable, small and withered, threw her body against the demolition, trying to stop the unstoppable, her frail form quickly covered in cuts and bruises. “No! It’s not… that was…” Her voice was swallowed by the thunderous crash. Forgetting I was dead, I flew towards the machines, trying to block them. But they passed right through me, again and again. In my desperation, I fell to my knees, pounding the ground with my spectral fists. Tears of pure anguish hit the dirt. Nicole, why? Why wouldn’t you just look closer? You would have seen it. They were all scheduled emails. And every single one of them was my last will and testament. Mrs. Gable and the children were held back by the bodyguards, forced to watch as the orphanage was reduced to rubble. I cried until my entire being went numb. Through my tears, I saw a flicker of triumph in Nicole’s eyes. I always knew. She didn’t just hate me. She hated this place. Because once, long ago, it was the scene of her deepest, most shameful humiliation. 3 “Cough, cough…” Hearing Jeffrey’s faint cough, Nicole immediately rushed back to the car and shut the window. “Ugh, this place is as filthy as Ethan himself. Jeffrey, just hold on a little longer. We’ll be back at the hospital soon.” Jeffrey coughed the entire way back. Nicole was frantic, calling the hospital director and demanding he be waiting at the entrance. All the while, she cursed my name. “Ethan is a plague. If it weren’t for him, you wouldn’t be coughing like this!” When the test results came back, Nicole leaped from her chair. Jeffrey was having a rejection reaction to the skin graft. It could be fatal. The most effective solution was a full blood transfusion… from me. Before Nicole could even speak, Jeffrey weakly sat up, his eyes full of tears. He looked so fragile, so considerate. “Nicole, no. We can’t hurt my brother again because of me.” “It was my fault for taking his place. This is what I deserve. Please, Nicole, don’t make things difficult for him on my account. Just let me go… It’s just… I can’t bear to leave you.” He buried his face in her shoulder and sobbed, as if he were already on his deathbed. Nicole’s heart broke. “Don’t say such foolish things. How could I ever watch you die? You’re the love of my life. If you die, I’ll die with you.” “Don’t worry,” she vowed. “I’ll find Ethan, dead or alive. I will drag him here to give you his blood.” I watched their melodrama with a cold, hollow laugh. So, Jeffrey did know he had stolen my place. When I was five, I was lured away from home, fell down a ravine, and a branch tore a gash across my face, deep enough to expose the bone. Mrs. Gable found me and raised me for five years. When I finally returned home, I discovered that ‘I’ had been there all along. His name was Jeffrey. My parents claimed they had brought him in to avoid gossip while they searched for me. But when they saw the ugly, centipede-like scar that twisted my features, they never mentioned switching us back. From then on, I was called Ethan. It meant burden. After I came home, my parents couldn’t hide the disgust in their eyes when they looked at me. It only got worse when a group of rich girls shrieked and cried at the sight of my face. I was officially kicked out of the main house and forced to live with the servants. All the while, I saw him, Jeffrey, hiding behind a pillar, smiling. At first, Nicole would stand up for me. But slowly, the elite school, the lavish parties, the coming-of-age ceremony… everything that should have been mine was given to him. And the girl who once stood by my side, who promised to always protect me, would just tell me coldly that it was what I owed Jeffrey. The day I was supposed to register for college, Jeffrey informed me that my spot had been given to him, too. I didn’t believe it until he showed me the acceptance letter. My name was gone. His was there instead. Before I could explode, he leaned in close, his eyes glinting with triumph. “Everything that’s yours will be mine,” he whispered. “Including that pretty face. After all, I was the one who ruined it in the first place.” The forgotten memory hit me like a physical blow. It wasn’t a branch. It was a rock. He had done this. I finally snapped and slapped him across the face. The next second, Nicole shoved me to the ground. My hand landed on something cold and slithering. My parents rushed Jeffrey to the hospital, not even sparing me a glance. A searing pain shot up my arm. I looked down and saw a snake latched onto my flesh. I tore it off, but the venom was already spreading. With my last ounce of strength, I called for an ambulance. When I woke up, the person by my bedside was Mrs. Gable. A few days later, my parents paid me half a million dollars to disappear. Nicole stood by, watching me with cold fury, telling me I got what I deserved. And just like that, Jeffrey had taken everything from me. So, was this part of his plan all along? My skin, my blood, my very life? Fine. Let her search. I was suddenly morbidly curious to see Nicole’s face when she finally realized there wasn’t even enough of me left for a proper burial.

