It was our anniversary, and all I wanted was a slice of cake to celebrate. Instead, I found the driver’s seat of my car pushed all the way forward. And on the floor mat, a delicate shower of croissant flakes. I called my husband. “Hey, has anyone else been driving my car?” The hesitation in his voice was a story in itself. “Oh, yeah. My cousin Nick borrowed it yesterday. Why?” His cousin Nick is six-foot-four, built like a linebacker. He wouldn’t fit in my car with the seat pushed up to the steering wheel. More importantly, Nick has a severe gluten allergy. The man treats bakeries like biohazard zones. A small, cold laugh escaped my lips. I hung up and drove straight to the artisanal patisserie he’d been frequenting lately. Through the window, I saw a girl with a saccharine smile, laughing with a coworker. “So what if I’m short?” she chirped, loud enough for half the shop to hear. “I have to pull the seat all the way up to drive, but I’ve got a man who spoils me rotten!” I leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, and just watched her. Alex always told me I was too tall for his taste, that I wasn’t quite his type. It seemed he’d finally found someone who was. 1 “Welcome to The Gilded Spoon—” The girl’s practiced smile evaporated the second she saw me. Panic flickered in her eyes, a tiny, satisfying storm. She dropped her gaze to the countertop. “Hi… what can I get for you?” The moment our eyes met, I knew. She was the one. A slow smile spread across my face. I let my eyes drift over her, from her too-big apron to her petite frame, the picture of innocent, damsel-in-distress charm. “Two crème brûlée tarts, please.” She was exactly his type. Small, sweet, breakable. All those times Alex had told me, It doesn’t matter that you’re not petite, Claire. It’s cute. I used to think he was reassuring me. Turns out, it was just wishful thinking on his part. She handed me the neatly packaged box. As I took it, I held her gaze, my smile unwavering. “Are you new here? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” The other barista, a familiar face, chimed in. “Claire! It’s been ages. This is Mia, our new intern. Your husband actually recommended her for the position.” Then, turning to the girl, she said, “Mia, this is Mrs. Hayes. You know, your sponsor’s wife. You should say hello.” The girl—Mia—kept her eyes downcast, her voice barely a whisper. “It’s… it’s nice to meet you.” I couldn’t help it. I laughed out loud. Just a moment ago, she was preening, boasting about being spoiled and cherished. Now she was shrinking like a violet in a hailstorm. I finally took the box she’d been holding out, glanced inside, and let my brow furrow. “I didn’t ask for these to be warmed.” Her face went blank with panic. She bit her lip, cornered. “I’m so sorry,” she stammered, her voice tight. “It’s just… Mr. Hayes always asks for them fresh from the oven. I guess I just assumed…” I almost laughed again. Was she trying to establish her territory? To let me know she was more familiar with my husband’s habits than I was? What a pathetically childish move. The truth was, this bakery used to be my spot. I was the one with the Black Card VIP membership. Then Alex started insisting. Let me get your pastries for you, honey. I hate the thought of you going out of your way. It’s my job to take care of you. And just like that, I’d handed them the perfect cover for their little rendezvous. At first, it had felt so romantic. No matter how late he worked, he’d come home with a little white box containing my favorite dessert. I’d felt a mix of sweetness and guilt. I would help him out of his suit jacket, telling him he didn’t have to go to such trouble. But he’d shake his head, his voice sincere. You deserve every good thing in this world, Claire. And he acted like he meant it. I never had to do a single chore; he kept the house spotless. If I craved a specific dish, he’d learn how to make it, even if he burned his hands in the process. He’d even stop mid-Zoom call, in front of his entire team, to bring me a cup of my favorite chamomile tea if he heard me cough. I thought I had found that once-in-a-lifetime, all-consuming love. Now I see it for what it was. The equivalent of a 4 a.m. “I love you” text. Not a declaration of love, but an act of penance. A desperate attempt to soothe a guilty conscience. My gaze drifted from Mia’s flustered face down to her wrist. “Nice bracelet,” I said casually. She gave a nervous laugh. “Oh, this? Just a cheap thing I picked up.” I smiled and said nothing. That “cheap thing” was a one-of-a-kind vintage piece. Alex had won it for me at a charity auction for my birthday. It was the first real gift he’d ever given me, and I cherished it. I kept it locked away in the safe in my walk-in closet. I never thought the next time I’d see it would be on another woman’s wrist. Just then, my phone buzzed. A text from Alex. [Alex: Hey, you went to The Gilded Spoon?] My heart gave a little jolt. I looked up and saw Mia hastily shoving her own phone under the counter. A cold, heavy certainty settled in my stomach. I typed back, my fingers steady. [Me: Just getting out of the house for a bit. Want me to bring you something?] His relief was palpable, even through text. A voice note popped up a second later. “No, you just get whatever you want, honey. Love you.” The automated transcript displayed the words “Love you” under the audio file. The sight of them made me feel sick. I glanced at Mia, who was now trying to act casual, as if she was about to strike up a conversation. Pathetic. I ignored her, turned on my heel, and walked out of the bakery. The moment the door closed behind me, I dialed my father’s number. His overseas firm had, just two days ago, agreed—at my urging—to invest a significant sum in Alex’s company. “Dad,” I said, my voice calm and clear. “Don’t sign the contract. And while you’re at it, could you get me the name of the best divorce attorney you know?” “Yes, a divorce. It seems Alex has picked up a new hobby: cheating.” 2 The first thing I did when I got home was tear apart my walk-in closet. Just as I suspected, more things were missing. The closet was mostly for my couture gowns and valuable pieces I rarely wore anymore. After marrying Alex and becoming a homemaker, I had little use for them, so the closet became more of a vault. Alex was the one who managed it, who had the dehumidifiers checked and the garments steamed. To a casual observer, nothing looked out of place. But the items that held the most meaning for me… they were gone. My face was a grim mask as I pulled up the security footage from the closet’s discreet camera. I discovered that in this small, fifty-square-foot space, a whole other life had been playing out. May 7th: The first time they entered my closet together. Standing in front of my full-length mirror, trying on my clothes. Or rather, he was putting my dresses on her, laughing as they spun around. It wasn’t about fashion; it was a twisted act of intimacy. August 29th: Our seventh anniversary. He’d canceled the elaborate dinner I’d planned, claiming a last-minute work emergency. Instead, he’d spent the entire night locked in here, on the phone with her. October 5th: I was on a business trip. He brought her here, and they made love on a pile of my gowns. A wave of nausea washed over me. I ran to the bathroom and retched until there was nothing left. The footage kept playing. The camera now showed Alex standing in front of the open safe. He removed my bracelet, and then his eyes landed on a document inside. A cold dread pooled in my stomach. It was the deed to the condo my mother had left me. The last physical piece of her I had in this world. I watched in horror as, on the screen, Alex turned and handed it to Mia. I scrambled back into the closet, my hands shaking as I pulled the corresponding file from the safe. The document inside looked identical, but it was a forgery. It lacked the official notary seal. I had trusted him so completely, it never would have occurred to me to double-check it. I sank to the floor, a chill seeping into my bones as I listened to the audio from the recording. Alex’s voice, so gentle and reassuring. “Don’t you worry,” he murmured to Mia. “I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, with or without a ring on your finger.” Mia’s voice was a practiced performance of modesty. “Alex, this is too much. I can’t accept this…” And then, another voice from the doorway—a voice that made the blood freeze in my veins. “Oh, just take it, Mia! I had to work my butt off to get Claire out of the house just so Alex could pull off this surprise for you!” It was my best friend, Chloe. “I better get a seat at the head table at the wedding for this! You hear me?” Seeing Chloe’s smiling face in my closet, conspiring with them, felt like a physical blow. I remembered that day perfectly. Chloe had called me in a panic, begging me to go get her a specific cronut from a famous bakery across town. I’d stood in line for three hours, my feet blistering in my heels, just to do her a favor. I was trembling with a rage so profound it felt like it could split me in two. Not just my husband. My best friend, too. In the video, Alex pulled Mia into an embrace. “What’s mine is yours,” he whispered, his voice thick with adoration. “Don’t you ever feel like you have to ask.” Using my mother’s legacy to romance his mistress, and spouting clichés like what’s mine is yours. The irony was suffocating. For a moment, all I wanted was to find them and claw their eyes out. To make them understand exactly whose life they were tearing apart. Just then, my phone chimed with a new friend request on social media. I accepted, and a video immediately popped up in my DMs, then was just as quickly deleted. But I saw it. In the short clip, Mia was holding up her phone, beaming. “Mom, look! I finally have my very own place!” The background was unmistakable. It was my mother’s condo. Every last shred of my composure vanished. I remembered that day at the hospital. My mother, frail and fading, pressing the deed into my hand. I was sobbing, telling her I didn’t want a condo, I just wanted her. Alex had gently taken the document from my grasp, pulling me into his arms. His voice was heavy with sorrow as he spoke to my mother. “Don’t you worry, Mom. I’ll take care of Claire. I’ll never let her feel alone.” My mother had given him a weak, grateful smile. It was the last expression she ever made. I had collapsed in the cold, sterile hallway, and Alex held me tight, whispering over and over, “It’s okay, Claire. I’m here. I’ve got you.” In the fog of grief that followed, I couldn’t bear to look at anything that reminded me of her. Alex handled everything—the funeral arrangements, sorting through her belongings. My father saw his devotion and told me Alex was a man I could truly depend on. And all along, the man my parents had trusted with their daughter’s heart was only ever interested in her inheritance. It wasn’t flawless. Looking back, the signs were there. The faint scent of a different perfume clinging to his shirts. His sudden use of slang popular with college kids. The endless string of “business trips.” I had made him my entire world, the sole pillar of my emotional stability. And so, I chose to be blind. A new message from Mia popped up. “Oops, wrong person, so sorry!” It was followed by a slew of photos of new seasonal pastries from the bakery. I stared at the appallingly bad acting on display. Without replying, I clicked on her profile. She hadn’t blocked me yet. Her latest post was the same video she’d just “accidentally” sent me. [Moved into my new place today! Housewarming party this weekend—everyone’s invited!] The address listed below was, of course, the address of my mother’s condo. And underneath, a comment from Alex, punctuated with a heart emoji: “Congrats, babe.” My eyes scanned further down. There was a comment from Chloe, too. “So proud of you, girlie! Another strong, independent woman getting what she deserves! ✨” They all knew. They all knew it was my property, and they stood by, smiling and applauding as she claimed it for her own. My face was a mask of ice. I made a call to the county clerk’s office, informing them of a fraudulent transfer of title for that property and requesting an immediate freeze on all activity associated with the address. Let’s see how they enjoy their party when they can’t even get through the front door. The next day, I drove to my mother’s condo. I had a locksmith meet me there, and within an hour, the old lock was replaced with a new biometric system keyed only to my fingerprint. Then, I parked across the street and waited. Soon enough, the small, private courtyard began to fill with flowers, catering trays, and a ridiculous champagne tower set up in front of the fountain. Guests started to arrive, most of them strangers to me. Then I saw Chloe. She swanned through the gate, a glass of rosé in hand, and cozied up to Mia. Her expression was one of pure envy.

The day my brother, Caleb Ashford, and the girl who stole my life came to collect me, I was out back, hacking through weeds for the hog feed. Caleb’s gaze landed on the raw, angry gash on my forearm, and his face twisted in disgust. “Get in the car.” A flicker of triumph crossed the face of the girl, Chloe. She was already positioning herself for one of her signature, saccharine performances. But then, something shifted. Caleb grabbed my arm, his grip surprisingly tight. His eyes, which had been clouded with a distant annoyance, suddenly sharpened with a shocking clarity. He bit out the words through a clenched jaw. “Who did this?” My blood ran cold. Oh god, this was it. In the novel I was trapped in, Caleb Ashford wasn’t just obsessively protective of his sister—he was a notorious clean freak. He wasn’t going to look at this ugly, mangled arm and decide to just… get rid of it, was he? “My foster father,” I whispered. “He said I was working too slow… he used the scythe.” I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for the searing pain of a severed limb. Instead, I heard Caleb’s voice, dangerously calm, directed at one of the men in black suits standing by the car. “Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father.” Chloe and the bodyguards all stared at him, stunned. As for me? I could only think one thing: Did I get a bootleg copy of the book? 1 Caleb’s order—“Cut off the arm of my sister’s foster father”—hung in the thick, humid air. The bodyguards exchanged uneasy glances, hesitating. My foster father, however, did not hesitate. He dropped to his knees with a wet thud, his face hitting the mud. Chloe’s carefully composed expression crumbled. “Caleb!” she cried, rushing to his side. Her hand, delicate and soft, fluttered onto his sleeve. Her eyes instantly welled with tears, her voice a fragile sob. “Don’t be rash, I know you’re worried about our sister…” “But he did raise her all these years. Even if he made a mistake, we can’t just—” She never finished. Caleb’s gaze, as cold and sharp as splintered ice, fell on her. “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched as if struck. Her hand dropped from his sleeve. “I… that’s not what I mean. I just think—” “Be quiet.” He cut her off without a shred of warmth. “Chloe, are you telling me how to handle my affairs?” he pressed, his voice dangerously low. “Or are you suggesting that my sister deserved to have her arm laid open with a scythe?” Chloe was completely thrown. Her lips trembled, but no words came out. I stared at Caleb’s profile, my heart hammering against my ribs. This was wrong. This was all wrong. In the book, Caleb was Chloe’s staunchest defender. He would have rained hellfire on anyone who dared to make her shed a single tear. Why would he ever speak to her with that tone? On the ground, my foster father was a sniveling mess of tears and snot, slamming his forehead against the gravel-strewn dirt until it bled. “Mr. Ashford, sir, have mercy! I was wrong! I ain’t human! I’ll never do it again!” Caleb finally tore his gaze away from Chloe, his eyes sweeping over my foster father as if he were a piece of trash on the roadside. His lips barely moved. “He can do it himself.” The head of security stepped forward. “Mr. Ashford?” “Tell him to destroy the hand that he used on my sister.” Caleb’s voice was flat, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Three fingers,” he added. “A bargain for his arm, I think.” A gasp escaped my own lips. That was worse, somehow. More personal. More cruel. My foster father’s wails choked off, replaced by a look of pure, hollow despair. The bodyguards, their faces impassive, dragged the man, now limp as a ragdoll, into the dirt-caked shack we called a house. A moment later, a raw, gut-wrenching scream tore through the air. The color drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it the color of paper. Caleb didn’t even flinch. He turned, his dark, intense eyes landing on me. Then he shrugged off his tailored suit jacket—a piece of clothing that was obviously handmade, impossibly expensive, and utterly spotless. He draped it over my shoulders, covering the girl who had just emerged from a pigsty, covered in filth and bits of straw. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice a fraction softer. I nodded, still reeling from the shock. Chloe, biting her lip so hard it had to hurt, trailed silently behind us, tears swimming in her eyes. In the back of the black Bentley, Chloe sat in the passenger seat, her shoulders shaking with silent sobs. According to the plot I knew, this was the moment Caleb was supposed to notice her distress, pull her into a gentle embrace, and murmur words of comfort, maybe shooting a warning glance at me—the interloper—for upsetting his precious sister. But the Caleb in this car didn’t so much as glance at her in the rearview mirror. My confusion deepened. What version of the story was this? It had to be a pirated edition. 