After I died, I became my enemy’s cat. He spoiled me rotten, even bought me a set of those recordable word buttons for pets. A press of the paw, and a mechanical voice would announce: Hungry. Litter box. Treat. He tried to teach me with endless patience, but I loved to piss him off, so I’d just slam my paw on a random jumble of them every time. But on the anniversary of my death, he drank himself into a stupor, all alone in his room. He cried, clutching a photo of me like a madman, sobbing about how much he regretted everything, how much he missed me. He even said he loved me. “I love you, too.” His head snapped up, his eyes wide and unfocused. I slammed my paw down again, hard. The robotic female voice echoed through the room once more: “I. Love. You. Too.” 1 I was in love with Caleb Hale for ten years. But the man I loved fell for my long-lost sister the moment she came back into our lives. What was so great about her, anyway? Claire was folksy and unrefined. How could she ever compare to me? So why was it that the second Caleb laid eyes on her, it was like a lightning strike, and he couldn’t look away? I couldn’t accept it. So, like every cliché villainess in every story, I decided to drug him. I’d sneak into his hotel room in the dead of night. A drunken mistake, a one-night stand that could blossom into love. Everything went according to plan, until the first ray of sunlight hit the face of the man beside me. He looked about seventy percent like Caleb, but there was a small, dark mole just beside the bridge of his nose. A scream tore from my raw throat. When he saw me, his own face went pale. “How the hell is it you?” he choked out. “Where’s Claire?” It was only later that I understood. In a pulpy bestseller, this would have been the triumphant climax—the moment the scheming side character gets her humiliating comeuppance. Except we weren’t the masterminds of this story. We just stared at each other, a long, stunned silence stretching between us as the same horrifying realization dawned: we had both, with extraordinary and terrible synchronicity, hatched the exact same plan. And we had both ended up with the wrong person. As if the universe demanded another twist of the knife, the hotel room door swung open at that exact moment. Claire stood there, clinging to our parents’ arms, a few crocodile tears tracing paths down her cheeks. “See, Mom, Dad?” she whimpered. “I told you. Ethan doesn’t like me.” That was the first time I learned his name. Ethan. He was the older brother of the man I loved. And he, I discovered, had been informally engaged to my sister since they were children—an old family understanding that was put on hold when she went missing. Ever since Claire had been found and brought home, the rumor was that Ethan had been nothing but difficult and cold toward her. The gossip in our circle was that Ethan was ambitious and obsessed with appearances; marrying a girl who’d grown up in the middle of nowhere was an embarrassment. But I could see the truth. I saw the way his eyes followed her. He was falling for her, too. He was just too proud and cruel to admit it, so the story had apparently assigned him the role of the brooding man destined for a dramatic, groveling redemption arc. The outcome of this whole sordid, predictable mess was this: I was ordered by my family to take Claire’s place and fulfill the marriage pact with the Hale family. It was a disgrace, they said, but at least it was a neat solution. A happy ending for all. A happy ending? It was a damn tragedy. Ethan was the last man on earth I could ever love. And the feeling was mutual. I called him a manipulative, cold-blooded snake. He called me a green-eyed, venomous bitch. We were forced into a marriage that lasted five years. We fought for all five of them. Every time I’d try, pathetically, to catch Caleb’s attention, Ethan would be there, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. “Ava, your most terrifying flaw isn’t that you’re cruel. It’s that you’re stupid and cruel.” And whenever he’d get that tight-lipped, jealous look on his face over something to do with Claire, I’d lean in close, my voice sweet as poison. “Need a mirror? Your clown nose is practically glowing.” Other people had romance. We had pure, unadulterated hatred. Until the year Claire went through the ordeal every damsel in a drama is destined to endure: she was kidnapped. At three in the morning, Ethan got the call. He was out of bed and dressing in an instant, without a flicker of hesitation. I watched him from the bed, my voice dripping with ice. “Don’t rush. You won’t be the hero who gets to save her.” He shot me a look that could have frozen fire. “Ava, do you have a conscience? That’s your sister.” Something in my head snapped. “Do you? You’re married to me.” He froze, his hands stilling on the buttons of his shirt. I let out a sharp, mocking laugh. “Ethan, what exactly do you expect me to say right now?” “Wish you and Claire a long and happy life together?” His jaw tightened. The look he gave me was one of profound disappointment. Maybe it was the strange, disorienting haze of the late night, but I pushed further than I ever had before. I said, “Ethan, if it were me dying tonight, would you be this worried?” I never got his answer. He vanished out the door. But when he arrived at the designated location, he found it was a trap. A clumsy, obvious diversion. Claire was perfectly safe, nestled cozily in a mansion with Caleb, the two of them looking utterly baffled to see Ethan storm in. As realization hit him, his eyes went wild. He tore out of there, speeding home. But he was far, far too late. 2 My name is Ava. And I think I’m dead. But not quite. I tried to clear my throat. “Meow.” I’d be lying if I said I didn’t freak out. I scrambled over to a dirty puddle on the pavement and finally saw my reflection. White paws, a mottled black-and-white face. This was… this was the stray I used to feed every day on my doorstep. A cold sweat, or what passed for it on a fur-covered body, broke out. I didn’t know how any of this had happened, but I knew one thing for sure… If I didn’t find something to eat, and fast, I was going to die a second time. This little body was starving. It had been seven days. Probably because I’d been missing for seven days. My house had been empty all week. I figured they were all out looking for me. Just as I was contemplating begging for scraps at the neighbor’s, a sudden pressure tightened around the scruff of my neck. I cursed a blue streak in my mind. And then I was staring up into the magnified face of Ethan Hale. He held me up, his brow furrowed as he studied me. “I know you,” he said, his voice quiet. “Ava used to feed you.” The frantic, angry meows died in my throat. I was, to put it mildly, surprised. He remembered the cat I fed. His gaze softened, and he clumsily, awkwardly, pulled me into his arms. “She called you Patches, didn’t she? What a stupid name.” Logically, I should have clawed him. But maybe it was just my imagination… When he said that, his voice was rough, laced with a sorrow I didn’t expect. I gave his hand a tentative, gentle lick. His long fingers began to scratch behind my ears, a touch so tender it sent a shiver through me. He finally let out a long, ragged sigh. “My house… it’s so empty. It’s so cold I can’t even stand to go back.” He looked down at me, his eyes pleading. “You’ll stay with me, won’t you? Please.” 3 Hell no! I’ve had enough of you to last a lifetime! I let out a fierce yowl and sank my teeth into his wrist, launching myself out of his arms with every ounce of strength I had. This body was still new to me, but… Legs, run! If I could just outrun him, my new cat life would be… It would be… Wait. Meow? Meow meow meow? I skidded to a halt. Was it just me, or the farther I got from Ethan, the fuzzier my human thoughts became? I took a cautious step back. The stream of creative insults I had for him in my head immediately became sharper, clearer. Did this mean… if I got too far away from him… I’d turn into a real cat? The sound of his footsteps grew closer. As his face, that face I had loathed for so long, came back into focus, the despair returned. I’d rather be a cat than be stuck with him. A cat’s life is one of freedom! The world is my territory! I arched my back, ready to spring toward the community gate. “My journey to the stars beg—!” And then I was dangling by the scruff of my neck again. “Running away?” Ow ow ow ow ow ow ow! Damn you, Ethan. I swear on this flea-bitten life, I will have my revenge! 4 I never knew Ethan Hale was such a cat person. He treated me like royalty. He bought me the most extravagant cat tree, a veritable skyscraper of sisal rope and plush carpeting. He fed me the most expensive canned food every day and cleaned my litter box three times a day without fail. Boxes of toys arrived constantly, some discarded before their packaging was even fully removed. He even took out a ridiculously expensive lifetime pet insurance policy on me. When Claire and Caleb came to visit, they were speechless at his lavish, almost obsessive, pet-parenting. Caleb tried to reason with him, but Claire gently held him back. I heard her whisper with a sigh, “He’s just grieving. This is how he’s coping.” I let out a soft meow. How absurd. Grieving? Ethan Hale? For me? Not buying it for a second, I rubbed against Caleb’s leg, hoping he might talk some sense into his brother. A cold laugh echoed from above. “Of course. Her cat. Acts just like her.” I froze mid-rub. You have got to be kidding me. Are you jealous of a cat? Wait a minute… He was jealous? Over me? The next thing I knew, I was scooped up into his arms. My world went dark. Dude, we can talk about this. Put me down. Your cat-holding technique is atrocious! My tail! You’re crushing my tail! You monster, Ethan! I struggled, meowing furiously, my claws itching to come out. But he didn’t get the hint. He just tightened his grip, as if he was terrified I would escape and run back to Caleb. After a solid minute of this one-man, one-cat standoff, Claire finally cleared her throat. “You know,” she said, her voice strained with a forced smile, “I saw these things online recently… these recordable buttons for pets to ‘talk’.” “They say cats are incredibly smart. I bet Patches could learn in no time.” I let out a weak, hopeful meow. Claire. My dear sister. Whatever bad blood was between us, in this moment, you are a saint. A goddess to all felines. Ethan was silent for a moment, then he lifted me closer to his face. “Talk?” I wagged my tail expectantly. He tilted his head. “Sounds interesting. But she looks like the type to secretly curse me out.” He bought the talking buttons anyway. For no other reason than his brother’s breezy comment: “Oh, yeah. Our golden retriever learned how to use those months ago.” Ethan’s lip curled into a sneer. He immediately ordered the super-deluxe, thousand-word-vocabulary edition. They covered the entire floor of the living room. I wasn’t sure if he was trying to teach me to speak or train me for a feline marathon. Every night, he’d patiently take my paw and begin our lessons. “This one is ‘hungry.’ This one is ‘thirsty.’ This one is ‘litter box needs scooping.’” The only thing that needs scooping is your brain. If I couldn’t understand human speech, there was no way his teaching method would work. He’d be waiting a hundred years for cats to evolve into sentient beings. He patted my head. “Give it a try.” Try my paw. I rolled my eyes and slammed my paw down, producing a string of nonsensical words. He sighed, disappointed. “You’re so dumb.” I stared at him, deadpan, and then slowly extended my paw. “Jerk.” His brow furrowed. I blinked innocently. “Meow?” It was then that he picked up an old sweater of mine and held it under my nose. “Here, girl. You knew her. Can you smell where she is?” A strange warmth spread through my chest. So, he was still looking for me. And while I was also morbidly curious about the location of my own body… That’s a job for a dog, you idiot! What do you want from me? My only skill is inhaling canned tuna! Go ask your brother’s eloquent golden retriever! I couldn’t speak, but my glare must have conveyed the sentiment. He reached out to smooth my fur. The moment his hand moved, my fur stood on end. For the first time, a shadow crossed Ethan’s face. A raw loneliness. “You hate me that much.” He was looking at me, the cat, but his words felt like they were aimed at someone else. At the me I used to be. I sighed. Alright, alright. The great and powerful cat bestows her mercy upon you. I’ll humor you, for a moment. I rolled over, exposing my belly, and flicked my eyes up at him. Go on. Pet the soft tummy fur. He didn’t move. I let out a few soft, coaxing meows. His face went grim as he pulled out his phone. “Hello, vet? Yes, my cat rolled onto her back and is making strange noises. Is she dying?” 5 I gave up. You can’t help a man who is determined to be clueless. I couldn’t escape, so I might as well get comfortable. Everyone else quickly got used to my presence. They even praised me. Because after a short period of what looked like depression, Ethan seemed to return to his normal self. They all said it was me, his furry companion, who had helped him heal so quickly. I almost choked on a laugh when I heard that. They all knew the truth. He wasn’t sad because he never cared about me in the first place. Our marriage was a well-known disaster, a chaotic mess of flying sparks and bitter words. And he played the part of the heartless widower perfectly. Aside from those first few moments after he found me, he almost never mentioned Ava. Even when someone would accidentally let my name slip and apologize profusely, he wouldn’t even bother to look up. “It’s fine.” And everyone else would rush to smooth things over. “It’s good that you’ve moved on. You have to look forward.” He would always nod, a polite, detached smile on his face, not even bothering to feign grief for a single second. Honestly, I wasn’t disappointed. Any hope, any delusion, any lingering attachment I had for him had been burned out of me back when I was human. And being a cat was a pretty sweet deal. A few meows a day earned me premium food and endless toys. When he was at work, I could even hop on the computer and play a few games. The only remnant of my existence seemed to be the daily morning call from our housekeeper. It was like clockwork, the words always the same. “Sir, we still haven’t found Mrs. Hale.” And every time, he’d hang up without a word, as if he couldn’t be bothered to waste another second on the call. Until today. After the housekeeper’s usual line, she added something new. “It’s been a year, sir. Should we keep looking?” I was lounging on his lap, licking a paw. I rolled my eyes. A year. If they were going to find me, they would have by now. He never really wanted to find me anyway. Ethan was probably just waiting for an excuse to stop. But to my surprise, his voice came out tight, strained. “Keep looking.” I sighed. Right. Still playing the part of the devoted, grieving husband, are we? His cool fingers absently stroked my head. “Be good, Patches. I’m heading to work.” The motion caught my eye. There was something on his finger. “Meow.” I nudged his hand with my paw. He paused. Two pairs of eyes—one human, one feline—stared down at his left ring finger. It was a single strand of hair. A long, burgundy-red, wavy strand of hair. Ava’s hair. One night, when he was drunk, he’d suddenly complimented my hair, saying it was beautiful when it was long and straight and black. My heart had leaped for a second, before I turned and saw Claire, with her identical, gentle, dark hair. The very next day, I dyed my hair burgundy and had it styled in big, dramatic waves. I’d even bought a slinky red dress to match, and waited for him in the living room, arms crossed. “Like it?” He had stared at me, speechless for a solid three seconds. “You look like a siren.” I never changed the color after that. And now, exactly one year after my death, that single strand of hair was wrapped around his finger. It wasn’t that surprising, I guess. Long hair gets everywhere, and it’s a pain to clean up. God knows when it had fallen out. Ethan let out a small, humorless laugh and flicked his finger. It didn’t come off. He tried again, with more force. Still there. The third time he raised his hand, I was about to offer to claw it off for him. But instead, he covered his eyes with his hand. My paw froze in mid-air. Holy hell. Unbelievable. Was he crying? How could he be crying? I let out a tentative meow, trying to see if maybe he just had something in his eye. But a single, hot, salty tear dropped onto my nose. And then I watched, completely stunned, as his silent tears turned into choked sobs, his shoulders shaking with the force of his grief. I curled into a ball on his lap, my mind a chaotic whirl. As ridiculous as the conclusion sounded… I think… He was thinking of me.