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I came home with the breakthrough technology that would save my husband’s company, ready to give him the surprise of his life. The first surprise, however, was mine. Splashed across every screen in the airport was the breaking news: Larry Armitage, my husband, returning to our ‘love nest’ with another woman. At first, I brushed it off. Women had been throwing themselves at him for years, and he’d always dealt with them before I even had to lift a finger. But when I arrived at the gala he was hosting at our estate, the smart gate scanned my face and chimed with a cold, robotic voice: “Permission insufficient. Access denied.” I used my backup key, only to be met with the shriek of a high-decibel security alarm. And then, stepping out of the grand entrance, was the woman he’d told me was dead. His first love. She was wearing my wedding ring. Isla Hayes looked me up and down with a sneer of pure contempt. “This party is for people who can make the whole city shake with a single phone call. And what are you supposed to be?” she scoffed. “Get lost, before I call the cops.” Her smug, triumphant expression was so infuriating I had to laugh. “Get Larry Armitage out here right now,” I snapped. “I want an explanation. Since when does he let any and every piece of trash into our home?” 1 “A lunatic, raving at the gate? Are the security guards dead?” Isla gave me a strange look, and the assistant hovering behind her immediately started barking at me. “Who the hell do you think you are, using Mr. Armitage’s name like that?” Isla crossed her arms, her eyes flicking to the employee ID card still clipped to my jacket. “Just some low-level drone. Call HR. Have her fired.” Fired? Isla clearly had no idea that I was the primary investor in the entire Armitage Corporation. I’d never wanted to work at such a small company in the first place, but Larry had begged me for three months straight, whining that his heart ached every second we were apart. I’d only relented to put his mind at ease. And now his mistress was standing on my doorstep, trying to have me fired from my own company. I strode past her, heading for the security intercom to confront Larry myself. The fingerprint scanner glowed green, and a moment later, Larry’s face appeared on the screen. He was holding a champagne flute, schmoozing with a circle of business elites. “Hey, what’s wrong? Forget the passcode again?” he chuckled, his voice dripping with affection. “My little scatterbrain. Honestly, you’re so hopeless sometimes. I’ll have my assistant come get you in a minute. Mom’s waiting for you to come chat with her.” His tender tone stopped me cold. He had no idea I was back in the country. Seeing her chance, Isla shoved me aside, pressing her face to the camera and cooing, “Honey, just tell your mom to wait a little longer for me. I’ll be right there.” Mom? Could it be? Was his mother—the woman who’d always looked down on me, who treated me with nothing but thinly veiled contempt—in on this too? The moment he heard Isla’s voice, Larry’s gaze softened, his expression melting into a look of pure adoration that made my stomach churn. “Larry Armitage,” I snarled, my voice raw. “Get your ass out here right now!” He frowned. “Who’s that?” Isla shot me a venomous glare. “Just some beggar. I’m about to get rid of her.” Larry’s face hardened. “The guests tonight are the most important people in this city. Don’t let a piece of trash like that ruin everything.” The man who’d clung to me at the airport just before I left, his eyes red as he told me how much he’d miss me, now couldn’t even recognize my voice. Fury surged through me. I shoved my face in front of the camera. “Larry, look at me! It’s me! I guess you don’t want the core technology after all, do you!” Before the words were even out of my mouth, Isla’s assistant grabbed me by the hair and slammed me to the ground. Isla strode over and slapped me hard across the face. The diamond on my wedding ring—the one now on her finger—sliced my forehead open. Blood streamed down my face. Larry glanced coldly at my bloody, unrecognizable face. He didn’t even register who I was. “Get rid of her,” he said, his voice flat. “The company is at a critical turning point. I don’t need distractions like this.” Then he cut the feed. The silence that followed was deafening. My heart turned to ice. When his company’s technology was failing, he’d been so consumed with worry he couldn’t sleep for nights on end. So I personally led a team overseas, pouring three years of my life, my health, my very blood, into developing a solution. I had come home to give him a wonderful surprise. I never imagined he’d have an even bigger one waiting for me. It seemed that while I was in the lab, suffering from radiation exposure, vomiting blood and in and out of the hospital, he was busy rekindling an old flame. If that’s how it was, then whether his company survived or not had nothing to do with me anymore. I turned to leave, but Isla blocked my path. “Made your scene and now you want to just walk away? What about our family’s reputation?” She nodded at her assistant, who grabbed my shoulders and forced me to my knees. I had never been so humiliated in my entire life. My parents’ empire was based overseas, but our connections and resources in this country were second to none. It was the only reason Larry Armitage had gone from a complete nobody to one of the city’s most powerful figures overnight. Furious, I