2 The Bentley glided to a stop before an ornate, wrought-iron gate. This was the Ashford estate. The book’s brief descriptions of its luxury were now my staggering reality. The second the car door opened, Chloe seemed to find her footing again. “Dad! Mom!” There, standing anxiously by the grand entrance, were our parents. My mother—my biological mother, Eleanor—swept Chloe into her arms. “Chloe, darling, why are you crying? Who upset you?” “Caleb… he was so scary…” Chloe buried her face in Eleanor’s shoulder, her sobs finally breaking free. My father, Richard Ashford, scowled. “Caleb, what’s the meaning of this?” Caleb ignored him, walking around the front of the car to open my door. “Get out, Maya.” I moved my stiff limbs, the heavy, expensive jacket draped over me, and stepped into the magnificent entryway of my new home. Instantly, every eye was on me, each gaze dripping with disdain. A bitter smile touched my lips. This, at least, was exactly as it was written. Next up was Chloe’s masterclass in twisting the truth, followed by my parents’ furious condemnation of the “feral girl from the countryside,” culminating in them demanding I kneel and apologize to her. After that, the endless torture would begin. I lowered my eyes, calculating my first move for survival in this house. Should I swallow my pride and endure it, or should I burn the whole thing down? Just then, Chloe lifted her head from Eleanor’s embrace, her eyes red-rimmed and brimming with a pitiful sorrow as she looked at me. “That man back in the country… he did raise our sister for eighteen years. He may not have been perfect, but he was there for her…” she began, her voice trembling. “When Caleb wanted someone to… to break the man’s fingers, all I did was suggest he reconsider…” She choked on a sob. “And Caleb… he told me to shut up.” Her tears spilled over again, as if she had suffered the world’s greatest injustice. “I know he’s just being protective of his sister now that she’s back, but we can’t be so unreasonable, can we?” It was a flawless performance. She painted herself as the victim while branding me as “unreasonable” and Caleb as cruel and impulsive. As expected, Eleanor hugged her tighter. “You poor thing. It’s not your fault, sweetheart.” She then turned to me, her brow furrowed in disapproval. “Maya, is it? I understand you’ve had a difficult life, but the Ashfords are a reasonable family.” “Chloe is your sister. She was only looking out for you. How could you let your brother treat her like that?” Richard let out a sharp, cold grunt. “No manners at all! You’ve been here five minutes and you’re already turning the house upside down! Apologize to your sister this instant!” I stood there, silent. Anything I said now would be wrong. “Apologize?” Caleb’s voice cut through the tension, cold as a winter wind. “Chloe, I’ll ask you again.” “You feel sorry for him?” Chloe flinched at his tone, shrinking back into Eleanor’s arms. “I… I just felt that…” “That he was right to take a scythe to my sister’s arm?” Caleb’s voice rose, sharp and dangerous. The expressions on Richard and Eleanor’s faces froze. “A scythe?” Eleanor whispered, her eyes wide with disbelief as she stared at me. Caleb gave no one a chance to recover. He strode over to me, grabbed my wrist, and yanked up my filthy sleeve. The wound was laid bare for all to see—a jagged gash where the flesh was peeled back, the blood dried to a dark, grotesque crust. It was hideous. “Do you see it clearly now?” he demanded, holding my arm out as if for inspection. “This is what the man your ‘good daughter’ Chloe was defending did to her!” Eleanor’s breath hitched. She covered her mouth, her eyes filled with shock. Richard’s face went from stern to ashen. “Now,” Caleb said, his gaze locking back onto the terrified Chloe. “You tell me. Who should my sister be apologizing to?” Chloe’s lips trembled, but not a single sound escaped. I watched the hard line of Caleb’s jaw, my heart pounding in a wild, uncontrollable rhythm. Who was this man? This was absolutely not the Caleb Ashford from the book—the brother who would have burned the world down for Chloe. 3 Richard and Eleanor’s faces were a kaleidoscope of shifting emotions, the most prominent being a flicker of guilt—a shamefully late arrival for their biological daughter. Chloe was as white as a ghost. While I was still processing, Caleb pulled out his phone and dialed a number. “Dr. Evans, I need you at the house immediately.” Less than ten minutes later, a silver-haired man carrying a medical bag hurried in. Dr. Evans sucked in a breath when he saw my arm. “This was made by a sharp blade. It needs to be cleaned and stitched at once, or it will get infected. It could even cause permanent damage.” Eleanor swayed on her feet, her eyes instantly reddening. Caleb guided me to the sofa and watched intently as Dr. Evans treated the wound. When the antiseptic wipe touched the raw flesh, my whole body seized with pain, but I clamped my jaw shut and didn’t make a sound. This was nothing compared to the eighteen years I’d already endured. From the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of what looked like jealousy in Chloe’s expression. She couldn’t seem to grasp why the center of attention had suddenly shifted to me. At dinner, Chloe sat beside Eleanor, trying several times to start a conversation, only to be silenced by a cold glare from Caleb. Finally, she plastered on a bright smile, picked up the largest shrimp from a platter, and placed it in my bowl. “Maya, you have to try this. Mrs. Gable’s scampi is the best you’ll ever have.” Her smile tightened. “I bet you never got seafood this fresh… back where you were from, did you?” Before I could respond, Caleb set down his fork. He reached over, took my bowl, and swapped it with his own. “She’s allergic to shellfish.” The smile on Chloe’s face froze. “Oh! I’m so sorry, Maya, I… I didn’t know…” She immediately adopted a wounded, on-the-verge-of-tears expression and looked to our parents for sympathy. “I was just trying to make sure she ate well…” “You didn’t know?” Caleb’s laugh was devoid of humor. “Her file has been on my desk for a week. You looked at it yesterday.” The blood drained from Chloe’s face, leaving it completely colorless. For the first time, Richard and Eleanor looked at her with a glimmer of suspicion. After dinner, Caleb led me upstairs to the second floor. He pushed open the door to the largest room at the end of the hall. “You’ll stay here from now on.” The room was decorated in minimalist shades of black, white, and grey, dominated by a massive floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the estate’s gardens. It had the best view in the house. “Caleb, we haven’t had a chance to get Maya any clothes yet…” Chloe had followed us, her voice timid. “The dress I wore after my shower this afternoon was one of Chloe’s,” I added quietly. The dress was faded, the style was years old, and it fit me terribly. I knew exactly what Chloe was doing: reminding everyone that I was still the country bumpkin who had to wear her hand-me-downs. “If you don’t mind, Maya, you can wear some of my things for now. They’re all a bit old, but…” She didn’t get to finish. Caleb snapped his fingers. Several clerks in sharp uniforms appeared, pushing a long rack of clothing into the room. Louis Vuitton. Chanel. Dior. Everything from casual wear to evening gowns, shoes to accessories. All of it brand new. “It was all purchased in your size,” Caleb said, his gaze fixed on me. Then he glanced at Chloe. “Her old things can be thrown out.” Standing before a mountain of luxury goods, Chloe looked like she was grinding her teeth to dust. Later that night, as I was getting ready for bed, there was a knock on the door. It was Chloe, with Richard and Eleanor standing behind her. “Maya,” Eleanor began, her tone strained, “this room… Chloe has always wanted to turn it into her playroom.” Chloe’s eyes immediately filled with tears as she tugged on Eleanor’s sleeve. “Mom and Dad promised me. They said for my birthday they would fill it with presents just for me…” Richard frowned. “It’s just a room. You just got here, you can take the smaller one next door for now. Let your sister have this one.” There it was again. The casual, deeply ingrained favoritism. They still couldn’t grasp who their real daughter was. I was about to speak when a cool voice came from behind them. “Fine.” Caleb was leaning against the far wall of the hallway, hands in his pockets. “She can have it.” A triumphant smirk flashed across Chloe’s face. “However,” Caleb continued, his gaze pinning her in place, “Maya will move into your room.” Chloe’s smile froze. “She is the true heir of this family. She deserves the best room in the house, after the master suite.” He didn’t give them an inch. “Since Mom and Dad already promised you this one as a playroom, I won’t interfere.” He lifted his chin slightly. “You,” he said to Chloe, “can move into the guest room.” Before anyone could protest, he spoke to the butler who stood silently down the hall. “Go and have all of Miss Chloe’s things removed from her room. Everything.” 4 The butler bowed his head. “Yes, sir.” He turned to carry out the order. Chloe finally broke. “Why?” she shrieked, tears streaming down her face, her swollen eyes locked on Caleb. “Tell me why, Caleb! Why have you been targeting me ever since I came back?” “You… you used to love me most of all!” Eleanor could no longer stay silent, her face a mask of disapproval. “Caleb, how can you treat Chloe this way? She’s your sister!” Richard’s face was dark with anger. “This is ridiculous! What has Chloe done to deserve being kicked out of her room?” I watched from the sidelines, a cold observer. Not a single one of them, not even now, saw me as part of this family. Seeing her parents rush to her defense, Chloe’s crying intensified. She stumbled forward and grabbed Caleb’s sleeve. “Brother, please tell me, did I do something to offend you? Tell me and I’ll change, I promise I’ll fix it, okay?” Caleb’s gaze slowly swept over the three of them. He ignored Chloe’s desperate pleas. “Dad, Mom. Is there something you’re failing to understand here?” Richard and Eleanor froze. “Who,” Caleb said, his voice dangerously quiet, “is your actual daughter.” The question was a knife, twisting directly into our parents’ hearts. Their eyes involuntarily darted toward me, toward the face that was a clear echo of Eleanor’s, the eyes so like Richard’s. Eleanor’s lips parted, her expression a war of guilt and internal conflict. Richard’s throat worked. Finally, he managed to force the words out. “But… but Chloe… we raised her for eighteen years. There are feelings involved…” “Feelings?” Caleb let out a short, sharp laugh. “So, your feelings trump blood? They trump justice?” He took a step forward, his presence overwhelming. “Have you ever stopped to think that if Maya hadn’t been stolen, the life Chloe has been living would have been hers? This house, these clothes, this very room—it was all meant for her!” His voice rose with each word. “And yet you stand here acting as if she’s the intruder, the one who doesn’t belong!” Every syllable he spoke drained more color from Richard and Eleanor’s faces, leaving them speechless and pale. Sensing the tide turning against her, Chloe panicked. She quickly wiped her tears, transforming into a picture of mature understanding and heartbreaking sorrow. “Caleb, don’t blame Mom and Dad. It’s all my fault.” She lowered her head, her voice thick with unshed tears. “I shouldn’t have fought with my sister over a room. I… I’ll move out right now.” She looked at our parents, pleading. “Please, just don’t send me away.” Then, she took a small step toward me and tugged on the sleeve of my shirt, fat tears plopping onto the floor. “Maya… I’m sorry. Please don’t be angry with me.” A brilliant tactical retreat. But I knew that in this moment, I couldn’t say a word. Caleb was fighting this battle for me. If I softened now, if I played the part of the magnanimous sister and gave the room back, I would be throwing his efforts back in his face. It would be a slap in the face to him, and it would put me right back in the position of being the family doormat. After just one day, I understood the landscape of this house perfectly. My parents’ affection was fickle, and Chloe was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The only person I could rely on to secure my place here was the cold, powerful man standing before me. So I dropped my gaze and said nothing. Seeing her olive branch rejected, a flicker of pure venom crossed Chloe’s eyes before it was drowned again in a fresh wave of sorrow. In the end, under Caleb’s unwavering pressure, the scene concluded with Chloe sobbing as she was moved to the guest room. That night, lying in a bed so soft it felt alien, I tossed and turned. For eighteen years, I’d slept on hard wooden planks under damp, mildewed blankets. This sudden comfort felt strange, unsettling. I closed my eyes, but one sentence echoed in my mind. “She is the true heir of this family.” I slept without dreaming. The next day, my body’s internal clock woke me at the crack of dawn. I put on a set of the new clothes Caleb had bought for me, the silk a foreign, luxurious sensation against my skin. I opened my bedroom door, planning to head downstairs. I never expected to find Chloe kneeling on the floor right outside, her face streaked with tears.

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My son had been kidnapped. The ransom was one hundred million dollars. When I went to wire the money, I discovered my husband’s executive assistant had frozen our accounts. I stormed into his office to confront her. She tossed a check on the desk—it was for two hundred and fifty dollars. Chloe smirked. “Maybe you could negotiate with them? Ask for a payment plan? I’m sure they’d be willing to return the kid in installments, too.” Rage, white-hot and blinding, washed over me. I slapped her, hard, across the face. Then again. That’s when Carter arrived. He didn’t hesitate. A swift, brutal kick landed squarely in my chest, knocking the air from my lungs. He pulled Chloe into his arms, shielding her as if I were the threat. His eyes, when they met mine, were chips of ice. “Chloe was just making a joke, Evelyn. You had no right to lay a hand on her.” His voice was dangerously calm. “And since we’re being honest… our son isn’t coming back. So I might as well tell you. Chloe and I have a child together. A boy. If you play your cards right, he might even be generous enough to call you ‘Mom’ one day.” My world fractured. At that exact moment, my phone buzzed. A video from the kidnappers. It was a close-up of a small hand, followed by the sickening crack of bone as they broke every single one of his fingers. But as the child’s face, contorted in agony, filled the screen, a strange, chilling calm descended over me. I recognized that face. I smiled, a thin, brittle thing, and transferred the $250. I attached a note: His mother said you can have the money in installments. I guess you can return him the same way. 1 The first thing I did after the transfer was place a video call to my son, Leo. He answered almost immediately, his sweet, familiar face filling my screen. “Mom! I’m still in Berlin with Uncle Mark for the robotics championship! We’ll be on a flight home this afternoon. Don’t miss me too much, okay?” A wave of relief so powerful it felt like grief washed over me. My heart, which had been a stone in my chest, finally started to beat again. I hung up and turned, just in time to see Chloe directing facilities management to hang black-and-white portraits of Leo around the office. Memorial photos. The rage returned, a tidal wave in my blood. I snatched one of the portraits from the wall and tore it to shreds. Chloe blinked, a perfect picture of innocence. “Evelyn, I know this is hard to accept, but I was just trying to help you find some closure. There’s no need to lash out.” A bitter laugh escaped my lips. “The only person who needs to be grieving here is you. It’s your son they took.” For a split second, her face went slack, her skin ashen. Then she crumpled into Carter’s arms, her shoulders shaking with manufactured sobs. “Even if I didn’t pay… how could she say something so horrible? How could she curse my Sterling?” Carter’s eyes burned with a righteous fury. He struck me, a sharp, stinging slap that rocked my head to the side. “So what if I don’t want to pay?