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My marriage to Liam Sterling was a merger, a union of two dynasties. On the night we signed the papers at City Hall, he stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows of his penthouse, smoking one cigarette after another. Then he told me he was in love with someone else. A girl he described as poor but resilient, a wildflower growing in the cracks of the city pavement. I was quiet for a moment. I didn’t tell him that I’d been quietly in love with him for years. Instead, I asked, “So what happens now?” He gave a small, humorless smile, the city lights glinting in his cool gray eyes. “Give me two years. I won’t be the man whose life is dictated by others forever.” His voice was low, cutting. “Then, we’ll divorce. But don’t worry,” he added, a gesture toward magnanimity, “I’ll make sure you and the Calloway family are compensated.” I agreed. But when that day finally came, he was the one who wasn’t ready to let go. 1. Three months into my marriage with Liam, I finally saw her. Ava. It was my birthday. The Sterling family had been planning the party for half a month. The venue, the catering, the champagne—everything was the absolute best. I overheard someone whisper, “Old man Sterling really treasures his new granddaughter-in-law.” “Every person with any real power in New York must be in this room tonight.” They weren’t wrong. And yet, even in a room full of power and precision, things go wrong. The crystal chandelier directly above me began to fall. In that split second, the only other person in its path was a waitress clearing glasses. The room erupted into chaos. I was already moving to get out of the way when I saw Liam cut through the crowd, his eyes fixed, his expression urgent. He was rushing toward the danger. And then he ran right past me and grabbed the waitress, pulling her into his arms. The final tableau was this: my arm, sliced open by a shard of falling crystal, and the waitress, held tightly in Liam’s protective embrace. I had never been so publicly humiliated in my life. It only lasted a second. Liam seemed to register what had happened, releasing the woman and rushing to my side. He scooped me up and carried me out of the ballroom and straight to the hospital. To the rest of the world, the incident was smoothed over, a husband’s frantic concern for his injured wife. When I woke up, Liam was standing by the window of the private hospital room, his back to me, talking on the phone. “You shouldn’t have come today,” he was saying, his voice low and tight with emotion. “If you had been hurt… what would I have done?” A pause. “This thing with her… it will end. I promise. Just wait for me, okay?” Just two sentences. That’s all it took for me to understand. The waitress was Ava. The woman he wanted to marry but couldn’t. He turned then and saw my eyes were open. A flicker of relief crossed his face. I tried to smile, but my mouth wouldn’t cooperate. He walked over to the bed, one eyebrow slightly raised. “You’re awake.” I managed a nod. In the three months since we’d signed the papers, our interactions had been polite, professional, like two colleagues sharing office space. We’d barely spoken since our wedding night. The silence in the room now was absolute. Finally, he broke it. “You’re not going to ask for an explanation?” “I don’t need one,” I said, my voice flat. “I know who she is.” A small, almost bitter smile touched his lips. “You’re just as smart as you were in high school.” 2. After he left, my best friend, Jessica, came to visit. “The Sterling mansion is in total chaos,” she said, fluffing my pillows. “But I have to say, the way Liam carried you out of there… he looked terrified. Is this a secret romance? An enemies-to-lovers situation? I’m so happy for you, Claire. When you first got married, I was so worried. But now? I think it’s only a matter of time before you conquer that untouchable man.” Sunlight streamed through the window. I thought about an hour before the party, when I’d been opening gifts in our bedroom. Liam’s was the last one I opened. It was a necklace from Tiffany’s. A delicate, beautiful thing. I put it on immediately. And just before the chandelier fell, I had seen it: a bracelet from the same iconic blue box, on Ava’s wrist. My surprise gift was just something he’d picked up while buying a real gift for someone else. “I’ve already agreed to it,” I said suddenly, my voice quiet. “We’re getting divorced in two years.” Jessica shot up from her chair, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and anger. “What? Why? Are you insane? Is he cheating on you? Is that it?” I managed a weak smile. It wasn’t like that. Liam wasn’t that type of man. In fact, he was fiercely protective of Ava’s reputation. He loved her quietly, terrified that the vultures in our world would find her, pick her apart, or tarnish her name. Besides me, only his closest circle of friends knew he had fallen for a woman so far outside our social stratosphere. “No,” I said. “And as for why… I can’t tell you yet. But it’s decided. I gave him my word, and I’m going to keep it.” A lifetime with a man who didn’t love me, versus the tangible benefits he and his family could offer mine. Anyone could do that math. Jessica stared at me for a long moment, then sighed, her shoulders slumping. She didn’t press. “But Claire,” she said softly, “you’ve been in love with him for so long.” I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. What did it matter? I met Liam Sterling when I was sixteen. We were lab partners in AP Chemistry for a semester. When I came down with a fever, he carried me to the nurse’s office and sat with me all morning, missing the final basketball game of the season. When kids whispered that my mother was a homewrecker and I was the illegitimate daughter, he was the one who shut them down, telling me to hold my head high. We co-hosted the winter formal; he would say a line, and I would finish his thought. And then, at twenty-three, when our families were brokering our engagement, we sat across from each other at a polished mahogany table. He looked at me with a polite, distant gaze and said, “I’m sorry, have we met before?” He had forgotten me. In that moment, I couldn’t breathe. I hadn’t changed that much. I was still quiet, still preferred dresses, still didn’t smile much. The only real difference was the subtle makeup I wore now, instead of the bare face of my teenage years. But he didn’t remember. All those moments that I had clung to like a life raft had just been casual acts of kindness for him. He wasn’t kind to me; he was just a kind person. So I smiled, pretending it was nothing. “You don’t remember? Mr. Harrison’s history class, junior year. I’m Claire Calloway.” Liam’s brow, which had been furrowed in concentration, relaxed. He let out a soft sigh of recognition. “Oh. Right. It’s you.” 3. Liam came to the hospital to pick me up himself on the day I was discharged. The room was cluttered with gifts from friends and relatives—fruit baskets, bouquets, my own toiletries and clothes. He packed everything meticulously before taking care of the paperwork. Downstairs, he carried all the bags. The elevator was crowded, and he stood beside me, positioning himself slightly in front, creating a protective barrier around me. Even then, juggling everything, he looked effortlessly composed. When we stepped out into the lobby, I turned to him. “Thank you,” I said, and I meant it. Liam glanced at me. “Don’t mention it. After all…” He trailed off, his sentence unfinished. His gaze shifted, looking past me toward the hospital entrance. I followed his line of sight. It was Ava. She was dressed simply, holding a paper pharmacy bag and supporting a middle-aged woman who was walking with a pronounced limp. As I watched, I realized the woman’s left leg was unsteady, making each step a struggle. I pulled my attention back to Liam, but he was already gone. He was walking away quickly. I hurried to catch up. I don’t know if I was desperate to talk to him or just morbidly curious, but the words tumbled out of my mouth before I could stop them. “Shouldn’t you go say hello? I can get a cab home.” Liam stopped so abruptly I walked right into his back. He looked down at me, his expression unreadable. “That won’t be necessary. Let’s go.” I nodded dumbly. As we started walking again, his voice came, soft but laced with steel. “Claire.” “I told you about her because I didn’t want any unnecessary drama. But if you think that gives you the right to interfere in our lives… you’re mistaken.” The hospital lobby was bustling with people. I dropped my gaze to the floor. “Oh.” “I’m sorry,” I mumbled. “I overstepped.” He treasured her. Of course he wouldn’t want anyone from his world to see her like this, to look down on her or judge her circumstances. 4. After that day, I never brought up Ava’s name again. Neither did Liam. But I knew he was watching over her. Living in the same house, you overhear things. I learned that Liam had secretly arranged a job for her—good salary, respectable position. To protect her pride, he had used a chain of connections so convoluted that even the person who hired her had no idea the request originated from Liam Sterling. He went to incredible lengths for her. There were countless other things just like that. As time went on, even I started to believe that if they didn’t end up together, it would be a cosmic injustice, proof that the universe had no regard for true love. My relationship with Liam remained cool and distant. He’d felt a sliver of guilt over my injury, but my thoughtless comment at the hospital had erased it completely. It was two months before things between us started to thaw. And, of course, it was because of Ava. Her mother, the woman I’d seen at the hospital, had been in a car accident years ago. She had a check-up every few months. One rainy afternoon, she slipped while bringing in laundry, hitting her head. A neighbor found her and rushed her to the emergency room. As luck would have it, Liam was in a different city for an all-day board meeting. Ava couldn’t reach him. Desperate, she came to the Sterling estate. That same afternoon, Liam’s grandmother had summoned me. She’d just returned from an auction with several new pieces of jewelry and wanted me to pick something out. I was halfway through examining a sapphire bracelet when I heard a knock at the front door. For some reason, my eyelid twitched. I stopped the maid who was going to answer it and went myself. When I opened the door, I saw Ava’s pale, desperate face. She froze when she saw me, her lips pressing into a thin line. “I’m looking for Liam.” Before I could speak, Liam’s grandfather appeared in the grand foyer behind me, his voice booming. “Claire, who is it? It sounded like someone asking for Liam.” I panicked, my eyes meeting Ava’s. Then I turned back to the old man, forcing a smile. I looped my arm through Ava’s, pulling her into the light and into the view of the Sterling family. “Grandfather, this is a friend of mine. She’s here to see me.” Grandfather Sterling gave us a long, meaningful look. After a moment that stretched into an eternity, he nodded. “Well, don’t let us keep you. I’ll have the driver take you wherever you need to go.” “Thank you,” I said, and quickly pulled Ava out of the house. 5. I didn’t take the driver. Instead, I went to the garage and got the keys to one of Liam’s cars. At first, Ava refused to get in. “Do you know where he is?” she asked. The moment Liam and I were married, she had blocked his number. My birthday party was the last time they’d spoken, and even that was on his assistant’s phone. In her own way, she was a proud and resilient woman. I rolled down the window, my expression hardening. “He’s not coming back today.” “You came to him because it’s an emergency. Whatever he can do, I can do. Get in the car, and I’ll help you. If not, you’re on your own.” Ava stared at me, her gaze intense. Then, she opened the passenger door and got in. She gave me the address for the hospital. I didn’t hesitate, pulling out onto the main road. When we arrived, I handled the admissions paperwork, paid the initial fees, and called a friend of mine who was a surgeon to get her mother the best doctor in the hospital. When it was all done, I went to wait outside the surgical wing. And that’s when I saw him. Across the long, sterile hallway, there was Liam. He looked like he’d flown straight here, still in his suit, his hair slightly disheveled. He was crouched down, comforting the woman he loved. He reached out and gently wiped a tear from her cheek, then took off his suit jacket and draped it over her shoulders. “I’ve got it from here,” he told her softly. “Everything will be okay.” Ava nodded, her eyes red-rimmed. “Okay.” I knew I wasn’t needed anymore. I left the hospital, opened my phone, and sent Liam a brief text summarizing what I’d done. Then I went home, took a shower, and waited. At one in the morning, his reply came. Two words. Okay. Thank you.