pulled out my phone and dialed the police. Isla just watched me, a smug, unbothered smile on her face. “Go ahead. Call whoever you want. Even if you called the president himself, I wouldn’t be scared.” Her voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “Even if I killed you right here, in front of everyone, he wouldn’t dare do a thing to me. You should know who runs this city, shouldn’t you?” Soon, two police cruisers, lights flashing, screamed up to the gate. “Alright, break it up! What’s going on here!” I recognized the officer in charge. My own uncle had personally promoted him. Isla’s smugness was practically radiating off her. I raised an eyebrow, a cold fury settling in my gut. If Larry was going to play this game, I had no problem slapping him in the face in front of the entire city. I struggled to my feet. “Isla Hayes, for assault and battery. I don’t want compensation. I want her to rot in a cell—” Before I could finish, the officer walked right past me and addressed Isla with a fawning deference. “Mrs. Armitage. Are you alright?” I couldn’t believe it. I’d had dinner with this man just before I left the country. How could he turn on me so completely? Isla’s lips curved into a triumphant smirk. “I’m fine. Just some trash causing trouble.” The officer’s face hardened as he turned to me. I stared at him, my expression blank. “Have you forgotten who my uncle is?” A flicker of fear crossed his eyes, but he quickly covered it with a blustering arrogance. “Disturbing the peace in a public place. We’re taking you in. Let’s see how tough you are then.” It all clicked into place. While I was away, the entire city had accepted Isla Hayes as the new Mrs. Armitage. A humorless smile touched my lips. “Fine. Then you can get ready to turn in your badge.” He swallowed hard, panic flashing across his face. Isla’s assistant spat on the ground. “Crazy bitch! Threatening a police officer! Take her away! Mr. Armitage himself gave the order!” I ignored him, my eyes locked on the officer. “Are you sure you want to do this to me—” Before I could finish, he drew his stun baton and slammed it into my stomach. The fear in his eyes was replaced by a brutal resolve. “I don’t care who you are! In this city, what Mr. Armitage says, goes! Let’s see how long that tough mouth of yours lasts down at the station!” It felt like my organs had been rearranged. Agony ripped through me, and a cold sweat beaded on my forehead. At his signal, the other officers closed in. I clutched my stomach, my voice like ice. “I am Larry Armitage’s wife. I dare you to touch me. Do you have a death wish?” The other officers froze, hesitating. Isla spat. She brought the heel of her stiletto down on my hand, grinding it into the pavement. “So that’s it. You’re trying to seduce my husband! You shameless whore. Today, I’ll make an example of you for any other little trollop with ideas.” She pressed down, and the sharp heel bored a bleeding hole in my palm. I bit back a scream. Still not satisfied, she snatched the baton from the officer and brought it down hard on my head. Blood gushed, blurring my vision. As I thrashed on the ground, the USB drive containing the core technology tumbled from my pocket. I instinctively reached for it, but Isla was faster. Seeing the amount of blood, the lead officer grew nervous. “Ma’am, let’s not take this too far. Let me just take her in.” Isla shoved him away. Her assistant puffed out his chest. “Take it too far? Armitage Corporation has enough money to buy a dozen lives like hers! Didn’t you hear? Some guy bumped into Ms. Hayes at a coffee shop last week, and Mr. Armitage had his hands broken!” Isla grabbed my chin, her nails digging into my flesh. “His wife couldn’t even compete with me. And you think you have a chance climbing into his bed?” My blood ran cold. “You know his wife?” Her eyes gleamed with victory. “Just some useless, washed-up hag. She ran off to another country with her tail between her legs, didn’t she?” So Larry had never told her the real reason I was gone. Before I could speak, Isla addressed the growing crowd of onlookers. “Whoever gives this bitch the beating she deserves gets ten million dollars!” That was all it took. The police stepped back, and the crowd surged forward, shouting obscenities. “We hate sluts like you who throw themselves at married men!” “You’re not leaving here until you bow down to Ms. Hayes a hundred times!” Someone stepped on my shoulders, forcing my face into the dirt again and again. Another person grabbed my arm, trying to break my fingers. I gritted my teeth, my voice shaking with rage. “Isla, the data on that drive is the core technology Larry needs. I suggest you let me go. Or he will never forgive you!” Isla picked up the drive, examining it. “Core technology?” She paused, then laughed dismissively. “One minute you’re his wife, the next you’re an employee. Do you even believe your own lies?” With that, she dropped the drive and crushed it under her heel. “Let’s just see how he never forgives me.” Her assistant then unleashed a volley of slaps, so many I lost count. The taste of blood filled my mouth. My face swelled until it was unrecognizable. Isla smiled, the victor. She turned to the crowd, her voice a sharp warning. “This is what happens to any delusional fool who thinks she can climb into Larry Armitage’s bed! If I find anyone else trying to seduce my man, they’ll end up far worse than her!”

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