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “For years, you and that boy have been leeches, bleeding me dry.” He gestured to my clothes with a contemptuous flick of his wrist. “You want money? Start taking things off. Ten thousand dollars an item.” The scornful gazes of his employees were like a thousand tiny needles piercing my skin. My entire body trembled with fury. Fine. I walked to the head of the boardroom, connected my phone to the projector, and played the kidnapper’s video on the massive screen. The brutal, bloody images filled the room. No one could watch it without flinching in horror. Chloe let out a theatrical shriek and buried her face in her hands. Carter’s attention snapped to her immediately, which is why he missed it—the unmistakable resemblance between the tortured child on the screen and the woman sobbing in his arms. “Carter, it’s horrible,” she whimpered, clutching his suit jacket. “I’m going to have nightmares for weeks. I’m so scared.” He instantly ordered someone to smash the projection system, then shot me a look of pure loathing. “You think showing me this will make me feel sorry for you? Make me pay? You want to put on a show, Evelyn, you have to go all the way. Tell the kidnappers to send me his body.” I stared at the man before me, a stranger carved from ice and cruelty. We were college sweethearts, had built an empire together, weathered more than a decade of storms side-by-side. I couldn’t believe this was our final chapter. My voice was flat, devoid of all emotion. “Just make sure you don’t regret this, Carter.” He had the IT department forcibly wipe the video from my phone, ensuring Chloe wouldn’t be “traumatized” again. Tucked safely in his embrace, she shot me a triumphant, mocking smile. Just then, Carter’s phone rang. It was the kidnappers. “Mr. Harrison,” a gravelly voice threatened. “You’re a colder bastard than I thought. Don’t you even want your favorite son back?” “Maybe hearing him will change your mind.” A child’s agonized screams filled the line. “Daddy! Mommy! It hurts so much! Please, help me!” The color drained from Carter’s face. He looked down at Chloe, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. “Chloe… that sounds a little like Sterling.” She rolled her eyes, a perfect imitation of loving exasperation. “Don’t be silly. Sterling is safe at the Greenwich estate. It’s obviously Leo, trying to imitate his voice to trick you into saving him.” Comprehension dawned on Carter’s face, followed by a renewed wave of disgust directed at me. He spoke into the phone, each word a block of ice. “Kill him. I have other children.” He paused. “But do me a favor. Keep his kidneys. Freeze them and send them to me. Sterling needs a transplant. You do that, and I might even throw in ten million for your trouble.” The kidnapper laughed, a harsh, incredulous sound, and hung up. Watching Carter’s smug, cruel expression, a wave of nausea rose in my throat. I couldn’t take another second. I pulled the divorce papers from my purse and slammed them on the table. “I’m done, Carter. We’re getting a divorce.” He stared at me for a moment, then his face hardened into a mask of contempt. “Can’t get the ransom, so you threaten me with divorce? You’re getting more creative, I’ll give you that, Evelyn.” He snatched a pen and scrawled his name across the signature line, then threw the papers in my face. “Your doctor told me years ago, remember?” he sneered. “Your fertility was declining. By now, you’re nothing but a barren old hen. I was going to be generous. I was thinking I’d let you stay on as Sterling’s nanny, give you a few hundred bucks a month so you wouldn’t die alone. But you threw that away. Don’t come crawling back to me when you realize what you’ve lost.” My knuckles were white as I clutched the papers. It took every ounce of my self-control not to scream the truth at him—the truth I had hidden for years to protect his fragile ego. The doctor’s diagnosis hadn’t been for me. It had been for him. He swept Chloe into his arms, a picture of adoration. “Come on, darling. Let’s go to the hospital and arrange that transplant. Sterling is going to be whole again very soon.” True to their word, the kidnappers sent the kidney. Carter had me dragged to the hospital, insisting that since it was Leo’s kidney, I was the one who had to sign the organ donation consent forms. When I arrived, he was in the middle of wiring ten million dollars to the kidnappers, not blinking an eye. The voice on the phone was dark, laced with a strange significance. “You’re a generous man, Mr. Harrison. But like I said before, if I don’t see the full hundred million, you’re going to get your son back… piece by piece.” Carter hung up impatiently and shoved the forms at me. “Sign.” I looked at him, my face a blank mask. “This isn’t Leo’s kidney. It’s Sterling’s. Shouldn’t Chloe be the one signing this?” His fingers clamped around my jaw, his grip so tight I thought the bone would snap. “If I hear you curse my son’s name one more time,” he ground out, his voice like grinding steel, “I will kill you.” Just then, one of his executives rushed in, breathless with excitement. “Mr. Harrison! The tech team tracked the calls! We have the kidnappers’ location. We can give it to the police and get your son back!” I wrenched myself from Carter’s grasp. “Then what are you waiting for? Call them!” I despised Carter and Chloe, despised the secret life they’d built on a foundation of lies. But the child didn’t deserve to die. “No!” Carter’s voice was a whip crack. “Do not call the police! And tell the tech team to wipe all the location data immediately.” I stared at him in disbelief. “Carter, are you insane? That’s your son!” He whirled on me, his face a mask of rage. “Sterling needs that kidney! If the police get involved, they’ll put it back in Leo’s body. Are you really willing to let a child die just to save Leo? Is that how selfish you are?!” To make sure I couldn’t act, he had his bodyguards smash my phone and tablet. I watched it all, numb, a storm of hatred and vindication brewing inside me. You chose this, Carter. This is all on you. At that moment, Chloe ran in, her face streaked with tears. “Carter! I called the estate to have them bring Sterling for the surgery, but they said he’s gone! He’s missing!” Panic flared across Carter’s handsome features. Chloe’s eyes, full of venom, locked onto mine. Then, she threw herself to the floor, kneeling at my feet. “Evelyn, I know you’re in pain,” she sobbed. “I know you resent that my Sterling is alive while you’re losing your own son. But take your anger out on me! Please… just give me my son back! I’m begging you!” I frowned, bewildered by her insane performance. Before I could speak, Carter’s foot slammed into my stomach. Pain exploded through me. I collapsed, gasping for air as agony ripped through my abdomen. Carter stood over me, his shadow falling across my face as he delivered his judgment. “Tell me where Sterling is. Now,” he said, his voice deadly soft. “Or I swear to God, I will end you.” It was a struggle to speak through the pain. “I told you… the kidnappers have Sterling. You need to talk to them, not me.” He let out a series of short, cold laughs. “Right.” He turned to his assistant. “Evelyn’s brother has been out of the country. Find out where he is. Now!” Minutes later, a stack of photos was in his hands. It was my brother, Mark, with Leo at an airport. Mark’s security detail is legendary; they’re the best in the world. The photographer had only been able to get shots from a distance, mostly of their backs. Even just seeing the familiar shape of Leo’s back made my heart ache. But in that moment, I had never been more grateful that he was safe. I pointed a trembling finger at the photo. “Open your damn eyes, Carter. That jacket Leo is wearing? You had it custom-made for his birthday last year. It’s one of a kind. That is Leo with my brother. Not Sterling.” Carter’s hand tightened on the photos, a flicker of panic in his eyes. But Chloe snatched them from him. “Don’t listen to her, Carter,” she insisted. “Look at his height, his build. It’s exactly like Sterling’s. That is our son. Believe me, the kidnappers would never touch Sterling.” Her absolute confidence was jarring. A wild, impossible thought began to form in the back of my mind. Carter’s brow smoothed. He stepped forward and ground his heel into the back of my hand. A sickening crunch echoed in the sterile room, followed by my own scream. The pain was blinding. In a frenzy, I lunged forward and bit his leg, my teeth sinking into the flesh. He yelped and pulled back, a sadistic smile twisting his lips. “Stop pretending. I know your brother has the resources to snatch Sterling without anyone knowing. But your protector isn’t in the country now, is he? If you don’t have him return my son, you’ll be joining yours in the grave.” I fought back tears of pain, about to speak, when a security guard entered with a box, a coppery smell wafting from it. “Mr. Harrison. This just arrived from the kidnappers.” He opened it. Inside lay a child’s severed arm. A note was tucked beside it. The first installment. If the money doesn’t come, the next one will be fatal. I stared at Carter, my voice ringing with desperate clarity. “If you have a shred of sense left, you’ll have a doctor do a DNA test on that arm and prove I’m telling the truth!” The challenge hit its mark. He started to call for a doctor. “Carter, no!” Chloe wrapped her arms around his, pouting. “Don’t fall for her tricks. A DNA test will take time. She’s just stalling until her brother gets back to save her.” He froze, understanding dawning in his eyes. The look he gave me was pure venom. “It seems you won’t learn until you’ve lost everything,” he whispered. “In that case, don’t blame me for what comes next.” He had me dragged to the estate’s dog kennels, where he kept a pack of half-starved wolves. Sterling’s arm was hung from the cage. The frenzied snarling of the animals made my blood run cold. Chloe leaned against Carter, a picture of smug pity. “You should just tell your brother to bring Sterling back, Evelyn. In a few minutes, that arm is going to be wolf food. I’ll tell you what… if you get on your knees and apologize for everything, I’ll be merciful and give you ten more minutes to think about it.” Carter stroked her hair. “You’re always too kind, my love.” I looked from them to the arm, my voice eerily calm. “You two really are a perfect match. Blind in exactly the same way. Can’t you see it? There’s an oval birthmark on the forearm. Leo doesn’t have a birthmark.” Chloe’s composure faltered for an instant. She stepped closer, squinting at the arm. Then she burst out laughing. “A birthmark? Evelyn, that’s a smudge of dried blood. I think you’re finally losing your mind.” Carter gently fed her a grape and gave a cold command. “Throw it in.” The wolves descended on the arm in a flurry of teeth and snarls. Carter watched me, his eyes searching my face for a flicker of grief, of pain. He found nothing. “Has she really gone insane?” he muttered, lighting a cigarette with a frustrated flick of his wrist. With a wave of his hand, a swarm of reporters and news crews flooded the area. Chloe winked at me. “See? I even called the media for you. With all this attention, I’m sure your precious Leo will be rescued soon.” She leaned in closer. “I’m even willing to forgive you for having your brother kidnap Sterling.” I couldn’t help but laugh, a raw, humorless sound. Everyone knows that involving the media in a kidnapping is a death sentence for the hostage. It only angers the captors. My heart ached for that poor, innocent child. I couldn’t stop the tears that welled in my eyes. “Do you really have to take it this far?” I whispered. Chloe moved beside me, her voice a venomous hiss for my ears only. “You should know, even if you returned Sterling, your son would still be dead. He’s in my son’s way. If he survives this, I’ll just arrange another accident. And another. Let’s see how long Leo’s luck holds out, shall we?” I snapped. My hand flew out, the crack of my palm against her cheek echoing in the sudden silence. She expertly used the momentum, stumbling backward and collapsing to the ground, her beautiful eyes filling with tears as she let out a wounded sob. Carter’s chest heaved with fury. He rushed to Chloe’s side, lifting her into his arms before turning to face the cameras, his voice booming with authority. “We have investigated this matter thoroughly. The kidnapping of my son, Leo, was orchestrated by his own mother, Evelyn Vance.” “Therefore, I will not be paying the ransom. Furthermore, as of this moment, I am officially and legally severing all ties with him. He is no longer my son.” He gestured to a lawyer, who stepped forward with a document. “The contract is prepared. It will be signed and effective immediately.” The media erupted. Cameras flashed, microphones were shoved in my face, capturing my humiliation from every angle. The crowd of onlookers jeered, shouting insults, calling me a monster. Someone lunged forward, grabbing my hand, trying to force my thumb onto an ink pad. I wrenched free and locked eyes with Carter, a long, silent moment passing between us. Then, with a resolve that felt ancient and absolute, I bit down on my own thumb, drawing blood, and pressed a crimson print onto the paper. My voice was steady, each word a vow. “This is your choice, Carter. From this day forward, Leo has nothing to do with you.” A triumphant smile spread across Carter’s face. He leaned down and kissed Chloe. “It’s done, my love. From now on, everything I have belongs to Sterling. I promised you, and I delivered.” As they celebrated, a phalanx of large, professional-looking men in dark suits cut through the crowd, clearing a path. And then I heard a small, worried voice behind me. “Mom, don’t be scared! I brought Uncle Mark to come save you!”

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My friend asked me how thrilling it was to cheat under my wife’s nose. I paused, considering. Thrilling wasn’t quite the word. It was more about avoiding the constant anxiety and the pretense of guilt that plagued others. Then my friend asked, “And if your wife found another man, would you be alright with that?” Of course, I wouldn’t be. But I steadfastly believed my wife would never stray.

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To celebrate my sister-in-law, Chloe, hitting a million followers, I took her to The Spire, my husband’s new rooftop restaurant. It was supposed to be a triumph—for her, for him, for us. We were halfway through a bottle of champagne, the city lights of New York glittering below us like a fallen constellation. Chloe was live, her phone propped against a breadbasket, a ring light casting a perfect angelic glow on her face as she chatted with her followers. I was taking a picture of her, a celebratory shot against the skyline, when a shadow fell over our table. A hand shot out, snatched my phone, and before I could even process what was happening, plunged it into the silver ice bucket chilling our champagne. We both stared, speechless, as the screen flickered and died with a sickening fizz. Then came the voice, sharp and grating as shattered glass. “All you do is tap-tap-tap on that damn phone! Trying to brand yourself as some kind of debutante to trap a rich man, is that it? Didn’t your mother ever teach you to have some goddamn shame?” Chloe and I just looked at each other, then back at my drowned phone, now a useless brick submerged beside a seventy-dollar bottle of Veuve Clicquot. “Are you out of your mind?” I said, slowly getting to my feet. My voice was low, cold. “What I do with my phone has nothing to do with you.” The woman’s smirk widened, her arrogance radiating off her like cheap perfume. “I’m the manager here,” she snapped. “You’ve been taking up this table for forty minutes. That gives me every right to tell you to get the hell out.” She gestured around the opulent dining room. “I can’t stand girls like you. Broke as a joke, but you’ll max out a credit card to play dress-up for the ‘gram. You’re nothing but wannabe mistresses.” I was so stunned I couldn’t speak. I didn’t know my husband, Grayson, had a second wife. Her eyes, framed in severe, black eyeliner, glittered with a poisonous satisfaction. She pulled out her own phone. “You just wait. My husband will be here any minute to deal with two classless little bitches like you.” 1 She crossed her arms, a smug sense of victory plastered on her face. “Don’t think I don’t know your type. You see a place like this, pull out your cheap phone, and start snapping pictures for clout. It’s pathetic. You’re trash.” When we remained silent, she grew even bolder. With a sneer, she fished my dead phone from the ice bucket, water streaming from its ports, and tossed it onto the marble floor. Then, she deliberately brought the needle-thin heel of her glittery pump down on the screen, shattering it with a definitive crunch. “What’s the matter? Nothing to say?” she taunted. “Cat got your tongue? Hit a little too close to home, did I? I see girls like you every single year, trying to fake it till you make it. This is a high-end restaurant, not a goddamn brothel!” Chloe glanced at me, her eyes wide. Her other phone, the one she’d been using for her livestream, was still on, the camera broadcasting this entire nightmare to thousands of people. Her comments section was exploding. [omg what is happening?! Who is this psycho??] [That’s The Spire, the new Blackwood Holdings restaurant. It’s the hottest spot in NYC right now. That woman is the manager, I’ve seen her before.] [A manager can’t act like that! This is insane!] The comments flew by in a blur. Chloe, whose personality was naturally on the softer side, fumbled for her phone. Her fingers flew across the screen, her composure crumbling as she typed in the Blackwood family group chat. [Dad, Mom, something crazy is happening. This woman at Grayson’s restaurant is attacking me and Claire!] Then she tagged Grayson. [@Grayson Blackwood get to the restaurant NOW!] Getting no immediate reply, she tugged on my sleeve, her voice a small, frightened whisper. “Claire…” I patted her hand, a silent promise that I would handle this. Then I lifted my gaze, my eyes locking with the manager’s. “If you’re sick, I suggest you see a doctor. Don’t stand here barking at my sister and me like a stray dog.” Her eyes, heavy with that exaggerated eyeliner, narrowed. A flicker of raw jealousy crossed her face before her words turned even sharper. “Me, barking?” She laughed, a short, ugly sound. “Oh, I’ve seen your kind a million times. You build this fake little princess persona online, get an army of thirsty guys to worship you. You love it when men kiss your feet, don’t you? But you can’t stand it when someone calls you out on your bullshit.” I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath. I refused to argue with her. You can’t reason with an animal. “Right now,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet, my eyes snapping open to pin her with a glare. “Go get the owner. Your supposed husband. Bring him here.” I said nothing more, letting the command hang in the air. My gaze drifted over her, cataloging the cheap dress and the overly aggressive makeup. But then, my eyes snagged on the necklace