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Alex and I had a rental-unit kind of love. The kind built in a space that was never truly ours, filled with furniture we promised we’d replace one day. Lately, that space had felt emptier than usual. He was a ghost, leaving before sunrise and returning long after I’d fallen asleep. Tonight, when he finally walked in, reeking of the city and exhaustion, something in me snapped. I slapped him. The sound was sharp and ugly in our small living room. And then the text appeared, floating in my vision like a cruel, omniscient narrator’s notes. 【The hero was just about to pull the engagement ring from his pocket. The side character just slapped it right back in.】 【If only she had shown him an ounce more understanding, the fortune he’s about to build wouldn’t have fallen into the heroine’s lap.】 【One slap. It shattered the last of his pride. This is where they go their separate ways…】 I closed my eyes, the words burning behind my lids. Then I opened them and slapped him again, on the other cheek. “What’s in your pocket?” 1. Alex lifted his head, his lips pressed into a thin, white line. His skin was naturally pale, and against it, the two red imprints of my hands stood out like graffiti. Stark. Shocking. I flexed my stinging fingers. “I asked you what’s in your pocket,” I repeated, my voice steadier than I felt. 【LMAO, does she really think he’s still going to propose after this?】 【Don’t worry, our girl is on her way to comfort him.】 【It wouldn’t be a side character if she didn’t self-destruct.】 The floating commentary was impossible to misunderstand. I was the self-destructing side character. The villain of my own story. Alex and I were locked in a stalemate. It was clear now that whatever was in his pocket was staying there tonight. His phone buzzed on the coffee table. I sighed, the fight draining out of me. “Fine. Go answer your phone.” I turned and walked toward the bedroom. As I passed the table, my eyes caught the name on the screen. Lana. Definitely not a man’s name. Could this be her? The heroine the comments were cheering for? A wave of nausea hit me. It’s a lie to say it didn’t hurt. Alex and I had known each other for five years, been together for three. We both came from nothing, two kids from working-class towns who decided to brave the city together after college. To save on rent, moving in together was a no-brainer. Our apartment was small, but every mismatched mug, every scuffed piece of IKEA furniture, every throw pillow, we’d picked out together. We’d polished this temporary box into a home, warm and lived-in. We even adopted a cat, Milo. My gaze swept over our little world, a lump forming in my throat. Soon, all of this might just be a memory. I collapsed onto our bed, and the tears I’d been holding back finally broke free. Just as I’d expected, I heard the front door open and click shut. He left. He went to find someone else. The realization ripped through me, and a sob tore from my throat, raw and ugly. My heart seized, a physical, stabbing pain. My first love. My first everything. And it was ending. “Waaaaah…” In the empty apartment, the only sound left was the echo of my own grief. 2. I don’t know how long I cried before exhaustion pulled me under. When I woke, Alex was sitting on the edge of the bed. He stared at my swollen eyes, a strange mix of anger and amusement on his face. “You hit me, and you’re the one crying?” His anger seemed to have faded. Someone had clearly done a good job of soothing him. I turned my back to him, refusing to even look at him. If he wasn’t going to break up with me now, what was his plan? To see us both? When he reached for me, I slapped the back of his hand away. “Don’t touch me with your filthy hands!” That did it. Alex shot to his feet, his voice tight with fury. “Filthy? Chloe, I shouldn’t have bothered going out to get you ointment!” Ointment? I glanced down at my hand. A thin layer of a pale, soothing balm was spread across my knuckles. But what did that prove? It was just a final, desperate twitch from a dying relationship. Since he wouldn’t say it, I would. “Alex, let’s break up.” 【Whoa, didn’t expect the side character to be the one to end it.】 【Yeah, but wait until she sees how successful he becomes. She’ll be the one crawling back.】 【Just break up already. You two are toxic.】 Alex froze, his face a mask of disbelief. “What did you say?” “I said, let’s break up. I’m tired.” He looked down at me, his voice eerily calm. “I want to know why.” I sniffled, the words tumbling out. “Because I’m tired of waiting up for you until one or two in the morning. Sometimes I don’t see you for days. You know I hate the dark, Alex.” But the real reason was simpler. It was better for me to dump him than for him to dump me. At least this way, I could keep a shred of my dignity. 【This girl is killing me. The man is grinding to build a future, and all she can think about is herself. She deserves to be broke forever.】 【He was right not to propose. A girlfriend like this will only drag him down.】 【The heroine is so much better. She supports his career and gives him the emotional validation he needs.】 That’s what Alex was thinking too, wasn’t it? 3. I secretly wiped a tear from my eye and started pulling my clothes out of the closet. Alex watched me, his voice softer now. “I told you, once this project is over, I’ll make it up to you. Why don’t you believe me? I don’t agree to this breakup. You don’t have to move out right away. I won’t come back for a few days. Just… cool off.” And then he was gone again, leaving me alone. I did the math. The lease was up in two weeks. I could stay here while I looked for a new place. I went about my days, work and home, keeping myself busy enough not to think about him. Three nights later, there was a knock on the door. I assumed it was Alex, back already. I checked myself in the mirror, smoothed my hair, and opened it. But it wasn’t him. It was a woman I’d never seen before. She gave me a bright, practiced smile. “Hi, I’m a friend of Alex’s. He asked me to pick up a few things for him.” The feeling was instant—a sharp, cold needle straight to the heart. I forced myself to stay calm. “You’re Lana, aren’t you?” She blinked, just for a second, then nodded. I handed her the bag of files she’d pointed to. As she turned to leave, the words came out before I could stop them, a painful litany of my love. “He doesn’t like to be bothered after he’s been drinking. Just let him sleep it off. And he has a severe peanut allergy, so be careful with takeout. Remember to pack him a mask every day, he’s sensitive to strong smells on the subway…” The woman’s smile turned smug, victorious. “Okay, got it. I’ll be sure to take very good care of him for you.” The moment the door closed, my legs gave out. I slid to the floor, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. The comments flared to life again. 【Tonight’s the night! The hero and heroine get drunk at the bar, things get heated, and he finally realizes who his heart truly belongs to.】 【So hot. He goes all night.】 【Our girl is gonna be so sore tomorrow. Poor baby!】 Alex wouldn’t agree to a breakup but would sleep with someone else that quickly? All night? I didn’t even know he had that in him. A reckless, self-destructive urge took over. I needed to see it. I needed to let the reality of it cauterize this wound shut for good. I went to the bar they mentioned in the comments. I checked room after room in the private lounge area until I got to the one at the very end of the hall. Before I could even touch the handle, I heard it—the kind of sounds that make you blush. “Oh, Alex, harder…” “I’m so close, ah…” My hand trembled on the doorknob. I couldn’t believe this. I couldn’t believe he could be so… cheap. A sour taste filled my mouth. Well, I came all this way. I might as well witness for myself how completely the man I loved for five years could disappoint me. The door swung open. A shriek pierced the air. Two strangers, a man and a woman, stared back at me, their faces a mixture of terror and outrage. Realization dawned. I mumbled an apology and backed out, my face burning. Just as I turned, I saw Alex and another woman walking into a different private room down the hall. So I’d just had the wrong room. The small flicker of relief I’d felt moments ago was instantly extinguished.