resting against her collarbone. The Ocean Star. In that instant, the brilliant, sun-drenched afternoon outside the panoramic windows seemed to cloud over. A bone-deep chill washed over me, cold and sickening. The Ocean Star was a set. Two identical necklaces, each featuring a sapphire so deep and blue it seemed to hold the sea itself. Grayson had bought both of them at a Sotheby’s auction earlier this year. He’d fastened one around my neck himself. The other, he’d placed carefully back in its velvet box and locked it in our safe. “When we have a daughter,” he’d said, his voice soft as he kissed my temple, “this will be my first gift to her. You and she will have matching ones.” Back then, I had been floating in the warm, blissful sea of our love. I thought I had married the perfect man, a man who already adored the daughter we hadn’t even conceived yet. But now, seeing that promise, that symbol of our future family, hanging around another woman’s neck… it was like watching a blade slice through the beautiful dream I’d been living in. The thought of her powerful man seemed to inflate the manager’s ego even further. Her chin lifted. “You’re clearly out of your depth, sweetie. When my husband gets here, you two will be lucky if you only get thrown out of the city.” Chloe leaned closer, her voice trembling. The woman’s unhinged aggression had terrified her. “Claire,” she whispered, “the owner she’s talking about… it’s not Grayson, is it?” I took another shaky breath but couldn’t answer. It felt like a giant hand was squeezing my heart, cutting off all the air. Realization dawned on Chloe’s face, followed by a surge of protective anger. She grabbed her phone again, her thumbs flying across the family chat. [Mom, Dad, you need to get to Grayson’s new restaurant RIGHT NOW. If you don’t, our family is going to fall apart.] She took a photo of the manager, the Ocean Star necklace clearly visible, and posted it directly in the chat, tagging her brother again. [@Grayson Blackwood, WHO IS THIS WOMAN?! HAVE YOU LOST YOUR MIND?!] She didn’t try to hide what she was doing. She wanted—no, she needed—for this to be some kind of terrible mistake. My mother-in-law’s reply was instantaneous. [That bastard! Claire, you tell Claire not to be afraid. The Blackwood family will only ever recognize HER as our daughter-in-law.] But as Chloe waited, her phone remained silent. No reply from Grayson. Our escalating conflict had now drawn the attention of the entire restaurant. I had no desire to be a public spectacle, the star of some cheap circus act, so I fell silent. But others were more than happy to join the fray. An older woman, who I assumed was the manager’s sister, materialized at her side and glared at us. “You heard her! Get out! And delete every single picture you took on your way out. This establishment doesn’t allow trash like you to use it as a backdrop!” The older woman then turned to the manager. “Don’t you worry, sis. I’m here. I won’t let anyone cause trouble for you. Besides, your man will be here any second.” At the mention of Grayson, a sickeningly sweet, triumphant smile bloomed on the manager’s face. It was grotesque. It was blinding. Her confidence surging, she turned back to us, her voice dripping with venom. “You know what? I’ve changed my mind. Just leaving isn’t enough. I want you to post a public apology online. I want you to admit to everyone that you’re nothing but pathetic, clout-chasing gold diggers.” 2 A laugh escaped my lips. Not of anger, but of sheer, unadulterated absurdity. It was as if I had stumbled into a theater of the bizarre. I truly couldn’t comprehend how a person so grotesquely delusional could exist in the world. Chloe, who had just started college, who had been coddled and adored her entire life, had never had a finger pointed at her in accusation, let alone been subjected to such a vile, public tirade. The tears that had been welling in her eyes finally spilled over, streaming down her pale cheeks. She was utterly devastated. The sight of her tears seemed to enrage the manager even more. “Cry! Go on, cry!” she shrieked. “That’s all you women know how to do, isn’t it? Use your tears as a weapon to manipulate men! Am I wrong? Aren’t you gold diggers? It’s disgusting!” Suddenly, she let out a piercing scream that nearly shattered the crystal glasses on the tables. “Ah! You little slut! Don’t you dare get your filthy tears on that plate! I swear to God, who knows what kind of diseases you have!” She took two dramatic steps back, as if we were lepers. “Post the apology now!” she commanded. “And you’ll pay this restaurant a hundred thousand dollars for sanitation fees! You’re filthy!” At the mention of the money, the last bit of color drained from Chloe’s face. She looked like she was about to collapse. I closed my eyes. I had no desire to engage with an idiot, but that didn’t mean I was going to let this raving lunatic walk all over us. I placed a reassuring hand on Chloe’s arm, but a hot surge of adrenaline was already coursing through me. My face was a thundercloud as I rounded the table. I walked straight up to the manager and, with all the force I could muster, slapped her hard across the face. The crisp, sharp sound echoed through the suddenly silent restaurant. Every diner, every waiter, froze. Mouths hung open as heads swiveled in our direction. In the livestream’s comment section, the frantic chatter came to an abrupt halt. Chloe seized the moment, her phone angled just right, transcribing the manager’s every vicious word into the family group chat. My mother-in-law’s response was immediate and furious. [Who is this blind, worthless piece of trash! Chloe, protect your sister-in-law! Your father and I are on our way!] [And your brother, who knows what the hell he’s doing! He’s not even looking at his phone!] Chloe wiped a tear from her eye, a small measure of relief washing over her. The manager, stunned by the blow, took a moment to recover. She cradled her flaming cheek, her eyes filled with a mixture of shock and pure hatred. In her twisted fantasy, I was supposed to be the one groveling, posting apologies, and scurrying away in shame. “You hit me?” she screeched. “You bitch! Who the hell do you think you are to lay a hand on me?” Her voice climbed to a hysterical pitch. “Do you have any idea who my husband is? The president of the Blackwood Holdings! I am the future matriarch of the Blackwood family!” The sound was so shrill it made my ears ring. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. Her gaze flickered between my face and Chloe’s, and her fury seemed to intensify. It was obvious she despised women who looked like us—the type she probably labeled as “the innocent type.” In her mind, that look was a weapon, a master key for hopping from one rich man’s bed to another. The thought sent her spiraling into a nonstop, vitriolic rant. “You two bitches! You dare to touch me on my own turf? I saw you the second you walked in. You didn’t even touch your food, just sat there snapping photos with your phone for forty damn minutes!” she spat. “This is an elite establishment. Our tables are valuable. This isn’t your personal pig trough!” Her voice was loud enough to carry across the entire dining room. “I’ve seen plenty of shameless whores like you. You sleep your way to the top and you’re probably riddled with syphilis!” At that, a murmur rippled through the other diners. They looked at us with a newfound disgust. In today’s world, the mention of STDs is a potent, fear-inducing weapon. And these people, hearing only one side of the story, were easily swayed. “Oh my God, if they have something like that, they shouldn’t be out in public! Don’t infect the rest of us!” “Exactly! The manager’s right. Who takes pictures for forty minutes straight? And look at how they’re dressed, so revealing. They’re obviously trying to seduce someone!” “Manager, get them out of here! And bring me a new set of silverware! A sanitized one!” Hearing the crowd turn in her favor, the manager’s expression grew even more smug. She looked at us as if we were a contamination she was about to heroically expunge. I took a deep breath, my sharp gaze sweeping over the most vocal of the complainers. “First,” I said, my voice cutting through the noise, “is there a rule in this restaurant that forbids photography? Is there a time limit on dining? We are paying customers. This time is ours.” “Second,” I continued, my voice dripping with contempt, “are you all just going to believe whatever she says? Do you have no judgment of your own? You’re nothing but a flock of mindless sheep.” A few people had the decency to look ashamed, clearing their throats and looking away. Internet trolls and real-life bullies are the same. They only prey on those who won’t fight back. The moment you strike, they retreat into their shells like cowards. 3 Seeing that I dared to talk back, the manager’s face contorted with rage. “This is Jessica Fuller’s restaurant! If I say you broke the rules, you broke the rules! What are you going to do about it?” My eyes suddenly fixed on the name tag pinned to her chest. For a moment, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. [Jessica Fuller, Restaurant Manager.] Jessica… I’d heard that name before. Whispered in Grayson’s sleep. It was a few months ago. He’d held me for a long time after we made love, and long after his breathing had evened out, I lay awake, restless. In the dead of the night, I heard him murmur something in his sleep. “Jess… Jess…” It was so faint I wasn’t sure I’d heard it right. The next morning, as he was fastening his tie in front of the mirror, I asked him about it. His hands froze for a fraction of a second before he quickened his movements, his fingers suddenly clumsy. “You must have misheard me, honey,” he said. He’d skipped breakfast, muttering something about an early meeting at the office before hurrying out the door. I hadn’t thought much of it then. But now, in this garish, overwrought restaurant, the final puzzle piece clicked into place. Jess… So intimate. So familiar. The hand at my side clenched into a fist so tight my nails dug into my palm. An icy draft seemed to snake its way into my chest, a cold so deep it felt like it was freezing me from the inside out. Jessica’s anger continued to boil. She snatched a glass of red wine from a nearby table and hurled it at us. Before Chloe or I could react, the dark liquid splashed across our clothes, staining us in a humiliating splatter of crimson. As we stood there, stunned and dripping, she lunged forward. Smack. Smack. Two sharp slaps, one for me and one for Chloe, landed on our faces. The restaurant was now so quiet that her shrill, piercing insults were the only thing you could hear. “You bitch! You still dare to run your mouth? I’m going to teach you a lesson today!” I slowly worked my jaw, tasting the faint, coppery tang of blood in my mouth. And then, I smiled. “What the hell are you smiling at, you psycho—” CRACK! I swung my hand back, putting every ounce of my strength into the blow. I grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking her head back so she was forced to look at me. “Who do you think you are, touching me?” I snarled, my voice low and menacing. “You want to die? I’ll be happy to send you on your way.” While she was still reeling, I reached over to our table, grabbed the plate of black pepper spaghetti, and slammed it upside down onto her head. A strange, dead silence fell over the room. Even Chloe was staring, her eyes wide as she swallowed hard. She discreetly pulled out her phone. [Mom, Dad, Claire is a total badass, but you need to hurry. Her mood is… not good. I think the woman who’s bullying us might be…] She glanced at the family chat. Grayson was still silent. Chloe had a sinking feeling that a storm was about to break over the Blackwood family. Jessica stood frozen, feeling the greasy, sticky sauce and the faint, peppery smell overwhelming her senses. She tentatively raised a hand to her head, pulling away a clump of lukewarm, slimy pasta. “AHHHHHH!” Her shriek was terrifying, a sound of pure horror and rage. She clawed at her hair, flailing like a madwoman. “You bitch!” she screamed, her face turning a blotchy, furious red. “I’m going to fucking kill you today!” Her chest heaved as she fought for breath. She spun around and barked an order at a group of stone-faced men in black suits standing by the entrance. “You! Get these two ignorant little sluts and tie them up!” A dozen bodyguards immediately moved toward us. Jessica’s face was a mask of triumphant hatred, her eyes venomous. “These men were assigned to me by my husband, for my protection. You two whores are dead today.” She gestured at the advancing men. “Get them!” I shoved Chloe behind me, shielding her as I faced down the pack of thugs. “You work for Grayson Blackwood, right?” I warned them. “I’m telling you, I am—” “You are shit!” Jessica shrieked, her rage escalating at the mention of his name. “So you even know my husband’s name, you bitch! You really did your homework before trying to sink your claws into him, didn’t you? I knew I was right about you!” The bodyguards paused, a flicker of uncertainty in their eyes, but it didn’t matter. Their orders were clear: protect the restaurant, and protect Jessica Fuller. With grim determination, they lunged at me. 4 Chloe was trembling, fumbling with her phone as she tried to make a call, her voice shaking uncontrollably. “Dad! Mom! When are you getting here? They’re beating us up, please, oh God—ah!” Before she could finish, a bodyguard snatched the phone from her hand and smashed it on the floor, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. Another guard backhanded her across the face, shoving her to the ground and pinning her there. She couldn’t move. “Grayson Blackwood is my brother!” she cried out. “Let me go!” But her words were muffled as a hand clamped over her mouth, her desperate pleas lost in the chaos. “Chloe!” My heart leaped into my throat. In that split second of distraction, one of the bodyguards drove his foot deep into my stomach. The force of the blow sent me flying backward. I crashed into a table, the sound of splintering wood and shattering glass exploding around me. A searing pain shot through my back as shards of broken glass sliced through my dress and into my skin. The wounds were deep; I could feel warm blood instantly soaking the fabric. My face went pale with pain. Before I could recover, a guard hauled me to my feet, kicked the back of my knees, and forced me into a humiliating kneel before Jessica. My eyes were locked on her. If looks could kill, this vile woman would have died a thousand times over. She stepped forward and slapped me again, her long nails scraping a raw, red line down my cheek. “You still dare to glare at me?” She bent down, grabbed my hair, and slammed my head against the hard marble floor. “Bitch!” she hissed. “You dare to cross me? I’m going to fix your promiscuous, little ass today!” She then picked up a serving dish of Szechuan fish from a nearby table and, with a vicious grin, poured the entire thing over my head. The oily, spicy broth and chunks of fish cascaded down my hair and face. I shut my eyes, struggling and cursing, my voice growing hoarse. “Jessica, I swear to God, I am going to destroy you!” She dropped the empty platter and looked down at me, dripping and defeated, with utter satisfaction. She pinched my chin, her fingers digging into my skin. “Such a tough one, aren’t you? Don’t worry. When my husband gets here, you two sluts won’t have a future left in this city.” From the floor, Chloe was sobbing. “You just wait! When my parents get here, they’re going to make you pay!” Jessica’s contemptuous gaze shifted to her. “Oh, I almost forgot about the younger one.” She strode over and slapped Chloe, a jealous rage flashing in her eyes as she looked at Chloe’s perfect, unblemished skin. “So young and already so experienced with men. Are your parents dead? Who taught you to be such a little seductress?” “You love taking pictures, right?” Jessica sneered. “Let’s take a few of you looking like the pathetic whore you are.” She grabbed Chloe’s discarded phone from the floor. Her eyes widened as she saw the screen. “You bitch! You were still live-streaming?” She ended the stream before turning the camera on Chloe’s terrified, tear-streaked face, snapping picture after picture. “You like the camera so much? Well, here you go!” Chloe was just a girl. She had never known this kind of cruelty. Her eyes were wide with pure, undiluted despair. “Chloe!” A primal, furious scream tore from my throat. Fueled by a surge of pure rage, I broke free from the guard holding me down. I tackled Jessica, throwing her to the floor and straddling her, my hands flying as I slapped her again and again and again. “Ah! Ah!” Jessica shrieked in pain and shock. The bodyguards, stunned for a second, finally reacted, kicking me off her. “Ms. Fuller, are you alright?” the lead bodyguard asked, his voice shaking. He was dead. Mr. Blackwood would have his head for this. His panic mounted, and he turned his vicious gaze back to me, crumpled on the floor. He stalked forward, grabbing my hair, ready to strike again. “I am Grayson Blackwood’s wife, Claire Blackwood,” I spat out, my voice raw but clear. “I’m the daughter of the Sterling Group. If you dare touch me again, you will regret it.” My certainty gave him pause. His hand froze in mid-air. But Jessica, scrambling to her feet, just laughed hysterically. “A gold digger with delusions of grandeur! His wife? I’m Grayson’s wife!” “Teach her a lesson!” she screamed at the bodyguard. “Rip that lying mouth of hers right off her face!” Just then, a commotion erupted at the entrance of the restaurant. The lead bodyguard looked over and immediately straightened up, his demeanor shifting to one of fawning subservience. “Mr. Blackwood! You’re finally here, sir!”

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After the fifth time tonight, he rolls off me, the mattress groaning in protest. He dresses in the blue-gray light of the pre-dawn city, his movements efficient and detached. He tosses a platinum card onto the nightstand. It lands with a faint, sterile click. “Don’t come back here again,” he says, his voice flat. “Ava and I are getting engaged.” Five years. I have been Carter Hayes’s beautiful, perfectly kept secret for five years, and he’s ending it with five million dollars in a bank account I now own. His tone is cold, severe, as if he’s bracing for a scene, for the clinging he’s paid so handsomely to avoid. He doesn’t know that Leo Sterling, the man who practically owns half of Manhattan’s skyline, has been pursuing me for the better part of a year, just waiting for me to say yes. Leo is wealthier, more powerful, and far more generous than Carter ever was. A golden canary like me? I can sing for any man who owns the cage. 1 “You’ve been with me a long time,” Carter says, buttoning his shirt. The sound of it is unnervingly final. “You know the rules.” He doesn’t look at me, just throws the card on the bedside table before pulling on his trousers. His face is a mask of indifference, a carefully constructed blank slate. “I want your things out of here within the week.” I nod, the sound I make a small, quiet “Mm.” Carter Hayes was never my boyfriend. He was my patron, my keeper. Our relationship was a transaction, built on sex, not love. A man of his pedigree, from a family whose name is carved into the stone of half the buildings on the Upper East Side, would never fall for someone like me. I knew that from the very first night. I never allowed myself the luxury of delusion. When the man who owns your time tells you the contract is over, a smart girl knows to walk away without a fuss. My eyes fix on the card, a small piece of plastic meant to represent sixty months of my life. Still, a hollow ache opens up in my chest. Five million dollars for five years with Carter Hayes. By the time I hear the heavy front door click shut, I realize I never even saw his back as he left. My phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the silence. It’s Leo. His voice comes through the speaker, a low rumble like aged whiskey. “Chloe,” he says. “This is the ninth time I’m asking. Are you ready to be with me?” He pauses, a soft breath on the other end. “If you say no, I’ll just have to call again next month and make it an even ten.” For a year, eight separate times, Leo Sterling has asked me to leave Carter for him. And while I may be a kept woman, I have my own strange code of ethics. Carter was paying my bills, and until he was the one to end it, I wouldn’t be the one to leave. I stay quiet for a moment, and I hear him sigh, a sound of gentle resignation. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice softening. “I can wait.” Just as he’s about to hang up, the words leave my lips before I can stop them. “Yes,” I say. “From now on, I’m with you.” A beat of stunned silence, then, “Really? Chloe, that’s… that’s incredible!” The undisguised joy, the sheer, unadulterated excitement in his voice, is a thing I haven’t heard directed at me in a very long time. Leo Sterling is a bigger player than Carter in every conceivable way. And for a girl like me, who learned to love money because it was the only thing that never let her down, one patron is as good as another. Or so I tell myself. 2 Leo is in Zurich for the week, closing a deal. “I’ll have my assistant arrange for you to move your things into my penthouse,” he’d said over the phone, his voice already mapping out the logistics. “Just tell David whatever you need.” Carter gave me a week, but it only took a day for his fiancée to get involved. I arrive back at the apartment to find my life piled on the curb outside the service entrance. Designer dresses, shoes, books… all of it tossed into a heap of expensive trash. As I’m standing there, staring at the wreckage, the service door swings open. It’s Ava Prescott, Carter’s fiancée. “I’ve never seen anything so shameless,” she says, her voice a lazy drawl. She leans against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, a picture of bored superiority. “Still hanging around, hoping for a handout?” She looks me up and down, her lip curled in a delicate sneer. “A girl like you needs to learn her place. Don’t go getting any ideas about moving up in the world.” Her words are coated in venom, her eyes filled with the casual disdain of the truly privileged. I know her type. Girls like Ava Prescott don’t see people like me as human; they see us as obstacles or entertainment. But I force a polite, practiced smile. “Miss Prescott, I have no intention of lingering. I understand the terms of the arrangement perfectly.” I crouch down and begin to gather my clothes, the silk of a blouse feeling cold against my skin. Just then, a black town car pulls up, and Carter gets out. He surveys the scene, his brow furrowing in a flicker of annoyance. “What’s going on here?” Ava immediately melts against his side, her voice turning into a saccharine purr. “Carter, darling, look at her. She refuses to leave. I know how these women think,” she says, loud enough for me to hear every word. “She’s probably trying to figure out a way to trap you.” Carter stands over me, a long shadow falling across my discarded belongings. I look up, my eyes meeting his. His gaze is heavy, filled with the crushing weight of his power, a warning. “Chloe,” he says, his voice laced with ice. “I suggest you make this easy on everyone. Let’s end this cleanly.” A bitter laugh escapes my lips before I can stop it. Does he really think I’m the one who can’t let go? “Don’t worry, Mr. Hayes,” I say, my voice steady. “I have no intention of clinging to you.” I quickly stuff the rest of my things into my suitcases. As I turn to wheel them away, Carter’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and impatient. “You took the money. Now stay out of my sight.” My feet freeze for a second, but I don’t turn back. 3 Leo’s assistant, David, meets me on the corner. He loads my luggage into the back of a sleek, black Mercedes. He’s the epitome of professionalism, whisking me away from the curb and toward a new life. He takes me to Leo’s penthouse, a stunning glass-walled apartment overlooking Central Park. “Miss Miller,” David says, handing me a heavy, cream-colored envelope as he unloads my bags. “Whatever you need, my number is programmed into the house phone.” The envelope contains an invitation. “This is for a private auction tomorrow evening. Mr. Sterling said that if you see anything you like, you are to bid on it. The price is not a concern.” I take the invitation, the thick cardstock cool in my hand. “Thank you, David.” Leo’s home is vast. As I step inside, a housekeeper and another staff member are waiting to greet me. The sheer scale of it all is a little overwhelming. In five years with Carter, I was never once allowed to feel this welcome in his space. I was a guest, always temporary. Here, it seems, I am expected. 4 The next evening, I dress for the auction. David picks me up and escorts me to the venue, a lavish ballroom in a downtown hotel. “I’ll be seated in the row directly behind you, Miss Miller,” he says discreetly. “You can bid yourself, or if you prefer, just catch my eye, and I’ll handle it for you.” “I understand,” I reply. Part of the job is knowing how to please your benefactor. Leo sent me here tonight because he wanted me to enjoy myself, to feel provided for. Buying something, even something small, is a way of showing gratitude. It’s a performance of appreciation. I scan the catalog. My eyes land on a beautiful sapphire ring, delicate and understated. It’s one of the less extravagant pieces, which makes it perfect. A tasteful choice. As I find my seat, a familiar cold dread washes over me. Carter and Ava are here. The moment Carter sees me, his brow knits together in displeasure. “What are you doing here?” Ava, standing beside him, lets out a little laugh. “Isn’t it obvious? She’s fishing. Looking for her next patron.” I say nothing. Carter’s eyes narrow. “Chloe, I believe I told you to stay out of my sight.” A real smile, sharp and genuine this time, touches my lips. “Is this your private event, Mr. Hayes? Am I not allowed to attend? Because I have an invitation.” His face darkens. It’s the first time I have ever spoken back to him, and the shock on his face is deeply satisfying. The auction begins. The sapphire ring is the first item. I raise my paddle. A moment later, I hear a bid from behind me. It’s Carter. I turn slightly and catch Ava’s eye. She’s smirking, a triumphant, childish look on her face. She’s making him bid against me purely out of spite. I’m about to raise my paddle again, but before I can, David’s voice rings out, calm and clear. He’s standing up. “Apologies, everyone,” he says to the auctioneer. “I have Mr. Sterling on the line. His new girlfriend fancies the ring, and he has instructed me to acquire it, regardless of the cost.” A hush falls over the room. My heart hammers against my ribs. I’m stunned, and I can feel the ripple of shock and gossip spread through the crowd. To place an unlimited bid on a relatively minor piece was a statement. A loud one. From the row behind me, I hear Carter’s friend murmur, a teasing edge to his voice. “Well, well. Looks like the untouchable Leo Sterling finally has a woman. I wonder who could possibly tame that workaholic.” I sink lower in my seat, my face burning. Before the auction is even over, I text David that I feel unwell and would like to leave. In the car on the way back, he hands me a small, velvet box. “Mr. Sterling was very clear. If you wanted it, it was not to end up in anyone else’s hands.” He then passes me a black, featureless credit card. “Mr. Sterling will likely be back in about a week. He said you should feel free to use this for anything you might need or want.” 5 A few days later, bored and restless, I decide to go shopping for a dress. David mentioned that Sterling Enterprises is hosting its annual charity gala next week, and Leo wants me to attend as his date. I need something new. A woman on a man’s arm should reflect his status. I’m browsing in a boutique on Madison Avenue when a pair of stunning, stiletto-heeled pumps catches my eye. “Excuse me,” I say to a sales associate. “Could I try these in a seven?” “Help me with these shoes.” The second voice is Ava’s. We’ve spoken at the exact same time. Of course. It seems I can’t escape her. I have no desire for another confrontation. I turn to leave. “What’s the matter?” Ava’s mocking voice follows me. “Can’t steal my man, so you’re trying to steal my shoes instead?” I’ve already tried to de-escalate, to be the bigger person. I’ve held my tongue. But she won’t let it go. “I’m letting you have the shoes, Ava,” I say, my voice tight. She raises an eyebrow, a cruel smirk playing on her lips. “You know, Chloe, you’re so good at pleasing men on your back. Why don’t you please me? Kneel and help me try on my shoes.” I freeze. The sheer audacity, the calculated cruelty of it—it’s breathtaking. “You should watch your mouth, Ava.” She steps forward, and before I can react, her hand connects with my cheek. The slap is sharp, echoing in the quiet store. My face stings, a hot, spreading fire. “If I hadn’t been studying in London,” she hisses, her face inches from mine, “you never would have gotten your claws into Carter for so long. This is a warning. Stay away from him.” I press my hand to my throbbing cheek. And, as if on cue, Carter walks into the store. He goes straight to her side. “What’s wrong?” “The Sterling gala is next week, and I was trying to find the perfect pair of shoes to wear with you,” she says, her voice a perfect imitation of a frustrated little girl. “And she deliberately tried to take the ones I wanted. It made me so angry I just… I slapped her.” Carter looks at my face, at the bright red handprint blooming on my skin. For a split second, I see something flash in his eyes—a flicker of something that might be concern. But it’s gone as quickly as it appears. He turns his attention back to Ava, his voice softening. “Did you hurt your hand?” She pouts. “I’m still mad.” She points a perfectly manicured finger at me. “You love money, don’t you? I’ll pay you. Kneel and put my shoes on for me.” The humiliation is thick, choking. I say nothing. I look at Carter, a silent appeal in my eyes. He wraps his arm around Ava’s waist, pulling her close. His gaze on me is cold, dismissive. “You do whatever it takes in the bedroom,” he says, his voice low and cutting. “What’s the big deal about trying on a shoe?” His words hit me like a physical blow. A cold laugh bubbles up inside me. All this time, that’s all I ever was to him. A toy. An object without dignity or respect. I force myself to stand tall. “That’s a disgusting thing to say, Carter. It’s beneath even you.” And with that, I turn and walk out, leaving them to their ugly victory. 6 David is waiting for me in the parking garage. When I pull open the back door of the car, I’m surprised to see Leo sitting inside. “Leo,” I say, my voice betraying my shock. A genuine smile lights up my face. “I thought you weren’t back until next week.” He reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. His touch is warm. “The deal closed early. I came straight back.” His eyes scan my face, then my empty hands. “You didn’t buy anything?” I shake my head. “I couldn’t find anything I liked.” “I’ll have a stylist send a selection to the penthouse tomorrow. You can choose from home.” His gaze lingers on my face, his brow furrowing with concern. “What happened to your cheek?” I’d tried to cover the redness with concealer in the restroom, but the slight swelling is still visible. “Oh, it’s nothing,” I lie, forcing a smile. “Probably just an allergic reaction to something.” Leo’s expression becomes serious, but he doesn’t press me. 7 At the charity gala, I am on Leo’s arm. Just before we enter the grand ballroom, Leo is pulled aside by David to discuss something urgent. I wait for him by the entrance, and that’s when I see them arrive. Carter and Ava. Carter’s eyes lock on me, a mixture of surprise and annoyance on his face. “How did you get into an event like this? It’s invitation only.” Ava looks me up and down, her expression one of pure disdain. “She probably found herself another rich old man.” I remain silent. But then Ava’s eyes fix on my hand, on the sapphire ring sparkling on my finger. The ring from the auction. “Hey, how are you wearing that ring?” she asks, her tone accusatory. “Leo Sterling bought that.” Then, a look of dawning comprehension crosses her face, followed by derision. “Oh, Chloe. You can’t be that desperate. Did you really go out and buy a cheap knockoff? How pathetic.” But I see Carter’s expression shift. He’s staring at the ring, a look of grim realization spreading across his face. He’s about to say something, but just then, Leo walks toward us. He comes directly to my side and, in full view of Carter and Ava, takes my hand in his. His thumb gently strokes the sapphire. “I bought it for her,” Leo says, his voice calm and lethal. “How could it be a knockoff?” “What does that mean?” Carter chokes out, his face paling. Leo wraps an arm around my shoulders, pulling me into his side. “Carter, old friend,” he says, a cool smile playing on his lips. “I should introduce you. This is Chloe. My girlfriend.” Carter stares at me, his mouth slightly agape, looking utterly lost for words. Ava just mutters under her breath, “Wow. She works fast.” I offer them a small, serene smile. Then, I take Leo’s arm, and together, we walk into the gala, leaving Carter standing there in stunned silence.

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After moving into my new apartment, I was added to a strange group chat. Everyone in it pretended to be an animal. Every day, I’d lurk, fascinated by their conversations, but I never said a word. That all changed the day a mouse got into my apartment. I posted in the chat: “Is there a reliable pest control service nearby?” A moment later, a user named ‘AAA Pest Control: Leo’ tagged me. [Two cans. Non-negotiable.] [Cat’s at your door. Open up.] And standing outside my door… was an actual tabby cat. 1 The first thing that happened after I moved into The Haven Apartments wasn’t the unpacking of boxes or the customary awkward nod to a neighbor. It was an invitation to a group chat. The Haven Community Forum. That was the name. The members all had avatars of cute animals. I didn’t think much of it. I figured the property manager had added me for building announcements and maintenance updates. Then, one evening, scrolling absently on my phone, I actually opened the chat. [MischiefMakerMilo: Ugh. Got caught stealing treats from the pantry. Mom smacked my butt three times. I’m chewing up her favorite slippers tonight. See how she likes that.] [Caesar: Pathetic. Letting the biped walk all over you. You should be running that house.] [Image: A fluffy white cat looking down its nose with regal disdain.] [Pumpkin: Quick question, does anyone else’s water taste… spicy sometimes?] [Caesar: Idiot. The water cooler is probably shorting out. Go knock it over before you get electrocuted.] [CallieTheCalico: Mom’s trying to clip my nails! Code Red! I need backup! I need a 911 right MEOW!] I watched the screen for a long time, a slow smile spreading across my face. It had to be kids from the complex, role-playing as their pets. Honestly, it was kind of adorable. Their goofy, earnest conversations were a welcome distraction from the loneliness of a new city. Just then, a new message popped up. [There’s a stranger in my house.] [Image: A dog peering cautiously from behind a sofa cushion.] The avatar was a young husky, all wide blue eyes and chaotic energy. Based on his previous messages, I pictured a kid, maybe five or six years old. My heart seized. A child home alone with an intruder. I was about to ask if he was by himself when the other chat members piled on, questioning his intelligence rather than the danger. [Are you SURE it’s a stranger?] [You said there was a stranger last week and it was just your dad wearing a new jacket.] [Code Red! Send a 911! Send a 911!] I hesitated, my finger hovering over the button to message the property manager. But a second later, the husky typed again. [lol nvm it was just my dad in a face mask. as a reward for this scare i’m gonna go pee in his office tonight.] A false alarm. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, half-amused. But deep down, a strange, unsettling feeling began to take root. Something about this chat felt… off. 2 I got home late from an interview that hadn’t gone well. The moment I flipped on the light, a black shadow darted across the living room floor. My breath caught in my throat. I crouched down to look under the coffee table, and a huge rat shot out, heading straight for my feet. A scream tore out of me as I scrambled onto the coffee table, my heart hammering against my ribs. Panicked, I fumbled for my phone and typed a desperate plea into the only local group I was in. [There’s a rat in my apartment! Does anyone know a reliable pest control service that can come RIGHT NOW? This is an emergency! Please help!] [A rat? What’s a rat?] [It’s one of those fast squeaky toys. My dad won’t let me play with them.] [Are you new here? I haven’t seen you before. Why is your avatar a person? What species is your owner?] My avatar can’t be a person? What species is your owner? My mind was reeling, but the frantic squeaking from under the sofa sent a fresh wave of terror through me. I didn’t have time to process the weirdness. I immediately opened a browser, searching for 24/7 exterminators. Just then, a notification. Someone had tagged me in the chat. AAA Pest Control: Leo: [Two cans. Non-negotiable. Immediate service.] [I’m at your door. Let me in. Meow.] That fast? I slid off the coffee table, crept to the door, and opened it. The hallway was empty. As I started to close it, a soft meow drew my eyes downward. A handsome tabby cat sat there, paws tucked neatly together, looking up at me expectantly. An insane, impossible thought sparked in my mind. “Are you… AAA Pest Control: Leo?”