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Riding the elevator after midnight. A handsome guy walks in, an iron chain dangling from his wrist. I stare at the chain. He thinks I’m nervous. “Don’t worry,” he says, trying to reassure me. “It doesn’t bite—holy crap, where’s my dog?” 1 Two in the morning. The world was dead silent. I was standing in the elevator when a man in a face mask stepped in. The eyes visible above the mask were gorgeous. I didn’t dare look for long. A quick glance and my head was down. But then my gaze froze on the floor. An iron chain, thick as my thumb, was stretched taut from the man’s wrist. He casually rotated his wrist, and the chain let out a soft, metallic clink. Late night… elevator… iron chain… handsome man… Put it all together, and it felt unnervingly weird. I swallowed hard, the gulp echoing in the silent car. He must have noticed my anxiety. His eyes crinkled into a smile. “Don’t worry,” he said soothingly. “It doesn’t bite… Holy crap, where’s my dog?!” I pressed my lips together, shut my eyes, and fought with every fiber of my being to suppress the gale of laughter threatening to erupt. My face turned purple from the effort. The elevator was still ascending. The man looked like he wanted to pry the doors open and leap out. He paced frantically, a perfect picture of a doting dog owner in full-blown panic. A few seconds later, to my utter astonishment, he started to cry. 2 His eyes were bloodshot, tears welling up, making him look utterly pathetic. I fumbled in my purse and handed him a tissue. “Hey, don’t cry. I’ll help you look for him. We’ll find him.” He took the tissue, his voice low. “There are so many dog-nappers these days. I’m scared he…” “No way,” I said, my tone firm with a certainty I didn’t feel. “We’ll definitely find him.” He seemed to calm down a little at my words, his wet eyes fixed on me. “Thank you. I’m Wyatt.” “Chloe.” The moment the elevator doors opened, Wyatt shot out like a cannonball. Since it was the middle of the night, he had to keep his voice down, calling out in a strained whisper, “Boxer! Boxer!” I wanted to laugh but didn’t dare. What kind of person names their dog Boxer? Maybe the dog ran away because he was embarrassed by the name. Wyatt’s search was… thorough. He lifted manhole covers to peer into the darkness. I half-expected that if a woman in a skirt walked by, he’d try to lift that too, just to check if his Boxer was hiding underneath. As he was prying open the third manhole cover, I finally had to say something. “You don’t really think he’s in the sewer, do you?” “You don’t know him,” he said, his voice strained. “Boxer’s smart. He knows how to hide from people.” Uh… smart is one word for it. Possessed is another. We searched the entire complex, but there was no sign of Boxer. Seeing the color drain from his face, I made a suggestion. “We’re not getting anywhere like this. I have a friend who runs a city-wide info group. When the sun comes up, we can post a lost dog notice. More people, more eyes on the ground.” Wyatt rubbed his face, defeated, and agreed. Under the pretense of adding him to the group, I got his number and added him on a messaging app. Then we parted ways in the elevator. Back in my apartment, I collapsed onto the sofa, staring at the ceiling, savoring the name on my tongue. “Wyatt…” After a moment, I got up and pushed open the door to the spare bedroom. “Boxer, dinner time.” 3 A Shiba Inu leaped up and started licking my face with an enthusiasm that would make a stranger think I’d raised him from a pup. He was just like his owner—far too trusting. I mixed some wet food with his kibble and set it down, stroking his round little head. “We’ll get you home in the morning, okay? Your brother’s handsome face was about to collapse from worry.” Boxer glanced up at me before burying his head back in his bowl. I hadn’t turned on any lights. The only illumination came from the faint glow of my laptop screen, which displayed an open document. Wyatt, Male, 23. Well-known esports streamer. Lives alone, Apt. 1601. Walks his dog late every night. Style is mostly athletic wear. Loves small animals, terrified of cockroaches… I thought for a moment, then added a new line: Cries easily. Quick to trust others. The document’s creation date, stamped in the lower-left corner, was a month ago. It had been edited a staggering 56 times. I opened my phone and sent a thank-you payment to my little brother. If he hadn’t snipped Boxer’s collar just before Wyatt got on the elevator, this whole thing would never have gone so smoothly. Wyatt treasured that dog too much. Time flew, and suddenly it was 7 a.m. The building’s security cameras were down for maintenance last night but would be back online at eight. I had to get Boxer back before then. I was about to leave when my eyes caught a small container on the table. I paused. Maybe… I should make the most of Boxer’s role in this. 4 Outside apartment 1601. I took a deep breath and knocked. A moment later, Wyatt appeared. “Boxer?!” I shifted the dog in my arms. “Surprised?” A radiant smile spread across Wyatt’s face. “Completely! How did you find him?” I lied through my teeth. “I went back down for another look after you went home. Lucky for us, he hadn’t gone far.” Wyatt’s lips were pressed together, his eyes overflowing with a gratitude so intense I thought he might bow. The instant he reached out to take Boxer, I squeezed the hidden plastic baggie under my shirt. A wet patch spread across my front. I let out a gasp. “He… he peed on me!” Boxer turned to look at me, his expression one of pure shock, as if to say: Seduce your man, fine, but why you gotta drag me into it? I shot him a reassuring look. Don’t worry. Once I’ve landed your brother, you’ll get a truckload of gourmet canned food. Wyatt was mortified. “I am so, so sorry. Boxer’s never done that before. He must have been scared from getting lost. Let me buy you a new outfit.” I waved his offer away with a magnanimous gesture. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just go home and take a shower.” I took two steps, then patted my pockets with a look of dawning horror. “Uh… I was in such a rush, I forgot my keys.” My performance was Oscar-worthy. My sweet, unsuspecting rabbit of a target bought it completely and extended the wolf-inviting invitation. “If you don’t mind… you can use my shower.” 5 Standing in Wyatt’s bathroom, I let out a long, satisfied sigh. Could this be any easier? My Plan B was completely redundant. Just as I finished showering, there was a knock on the door. A pale, slender hand reached in. “This is new. You can wear it.” I took the shirt, my damp fingertips “accidentally” brushing against his palm. His hand froze for a second, then snatched back as if he’d been burned. A triumphant little smirk played on my lips. So shy. Calling him a little rabbit was an understatement. I slipped on Wyatt’s shirt and studied myself in the mirror. Something was missing. Ah, got it. I quickly wet the ends of my hair, letting droplets fall onto the front of the shirt, making the fabric cling to my skin. Wyatt was a head taller than me, so his shirt came down to my upper thighs, completely hiding the hot pants I wore underneath. It looked like I was wearing nothing but his shirt. Finished, I mentally cursed myself a hundred times. Chloe, oh Chloe, aren’t you afraid you’ll shorten your life with all these schemes? I pushed the door open, but Wyatt was nowhere in sight. Where’d he go? Just as I was wondering, he returned, laden with shopping bags. His eyes landed on me and stopped. His handsome face turned a visible shade of crimson. The bags in his hands clattered to the floor. “You… you…” I channeled my inner damsel, looking at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What’s wrong?” He waved his hands dismissively. “N-nothing.” He crouched down to pick up the scattered items. An opportunity for close contact like this? I wasn’t about to let it pass. I crouched down nearby to “help” him, sneaking glances at his perfect profile and the red tips of his ears. Only one item remained on the floor. Wyatt and I reached for it at the same time. And my hand landed directly on top of his. The timing, the place, the mood… it would be a crime if something didn’t happen, right? Just as I was about to make my move, a long, brown object leisurely crawled into our line of sight. My pupils contracted. I shot a look at my purse on the sofa. The small white box must have fallen out. Damn it. My Plan B has escaped. A cold sweat broke out on Wyatt’s forehead. He was frozen in fear. “Ch-Chloe,” he stammered. “There’s a cockroach.” My words of comfort were pure gasoline on the fire. “Don’t worry, don’t worry. It’ll leave on its own after it’s done eating the people.” 6 Wyatt let out a shriek that nearly gave me a heart attack. He shot up and sprinted toward the bedroom like his life depended on it. Halfway there, he skidded to a halt, turned back, and grabbed my arm, pulling me along with him. As I ran, I shed a few crocodile tears. If he knew I was the one who brought the cockroach, would he still be so chivalrous? Wyatt slammed the bedroom door shut with a loud bang and leaned against it, his face a mask of post-traumatic stress. I played along, clutching my chest and panting. After a moment, he finally realized something was off. “The window screens are closed, and I sprayed insecticide along the walls. How did a cockroach get in?” I spun a tale with a perfectly straight face. “You just went out, didn’t you? It must have followed you in then.” “That makes sense.” I had to bite my cheeks to keep from laughing. Was this guy for real? He was way too easy to fool. Wyatt’s bedroom was immaculate, everything in its proper place. In the center was a king-sized bed that looked incredibly soft. I walked over and sat on the edge, watching him with a playful expression. Now he remembered to be shy again. He stood in the corner like a schoolboy being punished, facing the wall. “Come sit down. You’ll get tired standing there.” Wyatt shook his head, his ears glowing red. “I’m not tired.” I didn’t push it. I made small talk, and after a while, I steered the conversation toward palm reading. “I know a little about palmistry. Want me to take a look for you?” That piqued his interest. He came and sat a careful distance away from me, holding his hand out. I took his hand, noting the well-defined knuckles, my fingertips tracing light patterns across his palm. I spoke with feigned authority. “You have a money-bag pattern. That means you’ll have great fortune. Your life line is clear and unbroken, extending all the way to your wrist. That predicts a long life. And your love line… it gets much thicker right here, at age 23. That means you’ll meet your true love that year. By the way, how old are you?” “…Twenty-three.” I feigned surprise, my face a picture of “Congratulations!” “Well, then it must be this year.” 7 Wyatt stretched his lips into a slight smile and was about to say something when we heard Boxer scratching at the door. He got up to let him in. Boxer, however, completely ignored his owner and trotted straight to me. He looked up at me with his big, soulful eyes, his mouth holding something. I understood immediately. I played along, holding my hand out in front of him. The silly dog opened his mouth, and a large, saliva-covered cockroach dropped onto my “life line.” …Was this Boxer’s revenge? If so, he won. I may not be afraid of cockroaches, but that doesn’t mean I want one sitting in the palm of my hand. In that instant, every hair on my body stood on end. I flung my arm so hard I nearly dislocated my wrist, feeling an urge to break into a frantic dance. In a stroke of terrible luck, the poor little roach was flung directly onto Wyatt. And then… it took flight. It buzzed around the room, looking for all the world like it really was about to eat someone. “Ah!” “Ah!” My scream and Wyatt’s nearly blew the roof off. We scrambled for the living room, a two-person stampede. But the doorway wasn’t wide enough for two adults to pass through side-by-side. I was practically lifted off my feet, my legs churning uselessly in the air. Just then, something pushed me from behind. I lost my balance and tumbled forward. Wyatt, quick as a flash, grabbed my arm and cushioned my fall with his own body. … My hands were pressed against Wyatt’s chest. I stared at his handsome face, now just inches from mine. Our noses were less than a centimeter apart. A slight tilt of my head and I could steal a kiss. The firm, resilient feel of his chest muscles telegraphed through his thin t-shirt to my palms. Even in this position, a stray thought crossed my mind: I guess you could say Plan B was an indirect success? My gaze traveled down his face, from his eyes to his nose, finally resting on his beautifully shaped, thin lips. With an opportunity this good, should I kiss him? Or kiss him? Or… kiss him? Wyatt’s heart hammered against my hands. His eyes darted away. “…The floor is cold. We should get up.” I agreed readily. As I moved my hands away, my fingernail “accidentally” grazed a very sensitive point on his chest. A low, magnetic groan escaped his throat. He had already started to push himself up, but that single touch sent him falling back to the floor. His clear eyes seemed to mist over.