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At my wedding to Liam, his nemesis, Sadie, crashed the ceremony. She made a scene, shoved me to the floor in the process, and then pointed a perfectly manicured finger at Liam. “You sabotaged my pitch meeting, so I’m sabotaging your wedding!” she shrieked, her voice echoing in the suddenly silent ballroom. A flash of familiar fire lit Liam’s eyes. He shot back, his voice rising to match hers. “That was payback for you getting my car towed during my client dinner!” “And what about the Henderson account? You poached them, and you know it!” They were off, lost in their own toxic orbit right there at the altar. A trickle of warmth ran down my temple, and I realized I was bleeding. I called his name, but my voice was a whisper drowned out by their shouting. My hand trembled as I stared at the two of them, their faces flushed, their bodies bristling with an energy that was far too intimate for a public fight. It was a dance I knew all too well. My fingers brushed against the microphone that had tumbled from the officiant’s stand. I picked it up, the cool metal a shock against my skin. The feedback squealed for a second, finally slicing through their argument. “Liam,” I said, my voice amplified and shaking. “The wedding is off.” 1 He froze, his mouth half-open. It took him a few seconds to even turn his head. When his gaze finally landed on the blood matting my hair, he stumbled toward me. “Chloe? Oh god, Chloe, are you okay?” I turned away from him, my eyes scanning the wreckage of what should have been the happiest day of my life. Most of the guests had fled. Only a few close friends lingered in the corners, looking horrified. I clenched my fists. The wedding I had dreamed of for years, reduced to this. “It’s all my fault,” Liam stammered, his hands hovering uselessly around me. “I never should have let that psycho in here. Don’t be angry. We’ll reschedule, we’ll do it again in a few weeks…” “Who are you calling a psycho?” Sadie’s voice cut in, sharp as glass. “This is what you get, Liam! You plan another wedding, and I’ll ruin that one, too!” “You…” Liam’s anger surged again, and he spun around to face her. I grabbed the corner of his tuxedo jacket, my grip desperate. I squeezed all the pain and exhaustion into five words. “If you argue with her, we’re done.” The fight drained out of him instantly. He deflated, turning to the venue’s security guards and simply telling them to get her out. We could still hear Sadie’s furious curses echoing from the lobby. “I’m not done with you, Liam! I’ll never let you be happy!” He finally ignored her, scooping me into his arms. “Chloe, I’m so sorry you had to go through that. I’m taking you to the ER, just to make sure you’re okay.” After a few stitches and a clean bill of health, I fell into a heavy, dreamless sleep in a quiet hospital room. I was woken up by the sound of a familiar argument. Liam was in the doorway, his back to me, hissing into his phone. “Sadie, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I swear to God I will make you regret it… What do you mean, I started it? You’re threatening me now? You just wait!” He hung up, ready to storm out, but I shot a hand out and grabbed his wrist. “Don’t,” I whispered. “If you go after her, she’ll just come back with something worse. It will never end. You two will be doing this for the rest of your lives.” My voice was flat. “Just… let it go. For today, just let it be over.” I don’t know what part of my soul I had to scrape out to say those words. In the three years I’d been with Liam, I had been the collateral damage in their endless war. The expensive perfume he bought for my birthday, mysteriously replaced with a gag-gift bottle of hot sauce. The time he was supposed to pick me up from work, only to leave me waiting for two hours in the freezing rain because he got into a screaming match with her over a parking spot. I had tried to be patient. I had tried to understand the decade of baggage they shared. But this was my wedding. And for the first time, watching them fight, I saw something else flicker between them—an old, curdled intimacy that had nothing to do with hatred. So I was afraid. I was terrified that if he retaliated this time, I would be chained to their drama forever. He sighed, his shoulders slumping. He covered my hand with his. “Okay,” he said softly. “You’re right. I’m not going anywhere. I’m staying right here with you.” On the way home from the hospital, Liam held my hand, his words a constant stream of gentle apologies and promises. But as we reached my apartment door, I stopped. It was slightly ajar. A chaotic, violated energy seemed to pour from the crack. The moment I pushed the door open, my breath hitched in my chest. 2 The wreckage inside my home made me freeze. The first thing I saw was the framed photo of my mother—her last picture—smashed on the floor of the entryway, a dirty footprint marring her black-and-white image. My knees gave out, and I collapsed amidst the shards of glass, reaching for the ruined frame. My fingertips brushed against a soft, familiar object instead: my mother’s old photo album. I flipped it open. Every single picture had been cut to ribbons. Not one was left whole. On the inside back cover, scrawled in what looked like red lipstick, were the words: Still can’t win, Liam. -S. The tiny shreds of my mother’s smile, of my childhood, slipped through my fingers. A roar filled my ears. These photos were the only tangible pieces of her I had left. “It has to be Sadie,” Liam spat, his voice tight with rage. He hadn’t even looked at me, hadn’t seen the way I was crumbling. His eyes were fixed on the mess. “First the wedding, and now this? She’s gone too far.” He took out his phone, his thumb hovering over her contact. “Chloe, don’t try to stop me this time. I’m going to make her pay for this.” I reached for him, but my hand met empty air. I looked up just in time to see the front door slam back against the wall with a deafening crack that made my ears ring. He was gone. I don’t know how long I sat there on the floor, clutching the ruined album. An hour? Two? My fingers were numb with cold when I finally, shakily, pulled out my own phone. Sadie had just posted a new picture to her Instagram story. It was a smug selfie, her head tilted, a triumphant glint in her eyes. The caption was a poison dart. Some people just never learn. As I stared at the screen, my phone started ringing. It was Liam. “Chloe… I just remembered we were supposed to be setting up for the reception tonight,” he started, his voice rushed. “But Sadie was just… she was completely out of line. I had to go over there, for you. To make things right.” He took a breath. “I’m on my way back now…” “Don’t bother,” I said, my voice hollow. The well of my grief was so deep it had swallowed all my other emotions. “Liam,” I said, cutting him off before he could argue. “We need to break up.” The words hung in the air, final. “You and Sadie… you’ve completely taken over my life.” A single, hot tear escaped and slid down my cheek, a traitor to my resolve. They had been fighting for a decade. Over grades in college, over clients and promotions at work. And then, over me. Every fight was a category five hurricane, and I was always the person left standing in the rubble. The time they got into a shouting match over a table at a restaurant and flipped it over, leaving me to apologize to the manager. The surprise party he planned for my birthday that she crashed and ruined, forcing me to spend the rest of the night comforting him. I had endured so much. And now, the one thing I treasured most in the world had been shredded on my floor. Liam’s voice was panicked on the other end of the line. “Don’t cry, Chloe, please. I’m sorry, I was wrong. Just wait, I’m almost there.” Less than ten minutes later, my door burst open and Liam rushed in, breathless. He pulled me into his arms, holding me tight. “Chloe, I’m so, so sorry. Please don’t break up with me. We can fix this.” He pulled back, his eyes pleading. “I’ll never get tangled up with Sadie again. I promise.” I looked up at his face, a mask of guilt and desperation. He was always like this. No matter how badly he messed up, he always knew how to rush back, how to say the right thing. He was perfect in every way… except for Sadie. And that one exception was the wound that was killing me. I gently pushed him away. I was silent for a long moment before my voice emerged, quiet and cold. “You want to cut her out of your life for good?” I asked. “I have a way. Liam, we’re going to sue her.” He stared at me, blinking. “Sue her?” “For breaking and entering. For destruction of property.” I held his stunned gaze. “You hate her, don’t you? Isn’t this what you want? To send her a message she can’t ignore? A few months of legal trouble might finally get her to back off.” Without waiting for an answer, I stood up and walked toward the door. “Let’s go. Right now.” 3 I had my hand on the doorknob when Liam’s hand covered mine, stopping me. “You’re right,” he said, his voice firming up. “We absolutely have to sue her.” He put his hands on my shoulders, his tone softening. “But look at you. You’re exhausted. You don’t need to be running to a lawyer’s office right now.” He gave me a small, reassuring smile. “You forget, my best friend is Mark. He’s one of the best lawyers in the city. Just leave it to me, Chloe. I promise, I will make Sadie pay for this.” The knot of tension in my chest loosened, just a fraction. “Okay,” I whispered. Liam’s face broke into a wide, relieved grin. He leaned in and kissed my cheek, then took my hand. “So, what do you say we go check on the reception venue? We can start planning our do-over wedding,” he said, his voice full of forced cheer. “The one she ruined doesn’t count. I’m going to throw you a party so big, so perfect, it’ll make you forget any of this ever happened. I’ll make it up to you.” Maybe it was the emotional exhaustion, but the fatigue hit me like a tidal wave. I didn’t hear another word he said. Later that evening, he proudly held out his phone for me to see. “Look, Chloe. I blocked and deleted her. From everything.” He sounded like a little boy showing off a good report card. “She’s gone. She’ll never bother us again.” And for a while, he was right. Sadie vanished. Liam, as if trying to earn his way back into my life, became the perfect fiancé. He was more attentive, more loving than ever before. It was during that peaceful period that I found out I was pregnant. The day I told him, the pregnancy test trembled in his hand. Before I could even process it myself, he whooped with joy and swung me around in a hug. “This is it!” he cheered. “The new wedding has to happen, now! As soon as possible!” He held my face in his hands, his eyes shining. “No more waiting, Chloe. I’m not going to let you wait another day.” My heart, bruised and wary, slowly began to heal. I let myself believe him. I pushed all thoughts of him and Sadie away. Until the day I was cleaning out our closet and found one of his favorite dress shirts, shoved in the back, with a long, deliberate slash cut through the fabric. In the trash can under his desk, I found a project proposal that had been defaced with childish scribbles. A cold dread crept over me. I found a quiet place and called his friend, Mark. “Hey, Mark,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I was just wondering… how is the lawsuit against Sadie coming along?” There was a moment of confused silence on the other end. “Uh… lawsuit? Sue who?” In that instant, all the blood drained from my head. The room started to buzz. My grip on the phone went slack. Mark, oblivious, kept talking. “Oh, you mean because she crashed the wedding? Chloe, that’s just how they are. You get used to it after a while.” He laughed, a horribly casual sound. “Honestly, those two almost got together back in college. It was a whole thing. Then Sadie started dating some guy just to make him jealous, so Liam did the same, and… well, they’ve been trying to one-up each other ever since.” I stood there, frozen, my fingers turning to ice. I was listening to a history I had never been told, a history that made our entire relationship feel like a sham, a move in their sick, decade-long game. Mark must have sensed he’d said too much. “Hey, but that’s all ancient history!” he said quickly. “He’s with you now. He’s crazy about you, he’s going to be a father. You’re all he cares about. Don’t even think twice about it.” His reassurances felt like gasoline on a fire, a desperate attempt to cover up a truth I could now see with blinding clarity. I couldn’t listen anymore. I hung up without saying goodbye. A moment later, a heavy weight settled on my shoulders. A jacket, carrying Liam’s warmth, wrapped around me. His voice came from right behind my ear. “Why are you out here without a coat?” 4 “Our wedding is tomorrow,” Liam murmured, wrapping his arms around me from behind and resting his chin on the top of my head. “You can’t get sick now.” His breath was warm against my neck. His voice was filled with a genuine, bubbling excitement. “Chloe, tomorrow you’ll be my wife. I’ve never been happier.” This was the embrace that had always been my safe place. But now, listening to his sweet, cloying words, I felt like I was submerged in ice water. There wasn’t a trace of warmth left in me. I somehow managed to hold myself together through the night and into the next morning. I was in the back of the limo, the white dress pooling around me, when a sudden, violent impact threw me against the seat. “Son of a bitch!” the driver yelled, slamming his hand on the steering wheel. “He totaled the back end! We’re not getting to any wedding in this thing!” I was still trying to catch my breath when I turned and saw her. Sadie, climbing out of the sports car that had just rear-ended us. Before anyone could react, she strode up to our limo, pulled her car keys from her pocket, and dragged the sharp metal tip along the length of the white door. A deep, ugly gash bloomed on the pristine surface. “What the hell are you doing?!” I threw the door open and scrambled out, grabbing her by the wrist. “I have never done anything to you! Why can’t you leave me alone?” She wrenched her arm free, her eyes flashing with a wild hatred. A cold smile twisted her lips. “Because I hate Liam,” she snarled. “And by extension, I hate you.” She glanced back at the gash on the car. “This is his car, isn’t it? Perfect.” The traffic behind us was already backing up, a chorus of angry horns. Someone leaned out their window. “There’s an ambulance back here! You need to move, people are trying to save a life!” Sadie shot the driver a contemptuous look and planted her hands on her hips. “I don’t care about your stupid ambulance,” she announced to the world. “This wedding is not happening. I’m not letting Liam get what he wants. Not today.” The wail of the ambulance siren was a drill boring into my skull. I stared at her, a bitter laugh escaping my lips. “You’re in love with him, aren’t you?” I said, the realization hitting me with the force of a physical blow. “This isn’t hate. No one hates like this.” She stiffened for a second, then dropped the act entirely. “You’re damn right I am,” she spat. “And I’m ruining your wedding. What are you going to do about it?” “You’re insane,” I breathed. I turned to get back in the car, to tell the driver to just try to pull over, but Sadie blocked my path. “No one is going anywhere.” My patience snapped. I pulled out my phone, took a picture of her standing defiantly in the middle of the highway, and sent it to Liam. Your nemesis is back. His reply was instantaneous. On my way. He arrived moments later, his car screeching to a halt. I instinctively took a step toward him, but he blew right past me without a glance. He grabbed Sadie by the front of her shirt, his face a mask of fury. “Sadie, are you out of your mind?!” he roared. “Why can’t you just let it go? Do you have to ruin every single important moment of my life?” She immediately fired back, and just like that, they were at it again, screaming at each other in the middle of a traffic jam. He didn’t look at me once. Not a single glance to see if I was okay. I stood there, frozen, a cold that had nothing to do with the weather seeping into my bones. Another driver leaned on his horn. “Hey! This is a wedding limo, right? You two should be celebrating, not fighting! Move it!” My heart twisted. He thought they were the couple. Sadie shot me a look of pure, venomous triumph. Pushing back the tears that threatened to fall, I held up my phone. “If you don’t move your car right now,” I said, my voice dangerously steady, “I’m calling the police.” As my thumb hovered over the dial button, my phone was violently slapped out of my hand, clattering onto the asphalt. I looked up in disbelief at Liam. The tears finally broke free. A desperate, destructive anger surged through me. I bent down to retrieve my phone, determined to make the call, to burn everything to the ground. And then I froze. Liam was holding a small pocketknife, the blade pointed directly at my stomach. My mind went completely blank. “Don’t call the cops,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “It’ll ruin her life.” He looked at me, his eyes a terrifying mix of pleading and command. “I’ll take her home. I’ll deal with this. Then I’ll come back, and we can get married, okay? I’ll cut her off for good, I swear. We’ll have the baby, we’ll have a good life. Please, Chloe. Please.” I stared at the knife pointed at my belly, at our child. The blood in my veins turned to ice. Before I could answer, he dropped the knife, grabbed Sadie’s arm, and dragged her away without a backward glance. Time seemed to stop. I just sat on the pavement, my mind a hollowed-out shell. I was still there when a traffic cop finally helped me to my feet. “Ma’am, are you the bride? Do you need us to give you a ride to the ceremony?” I shook my head slowly, my hand instinctively going to my slightly rounded stomach. “No,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “I need a ride to the hospital. I’m here for an abortion.” 5 When I woke up, I was out of the operating room. I placed a hand on my abdomen. It was flat again. My heart felt like a hollowed-out cavern, but underneath the emptiness was a profound, quiet sense of finality. It was over. Liam and I were completely, irrevocably over. There was no reason to bring a child into that wreckage. My phone was vibrating on the bedside table. It was a long chain of texts from Liam. Chloe, where are you? We can talk about what happened. I can explain. Please don’t shut me out. Chloe, it’s our wedding day… My finger hovered over the screen. A bitter, humorless laugh escaped my lips. He remembered. The screen lit up again and again. Annoyed, I opened the message thread and typed six words. Liam, we are broken up. Goodbye. The notifications stopped. The “typing…” bubble appeared and disappeared, over and over. Finally, a single message came through. Where are you? I’m coming to find you. I didn’t reply. I just turned off the phone. An hour later, he burst into my hospital room, his face frantic. He dropped to his knees by my bed and grabbed my hand. “Chloe, I was an idiot today. I was impulsive,” he pleaded. “Sadie’s father is critically ill; she’s all he has. If she got a police record, it would destroy her career, her whole life…” He squeezed my hand tighter. “I already told her it’s over. I made it clear. I will never have anything to do with her again. I swear it.” Looking at his guilty, desperate face just made me feel sick. I should have seen it all along. They weren’t enemies. There was a place for Sadie in his heart, a place he protected more fiercely than he ever protected me. I pulled my hand from his grasp. My voice was calm, almost conversational. “What ever happened with the lawsuit you were going to file? The one you asked Mark to handle for you?” His eyes flickered. He froze for a few seconds before mumbling, “It’s… it’s in process. It’ll be resolved soon.” I said nothing. I just reached into my purse, pulled out my phone, and pressed play on the recording of my call with Mark. As his friend’s cheerful, damning voice filled the sterile room, the composure Liam had been struggling to maintain completely shattered. “I…” he stammered. “Don’t,” I cut him off. “There’s nothing left to say, Liam. I’m not marrying you. We’re done.”

🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “MotoNovel” app 🔍 search for “384303”, and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel

The house was silent, deep in the clutches of the night. I’d just found the perfect story to unwind with—The Roommate Deal—and settled in for a delicious read. It was one of those steamy, forbidden romance tropes, but the more I scrolled, the more a strange unease began to curdle in my stomach. The male lead… the way he was described… Why did he sound so much like my boyfriend? 1 Six-foot-one, with thin lips. A university lecturer who stayed on at his alma mater after graduation. Allergic to nuts. A small, crimson birthmark just below his left collarbone… Could the world really serve up a coincidence that specific? My throat tightened. I kept scrolling. 【…He pressed me against the living room’s floor-to-ceiling window, his fingers deftly unhooking my bra. The city lights blazed outside, blurring the figures of people walking on the street below, but the thrill of being caught, the sheer risk of it, only seemed to fuel his fire.】 What followed was a long, explicit passage that made my heart skip a beat. Ethan’s new condo, the one he was so proud of, had a massive floor-to-ceiling window just like that. He’d taken me to see it a few months ago, when it was still being renovated. The room was empty then, a hollow shell, but that window dominated everything. The sunset bled across the river, the colors pooling in his smiling eyes. Ethan had wrapped his arms around me from behind, his voice a soft murmur against my ear. “I know how much you love a good view,” he’d said. “When you finish your master’s and move in, we can sit right here and watch the city lights every night.” I frowned, the screen of my phone feeling cold in my hands. Could the man in this story really be Ethan? I scanned the text more carefully, but as I did, a sense of absurd dissonance began to wash away my initial shock. The male lead in the story was wild, almost feral, his words laced with a crude, demanding heat. My Ethan was gentle, thoughtful, with a streak of old-fashioned chivalry that was almost bashful. He was the kind of man who’d make a teasing joke and then blush before I did. How could a man like that be the same one pinning a woman against a window in plain sight, without a shred of restraint? Besides, Ethan was something of a minor celebrity on campus. A handsome young lecturer was bound to attract admirers. It wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that someone had used him as the muse for their fictional fantasies. And my two best friends, the only two people I trusted with the intimate details of my life? One was studying abroad in Germany, and the other had graduated and was happily dating a woman. I trusted them implicitly. I let out a long breath, the tight knot in my chest loosening just a little. Maybe I was just overthinking this. 2 Even though my gut told me it was impossible, I couldn’t stop myself. I read the rest of the story, devouring every chapter. The plot was simple enough. The heroine, a college student, moves out of her dorm after a fight with her roommate. She finds a great new place, only to discover after moving in that her landlord—and new roommate—is a man. Not just any man. Her best friend’s boyfriend. They make a pact to keep it a secret from the friend, and for a while, they live together in platonic harmony. But the forced proximity of two single people in one apartment inevitably sparks something. One night, after the boyfriend and his girlfriend (the heroine’s best friend) have a fight, the heroine tries to comfort him. They drink a little too much wine, and the long-suppressed tension finally ignites… The heroine discovers that beneath his polished, gentle exterior lies a completely different man, one he only reveals to her. From there, the story descended into a torrent of explicit scenes. My thumb mindlessly swiped down, landing on the comment section at the bottom of the page. A reader had posted: “OMG, this feels so real! Is the male lead based on a real person? Dying for the next update!” The author had replied just two minutes ago. “The muse… 😉 Let’s just say he’s right here beside me. He just put me through my paces again, and I’m exhausted ~ We’re going to bed. New chapter tomorrow! Good night!” I stared at that reply for a long, long time. Logic told me it was a coincidence. That I was letting my imagination run wild. But my finger was already opening my message thread with Ethan. I typed: Are you asleep? The thirty seconds I waited for a response stretched into an eternity. The night outside my window was thick and dark, the only sound the frantic thumping of my own heart. Then, my screen lit up. 3 Ethan: Just finishing up some work. About to head to bed. Why are you still up? You know late nights are bad for you. His reply was as prompt and caring as always. On any other night, my heart would have fluttered. I would have told him to get some rest, too. But tonight, that swift response felt like a slap in the face. I bit down on my lip, hard enough to taste blood. An impulse, sharp and undeniable, seized me. I had to see for myself. Words could lie. A scene could not. My fingers moved faster than my thoughts, already opening the ride-share app. Destination. Request. Confirm. The motions were mechanical, swift. After a long moment, I picked up my phone again and sent Ethan a new message. Suddenly really miss you. I don’t have class tomorrow. I’m coming over now, okay? The second the message delivered, his call came through. I watched his name flash on the screen—Ethan—and immediately declined it. A new text from him appeared instantly. Ethan: It’s almost one in the morning. I don’t want you coming over by yourself this late. Ethan: Be good. How about I come pick you up first thing in the morning? I replied: No. I want to see you now. I’m already in the car. After sending it, I took two steps forward. The motion-activated light in the hallway flickered on, illuminating my pale, drawn face. I was already standing right outside Ethan’s front door. 4 I didn’t knock right away. If that one-in-a-million chance was real, what would barging in accomplish, other than tipping them off? I turned and slipped into the fire-stairwell at the end of the hall. The angle gave me a perfect, unobstructed view of Ethan’s apartment door. A minute later, the door creaked open, just a crack. It didn’t swing wide, as if the person inside was cautiously checking the coast was clear. A man’s voice, hushed and urgent, drifted out. “Hurry up.” Then, a girl stepped out. Her face was flushed, glowing with a sated, rosy warmth. She let out a coquettish little hum. “Do I really have to go? Can’t I stay a little longer? She said she was still in the car, didn’t she?” Ethan’s voice was unnaturally hard, a tone I had never heard before, stripped of all the warmth I knew. “Go home. Now. Don’t make me say it again.” His next words were clipped, severe. “She could be here any minute, and she absolutely cannot see you. I’ll let you know when it’s safe to come back.” The girl seemed taken aback by his coldness, her lips forming a wounded pout. “…You’re that scared of her?” “Maya, you know perfectly well what she means to me.” “And you’re not scared I won’t come back?” Ethan’s reply was certain, absolute. “You will.” The story had mentioned that the male lead had stopped charging the heroine rent months ago. But my mind wasn’t processing that detail right now. Because I recognized the girl. Maya—my sister. Or, the sister I refuse to acknowledge. The living, breathing product of my father’s affair. 5 Ethan and I had only been officially dating for six months. But we had known each other for over twenty years. We weren’t exactly childhood sweethearts in the traditional sense. Our families had been neighbors, living in the old faculty housing complex by the university. In the hazy memories of my childhood, he was always the quiet boy trailing a step behind me, the one who’d share his candy and chase away the stray dogs that scared me. My mom used to laugh and ruffle his hair, calling him my little guardian. My world was small then, contained within the courtyard of that complex. I thought life would go on like that forever. Until Maya and her mother showed up. I will never forget the blood-drained, ashen look on my mother’s face. My happy, carefree childhood, it turned out, had been hollowed out by a silent infestation. Maya was only a year younger than me. Which meant that while my mother was pregnant with me, filled with joyous anticipation for her new baby, my father was in another woman’s arms, creating another “surprise.” The arguments, the crying, the sound of things shattering, the prying eyes of our neighbors… that entire period of my life is a dark, painful blur. My mother was a proud woman. She couldn’t stomach that kind of betrayal, especially not when the other woman showed up on our doorstep with a child in tow, demanding that my mother step aside. In the end, she chose divorce. It was drizzling the day we left. I remember pressing my face against the car’s rear window, looking back. I saw Ethan run out from the entrance of the complex. He was holding something, trying to give it to me. But his small figure quickly vanished into the rain-swept gray. That frantic escape didn’t just take my family; it severed all my connections to my childhood, to Ethan. My mother took me far away, to a new city, a new school. Maya, and everything associated with her, became a wound I never spoke of, a mark of shame carved deep into my bones. The next time I saw Ethan was in high school. 6 He was on stage, giving a speech as the student body president. He stood tall and confident in the auditorium’s spotlight. I sat in the audience, not daring to believe it was him. But when the assembly was over, he found me in the swarming crowd and called out my name without a moment’s hesitation. It felt like fate had circled back on itself. The trauma of my childhood had changed me, twisting my personality. I was brittle, insecure, and sharp-edged. Ethan saw all of it. He witnessed all my jagged edges, my moments of weakness, my defensive pride, and he still chose to hold me. Year after year. From high school through college graduation. Finally, I let my walls down. I allowed myself to believe that he truly understood me, that he truly loved me. But I never, ever imagined that the person he would cheat on me with would be Maya. He knew. Better than anyone, he knew how much I despised her. Why? When he held her in his arms, did he ever, for even a second, think of the helpless little girl I used to be? Of the tears I’d cried? This wasn’t just cheating. This was a slow, deliberate execution. Ethan had taken the most painful part of my past and used it as a knife, slicing away at my trust, piece by agonizing piece. The hallway light timed out, plunging me back into darkness. I leaned against the cold wall, listening to the soft click of his apartment door locking. The world was utterly silent, but inside me, the fortress I had built from love and trust was crumbling into dust. 7 My phone screen glowed in the dark. Ethan: Where are you? Want me to come get you? With a trembling hand, I forced myself to type a reply. Suddenly not feeling well. Really dizzy, think I caught a chill. I’m not coming over anymore. I’ll just go back to my dorm and rest. His response was immediate. Not well? Is it serious? Where are you right now? Still in the car or back at campus? Don’t move. Tell me where you are. I’m coming to find you right now. Wait for me! His panic was so palpable it practically vibrated through the screen. I didn’t reply. Less than two minutes later, his apartment door was thrown open again. Ethan was a mess. He’d thrown on a T-shirt, the collar askew. His face was a mask of genuine, unfeigned worry. He was fumbling with his phone in one hand while trying to pull on a jacket with the other, his movements clumsy with haste. Looking at him, so completely undone, I wanted to laugh. But all I felt was a profound, hollowing sadness. Just as the elevator doors were about to open for him, I stepped out from the end of the hallway. The stark, white glare of the motion-activated light enveloped us both. My voice was quiet, but in the echoing silence of the corridor, it was enough to make his entire body go rigid.

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Leo and I were the kind of childhood constants people write songs about, clinging to each other like vines growing up the same crumbling wall. The year we were poorest, he danced at a dive bar downtown to pay my way through college. He’d make three thousand a month. Five hundred for our drafty studio, two hundred for himself. The rest was for me. All of it. The day after I graduated, my stepfather decided it was time to cash me in, telling me I had to marry some guy he knew to help fund my stepbrother’s latest dead-end business venture. Leo called every person he knew, borrowed from anyone who would listen, and scraped together enough cash to buy my freedom. He slapped the bills on my stepfather’s table and that was that. From then on, we were it. The only two sources of warmth in that cramped, damp apartment that always smelled of rain. Six months after I got my first real job, I bought a pair of rings. I was going to ask him to marry me. I came home, turned the key in the lock, and walked in on a scene that burned itself onto the back of my eyelids. Leo, shirtless, was bent over, his back muscles tight. He was picking something up off the floor. Something small. Something lace. A stranger’s underwear. And on our bed—our bed—was a naked woman I’d never seen before. Before a single question could tear its way out of my throat, his voice cut through the silence, cold as steel. “Rosie, I’m tired. Just… let me go.” The world stopped for two seconds. Then, I found my voice, a whisper from a stranger’s mouth. “Okay.” I walked over to him, my legs moving on their own. I took the small, velvet-lined box from my pocket. Instead of the rings, I pulled out the cheap kite charm I’d bought for his keychain months ago and pressed it into his palm. “Go on,” I said. “Go find your freedom.” 1 I’d replayed the scene of seeing Leo again a thousand times in my head. Never once did it happen like this. The call came from his phone, but the voice was a nurse from County General. There’s been an accident. A car crash. Are you able to come to the hospital? It was the first I’d heard that he was even back in the city. This sprawling metropolis, where even at three in the morning the streets bleed with the light of a thousand cars, felt impossibly large and suffocatingly small all at once. I got to the hospital, scribbled down his room number, and rushed through the sterile, echoing hallways. It was a private room, but not a spacious one. A woman with a figure made for magazines stood with her back to me, her voice a playful purr. “See, Leo? I was the first one here. Don’t I get points for that?” “Yeah,” he answered. “You’re the best.” That voice. The same gravelly timbre that had once been my entire world. I froze, my hand hovering inches from the door. It had been years. The breakup had felt like being torn in half, a visceral, physical agony. But time, they say, is the great healer. And for the most part, it had worked. Thinking of him no longer sent me into a spiral. But hearing his voice, so suddenly, so unexpectedly… I realized the truth. It wasn’t that the love was gone. It was just too heavy, a weight I’d locked away in the deepest part of my chest, hoping to never feel its pull again. I couldn’t go in. Instead, I found a nurse at the main desk, got Leo’s patient ID, and paid for his hospital stay. Leaving the hospital, I pulled my car over to the curb and smoked for what felt like an hour. I was always the good girl, the straight-A student. Smoking was the one and only bad habit I’d inherited from Leo, something I only picked up after he left. The pressure at work had been mounting for years, and so had my nicotine addiction. I finished half a pack, my head swimming. The last drag went down the wrong way, and I collapsed against the steering wheel in a fit of harsh, ragged coughs. Pathetic. A bitter laugh escaped my lips. By all rights, this was the moment I was supposed to stroll back into his life, looking incredible, a picture of effortless success, and hit him with a cool, detached, “Long time no see.” Instead, I hadn’t even laid eyes on him. The mere sound of his voice had sent me running like a coward. Maybe I was just one of those people. The kind who loves nothing more than to offer up her own heart, just to watch someone else stomp on it. 2 Over the next few days, I went back. I never went in, just skulked around, even managed to ask his attending physician about his condition. Leo’s room was always full of life. No matter when I crept by, there was a crowd around his bed—men, women, all of them laughing, talking, a whirlwind of energy. It wasn’t a surprise. He’d always been like that, a natural center of gravity. People just orbited him. He was born to be the focus of the room. The last time I cornered his doctor, the poor man was rubbing his temples, clearly exhausted. “Look, the patient in room 214’s injuries are not severe. A minor fracture, a slight concussion. He’s recovering perfectly well. I know you all care about him, but could you please just… elect a spokesperson? I’ve had to give this same update six times today. It’s affecting my ability to speak with other families.” I didn’t have the heart to tell him I wasn’t family. I just mumbled an apology and backed out of his office. And walked straight into Leo, who was taking a slow stroll down the hallway. He had an entourage. One person holding his IV drip, another with a hand on his arm, a third trailing behind. A king holding court. I overheard him grumbling, his voice laced with annoyance. “I’m injured, not an invalid. Can you people let go of me? I can walk on my own.” His words died in his throat the moment he saw me. I wished the hospital corridor wasn’t so wide, so bright, leaving no shadows to hide the panic seizing my body. We stood there for a long, silent moment. Finally, I broke the spell. “Long time no see.” “Leo, who’s this?” one of his friends asked, looking me up and down. Leo’s eyes never left mine. His expression was flat, unreadable. “Someone I grew up with.” “The way she’s staring, I thought she was an ex-girlfriend or something,” the friend chuckled. Someone I grew up with. Twenty-odd years of a shared life. I wore his only winter coat; he wore my only scarf. We’d shared single orders of takeout and slept tangled together in one bed. And now, it was all reduced to that one, sterile phrase. My fingers tightened around my phone. I turned to leave. “Wait,” Leo called out. He asked if I was the one who paid his bill. “I saw the call log on my phone. The hospital called you, right?” he said. “You still use the same bank account? I’ll transfer the money back.” “Don’t,” I said, my voice firmer than I felt. “If anyone’s transferring money, it should be me.” Leo froze. “I was always so shameless about spending your money,” I continued, forcing a casualness I didn’t feel. “It’s embarrassing to think about now. Give me your account number. I want to pay you back.” His friend laughed again. “Pay him back after all these years? Where’s the sincerity in that? You gonna add interest?” Leo shot the guy a look so cold it could have frozen fire. “Ignore him,” Leo said to me. “You don’t have to pay me back.” I scratched the back of my head, a nervous habit. “No, I do.” I used to take his money without a second thought. When he bought me things, it felt as natural as breathing. We were family. His money was mine, and one day, mine would be his. But we weren’t family anymore. And when you’re not family, you settle your debts. 