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The second year of our dynastic marriage, the ghost of his first love came back to town. Then, a car crash stole my memory. When I woke up, the cold man who was my husband had vanished. In his place was a stranger who kissed my fingertips with a reverence that felt like a prayer. “Don’t try to remember,” he whispered, his voice a low murmur. “You just need to know that we’re happy.” But that night, when I stood at his bedroom door clutching a pillow, his gaze turned dark, his voice a gravelly warning. “Are you sure you want to come in?” … Later, when the fog cleared and every memory returned, I packed my bags, ready to leave the wreckage behind. I ran right into him, stumbling home, reeking of whiskey. He cornered me, quietly locking the door before advancing, a slow, predatory smile playing on his lips. “Where do you think you’re going? Running off to that TA of yours?” He leaned in close, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Did you really think I’d just let you go, Chloe?” 1 “What do you remember?” Carter asked. I lay in the sterile hospital bed and shook my head. “Nothing. I remember nothing at all.” His eyes, the color of a stormy sea, studied me for a long, silent moment. Then, using my driver’s license and other documents, he began to reconstruct my life for me, piece by piece. Finally, he lifted my hand. Slowly, deliberately, he brought my fingers to his lips, his kiss a lingering, tender caress. “It’s okay if you can’t remember,” he murmured against my skin. “You just need to know that we have a very happy marriage.” I wasn’t sure if there was a double meaning in his words, but a blush crept up my neck anyway. I felt a pang of shyness, but I had to know. “Are we… in love?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. His last kiss landed on the delicate skin of my wrist. Carter’s gaze met mine, his eyes dark and unreadable, like pools of ink. “Of course.” Maybe it was the unnerving sincerity in his eyes, or maybe it was the practiced intimacy of his touch. Whatever the reason, I didn’t question him. I chose to believe. 2 I became attached to Carter. Clingy, even. That was the doctor’s assessment. “It’s likely a form of attachment dependency,” she’d explained gently. “He was the first person you saw after the trauma. It’s a natural response.” … Following the doctor’s advice, Carter took me downstairs for a walk around the hospital grounds. A sharp, cold wind hit me, and I shivered involuntarily. “Cold?” He let go of my hand, already starting to shrug off his heavy wool coat to drape it over my shoulders. I realized Carter Hayes had surprisingly low emotional intelligence. I reached out, pressing my hand against his chest to stop him. The next second, I wrapped my arms around his waist and burrowed into his chest, seeking the warmth of his body. “This way,” I explained, my voice muffled against his shirt, “neither of us will be cold.” I tilted my head back to look up at him, my expression serious. “A lesson in efficiency.” Then, a flicker of doubt crossed my mind, followed by a surge of hurt. “Carter, do you really love me?” The accusation was soft, wounded. “Why do you never hold me?” The air around us shifted. The darkness in his eyes deepened, swirling with something I couldn’t name. By the time I sensed the danger, it was too late. He pulled me into a deserted alcove, out of sight. Cupping my chin with one hand, his mouth descended on mine. “I love you.” The words were a low growl against my lips, a breath before he stole mine completely. His voice, usually so cool and distant, was thick with a raw, suppressed emotion that the charged atmosphere seemed to amplify. “How could you ever say I don’t love you?” I clung to his shoulders, my head swimming as I yielded to the kiss. Halfway through, he paused, his lips still brushing against mine. He peppered my cheek with a series of small, frantic kisses. “Is this too much?” he asked, his voice strained. I bit my lip, my entire body feeling as hot and flushed as a boiled lobster. “I don’t think I’m very good at this…” I confessed, mortified. “Did I forget how? Or was I always this bad?” Ignoring my question, Carter wrapped his coat around me anyway, leaving himself in just a thin button-down shirt. His fingers traced the shell of my ear, which was burning red. He didn’t answer. When he spoke again, his voice was a low, hypnotic rasp. “Want to try again, Chloe?” he whispered. “This time, you lead.” He wanted me to be the aggressor, to kiss him the way he’d just kissed me. I prayed for a nurse or another patient to walk by, to save me from this paralyzing mix of embarrassment and anticipation. But the corner was too secluded. No one came. In the month since I’d woken up, Carter’s care had been relentless. I saw it in every gesture. He was a perfect, attentive husband. I owed it to him to try… “You have to bend down,” I mumbled, my final words almost inaudible. “I can’t reach…” A ghost of a smile touched Carter’s lips. He obliged, lowering his head. I moved slowly, tentatively, mimicking his earlier actions, my kiss clumsy and inexperienced. The arm around my waist tightened, pulling me impossibly closer. 3 A few days before I was discharged, a guy I didn’t know showed up at my room. Carter was out getting us some soup. He introduced himself as Leo, my TA from my master’s program. He sighed dramatically, a playful glint in his eye. “Please tell me you at least remember the experiment we were halfway through. My academic heart can’t take the rejection.” He handed me his lab notebook. As I scanned the pages, the procedures felt surprisingly familiar, like a muscle memory I didn’t know I had. “I think I remember this,” I said, surprised. “I could probably pick it up again in a few days.” Leo let out a breath of relief. He smiled, raising his hand as if to pat my head. “What are you doing?” The voice was quiet, but it sliced through the air. I had already flinched away from Leo’s hand and was looking past him. Carter stood in the doorway, a faint, unreadable smile on his face. His tone was light, but his eyes were full of shadows. “This is my husband,” I explained quickly. Leo just shrugged, completely unfazed. “So?” Carter didn’t even give me a second to process the shock. In one fluid movement, he strode forward, grabbed Leo by the back of the head, and slammed his face down into the small sink in my hospital room. “Ah!” Carter looked like such a refined, civilized man. I never would have imagined this capacity for violence. “What’s wrong?” Carter asked Leo, his voice deceptively calm. “Just helping you clear your head.” He leaned in closer. “Next time you open your mouth, make sure you understand what the word ‘husband’ means.” Then he turned on the faucet. Ice-cold water gushed over Leo’s head. His muffled sputtering finally snapped me out of my stupor. Barefoot, I scrambled off the bed and rushed over, grabbing at Carter’s arm. “Stop it, Carter! You’re not angry anymore, okay? Let him go.” He was immovable, his eyes as cold and blank as a frozen lake. I glanced at Leo, who looked like he was about to drown. In a panic, I tugged harder on Carter’s arm. “Husband…” I pleaded. He froze. Slowly, he released his grip, his gaze shifting to me, heavy and unreadable. Leo gasped for air, then, like a fool, raised a fist. “You son of a—” I stepped between them, my expression flat. “Leo, you were the one with no boundaries. You can’t really complain about getting your ass kicked. Just drop it.” He stopped, his fist still in the air. He stared at me, a strange, meaningful look in his eyes. “Chloe,” he said slowly, his gaze flickering to Carter. “You should hear someone else’s version of your memories.” “Do you really think you can trust a story from a single source?” With that, he slumped away, slamming the door behind him. “Why aren’t you wearing any shoes?” The menacing aura around Carter had completely vanished. He simply scooped me into his arms and carried me back to the bed. My attention diverted, I momentarily forgot Leo’s warning. I looped my arms around his neck, not letting go just yet. Our eyes met, and a slow smile spread across my face. “Husband.” The man went perfectly still. “You really like it when I call you that, don’t you?” His answer was a kiss, swift and hard, leaving no room for negotiation. His tongue pushed past my lips, demanding entry. By the time he let me go, I was dizzy and breathless. He nipped gently at my lower lip, his voice a low rumble. “Say it again.” I could feel the heat radiating from his palm against my back. I decided it was safer to retreat. I looked at him and blinked innocently. My voice was muffled. “Carter.” 4 During my stay in the hospital, as I was slowly re-learning who I was, I discovered a problem. Carter and I had never taken wedding photos. One day after my discharge, I finally found some free time and decided to visit him at his office to set a date. “Carter, oh my god, I am so fried. My brain is literally melting. Can I just peace out for the rest of the afternoon? Please?!” I froze in the doorway. A young woman, bright and chirpy as a songbird, was flitting around Carter’s desk. And Carter, sitting in his imposing leather chair, hadn’t said yes. But he hadn’t told her to back away, either. Suddenly, I felt like I had been blind to a thousand tiny details. The girl looked up then and happened to spot me. Her demeanor changed instantly. She stood up straight, shot me a dismissive glance, and walked out without a word. The moment Carter’s eyes met mine, the cold indifference in them melted into warmth. He came over to me, enveloping my hands in his. “Why are your hands so cold?” He lifted them to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across my knuckles. “Hmm?” he prompted gently. I didn’t move. I just stared at him for a long moment before speaking. “Carter.” My voice was quiet, steady. “I need you to tell me the truth.” I paused, steeling myself for whatever might come next. “Before the accident… did you really love me?” My voice cracked on the last word. “Please, don’t lie to me.”

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In my last life, I gave up everything to care for my brother. I never married. I never left. In this one, we were reborn together. The first thing he did was get rid of me. He traded me for the girl who was supposed to be the family’s changeling, the one whose fate was intertwined with his. He took me, still wrapped in a hospital blanket, and left me on the street. “Don’t blame me for this,” he whispered, his voice a strange mix of a child’s and an old man’s. “You’re the reason Sophie died.” 01 The year I was born, a relentless Southern drizzle seemed to hang over Virginia for weeks. Liam Donovan, the family’s firstborn son, took three days off from middle school. He raced back to our small hometown, his school uniform soaked from the journey. No one knew. No one could see that inside this quiet, serious boy, with his ramrod straight back and steady gaze, lived a soul carrying the weight of two lifetimes. He was freshly reborn, his heart overflowing with the bitter regrets of a life already lived. He didn’t spare a single glance for me, his newborn sister. Instead, he found a way to bribe a nurse on the maternity ward. He arranged it so the baby from the other life—the one mistakenly swapped at birth—was brought to our parents, presented as their rightful daughter. He was the one who carried me out of the hospital. He placed me in a flimsy cardboard box. Together, we took a long bus ride to the city’s frayed edges. And the other girl, the one wailing louder than I ever could from her swaddled blankets, would now carry the Donovan name. She would become the “little sister” everyone cherished, the one they would move heaven and earth for. The greatest regret of Liam Donovan’s previous life was the girl he’d lost—the brilliant flight surgeon he believed was his destiny. He’d spent decades mourning her, a ghost he could never let go of. And me? His actual sister? I was the one who found my way back to the family at eighteen. I was the one who never married, who taught myself rehabilitation medicine to pull him, paralyzed, from his wheelchair and give him back his life. But the only person he ever saw, the only one he ever yearned for, was the girl he thought I had forsaken. The fake one. The Donovans of Virginia, in that other life, were a legacy family. Military heroes, decorated by the state, their story splashed across three consecutive issues of the Armed Forces Journal. This time, Liam would rewrite it all. He would do it at any cost. Lying in the box, I quietly opened my eyes. Because he wasn’t the only one. I was reborn, too. 02 In our first life, Sophie and I were switched at birth. She became the Donovan heiress. I was sent home with a blue-collar family from the other side of town. When I was three, a car crash left me an orphan, and I was thrown into the foster system. I spent the next decade and a half living on eggshells, just trying to survive. Sophie, meanwhile, lived a life of pampered luxury. She became Sophie Donovan. She was the jewel of the family, the only sister her brother ever acknowledged. She went to the best schools, learned ballet and piano, and studied abroad. Everyone adored her. I was eighteen when they finally brought me home. That year, I walked through the grand gates of the Donovan estate in worn-out sneakers and a faded dress from a donation bin, carrying a battered suitcase. I saw my brother standing in the manicured garden. He was tall and proud in his Air Force dress blues, silhouetted against the afternoon sun. He frowned as I approached. “You’re Cora? You look… provincial.” My brother was one of the nation’s top pilot prospects. Sophie became a brilliant flight surgeon. In photographs, they stood shoulder to shoulder, their smiles radiant. A perfect pair. Until the year I visited them on base. An engine failed. The jet crashed on landing, and the wing pinned them both underneath. As the rescue team worked frantically, the lead medic turned to me, his face grim. “Ma’am, I’m sorry. We can only move on one of them right now. You have to make a choice.” I hesitated for only a second before I said, “Save my brother.” Everyone blamed me. They said I murdered Sophie. But I never regretted it. I started studying rehabilitation therapy, working day and night. I spent ten years of my life getting my brother out of that wheelchair, helping him reclaim his dignity. I never married, never had a life of my own. I took care of him until his dying day. As he lay fading, his pale hand rested on mine. His voice was a fragile whisper, but every word was a dagger to my heart. “Cora… I wish you’d saved Sophie.” I froze. It felt like the weight of the world had just crashed down on me. I finally understood. Even at the very end, he didn’t have a single word of thanks for me. 03 He walked a long way, the box held tightly in his arms. From the hospital, he took a bus that rattled through the old downtown district, all the way to the most neglected part of the city, the East End. Finally, he stopped at the mouth of a crumbling alley choked with weeds and knelt. He stared down at me, his face pale, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Cora,” he began, his small hands trembling. “Don’t blame me.” “Sophie’s death… it was too horrible. In the last life, she died because of you… I don’t blame you, not really, but she… she deserved a life of sunshine, a life without a single worry.” He placed me in the shadows of the alley entrance. He gently tucked the blanket around me. “Someone will find you here. You can just be… a normal person this time.” He stood up. His eyes were red, but he stubbornly turned his face away. “Cora, I’m just begging you. This time, stay away.” He left. He never looked back. My reborn consciousness was already wide awake. But I was a baby. I had no voice to protest. I lay in the shadows. I watched his small figure disappear, and all I felt was a profound, chilling cold. 04 A heavy downpour began to fall. I opened my eyes again. The sky was the color of a dirty dishrag. The wind tore through the alley, making the leaves on the overgrown bushes rustle violently. He was long gone. I was barely a day old, my body impossibly weak. I didn’t even have the strength to cry. Only a faint, choked whimper escaped my throat. The rain soaked through my blanket. A fever began to burn through me, my vision swimming with white spots. In the distance, I could hear the snarling of stray dogs. It sounded like claws tearing at my heart. I couldn’t move. I could only stare up at this strange, hostile sky. I thought of my past life. I had devoted my entire existence to medicine. I spent forty years caring for my brother, only to be told, “I wish you had saved her instead.” This time around. The very first thing he did upon his rebirth… was cast me out. I closed my eyes, the smell of wet earth and rain filling my senses. My consciousness started to fray, to dissolve. Until a gentle woman’s voice cut through the noise. “What was that sound? Is it a kitten?” Another voice, a man’s, followed, laced with a hint of teasing affection. “Well, we can take it home. You’ve always wanted a kitten.” 05 A faint light pierced the darkness. It was the hazy glow of a streetlight in the rain, the bleed of distant headlights. It was also the first glimmer of hope my fading mind could grasp. I saw an umbrella. It opened against the storm, and beneath it was the face of a beautiful, elegant woman. Rain had plastered strands of her dark hair to her cheeks. The moment she saw me, her soft expression sharpened with urgency. “Robert, get the car! We need to get to a hospital. It’s a baby!” Her voice trembled, the words tumbling out in a rush. She was clearly terrified. A second later, she was lifting me gently from the box. My blanket was soaked, so she shrugged off her own coat and wrapped me in it, pulling me tightly against her chest. She smelled wonderful. Like old books and lavender, a scent so warm it made you want to cry. I nestled against her. A hot, wheezing breath escaped my lips. My mind was drifting. She held me close, cursing under her breath. “God, I can’t believe this. We come down here for one conference and run into a nightmare.” “She’s burning up,” the man’s voice said from the side, a new roughness in it. “Her lips are blue.” “I’ll get the car. We can’t wait.” The woman murmured softly to me, “It’s okay, little one. It’s okay. We’re going to get you to a doctor.” 06 The fever broke that night. I was lying in a crisp, white hospital bed. When I opened my eyes, a woman named Helena Shaw was dozing in a chair beside me, her fingers still resting lightly on my hand. I twitched my fingers, and she woke with a start. She stared for a moment, and then her eyes welled with tears. “You’re awake? Oh, thank God. You’re a little fighter, aren’t you?” Later, after the doctor confirmed my temperature was stable and my vitals were normal, I heard them talking quietly by the window. “We’re taking her with us,” Helena said, her tone absolute. “I’ve seen the group homes around here. They’re not always… gentle. She’s too small, Robert. We can’t just leave her to the system.” Robert Adler sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But our schedules, Helena…” “We can manage. Raising a child won’t stop us from anything.” He was silent for a moment, then nodded. “Okay. We’ll start the paperwork when we get back home.” That day, a black sedan with D.C. plates drove out of that forgotten southern alley and headed north, all the way to the capital. I was officially adopted and given a new name: Cora Shaw. “Shaw” was for my new family. “Cora” was for my mother’s grandmother. “It means ‘maiden,’” she told me, stroking my hair. “Strong and good. A new life.” From that day forward, I had a new beginning. My father, Robert Adler, was a high-ranking official in the State Department. He came from a family of academics and diplomats, a respected figure in Washington D.C. My mother, Helena Shaw, was one of the youngest lead researchers at the National Science Foundation. A genius in her field, yet gentle by nature. She loved cats and flowers and knew how to fix anything that was broken. They were newlyweds. After adopting me, they decided not to have biological children of their own. “A child is a gift from the universe,” my mother used to say. “Our job is to give her the life she was denied.” They never let me want for anything. From formula and first words to fevers and losing my baby teeth. From my first A+ on a paper to the day I graduated from the academy. They were there, every single step of the way. And I, in turn, made them my entire world. 07 More than a decade flew by in the blink of an eye. I grew from an abandoned infant into a young woman, calm and composed, with clear eyes. It was as if the past had been a long, terrible dream, and upon waking, I found the world had completely changed. In 2018, on the day I graduated from the Air Force Academy, I wrote a single sentence on my assignment request form: “Request for assignment as Public Affairs Officer, 1st Air Command Squadron, Langley AFB, Virginia.” Everyone was shocked. My father called me, certain I’d made a mistake. “Cora, honey, you’ve always been so level-headed, top of your class. You could get a cushy D.C. post anywhere. Why are you shipping yourself off to the middle of nowhere?” I smiled into the phone. “Dad, it’s just something I have to do. A promise I made to myself.” No one knew. That southern base… it was where my destiny had shattered in my last life. It was the beginning of my end. Jake Callahan, a guy I’d grown up with in the D.C. military housing community, had just passed his flight exams. His target was also the 1st Squadron. When he heard about my assignment, he chased me down, grinning. “Cora, don’t tell me you’re following me down there.” I gave him a cool look. “You wish, Callahan.” He just laughed, that easy, carefree laugh of his, and stuck to me like glue for the rest of the summer. The day of the base’s annual combat readiness competition, he dragged me along. “No way, you have to come watch. Be my good luck charm.” I didn’t want to go, but I couldn’t say no to him. So there I was, standing by the viewing platform under the blistering sun. The air was filled with the sharp commands of drill instructors, applause, and the roar of engines overhead. I took a sip of water, and just as I lowered the bottle, my eyes locked onto two familiar figures in the crowd. Liam Donovan. And Sophie Donovan. My brother. And beside him, dressed in a flight surgeon’s uniform, smiling that serene, gentle smile… The changeling. My fingers tightened around the bottle, my palm suddenly cold and slick. This reunion, this collision of fates… It had come much sooner than I expected.

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My husband’s parents drove six hours from their small town to Chicago, wanting to surprise him. I led them to Aura, the upscale restaurant where he was the executive chef, and told him to give them the best table. Instead, he called over his favorite apprentice, a doe-eyed girl named Tessa, and had her prepare the fugu sashimi—a dish even his most seasoned chefs wouldn’t touch. Tessa wrinkled her nose, her voice a breathy whisper. “Oh, Chef, the tetrodotoxin… I’d be terrified to even touch it…” Ethan just laughed, a careless, dismissive sound. “Just rinse it off. They’re a couple of old farmers. They won’t know the difference.” Not ten minutes after eating the fugu, my in-laws collapsed, foam bubbling at their lips. When Ethan was finally summoned from the kitchen, he barely glanced at the two elderly figures slumped over the table. All his attention was on the apprentice, now pale and trembling in his arms. “If they’re sick, send them to the ER,” he said. “But get them to sign a liability waiver for the restaurant before they go.” He shot me a look, his tone so detached you’d think the dying couple on his custom Italian leather banquette were complete strangers. “Your parents just got to the city. Probably just a shock to their system. Don’t you dare try to pin this on Aura, or on my Tessa.” It was then I realized. He still had no idea who was dying on his table. I looked him dead in the eye. “Are you absolutely certain you want to absolve your ‘Tessa’ of all responsibility?” 1 Ethan let out an exasperated sigh. “Leah, are you deaf?” He snatched a printed liability waiver from his assistant’s hand and slapped it down on the table in front of me. “Sign it. Now. Tessa’s a sensitive girl. You’re scaring her.” In his arms, the apprentice, Tessa, was shaking like a leaf. She shot a furtive glance in my direction, then buried her face in his chest, her voice thick with manufactured tears. “Oh, Ethan, it’s all my fault… I just wanted to show off for your… for the nice couple…” she sobbed. “I’ll take full responsibility. I’ll get on my knees and beg for their forgiveness…” Ethan immediately hushed her, his hand cupping her face with a tenderness I hadn’t seen in years. “Don’t be ridiculous. This has nothing to do with you. They’ve probably got weak stomachs,” he murmured. “Besides, a delicate ingredient like fugu? It’s no surprise a couple of country folk like them can’t handle it.” I pointed to my in-laws, whose bodies had begun to twitch and seize on the polished mahogany table. “Ethan,” I said, my voice dangerously low. “This isn’t about blame right now. We need to call 911.” He scoffed as if I’d just told the funniest joke in the world. “And who’s going to pay for that?” he asked, crossing his arms. He still hadn’t looked at them. “You think ambulances are free? That getting your stomach pumped doesn’t cost a fortune?” “I’m not paying a dime until you sign that waiver. They can go back to whatever one-horse town they came from and find a country doctor for all I care.” A hush fell over the dining room. Every eye was on our table. Ethan didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he reveled in it. He raised his voice, jabbing a finger at me. “Let me make something clear, Leah. This is my restaurant. At Aura, what I say goes.” He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper. “Your parents’ lives are in my hands right now. And if you don’t sign, I’ll let them die right here.” From behind his shoulder, Tessa peered out, a sliver of a triumphant smirk on her lips. Seeing my hesitation, Ethan’s patience snapped. He lunged forward, knocking over a glass of Cabernet. He grabbed my hand, dipped my thumb into the puddle of dark red wine, and forcibly pressed it onto the signature line of the waiver. “There,” he said, disgust twisting his features as he flung my hand away. “We’re even.” He pulled a silk pocket square from his jacket and meticulously wiped his fingers as if he’d touched something contaminated. Then, he turned back to Tessa, his entire demeanor softening into a mask of concern. “Tess, honey, can you go with them to the hospital? Keep an eye on things, make sure they don’t try to fleece