3 He never gave me his account number, but I went to my bank and had them print a detailed statement of all the transfers from the college years. The next day, clutching a cashier’s check, I took a deep breath and walked back into the hospital. His room was empty. Stripped bare. A part of me knew he’d never take the money. I just wanted an excuse to see him again. But he wouldn’t even grant me that. The moment I reappeared, he vanished. Sometimes I can’t help but wonder what I did that was so wrong. I never screamed at him, never made a scene. What did I do to make him hate me so much, to make him avoid me like I was poison? “You know, what men hate even more than a heartless bitch is a clingy, lovesick martyr,” my friend Chloe said, downing her cocktail at the bar. She tapped my forehead with her finger. “A girl who acts like a piece of gum on their shoe. Annoying to have around, disgusting to scrape off.” Her eyes narrowed. “I’m talking about you. The girl with the broken heart-shaped brain.” I clutched my glass, offering a serious rebuttal. “First, my brain is not broken. I’ve never loved anyone but Leo. Second, he’s not a scumbag. He’s… he was a good person.” Chloe rolled her eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. “Oh my god. I thought years apart would give you some clarity, but you’re exactly the same. It’s hopeless. We should just bury you alive.” I managed a small smile and didn’t argue further. Every single one of my friends had told me I was delusional. And I’d explained to every single one of them that I wasn’t. I knew exactly what I was doing. My brain wasn’t broken. He really, truly had been so good to me. “That’s what they all say,” Chloe sighed. “But look at what he did, Rosie. He cheated on you. In the apartment you shared. With another woman. Then he ghosted you. You waited outside that bar for a week straight trying to get him to talk to you, and he never even showed his face.” “You don’t understand,” I said, my voice thick. “Without Leo, I wouldn’t have gone to college. I might not even be alive.” I drained half my beer in one go. My tolerance had grown over the years, but tonight, I was mixing everything, and it was hitting me hard. I slumped against the bar, grabbing Chloe’s arm and pointing a shaky finger at the dancers on the small stage. “My tuition, my books, my food for four years… Leo earned it all, one night at a time, just like that.” “He was making three grand a month back then. Five hundred for rent, two for himself. The rest of it? All on me.” “He got into college too, you know. A state school. But my parents wouldn’t pay for me. So Leo said his school wasn’t that great anyway. He said he’d drop out, get a job, and support me.” “And when I graduated, and my stepfather tried to marry me off for money, Leo borrowed from everyone he knew to come up with the cash to get him off my back.” I was rambling, the words tumbling out. “So you see? In a way, he already paid for me. I was supposed to be his wife. I was always going to marry him.” The music was still pounding, but Chloe had gone quiet, her head resting on her arms beside me. I fell silent for a long time. “So maybe… maybe it was only fair that he wanted to leave,” I whispered to no one. “I was a burden. I was weighing him down for so, so long.” 4 Chloe was completely passed out. I finished the last of my beer and paid the tab. As I stood up, my eyes drifted toward the entrance of the bar, and my heart slammed against my ribs. Leo. He was wearing a simple black hoodie, the hood pulled up, and a mask over his face, but I’d have recognized him anywhere. He didn’t see me. He walked straight to a crowded booth where someone immediately made space for him in the center. I watched him pull down the mask and accept a beer from a friend. A young woman leaned in close, smiling, saying something in his ear. Leo nodded absently, taking a sip of his drink. I was never the jealous type. Not with him. I was so sure of us, so certain that nothing and no one could ever come between us. I knew how magnetic he was, but I had a deep, unshakeable faith in his loyalty to me. When did that change? When did he stop loving me? I remember after he said he wanted to leave, he never came back to the apartment. I went to the bar where he worked. I called every one of his friends. I even showed up at their houses, begging them to tell me where he’d gone. I sent him endless messages. I wanted to know what went wrong, if we could just talk about it. I promised I would change, whatever it was. I told him I didn’t mind if he wanted to mess around with other girls, just please, don’t be angry with me. Eventually, the desperation turned to pure fear. I told him he didn’t have to respond, just send me one single text so I’d know he was safe. Nothing. Finally, at three in the morning, I sat on the cold concrete steps outside the bar, my whole body numb, my fingers stiff as I typed out one last message. [I agree to the breakup. Just come home. We need to figure out the apartment.] Ten minutes later, he appeared. He had been there the whole time. Standing just out of sight, watching me. Coldly. In that single moment, he became a stranger. The apartment was in his name. He said he was leaving town, that he’d prepaid three months’ rent. I could stay or talk to the landlord about breaking the lease. He left so cleanly. Just a black backpack with his wallet and his ID. Nothing else. He didn’t want anything else. I walked him downstairs, still wearing the matching set of pajamas we’d bought together at a flea market. I handed him the small kite charm. My voice was steady, but my smile was brittle. “For your freedom.” Leo. Now that you have it, this freedom you wanted so badly… are you happy? 5 Knowing Leo might be at that bar, I started going every few nights. I knew, deep down, that there was no going back for us. That was Leo. Once he made a decision, he never looked back. But I never saw him again. I couldn’t be sure if he was avoiding me, though it wouldn’t have been a surprise. Nobody enjoys being haunted by an ex they’ve grown tired of. I took to sitting at the bar, and after a while, I got to know the bartender. He’d have a drink ready for me as soon as I sat down. Tonight, I’d barely been there for two minutes when there was a loud thump beside me. I turned to see a scantily clad woman slam a delivery box onto the counter. “Vodka, straight up,” she snapped at the bartender. “Who pissed you off this time, princess?” he asked casually. “Who do you think? It’s the gift I bought for Leo. I reminded him a hundred times it was at his building’s mailroom, and it’s probably growing mold by now. He never went to get it.” She stomped her foot. “And it was expensive! I wouldn’t even buy a watch that nice for myself!” My heart skipped a beat. I discreetly glanced at the shipping label on the box. The address was there. Detailed. Down to the apartment number. The bartender slid her a sweet-tasting liqueur instead of the vodka. “I seem to recall Leo saying he doesn’t accept gifts.” “He just hasn’t gotten the right gift yet,” the woman pouted, resting her chin in her hand. “Ugh, when am I ever going to conquer that man?” “You and every other woman in a five-mile radius,” the bartender chuckled. “All I can say is, good luck.” I leaned over, feigning curiosity. “Who are you guys talking about?” The bartender grinned. “Just a really handsome guy.” “How handsome?” “Extremely.” The woman shot him a warning glare, and he clammed up. I gave an awkward laugh, paid my bill, and left. The second I was outside, I hailed a cab and gave the driver the address from the box. My heart was hammering against my ribs. My palms were sweating. I’m just going to pay him back, I told myself. That’s all. This is the last time. The absolute last time I let myself be this weak. Thirty minutes later, I was ringing the doorbell to Leo’s apartment. I heard footsteps approaching. I took a deep breath, forcing my lips into what I hoped was a natural smile. The door opened. A woman with beautiful eyes stood there, wearing an apron and holding a wooden spoon, a sweet smile on her face. She looked at me, confused. “Can I help you?” “Sorry, I think I have the wrong—” The words caught in my throat. I couldn’t say another syllable. Because over her shoulder, I saw the bedroom door open. And I saw Leo walk out, shirtless, his hair messy from sleep. 6 It’s strange. I’d seen him with another woman before, the day he left me. But this… this hurt more. Maybe it was the overwhelming sense of domesticity. The apron, the spoon, the comfortable way he walked through the space. It felt like they had been together for a long, long time. It hit me with the force of a physical blow: Leo had someone else now. Not just a fling, but a life. They probably shared everything, the way we used to—a glass of water, a bed, the rising and setting of the sun. My presence here was nothing but an intrusion. If I truly loved him, if I really wanted what was best for him, I would do the graceful thing. I’d hand over the check, offer a polite smile, and disappear from his life for good. But when I tried to speak, my voice was gone. I swallowed hard, finally managing to hold out the check. “Hi. I’m… an old friend of Leo’s. From back home. He lent me some money a long time ago, and I came to pay him back.” The woman looked over her shoulder at Leo. He stood frozen for a moment, his gaze finally landing on me. After two silent seconds, he said, “You want to come in?” I shouldn’t have. I really shouldn’t have. But Leo was already getting a glass for me, pulling out a chair at the small dining table. The woman opened her mouth, then closed it, her brow furrowed. “Leo, honey, you should put a shirt on. You don’t want your cold to get worse.” He ignored her, his eyes fixed on me. I kept my head down, feeling trapped, and finally stepped inside. “Sorry to bother you.” I tried my best not to look around, terrified of what I might see, what other small details would twist the knife in my chest. But some things were unavoidable. Leo came back from the bedroom wearing a long-sleeved shirt, the air around him heavy and tense. This was how he always got when he was sick. I could tell from the tight line of his mouth that he was probably running a low fever. My fingers twitched. I curled them into a fist. The woman brought a bowl of chicken noodle soup from the kitchen. She carefully fished out the pieces of celery, then placed a hard-boiled egg on a small plate next to it. She separated the white from the yolk, placing the white on the plate and mashing the yolk into the soup with a spoon. “Here you go, Leo. Try some?” He hated celery. And he never ate the egg whites, because he knew I loved them. A sharp, stinging pain flared behind my eyes. I had to look away before the tears came. How could he be so cruel? Was this intentional? Did he want me to sit here and watch this performance of his new life, his new happiness? Leo didn’t touch the soup. He just asked me, his tone casual, like we were distant acquaintances catching up, “So, how have you been?” I looked at the woman sitting beside him, her eyes burning holes into me. I knew that if I showed even a flicker of my true feelings for Leo, a fight would erupt. I had nothing left to give him. The least I could do was not cause him any more trouble. Thinking this, I squeezed my fists tighter in my lap. The bite of my nails into my palms was sharp, but it grounded me. When I looked up, I had managed to plaster on a natural, almost shy smile. “I’ve been good,” I said. “Actually, I’m getting married soon.” Leo’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto mine. For a moment, I could see my own reflection in their dark depths. A long time ago, I was the only thing reflected there. I took a slow, steadying breath. “You two should come to the wedding.” He would never come. It was a safe lie. The hostility on the woman’s face finally melted away, her attention shifting back to Leo. “Come on, honey, eat before it gets cold.” I took a polite sip of the water in my glass, then stood up. “I should get going.” Leo stood up too. “I’ll walk you out.” “Leo, you’re still sick. I can see her out,” the woman offered. He paid her no mind, just followed me to the door, walking a little too close, close enough that I could smell the clean, simple scent of his soap. The door clicked shut behind me. I didn’t look back, just walked straight toward the elevator. Leo’s footsteps were steady behind me, the same rhythm as always. My hand, hanging by my side, twitched with the sudden, desperate urge for a cigarette. “Getting married is a good thing. You should have done it a long time ago,” he said, his voice raspy from his cold. “Is he good to you?” I was afraid my voice would break, so I just managed a small, tight, “Mmm.” “What about you?” I found my voice, forcing a smile as I turned to him. “You two seem really happy. Wedding bells in your future, too?” The elevator doors chimed open. I rushed inside, jabbing at the ‘close door’ button, not wanting to hear his answer. Only when the doors were completely sealed did I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. And I whispered to the empty space, “Goodbye.” This time, for real. No more seeing you again. 7 I walked home that night. It took almost three hours. I cried the entire way. When I finally got to my apartment, my throat was raw. I drank a whole pitcher of water, and then, without taking off my makeup or even changing my clothes, I crawled into bed and wrapped myself in the comforter like a cocoon. Sleep was a restless, shallow thing, and my mind drifted back through the years. Leo’s father was a construction worker. His stepmother was cruel, often refusing to feed him. I’d save a bowl from my dinner and sneak it to him. When I got my first period, it was Leo who went to the store to buy me pads. During puberty, when my stepfather started lingering outside the bathroom door when I showered, Leo would come over on the pretense of doing homework and wouldn’t leave until I was safely out. When the first KFC opened in our small town, Leo ate instant noodles for a week to save up enough money to take me. In high school, knitting was popular. I stayed up for three nights straight to make him a black and white scarf. He wore it every winter, right up until the day he left it behind in our little apartment. We went to college in the same city, but my classes were demanding and his job was on the opposite side of town. Money was tight, so we couldn’t see each other often. We made up for it with dozens of phone calls a day. Besides his payday, he would send me money sporadically, telling me it was extra tips from customers. My roommates found it strange that I had a boyfriend who worked in a bar. They saw me as the quiet, studious type, a world away from the nightlife scene. They hinted that a guy like that, getting tips from strangers, was probably seeing other people. But my trust in him was absolute. Blind. I never once doubted him. To save up for his birthday, I secretly took on a tutoring job. After months of saving, I bought him a ridiculously expensive down jacket. Most of the gifts I gave him were things to keep him warm. I think it was because we were so poor growing up; the winters always felt the harshest. It was hard then. So hard. But knowing I had him behind me, it never felt like suffering. It’s just a shame we can never go back. At 4 a.m., I gave up on sleep and got out of bed. I’d bought this condo last year. I put down a deposit and poured all my energy into renovating it, making every detail exactly how I wanted it. I pulled out an empty storage box and started collecting things. The mug I’d bought for him. Into the box. The set of chopsticks and bowls. Into the box. The towel and toothbrush. Into the box. The clothes I’d bought on a whim because I thought they would look good on him. Into the box. Soon, the box was overflowing. I dragged it into the storage closet. There were already two other boxes in there, filled with the remnants of our life in that tiny apartment. “You’re pathetic,” I said to myself. “But this is it. This is the last time you get to be this pathetic.” 8 I stopped going to the bar. I stopped opening the storage closet. I started deliberately avoiding the entire neighborhood where Leo lived. For Chloe’s birthday, I brought a bottle of wine to her party. The moment I walked in, she pulled me aside conspiratorially. “What do you think of that one?” She jutted her chin toward the living room. I scanned the crowd. There was only one man I didn’t recognize, wearing rimless glasses, with a gentle, academic air about him. I nodded with a smile. “He’s handsome.” “And he’s single,” Chloe said, grinning. “Interested?” I shook my head, smiling. Fearing she would press the issue, I looked her in the eye. “Seriously, Chloe. I’m just not in that headspace right now. I promise, the day I decide I’m ready to date, you’ll be the first person I call.” She sighed, defeated. Later in the evening, after a few more glasses of wine, Chloe put her arm around my shoulders. “You know,” she said softly, “when you and Leo broke up, a part of all of us was relieved. You had such a bright future, this whole amazing life ahead of you. It would have been a shame to see you settle for something… ordinary.” She paused, swirling the wine in her glass. “But seeing you now… I don’t know. It’s complicated.” I took another sip of my own wine. “I’ve seen you happy, Rosie,” she continued. “It’s not that you’re unhappy now, but… there’s a part of you that’s missing. It’s a damn shame.” I smiled. “What’s there to be ashamed of?” “After seeing Leo again… did you ever think about getting back together with him?”

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