us.” He straightened his tie. “I’ve got an interview with a food critic tonight. I can’t be late.” He wouldn’t even go to the hospital himself. As he walked away without a backward glance, I took out my phone and snapped a crystal-clear photo of the waiver, my thumbprint stark and crimson against the white paper. Then, I dialed 911. I rode in the ambulance, my heart hammering against my ribs as I watched the paramedics work on my in-laws. “It’s the fugu!” I told the EMT, my voice cracking. “They ate pufferfish!” The medic’s face went grim, and he immediately started prepping advanced life support. But the moment we burst through the doors of the ER, Tessa, who had followed in her own car, intercepted the attending physician. She grabbed the sleeve of his white coat. “Doctor, they just had some bad shellfish,” she said, her voice filled with authority. “I watched them eat it myself. Just some shrimp and mussels. I think it’s a severe case of food poisoning, maybe an allergy.” She had deliberately omitted the most critical piece of information. The doctor glanced at her chef’s whites and, after a moment’s hesitation, nodded. He chose to believe her. “Alright, let’s treat it as severe foodborne illness and anaphylaxis! Get them on antihistamines and prep for gastric lavage!” But after the IVs were in, their condition only worsened. A terrifying paralysis began to creep into their limbs. The attending’s forehead was beaded with sweat. “This isn’t right,” he muttered. “The reaction is too extreme for a simple allergy…” Suddenly, the heart monitor shrieked. I couldn’t take it anymore. I shoved Tessa aside and rushed to the doctor, holding my phone up to his face. “They ate FUGU!” I screamed. “Improperly prepared fugu sashimi! Do you understand me?!” The doctor’s eyes widened in horror as he saw the picture of the sloppily plated fish. He dropped the syringe of epinephrine in his hand. “Damn it! Get me toxicology and the ICU, now! We need the TTX antidote! We’re dealing with tetrodotoxin poisoning!” The ER exploded into controlled chaos as the medical team scrambled to transfer them to the Intensive Care Unit. But just as the specialists finalized the treatment plan, just as they were about to administer the life-saving drug, that venomous little snake Tessa spoke up again, her voice dripping with false concern. “Doctor! Wait! I just remembered something!” she cried, clutching his arm. “Back at the restaurant… I think I overheard them talking… They said they have severe allergies to a lot of common medications!” The entire medical team froze. To ensure patient safety, they had no choice but to run a series of rapid allergy tests. Another thirty minutes—thirty precious, golden minutes of rescue time—were lost. I was shaking with a rage so pure I wanted to wrap my hands around her neck and squeeze. It was then that Ethan finally arrived, fresh from his interview, looking impeccable in a tailored suit. He didn’t even glance at the red light glowing above the ICU doors. He walked straight to Tessa and pulled her into a protective embrace, his eyes full of worry. “Tessa, are you okay? They didn’t give you a hard time, did they?” Tessa melted against him as if she’d finally found her anchor. She pointed a trembling finger at me. “She was awful to me, Ethan,” she whimpered. “She kept screaming at me. I was so scared…” Ethan cooed, stroking her hair. “Shh, it’s okay. I’m here now. No one’s going to hurt you.” Then he turned on me, his face a mask of fury. “What the hell is wrong with you, Leah?! Tessa came here to help, out of the goodness of her heart, and you attack her? She’s just an apprentice, what does she know? You want to blame someone, you blame me! Don’t take it out on her like some shrew!” I stared at the grotesque scene before me, a profound coldness seeping into my bones. My voice, when it came out, was a raw shout. “Ethan! Even if they were my parents, wouldn’t you care at all if they lived or died?!” He was taken aback for a second, then his lip curled into a sneer as he adjusted the collar of his shirt. “Why are you making such a scene? People get sick, people die. It’s the circle of life. Get over it.” As the last word left his mouth, the red light above the ICU door clicked off. The doctor emerged, his face etched with exhaustion. He pulled down his sweat-soaked mask and looked at me, a deep, profound sorrow in his eyes. He slowly shook his head. “I’m so sorry. We did everything we could.” he said. “We just… we ran out of time. The toxin had spread too far.” A roar filled my ears, and the world went numb. Ethan, however, let out a long, slow breath, not of grief, but of relief. As if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. He took Tessa’s hand and turned to leave, his voice almost cheerful. “Well, that’s that. They’re gone. It has nothing to do with us anymore.” He squeezed her hand. “Come on. Let’s get out of this place before the bad luck rubs off on us.” I handled the arrangements myself. The funeral home, the death certificates, the urns, the cremation schedule. Through it all, Ethan never called. It was as if the two people who had raised him had simply vanished from his memory. His Instagram, however, was updated. A smiling photo of him and Tessa clinking champagne glasses at a trendy cocktail bar. The caption read: Clearing out the trash, welcoming a new chapter. I was at the crematorium, waiting for the final preparations, when Ethan showed up. He was with Tessa and several of his hulking line cooks from the restaurant. He wore a custom Armani suit, his hair perfectly coiffed, a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere of the place. He strode directly to me and threw a sheaf of papers in my face. “Sign it.” The sharp edge of the paper cut my cheek. I picked it up. A divorce agreement. The terms were breathtakingly cruel. I was to leave with nothing. All our shared assets were to be transferred to him as compensation for “reputational damages.” The reason? My parents had died in his restaurant, tarnishing its reputation and jeopardizing his career as a “Michelin-starred chef.” He stood there, chin held high, his voice like ice. “I have worked my ass off for ten years to build Aura! We were on the verge of getting our second star, and your hillbilly parents ruined everything!” he spat. “The whole internet is saying my restaurant kills people! Do you have any idea how much money I’ve lost? Do you know what this does to my brand? This is your family’s fault! You owe me!” Tessa, standing behind him, chimed in, her voice saccharine sweet. “Leah, Chef is being more than generous. He could be suing you for millions.” She looked me up and down with disdain. “Let’s be honest. You have no money, no connections. You’ve always been dead weight. Don’t you think it’s time you had some self-respect and just disappeared? Stop dragging him down.” I trembled with rage, my eyes locked on Ethan’s merciless face. “Do you have a conscience, Ethan?! My parents—no, your parents! They worked their fingers to the bone for you their entire lives. They came all this way to see you, and you killed them! And now you want to throw me out with nothing? Is this how you repay them?!” “Shut up!” he roared, his face contorting in fury. “Don’t you dare mention your goddamn dead parents to me!” He took a step forward and swung. His fist connected with my jaw, a sickening thud echoing in the small room. Pain, hot and sharp, exploded across my face. “Who are you to talk to me about conscience?” he sneered. “You’re nothing but an orphan now.” He gestured to his cooks. They moved in, grabbing me like I was a child, and slammed me against the cold, tiled wall. Ethan pried my fingers open and forced my hand down onto the divorce agreement, smearing my signature. He finished, then once again pulled out his handkerchief and scrubbed his hands raw. He picked up the signed papers, blew on the ink to dry it, and a satisfied smile spread across his face. He glanced at the two simple coffins waiting to be moved into the furnace. “What are you waiting for?” he barked at the crematorium staff. “Burn them. Two dried-up husks, not much fat on them. Don’t waste our taxpayers’ electricity.” With that, he wrapped his arm around Tessa’s shoulders and strutted out, the very picture of triumph. Just before they disappeared through the door, Tessa looked back at me, her smile a mocking parody of sympathy. I watched them go, then slowly, painfully, pushed myself upright. I wiped the blood from the corner of my mouth, took out my phone, and called my father-in-law’s brother. “Uncle Rob? It’s Leah.” My voice was steady. “The funeral is arranged. I’ll text you the time and location. You can let the rest of the family know. It’s time to say goodbye… to Mom and Dad.” My in-laws had treated me more like a daughter than a daughter-in-law, loving me in a way their own son never could. I used my life’s savings to buy them a beautiful, peaceful plot in a cemetery just outside the city. I chose the headstone myself, a simple, elegant granite, engraved with their names and etched with their favorite photograph, the one where they were laughing on their porch swing. I had Uncle Rob invite every single relative—aunts, uncles, cousins—to pay their last respects on the seventh day after their passing. On the day of the funeral, as I was setting up a small speaker to play somber music, the sound of loud whistling and barking cut through the quiet air. Tessa appeared, dressed in a ridiculously colorful and expensive streetwear outfit, with a pack of large, powerful dogs on leashes. Ethan trailed behind her, a smirk playing on his lips. “Wow, so gloomy in here! Lighten up a little!” Tessa called out, earning furious glares from the few relatives who had already arrived. She paid them no mind. With a flourish, she unclipped the leashes. “Go on, babies! Have fun!” The dogs, freed from their restraints, went wild. They tore through the small cemetery, digging up freshly laid sod, ripping apart wreaths of flowers, and fighting over the food offerings the family had placed on the ground. The scene descended into chaos. “Tessa! Stop them!” I screamed. She just shrugged, a playful smile on her face. “Oh, relax, Leah. They’re just being friendly. I’m sure your mom and dad would love the company.” As if on cue, an Alaskan Malamute, tall as a man on its hind legs, lifted its leg and urinated all over the new headstone. A yellow stream trickled down the polished black stone, defiling the smiling, kind face of my mother-in-law in the photograph. Nearby, a Doberman squatted and left a steaming pile of feces directly in front of the grave. Several of the older relatives looked like they were about to faint from pure rage. I lunged forward, but Ethan blocked my path. He watched the disgusting spectacle unfold, not with horror, but with uproarious laughter. “Ha! Look at that, Tess! Your dogs are smarter than most people. They know how to pay their respects!” he howled. “Bringing gifts of water and ‘gold’! They’re more dutiful than some ungrateful brats I know!” His words were daggers aimed straight at me. In the midst of the chaos, the largest dog, a German Shepherd, slammed its body against the stone pedestal holding the urns. CRACK. CRACK. Two heavy, ornate wooden boxes tumbled to the ground. The lids burst open on impact. The ashes, the last mortal remains of my in-laws, billowed into the air. The mountain breeze caught them, scattering them across the dirt and grass, where they were instantly trampled into the mud and dog filth by the rampaging animals. Ethan actually applauded. “Now that’s what I call returning to nature!” he declared, his voice ringing with satisfaction. “They spent their lives digging in the dirt. It’s only fitting they end up back in it. Dust to dust, right? Getting trampled into the ground with dog shit… it’s a real homecoming.” Just then, a commotion rose from the cemetery entrance. Ethan’s uncles, aunts, and cousins… dozens of relatives from his hometown had finally arrived. They stood frozen, staring in utter disbelief at the scene of desecration before them. At the shattered urns, the desecrated grave, and the ashes scattered and lost forever. Ethan’s Uncle Rob, a sturdy man in his fifties, began to tremble with fury. He pointed a shaking finger at the urine-stained headstone, his voice a choked, horrified roar directed at the still-laughing Ethan. “Ethan… are you insane?!” he screamed. “What are you doing?! What in God’s name are you doing to your own mother and father’s grave?!”

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The year I went completely off the rails, I played the part of a girl from the wrong side of the tracks and became the kept woman of the Manhattan tycoon, Cole Blackwood. In public, he was glacial. In private, a storm of a man, possessive and insatiable. I developed a taste for it. For three wild months, I let myself drown in him. Then, the novelty wore off. Just as I was about to call it quits, I overheard someone warning him: “You need to be careful with Ava. The last thing you want is to get her pregnant. Those true-believer types, the ones who think it’s a fairytale, are the hardest to get rid of.” Cole’s voice was flat, devoid of emotion. “Enough money solves any problem.” He paused. “Besides, the girl’s in the thick of it. Incredibly clingy. There’s no rush.” Clingy? Was he talking about me? That was funny. Because I seemed to recall him, drunk and wrecked, weeping and begging me never to leave him. And I happened to have recorded the whole thing.

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I discovered that my guardian, the man I secretly adored, isn’t human. He’s a devastatingly handsome werewolf. When I found out his secret, he chained me by the ankle. I leaned in close, pleading, “Brother? Guardian? Dad? Please, just let me go…” He loomed over me, a dangerous glint in his wolfish eyes. “The best way to keep a secret,” he whispered, “is to turn the keeper into one of two things: dust… or family.” I caught on immediately: “Okay, I get it! But can we maybe… try it out first?” 1 The night draped itself over the estate of my guardian, Alaric Thorne, like a shroud of damp, cold velvet. He had me cradled in his arms before the hearth, his voice a low thrum against my back, like the deep notes of a cello. The warmth of the moment felt potent enough to melt stone. My heart was a frantic bird trapped in the cage of my ribs. But then I tilted my head back, and my breath caught. Reflected in his eyes, flickering in the firelight, was a haunting, amber glow. My gaze shifted slightly, and there, behind him, a massive, thick-furred gray wolf’s tail unfurled from the shadows. A scream clawed its way up my throat, but an invisible pressure clamped it shut. A sharp pain lanced through my chest, and I jolted awake. It was a dream. But it had been so vivid I could still trace the chilling curve of his fangs in my mind. Once my pulse settled into a less frantic rhythm, I slipped out of bed, needing the cool water of the washroom. The stone floor was icy against my bare soles. I’ve never liked slippers, and the chill was a welcome shock. Tonight, the oak door at the far end of the hall was unlocked. A weak, trembling sliver of candlelight seeped from beneath it, painting a quivering line on the floorboards. That room. The one Alaric had forbidden me from ever approaching. In the dead of night, curiosity is a vine that snakes around your reason and squeezes. After a moment’s hesitation, I crept forward, my bare feet making no sound on the cold stone. At the threshold, I peered inside. The sight froze the blood in my veins. I stared, my teeth chattering uncontrollably, at Alaric. The man who took me in, the lord of the manor I secretly adored, was kneeling in a posture that wasn’t human. He was before the enormous stained-glass window, moonlight pouring through it, bathing him in a silver glow. And in that ethereal light, his body was contorting, elongating—transforming into a colossal gray wolf. 2 I knew, with sickening certainty, that the wolf was Alaric. Last summer, by the lake, I’d caught a glimpse of him swimming. On his back was an old, crescent-shaped scar, like a sliver of a broken moon. And now, on the identical spot on the gray wolf’s powerful back… was the same exact scar. I swallowed hard, my body screaming to run, but my limbs were stone. My hand fumbled, bumping against the iron door ring. Creeeak. The ancient wood groaned, a sound that echoed like a death knell in the silent hall. Instantly, the great wolf’s head snapped around. Its eyes met mine. Amber, glowing, and utterly feral. Exactly like in my dream. A deep, bone-rattling chill shot up my spine. I spun to flee, but my legs gave out, and I collapsed onto the floor in a heap. I watched, paralyzed, as the wolf’s form seemed to shrink and fold in on itself in the shadows, melting back into the handsome, severe features of Alaric. God, how pathetic. Even then, with my life on the line, my heart still stuttered for that face. And then—he chained me by the ankle, a prisoner in my own bedroom. 3 The candlelight overhead was dim, casting long, dancing shadows. I leaned against the headboard, the chain on my ankle a cold, heavy weight. Alaric stood over me, his presence filling the room. From this angle, his brow was severe, his features carved as if from granite. Even in the oppressive gloom, he was flawlessly, dangerously beautiful. But he wasn’t human. The tension was so thick it was making me physically uncomfortable. “Alaric…” That’s what I’d always called him. Just Alaric. “I need to use the washroom.” He glanced at me, the corner of his mouth ticking up in a cruel smirk. He let a single word drop into the silence. “Hold it.” …So werewolves really were monsters. After a beat of silence, I leaned forward, pitching my voice to its softest, most placating tone. “Brother? Guardian? Dad? Please, just let me go…” For the first time, a real smile touched Alaric’s lips. He leaned down, his face suddenly inches from mine, so close my breath hitched. “The best way to keep a secret, Eliza,” he whispered, his breath like a winter wind, “is to turn the keeper into one of two things: dust… or family.” I caught on immediately. “Okay, Dad! I get it!” Alaric’s brow arched, a flicker of something dangerously playful in those wolfish eyes. It made him even more magnetic. “Did it ever occur to you,” he murmured, his voice dropping lower, “that I was referring to… my mate?” Mate? I swallowed against a dry throat. “Don’t be ridiculous.” I forced a smile that felt more like a grimace. “An interspecies union… we couldn’t even have children.” My words seemed to amuse him. “Who said?” He leaned closer still, his lips almost brushing my ear. “Want to try?” 4 Honestly, for a split second, I was tempted. But then I met those eyes again, and the image of that powerful, wild wolf’s tail under the moonlight flashed in my mind. A shiver traced its way down my spine. “Alaric, trying or not, I really can’t hold it any longer…” The curve of his lips deepened. “Hmm,” he mused, “that does sound… more interesting.” …I was completely lost. Was this really the same man who was usually as cold and remote as a mountain peak? My shock must have been written all over my face, because in the end, he didn’t push it. He lifted a hand and snapped his fingers. The chain on my ankle clicked open. “Go.” Granted a reprieve, I practically scrambled off the bed. As I sat in the washroom, I was calculating whether a jump from the second-story stained-glass window would result in a broken leg or a broken neck when Alaric’s voice materialized right behind me. “You could try.” I whipped my head around to find him impossibly close, a ghost who’d appeared without a sound. His eyes were dancing with amusement. “Thinking of running?” I shook my head frantically, but before I could form a denial, he cut me off. “Jump.” He grabbed me by the collar of my nightgown and hauled me to the open window. “Try it.” The night air was cool on my face, but as I reached out, my hand hit something solid and invisible, like a pane of glass. I looked back at him, confused. Alaric just raised an eyebrow. “I put up a ward.” …So, just telling me that in the first place would have killed you? We were at a standoff by the window in the dead of night. I licked my dry lips, trying to pledge my allegiance. “Alaric, you have my word. I will never tell anyone.” It was useless. He dragged me back to the bed. Dangling from his grip, I couldn’t help but think: werewolves are ridiculously strong. He tossed me onto the mattress, and his body followed, hovering over me. His breath was hot on my skin. This was it… was he really going to try? I squeezed my eyes shut, a wave of shame and anticipation washing over me. But the touch I was bracing for never came. Instead, a woman’s voice drifted up from the courtyard below, musical and seductive. “Alaric…” My eyes flew open. I saw the playful look vanish from his face, replaced in an instant by a cool mask. He moved to the window. “Stay here. I’m coming down.” The tenderness in his voice was a tone I had never, ever heard from him before. He shot one last glance at me, then turned and was gone. I recognized that voice. It belonged to a countess from Alaric’s circle, one of his own kind. She was also the woman who had publicly rejected his advances months ago. I sat on the edge of the bed, a leaden weight settling in my chest. Damn it. I was actually jealous over a goddamn werewolf. 5 I decided werewolves must be cold-blooded creatures. He went off for a midnight rendezvous with the countess and left me locked in my room. No phone. No laptop. The door wouldn’t budge, and the window was a lie. This was a nightmare. I forced myself to fall asleep by counting the ornate plaster details on the ceiling, but my dreams were a chaotic mess of Alaric and that enormous wolf tail. In the morning, I sat on the edge of the bed, staring into space. Alaric hadn’t come back all night. It was over. He was captivated by her. That bastard. One minute he’s talking about making me his mate, the next he’s running off to someone else. I sighed, my eyes landing on the grandfather clock against the wall. Suddenly, I shot to my feet. It was nine forty-five. I’d completely forgotten. I had an arrangement to meet an old acquaintance today at ten. His name was Caleb. A friend I knew from before Alaric took me in. We were supposed to meet right at the estate gates. A surge of adrenaline hit me, and I started pacing. Caleb… he was a little unusual. I’d heard rumors his family belonged to an ancient line of hunters. My escape today depended entirely on him. As if on cue, a voice faintly called from the courtyard. “Eliza?” I rushed to the window and looked down. Sure enough, a man was standing at the gates, tall and well-built. I couldn’t make out his face from this distance. “Caleb! I’m up here!” I yelled, my voice cracking with desperation. He seemed to pause for a second, then I saw the flash of a smile. “Why climb when there’s a perfectly good gate?” And with that, he pushed open the heavy iron gates, strode through the courtyard, opened the manor’s main door, and then… my bedroom door swung open with a gentle click. I stood there, gaping. Was Alaric’s ward that weak, or was this hunter that skilled? I didn’t have time to dwell on it. Caleb was standing right in front of me. The boy I’d passed a love note to in our teens, only to be shot down with the excuse that “the pursuit of truth leaves no room for childish romance.” I hadn’t seen him in a year. It seemed he’d really committed to that path. Our eyes met. I swallowed. “You… I didn’t think you’d actually come.” Caleb tilted his head, his expression as earnest and straightforward as ever. “I said I would.” 6 There was no time for catching up. I grabbed his arm and pulled him toward the doorway. “Caleb, break it!” He tilted his head again. “Break what?” “The ward! The barrier!” His next words almost made me choke. “There’s a ward here?” If there wasn’t a ward, I would have been gone hours ago! He must have seen the frantic seriousness in my eyes, because he stepped cautiously toward the threshold and took one slow step forward— He was thrown back as if he’d hit a trampoline, flying backward and crashing into me, sending us both sprawling to the floor by the bed. After shoving him off me, I scrambled up, frustrated beyond belief. “Caleb, you told me you were dedicating your life to the ‘truth,’ and this is all you’ve got?” Caleb helped me to my feet, his gaze sincere. “I’m the most promising new recruit in my organization.” …What kind of sham organization was he in? Before I could say anything, Caleb’s expression shifted. “He’s back.” “Who?” He gave me a complicated look. “Your father.” My father? I opened my mouth to say my father had been dead for years, then remembered what I’d desperately called Alaric just last night. Oh, great. How did Caleb know what I’d said? I didn’t have time to ask. I heard footsteps in the hall. Deliberate. Heavy. Each one seemed to land directly on my heart. And there was another sound… something heavy being dragged across the floor. My nerves screamed. What was I going to tell Alaric? How would I explain Caleb’s presence? But Alaric was impossibly fast. Before I could invent a lie, his figure filled the open doorway. Alaric. He was dressed in a dark, formal suit, looking impeccably sharp for a man who was secretly a wolf. His gaze flickered over me for a second before landing squarely on Caleb. “Who is he?” Alaric’s voice… was terrifyingly cold. I was trying to decide whether to make up the name of an impressive-sounding hunter organization to intimidate him when Caleb spoke first. “I’m the guy she hired to piss you off.” I froze. What?? This guy wasn’t just useless, he was suicidal. To avoid getting an innocent hunter killed, I had no choice but to nod. “Right, I, uh… hired him.” Alaric didn’t say a word. He just crooked a finger at me. “Come here.” I shuffled forward slowly. My obedience wasn’t because I was mesmerized by his face, but because I was utterly, completely terrified. When I reached the doorway, Alaric’s hand shot out, his fingers wrapping around my wrist. He pulled, and I passed through the invisible barrier without any resistance at all. He dragged me to the bedroom next door—his room. He pushed the door open, and I gasped, sucking in a breath of frigid air. There was a woman on the bed. A woman bound hand and foot, completely naked, her head turned away from me. I couldn’t see her face. So that’s what he’d been dragging… a living person. Alaric gave me a shove from behind. I stumbled toward the bed. A moment later, a dagger clattered onto the floor at my feet, its blade gleaming with a sinister light. Alaric’s voice came from behind me, low and menacing. “Kill her, and I’ll let you go.” My knees felt weak. This day just kept getting worse. After a long moment, I managed a shaky laugh. “Alaric, this isn’t funny…” He took one step. I swear, it was only one step, but he moved from the doorway to right behind me in a blink. The next thing I knew, his hand was wrapped around my neck. His breath was cold, and the warmth was gone from his eyes, replaced by a chilling darkness. “Eliza. Kill her, or I kill you. Make a choice.”

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“Marrying a man with a kid is one step up from dating an ex-con, you know that right?” My best friend, Jenna, was practically screaming, shaking my arm so hard the ice rattled in my drink. I just kept smiling, chewing on my straw like an idiot. “It’s fine,” I’d said, full of a hope that felt foolish now. “A kid will make the house feel more alive.” Back then, I truly believed marriage was an island for two. As long as Leo loved me, nothing else mattered. That belief shattered the night his daughter got sick and his drunk ex-wife showed up, her hand cracking across my cheek twice before I could even register the intrusion. “Leo, is this what you promised me?” she shrieked. “Is this how you ‘wouldn’t let Maddie suffer’? It’s only been a few years and you’ve already found her a wicked stepmother!” The sting on my face brought me back to reality. A hot flash of anger surged through me and I raised my hand to retaliate, but Leo caught my wrist. “Don’t,” he said, his voice low and firm. “Not in front of Maddie. She’ll never forgive you for hitting her mom. Let me handle this.” He moved with a familiar, practiced ease, grabbing Sasha’s coat from the floor, fetching a bottle of water from the fridge, and steering her toward the door. In that moment, I realized Jenna’s warning might not have been an exaggeration after all. Thank God it wasn’t too late. I scrolled through my contacts and pressed a number with no name attached. “Are you still coming home for Thanksgiving? And if so… are you free to go on a date?”

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